A/N: This is a story for random-k in payment for agreeing to look over Promises Made. Thank you again! In Darkest Powers series we don't get much of a look at the powers of shamans. I used the Otherworld Wiki for this story (also a note, they have Darkest Powers and Darkness Rising information on there as well since they are all part of the greater Otherworld universe). Simply search for: Otherworld wiki shaman. I would provide a link but links don't show up in stories. I strongly recommend checking it out since there will be allusions to the powers shamans have. Just something to keep in mind when reading about Peter and Brady!
Also a reminder about Promises Made - there are a few more slots open for drabbles! Leave a review and I'll write a drabble for you.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Darkest Powers or Women of the Otherworld series. Contains excerpts from The Awakening.
Brady wasn't crazy. He knew he wasn't crazy. The doctors told him he was having a bipolar episode. They told him that the voice he heard was only in his mind, that it wasn't real.
He had heard this voice whispering to him for months now. It was never anything harmful. If anything, it helped get him out of some situations that could have gone badly. It never suggested anything that would harm anyone.
He wasn't crazy. He had first turned to the Internet, searching for some sort of answer. He first found only testimonies about people with bipolar disorder hearing voices during a manic episode. He checked the list. He wasn't suffering from a manic episode. He continued reading, seeing that a depressive episode followed the manic. That didn't apply to him either. He wasn't depressed. Sure, there were some days he didn't feel the greatest, but that was just part of being a teenager.
People used to 'get' him. They did until he started high school, of course, and things changed as they inevitably did. One bad break up and he was scorched earth for the entire female population.
No, he wasn't crazy. He knew it was something else, but what could it be?
Peter rolled his eyes as his mom nudged him to put away the PSP. They had been sitting in the waiting room for hours already. What harm could he do by playing a game? Especially considering it was a game that he had earned by improving his grades in the last two reporting periods. Take that Mr. Myers and his tricky geography questions.
Of course, the reason they were waiting here was because of something that had happened in Mr. Myer's class. He had an "out of body" experience. He thought he had dozed off during one of Mr. Myers' legendary boring lectures about some country that technically didn't exist anymore, having been divided up or absorbed into something else.
They told him he had yelled out something in a language no one could hazard a guess its origins. Peter only spoke one language. He had been struggling with French the past year and a half but he only had a shaky grasp on some of the basic vocabulary.
It wasn't French. Greg, his best friend since second grade, told him that it sounded like he was snarling parts of words. He had spoken quickly and surveyed the room as he was speaking, acting as though he was looking for something. His eyes had changed. They were glowing, for lack of a better word. It was like something out of a video game.
His mother had insisted that somehow this was related to him spending too much time playing video games. His dad hadn't said much. He said he thought it might be something more serious.
Hence why he was missing his computer and English classes and sitting in the waiting room with his mom to see a shrink. He had told his friends that he had some medical appointment. If they knew the truth, his life would be over.
They were finally called back and shown to a room that had the stereotypical overstuffed chair and sofa. He sat on one end of the sofa and kicked his feet up on the table in front of him. His mom glared at him and he reluctantly pulled his feet off, rolling his eyes while doing so.
He didn't pay attention at the visit. His mom did most of the talking. She had the notes that Mr. Myers had written after it happened, as well as recounts from a few of his classmates and a basic write up from the school nurse.
The hour dragged on.
Brady psyched himself up in front of the bathroom mirror. He was going to make it through the rest of the day. He only had computer science left. He could easily go the entire class without talking to someone or someone talking to him.
He splashed water on his face, hoping that might help his resolve.
He glanced at his watch and hurried to class. He wanted to get away from school as soon as possible; receiving detention would derail those efforts.
He let his backpack slip off his shoulders and sat at his computer desk. He could do this. He could make it one more period and then go home and . . . he hadn't thought that far out. But he could do that after he was there, after he was away from all of these people and their hushed whispers.
He could have sworn that it was some girl talking to him. It sounded like someone he knew. He did know the voice, he realized afterwards. It was the same voice that he had been hearing for months now. This had been the first time that he had heard it at school. Before it was when he was just waking up or right before he was falling asleep.
It was a comforting voice.
His mom had first thought he was on the phone talking to some girl. She only heard his voice. She was shocked to see that he was just lying in bed, seemingly carrying a conversation with himself.
