Chapter 1
"You liar! Now give me the real password! Don't mess with me," James screamed at Ryan as the laptop refused to unlock.
Ryan flinched, but held his ground as James made as if to slap him across the face.
"I'm not going to tell you," he said, his voice scared but with a sudden determined edge to it.
"I swear to God, I'll drop him right now," Debra said wildly, aiming the rifle at Ryan's head.
Ryan whipped around long enough to shout at her. "Once he's got the money, he's going to kill you!"
James went pale and hesitated. "Don't listen to him. He's talking trash to pull us apart. We're just about to hit the jackpot, baby." His voice grew pleading. "All we gotta do is trust each other."
"You know, this kid has always freaked me out, but the one thing I'll say about him is he never lies," Debra said with a dangerously cool smile. She completely ignored Ryan, setting the rifle down.
James suddenly shoved Ryan to the side.
"You know what?" James asked as he slammed the laptop shut and grabbed the gun. "That's true. He doesn't."
With a horrified feeling in his gut, Ryan watched as James aimed the rifle at Debra and pulled the trigger. Debra convulsed and stumbled backward. Like a light switch was turned on, Ryan clicked into action and ran for the door. He could hear James screaming after him.
"RYAN!"
Ryan dived behind the pins in the bowling alley, his heart thumping and his limbs shaking.
"Can't hide forever," James said. He continued, almost lazily, "You know, your mother really hated you. Kind of sad, having a freak for a son. Come to think about it, I wasn't crazy about you either."
Ryan felt a sinking in his stomach as James stalked closer to his hiding place. He looked down the catwalk behind the pins and inched forward cautiously, but James saw him and came after him, pointing the gun. Panting with fear, Ryan scuttled as fast as he could. But James was faster. With a sudden burst of speed, James got ahead of Ryan and stuck the gun through a gap in between two alleys. Ryan froze, his eyes fixated on the muzzle of the rifle. With an evil grin, James' finger tightened on the trigger.
"Ryan! Wake up, honey! You're just having a bad dream," a kindly woman said, gently shaking Ryan awake.
With a flood, reality came rushing back and Ryan sat up, rubbing his eyes. It had been more than a month since his stepfather had killed his stepmother and had tried to kill him, but he still had nightmares about it. Luckily, Clark Kent had been there to save the day, just like any given hero from the Warrior Angel comics.
"Are you okay?" Ryan's aunt asked, looking into his eyes.
Ryan nodded mutely, looking into her eyes. He saw nothing but tenderness there, but he what he heard contradicted what he saw.
Why did I ever take him in? He's not going to fit in very well. I should have left him with the Children's Protection Services. Maybe that would have worked. At least it would be better than this is working out. I hope he's enjoying himself here.
"Hey," Ryan said, staring even more intently at her. "I'm happy here. It's great. I really love Edge City."
Can he read minds or something? He really is strange.
On the outside, Ryan's aunt smiled tightly and patted his head awkwardly.
"I'm glad, sweetheart," she said. "Come down to breakfast when you feel like it."
"See you in a little bit," Ryan said softly as she stood and walked out. Once she was gone, he threw himself back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew what was coming, and, sure enough, he only had a second's warning of lightheadedness before his brain seemed to explode.
Gasping, Ryan pressed his hands against his temples, as if he were trying to press his head back together. The pain hammered at him from all angles. He screwed his eyes up, trying not to make a sound. He didn't want his aunt sending him off somewhere.
Fading in and out of reality, his mind subconsciously brought back memories of when his stepmother had found him at the Kents'.
"Hi, I'm from child protection services. I'm here to pick up Ryan," Debra said with a sickeningly sweet smile.
"Aren't you early?" Mrs. Kent asked, puzzled, reluctant to let her in. Ryan looked at Debra, who glared at him pointedly.
Ryan's head gave a vicious throb and he buried his head in his pillow. The world dissolved into a swirl of colors again.
"I'm sorry," Debra simpered. "We need to get him placed as soon as possible."
Mrs. Kent tried a different tack. "Can he wait until our son gets home?"
"No, we really should be going. I'm sorry," Debra said, extending her hand toward Ryan.
Ryan pulled himself out of the memory with effort and lay on his stomach, sweating lightly. The last lingering aches of his migraine were fading slowly. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the light that streamed in his window.
"Ryan," his aunt called from downstairs. "Are you coming yet?"