Talking to yourself wasn't a crime, he had argued. His mom had first written it off to him being eccentric, a teenage phase. After a month, she had started asking questions that he didn't have answers too. His mistake was talking to her as he was waking up from a nap. He had told her then about the voice, his brain not fully awake, not fully realizing what he was doing or who he was talking too. He had thought he was talking to the voice. His mom's hand ruffling his hair told him it wasn't the case.
He shook off the feeling of sneaking glances and hushed whispers. It was only a matter of time before it spread all over the school. Thank goodness that it had happened in the second to last period of the day. If it had been first period, he didn't think he would have been able to make it.
Class dragged on and on. It seemed as though the torturous experience would never end. The voice didn't whisper anything to him.
The bell rung and he grabbed his bag and headed out the main hall. He would just walk home today instead of catching the bus. He could use the time to clear his head.
It sounded like she was right there.
Peter was suffering from nervous breakdowns? Please. He would need some sort of stress to have a breakdown. Sure, there were a few stresses in his life, the last level on a few games that had been taunting him the last few weeks, his annoying little sister, and now his mom who looked at him like he had sprouted another head.
Greg insisted that adults needed a label for everything. If they had a label, they could find a magic pill that would make things all better. Greg insisted that in a few generations, the entire human race would live out their lives in a medically induced fog, never knowing what it was like to be truly alive.
He was on a few different medications. He wasn't even sure if some of them were legal for his age group. He was only thirteen. Some of these had to be for the eighteen and over crowd. It simultaneously made him feel cool, mature, and somehow broken.
He eyed the pills in his hand. His mom would be check in on him in a few minutes to make sure he had taken them.
He dropped them down the kitchen sink and drank the glass of water.
The voice had only grown stronger. Each day it seemed as though it was clearer and was even indicating that it had some sort of personality. It was funny and made witty remarks about events that happened during the day.
Brady had grown accustomed to not verbally responding to the voice. Instead he would scribble a note in response. The system seemed to work.
His mom thought the medication was working. She didn't catch him talking to himself anymore. He seemed more relaxed around her. He seemed almost like he was back to his normal self.
He started seeing things shortly afterwards. It was almost a glimpse of something where the voice was coming from. He could almost make out the form – a woman – but every time his eyes went there, it vanished. It seemed to be there until he was looking at it.
He was careful. He started keeping a journal and used it to keep the sheets of paper he used to talk to it. He kept it with him always. He told his friends that he was working on a creative writing project for English and he never knew when inspiration was going to strike.
He was careful until he wasn't.
His mom had found the journal when he had asked her to grab something out of his backpack, not remembering that he had left the journal in there. The sheets of paper fell out.
They had a talk.
Peter found all kinds of ways to get rid of pills without taking them. The kitchen sink was obvious. He found that he could hid them under his tongue, he could keep it palmed in his hand, he could discreetly slid it off the counter and put them in his pocket.
He didn't need pills. He wasn't having nervous breakdowns. Besides, it had happened one time. Didn't everyone have one incredibly embarrassing, unexplainable thing happen to them at some point in their life? He had simply experienced his early on.
Field trips were a blessing rarely bestowed on his class. An entire day away from school but without having to make anything up, it sounded like heaven.
He and Greg were joking around. Claire was in front of them, pretending not to hear their crude jokes. She couldn't acknowledge them without suffering social repercussions. The popular girl did not talk to nerds.
It didn't stop them from trying their best.
It had started with poop jokes. It then transitioned to sex jokes. They tried knock-knock jokes. They tried impressions. She simply kept moving with the rest of the class, never casting a look back. Frustrated by their lack of results, they resorted to horseplay. They playfully started shoving each other slightly, only moving the other a few steps.
Greg pushed him and he wasn't expecting it. He stumbled, he lost his balance, but he felt … off.
He heard screams. He heard a voice that was not his own. He saw a world that wasn't here. He took a step tentatively. He took another. The screams continued but started to drift in the distance. Who was screaming? Were they okay? Should he go and check on them?
He felt a sudden rush of pain, he heard something snap and his world spun out of control. He was back in the 'real' world and looking at his femur poking out of his pant leg. The screams were his classmates, huddled together on the sidewalk. He was lying in the road, a car covering his lower body.
He heard a soft voice, whispering comforting words. He moved to hide the grotesque display with his arm. His eyes stopped on his leg. He was watching the bone … move. He watched as it slid back into proper place.
He threw up and knew nothing of what happened next.
Brady was already tired of his new surroundings. He didn't have to share a room, which seemed to be a nice perk. He had most of the house to himself. There were a few girls on the other side but he hadn't bothered to learn their names. If they were here, he wasn't sure if he should even bother.
There wasn't anything wrong with him. So what if he had an overactive imagination? That wasn't a crime. He just needed to learn how to channel it properly. Maybe there was a world class painter or writer inside of him and by putting him here it was squandering his chance to discover who he really was.
This was all some sort of elaborate misunderstanding. They would realize their mistake soon.
Peter woke up in a hospital bed. He tried to move but found that his legs and arms were restrained. His brain was foggy.
He dimly recognized his parents standing up, walking over to him.
They were talking to him but he couldn't follow. The words were distorted, taking on sounds he had never heard before.
He must be on powerful drugs. He'd have to ask for some to go. If this was the future of human experience, he could live with it.
"At least I don't have to share a room with them," Brady muttered under his breath. He swore Simon's mission in life was to annoy him. He knew exactly how to get under his skin. He now had a roommate, a thirteen year old named Peter. Thankfully Peter was the quiet thirteen and not the incessantly chatty, I'm-so-brilliant thirteen.
He wasn't sure why Peter was there. He hadn't bothered to ask. It seemed wrong to pry into his life, especially since he seemed so young. He was absorbed in his PSP and was more than content to let the world fly right past him. He was an ideal roommate.
He was sick of Derek and Simon. He didn't know how much longer he could tolerate them. They had come in two weeks after he did and his 'okay' existence had changed to days full of anticipation of something bad happening. The voice was his constant companion, whispering warnings about Derek but occasionally throwing some about Simon in as well. If the voice was concerned about them, it was enough to cause him to dislike them.
He thought of the voice as a manifestation of a primeval instinct, although a bit more sophisticated than the 'gut feeling' most people experienced. He trusted the voice. There was nothing wrong or abnormal in trusting his own feelings. No shrink could argue that.
It had been two months of dealing with the anticipation bubbling under his skin. He had to do something about it. Each day the warnings became graver. Something was looming on the horizon. If he didn't cut it off before whatever happened, it would only be worse. He knew that it had something to do with Derek. His skin crawled when they were in the same room.
Derek himself had barely spoken more than a handful of sentences to him and they were mostly of the "pass the salt" variety. Something about the guy was off. He was bigger than any guy he had ever met. He first thought he was of the overweight variety. He dressed the part, huge sweatshirts that gave him the appearance of a gut or two. He knew it wasn't the case. He had been walking by the bathroom one time when the door opened and a shirtless Derek emerged. He did not have a gut or two; he looked like a gym rat. If Brady had a body like that, bad break up or not, he wouldn't be scorched earth at school. He'd have girls lining up to date him. Why was he hiding it? Did he not want girls' attentions? Did he want guys? If that was the case, it didn't explain the baggy clothes. He thought that guys typically dressed in tighter clothes, if that was the case. "Show off the goods" or so he had overheard in the locker room. Or maybe he had someone waiting on the outside – Brady cut that thought off and laughed. The idea of someone as anti-social as Derek having someone waiting for him was laughable.
He was going to get to the bottom of why his skin crawled every time he saw him, even if he had to drag every syllable out of the Neanderthal.
Peter wasn't sure what was up with Brady the past few days. He knew something was 'off' about him. He seemed anxious, paranoid even. Normally Brady was cool with him. It hadn't been what Peter was expecting. Brady was the 'cool kid', the type of kid that would never be caught talking to Peter in school. He never seemed to be annoyed by his questions, even if they were random and late at night.
This sudden change in behavior worried him. Was there something going on with Brady? Sure, they were in a home meant for teenagers with less than stellar mental health, but was there something more?
Maybe his medications were having side effects. Peter's weren't; he was still taking some medication for his leg that he swore he remembered breaking but lacked the cast that would have provided proof.
It had all been part of his latest 'nervous breakdown', or so they said. He didn't feel like a person that had a nervous breakdown. The only anxiety he currently had was worrying about Brady.