"Sure," Ryan yelled back, his voice tight and painful to his ears.
Ryan got up and walked over to his mirror, trying not to stumble. He was still unsteady and couldn't seem to walk in a straight line. When he got to the mirror, he stared, hardly recognizing himself. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his pupils almost obliterated his green irises, and his skin was unnaturally pale and clammy.
Unsettled, Ryan rubbed his hands over his arms, and then he took off his shirt. The fading bruises and cuts from his stepfather's abuse hit a nerve deep inside him. He hurriedly pulled on a clean polo and traipsed downstairs, armed with a new smile.
"There you are," his aunt said, returning the smile as he cautiously sat down at the white kitchen table.
The food's going to be cold! I can't allow him to be late to every meal!
"I'm sorry I'm late," Ryan said, inhaling the aroma of crisp bacon, a Spanish omelet, and some deliciously buttered rye toast.
"That's fine for now," his aunt soothed. "Just sit down and eat. You look like you need some nourishment."
He's so skinny. And he really doesn't look well. I wonder if I should take him to a doctor. Maybe those Gibsons did more harm than we thought.
"No doctor," Ryan said, alarmed.
His aunt stared at him with a mixture of alarm and surprise. "What?"
Ryan backpedaled quickly. "I mean, you just had that look in your eye that I saw in my mother's eye every time she thought I was ill and needed a doctor. I hate them."
"Okay," his aunt said. "No doctors." She stood up to wash the dishes, and Ryan noticed that her hands were shaking.
Something creepy is going on.
Ryan paused, bacon halfway to his mouth. He had to formulate his words carefully.
"If I were to get sick," he started, and then he stopped. "If I were to need a doctor, what would you do?"
"Take you to a doctor, of course," his aunt said, sitting down across from him and staring into his eyes with a searching glance that didn't comfort Ryan at all.
Why is he asking these questions?
"What sort of doctor?" Ryan asked, watching his aunt's expression carefully.
I'd take him to a psychiatrist, most likely.
"Well that would depend on what specialist you needed to see," his aunt said, formulating her words with precision. She leaned forward, tilting her head. "What brought this on?"
"Nothing," Ryan said, staring down at his plate. He didn't feel much like eating anymore.
I'm sure it's nothing. What is he hiding? I hope there's nothing seriously wrong. I can't stand this task of raising a child. It's too overwhelming.
"You would never hand me off to someone, right?" Ryan said, startled. He backtracked even before his aunt had a chance to answer. "I mean, I know a lot of new parents can't handle the responsibilities that come with a kid."
"Of course I would never hand you off," his aunt said. But she was eyeing him with a look that he didn't like.
I wouldn't hand him off unless there was someone who could handle him better than I can. That would probably encompass most of Edge City's population, though. That's not something he needs to know now.
"You look like you need a sugar fix," Ryan's aunt said, standing suddenly. She dismissed the subject as she rooted around in her freezer.
All kids love pistachio ice cream for breakfast. This should be great!
"I hate pistachios," Ryan burst out.
His aunt spun around, the green container in her hands, her mouth a perfect 'O.'
Ryan winced inwardly. "I saw it in the freezer last night," he tried to explain.
"Okay," his aunt said hesitantly. "Do you like cake?"
This kid keeps getting weirder and weirder.
"Yeah, sure. Cake is fine," Ryan said quietly. It was best not to rock the boat any more this morning.
After breakfast, Ryan helped clear the table and finish the dishes before heading back up to his bedroom. He stared out the window across the street at some boys his age playing basketball. The thudding of the ball only served to remind Ryan that he was secluded in the little room his aunt had fixed off the attic. Ryan furrowed his brow. If only he were normal. Everything would be okay if he were only just like any other boy his age.
Turning away from the window, Ryan sighed and flopped back down on the bed. He picked up one of his comics, but could only stare dully at it. It held no interest for once. Worried thoughts plagued his mind. What if his aunt decided that he was too weird and sold him to some black market? What if somebody found out he was really, truly different? What if he discovered something that he didn't want to hear?
Staring up at the ceiling, Ryan found no answers. But when he was called down to start his chores, he paused before leaving his bedroom. The last question nagged at him. What if the migraines got worse?
A/N: I really hit my stride with this, which means I did not take a long time to review for typos. So I apologize in advance for any that you might find.