He had caught Brady talking – arguing – with himself the night before last. He had finished up in the bathroom and was outside the door when he heard Brady's voice through the door. He had paused, first thinking that maybe one of the nurses was in there with him. But why would the door be closed if that was the case? Or why wouldn't they be in the nurses' quarters? Unless maybe Brady needed help and couldn't get there on his own? Did he somehow manage to smuggle in his cell phone?
He waited five minutes outside the door. He both tried to listen and tried not to. He didn't want to eavesdrop but he needed to know who was on the other side of the door with Brady.
He didn't hear any voice. He knocked on the door and slowly opened the door. Brady had been pacing by his bed. There wasn't anyone else in there and there wasn't a phone. Brady played it off as him working through a few things, nothing more. People talked to themselves all the time, it wasn't a sign they were crazy. It was simply a way to help process things. Some people responded better to audio than the inner voice of their mind.
Peter wanted to believe that was the case. He wanted Brady to go back to his normal fun self. He had enjoyed having an older, cool friend. He didn't know why, but he felt some sort of pull towards Brady. He rationalized it as Brady was the type of guy that he wished he could be but would never achieve. Popular, good looking, probably had a line of girls clamoring to date him, Peter wished that maybe one day he could have that.
Brady rubbed his forehead. The voice, no her voice, had only increased in the urgency of the warnings. She had told him repeatedly that he was in danger. He needed to find a way out of the house and back to his old life. She had whispered that there were dangers all around him. The nurses, Dr. Gill, the house, but her urgency mostly centered on Derek. She was insistent that he was absolutely a danger to him. If he wanted to return to his old life, he had to convince the staff that Derek was a danger and have him moved to a different facility.
He had asked how repeatedly. Each time, she only assured him that he would find a way. He only needed time to think about it. He only needed to think of it quickly.
He had overheard one of the nurses talking about Derek and a possibility of a disorder. They had briefly mentioned him having antisocial disorder and how they needed a few plans on how to handle any 'episodes' that he may have.
Brady had looked it up that afternoon. If it looked like a duck and sounded like a duck, well, it was a duck. It certainly fit him. He was only hesitant about any course of action because he knew Derek was a big guy. He was much larger than him and if this diagnosis was correct, Derek wouldn't care if he was seriously or permanently injured.
The voice only insisted that because of this knowledge, they had to act soon. If they waited for an episode, it would be too late for them all.
Peter was glad that Brady seemed back to his old self again. He still didn't say much when Simon and Derek were around, but Peter didn't mind. As long as Brady was the Brady he knew when they were hanging out by themselves, he was fine with it. If there was something going on between the three of them, he didn't want to get involved, or, at least, not until Brady asked him too.
Today was it. The voice assured him that everything would work out like it should. He would be hailed the hero and the danger would disappear.
He walked into the TV room. Simon was on the couch playing his PSP, Derek was on the computer, and Rae was on the floor flipping through a magazine.
He bumped into Derek. Derek didn't respond. Simon only briefly glanced up from his game. This was going to take a little more effort than he expected.
"I bet I can guess what you're in for," Brady smiled. Derek continued to ignore him, playing some computer game.
"I bet," he trailed his fingers on Derek's arm, "that you did something, something awful, purely awful." Derek still didn't respond. Brady continued, "Did you stab some puppies? You look like the type that would stab puppies. Or maybe kittens are more up your alley."
He had Simon's and Rae's complete attention now.
The voice urged him on. If he only cause a reaction, everyone would be better off.
"I can't imagine you did anything to a person. You'd be in juvie if you did that. Or," he paused, noticing that Derek's face had twitched, "maybe you did hurt someone. A girl I bet, some poor girl that you couldn't just leave alone. What did she do? Turn you down for a dance? A date? Or," he paused again, "was it because she had her eyes on the wrong brother?"
He stumbled back suddenly. He didn't think Derek had pushed him. He was still mesmerized by the computer screen. His eyes found Simon's. Did Simon push him? No, Simon standing in front of the sofa and there was no way he could have stood up, moved over to him, pushed him, and moved back in a second. But he would have felt Derek move – he was still sitting there in the chair. Unless, his brain worked out something … perhaps, Simon was capable of such things. Could it be some sort of trickery? No, his brain picked up speed. No, this was something else.
Her voice assured him that while this wasn't ideal, he had what he needed. He now had proof of magic. He stood up and brushed himself off. He looked over to Rae, she was still staring at him.
He was going to finish this.
"Where is Brady?"
Peter had asked the question several times earlier in the afternoon but no one would answer him. He took their silence as a hint that maybe Brady was seeing Dr. Gill for an unscheduled session.
Maybe that would help him get past whatever was going on between him and the rest of the guys.
He would ask him once he was out.
"I told you, I'm not talking until Davidoff arrives. I was assaulted and I want to make sure he knows the severity of the issue," Brady explained again. He had been sitting in Dr. Gill's office approaching thirty minutes now.
The nurses looked at each other. Miss Van Dop sighed and picked up the phone.
Finally, some progress. They were taking him to see Davidoff.
He sat in the room. It was pretty bare. It looked like a doctor's office.
The door opened and his hopes soared, only to crash back down. It wasn't Davidoff.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Fellows," the blonde doctor started. "I understand that you were assaulted earlier today?"
Brady nodded.
"I'm so sorry that something like that happened to you under our care. What I would like to do is just give you a quick physical exam. I want to make sure that there isn't any major physical concern."
Brady nodded again. He hadn't expected to be checked out by a doctor, but if he had to go through this hoop, he would.
While performing the examination, she asked basic questions about himself. She then moved on to asking what had happened to him.
"I was in the computer room. I was talking to Derek when Simon just, I don't know, lost it. Simon shoved me hard enough that I fell down. But he used magic to do it, he wasn't close enough to get his hands on me."
"Simon?"
"Yeah, I guess he thinks that he's the only one who can talk to Derek or something."
Dr. Fellows rolled her chair next to the examination table and sat down.
"And you're sure that Derek didn't do this? I know that he can be quite quick for a boy his size."
Brady looked at her.
"No, it was Simon but it was … strange. He hit me, but with a spell."
Dr. Fellows looked up from the chart, acting as though she hadn't picked up on 'magic' earlier.
"A spell?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but he was by the couch the entire time. I think I saw him doing something with his hands."
Dr. Fellows wrote something down.
"It must have been a terrible ordeal to go through. But," she looked back at the charts, "Derek has a history of violent episodes. This would not be out of character for him. Frankly, he shouldn't be there at all."
She paused, gauging his reaction.
"Can you do something for me, Brady?"
Brady nodded.
"I would like you to change your story. Lie, whatever you want to call it. It technically won't be lying since Derek is a ticking time bomb and I don't want any more people to get hurt. When Dr. Davidoff comes in, I'd like you to tell him that Derek started the fight. Say that he threatened you, punched you, or shoved you, whatever. Can you do that for me?"
Brady thought about it for a moment. The voice had been warning him about Derek. She had only mentioned Simon in relation to Derek. But since they were a pair, booting one may automatically boot the other. Simon seemed to be Derek's keeper, for lack of better words, and if Simon was booted, Derek couldn't be trusted to function in a normal house without him.
"I'm sorry, I can't. Simon did magic. That is something that is way more dangerous than whatever physical stuff Derek could do."
A knock at the door interrupted him and Dr. Fellows stepped outside.
He walked over to the closed door.
"What exactly do you think you are doing, Lauren?"
"I'm just trying to get to the bottom of things, Marcel."
"I heard you suggest that he lie about what happened to him."
"Is it really a lie when all it is doing is exposing a ticking time bomb that you don't want to acknowledge? He's a menace. He never should have been included in the project. Experimenting with those genes was simply something we weren't ready for back then. Look at the other boys! Don't you remember what they did to Anna! I do! I can never forget!"
"I may have made a mistake with the others," Brady finally placed it as Davidoff's voice, "but Derek is not like the others. You're excused."
Brady quickly went back to the table and sat down. After a moment, the door opened and Davidoff walked in.
"Hello Brady, it is good to see you, although I wish it was under different circumstances."
Peter sighed as he finished brushing his teeth. No one had heard from Brady since he left to talk to Dr. Davidoff.
Simon was very snappy at dinner. Any sort of conversation about what happened was cut short. Rae kept looking uncomfortable. Was she somehow involved? She kept looking over at Simon and Derek nervously. Did they try to make her keep quiet and that was why Brady went to see Dr. Davidoff instead of handling everything here at the house?
They had a phone call after dinner saying that Brady wouldn't be back tonight. He was being kept overnight in a hospital to make sure he didn't have any sort of injury.
He wasn't exactly scared of the dark but it certainly helped having someone else there. He didn't have trouble sleeping at home, but he did here. He guessed it was because this place wasn't home.
He spat out his toothpaste and cleaned his toothbrush.
Maybe Brady would be back early enough for breakfast.
He kicked back on the bed.
It was too late for them to drive back to the house. He would stay overnight here at the hospital. They had found a spare room that he could use. A nurse would pop in a few times during the night, just to make sure that he wasn't having any issues.
Would they do something about Simon, and by extension Derek? Simon had done magic. He knew something was different about him. He had proof of it now. They had to act on it. They couldn't have some kid throwing spells around.
A nurse came in with a bottle of water and a cup full of pills.
She watched him as he knocked back the cup and took a swig of water. She gave a brief demonstration on how the remote control worked and that she would be back in a few hours to check on him.
He changed into the provided pajamas and stretched out on the bed.
He paused as he was scrolling through the channels.
Something wasn't adding up.
The building they had pulled up to didn't look like a hospital. It looked like a warehouse of sorts. Was this the Lyle House's private hospital? If so, why was it in a warehouse?
His brain started to get foggy. Thinking coherently took concentrated effort.
Her voice screamed out to him but it sounded muffled. He realized that she wasn't in his ear like she normally was. It sounded as though she was outside? Why wouldn't she be beside him? He realized he hadn't heard anything from her since he stepped into the building.
His eyelids felt so heavy, too heavy. Did they give him a sleeping pill?
He heard her screams but was powerless to respond as he fell into an eternal sleep.
Peter didn't sleep well. He tossed and turned, he couldn't get comfortable.
He dreamed he saw a warehouse, full of nurses and doctors. That didn't make any sense. Why would they be in a warehouse and not a hospital?
A voice narrated his dream. He had never heard the voice before. It was a soothing, comforting voice. He instinctively trusted it. Or, rather, her as the voice belonged to a woman. But if he could hear her, where was she? He thought he almost saw her. She was constantly staying just out of his field of vision.
She had come to warn him. He had to play along, as though he didn't hear her. He could never react to her when he wasn't alone. She promised she would keep him anchored to this plane.
She made him swear that he would do this. He awoke before he could answer.
He groggily rolled over and saw the alarm clock saying it was a little past three in the morning. He expected to see Brady, no; Brady was staying somewhere else tonight. He would be back in a few hours and he could finally know what had happened.
He adjusted his blanket and tried to go back to sleep.
The voice from his dream whispered in his ear that he needed to swear to the terms. He jumped. He looked around the room only to find it empty.
Her voice crooned in his ear, promising that she was only looking out for his best interests. He was special. She would make sure that nothing would harm him. If he didn't want what happened to Brady to happen to him, he would follow her instructions?
She wouldn't answer what happened to Brady, not exactly. She only said that he was no longer on this plane of existence. He would never see Brady again. He would believe her in the morning, she insisted. They would tell him that Brady was transferred and that would be it. He wouldn't be allowed to call or email him. He would disappear as if he never was.
Peter agreed, if only to get the voice to shut up and he could go on to have a different dream.
He asked about Brady at breakfast. He didn't receive a response.
He asked at morning break, still radio silence.
At lunch, when everyone was at the table, Mrs. Talbot explained that Brady had been transferred. No, they couldn't call him. He needed time to adjust, maybe next week after he settled into his new routine.
Next week came, Peter only heard more excuses.
The voice, or Wendy as he preferred to think of her as, had told him that this would happen. Everything about Brady was true. She warned him that he needed to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. If he didn't draw any attention to himself, he could speed up his release.
His PSP saw a sudden increase in usage.
Wendy's scheme paid off. He was being released early, he had spent three months at Lyle House total with another three expected. His parents were picking him up tomorrow. Tomorrow.
He didn't have another roommate, not after Brady left. Wendy had said that it was for the best. They could talk easier if he didn't have a roommate that would complain about Peter talking to himself.
A new girl had arrived earlier that day but Wendy warned him to stay away from her. She would only attract trouble. Peter thought Wendy might have been jealous, but Wendy insisted it was for his safety. He shrugged it off and went with Wendy's recommendation. She had been right about everything else so far. He didn't want to delay his release back into the normal world.
He was finally going back to school. Greg was going to have a million and one questions for him.
Peter wasn't sure exactly how he was going to explain or say. Wendy reassured him that she would be with him every step of the way. She wouldn't let him fail.
Brady looked around. He was outside a courthouse? Didn't he just fall asleep? Was this some sort of dream?
He followed a stream of people up the steps and stepped into a waiting area. No one seemed to pay him any special attention. They probably thought he was showing up for juvie court. He rolled his eyes at the thought.
He took a ticket and stood in line.
He wasn't sure how long he was standing there when he felt his leg being tugged. He looked behind him. No one was touching him. So how was he – he fell. He fell only for a second and also forever. He went through ice and fire.
He was thrust through something and he was standing in a room with a girl. She couldn't have been more than thirteen.
He looked around; he didn't know where he was. Was this some sort of dream within a dream? Or had he moved on to another dream entirely?
He paused, something felt off. He didn't feel the weight of his limbs. He didn't feel anything. Before he could do anything, the girl talked to him.
He brushed her off. He needed to figure out what was going on. He wasn't interested in the girl and he felt another pull, like the one he felt before he ended up here.
"- and Simon shoved you away. Only he didn't touch you. He used magic."
"Magic?"
"It was a spell that knocks people back. Simon's a sorcerer. All the kids in Lyle House –"
"I knew it. I knew it, shit," he said. "All that time, they kept trying to shove their diagnosis down my throat, and I told them where else they could shove it, but I couldn't prove anything."
"You told the nurses what happened with Simon, didn't you?"
"Nurses," he snorted. "Glorified security guards. I wanted to speak to the real boss: Davidoff. They took me to see him at this other place, looked like a warehouse."
The girl gave a brief description of the building.
"Yeah, that's it. They took me inside and . . . a woman came to talk to me. A blonde. Said she was a doctor. Bellows? Fellows?"
"So this woman, Dr. Fellows…"
"She wanted me to say Derek started the fight. That he threatened me, punched me, shoved me, whatever. I considered it. A little payback for all the attitude I had put up with from that jerk. I'd just been goofing around with him when Simon got all up in my face and smacked me with that spell."
"So Dr. Fellows wanted you to say Derek started the fight…"
"I wouldn't. I'd have to deal with the fallout when I went back to Lyle House and I didn't need that grief. That's when Davidoff came in. He hauled her out of the room, but I could hear him chewing her out in the hall. She kept saying Derek was a menace and the only reason he kept him was because he couldn't admit he made a by including Derek's type."
"Type?"
"In the experiment."
"Ex-experiment?"
"That's all she said. Davidoff told her to shove off. He said he made a mistake with the others, but Derek was different."
"Did they say –"
He heard a voice. Was it her again? He looked to his side, searching for something, her lurking in the corner of his vision.
"What is it," she asked.
"Don't you hear that?"
"What is it?"
"Whispering." He looked around. It didn't sound like her. It sounded … different. It sounded wrong.
"It could be Liz. She –"
Something slammed into him. He felt as though he was drowning. He felt as though he was being strangled. He felt battered and bruised. He couldn't see anything. He felt as though he was being burned alive. He was shoved out.
Then, he felt nothing.
He was alone in the dark. He called out but no one replied. The girl wasn't here with him. He had been taken somewhere else.
He walked but it was an endless black tunnel whichever way he went.
He called out but no one replied.
He wasn't sure how long he walked; he wasn't sure how far he walked. He only continued walking. His feet didn't hurt. His stomach did not roll in hunger. His throat was not parched. He only knew that he was walking.
He would occasionally think he heard a whisper. He would call out to her. Sometimes she would respond but more often she did not.
He was pulled again and he was back in the courthouse. His number was up. It was his turn to see the fates.
Peter found that Wendy was supremely useful. She was funny, smart, and seemed to be constantly watching out for him.
She had explained to him that he was a shaman and she was his ayami, his guide. She explained that Brady was also a was why they had gravitated to each other. He had asked repeatedly what happened to Brady, but she would not answer the only assured him that he was not suffering, or at least not anymore.
She swore that she would do everything in her power to keep him safe. She would not fail him as long as he did not fail her. She would not fail him like Brady's ayami had failed him.