A/n: Thank you for the follows and favorites and a special thank you to Thunderbird-5 for her review. It really means a lot to me that you read and like this story.

I am sorry for the lack of updates in the last couple of months. Things have been hectic to say the least.

We are going to leave Christine to sleep a little. I am sure all of you are looking forward to meeting Erik. Please read, enjoy and feel free to review honestly.

Disclaimer: This idea is entirely my own, however, all characters, songs and any other things you recognise belong to their original authors - I am only borrowing them.

Chapter 3

MY CAVE, MY REFUGE

I rested my back against the wall while I stared into the rock pool. Not for the first time, I wondered if my life would have been different if I were more like my siblings – content to stay home: content to be 'normal'.

In a way I was glad my mother encouraged my father to send me to this school as a small child. I could still remember the argument as if it were yesterday.

I lay on the top bunk staring at the ceiling as I usually did at this time of night. Although I was only five, my mind was often busy with the solution to some complex problem or other, before I finally drifted off in the early hours of the morning. My brother, Ronaldo, snored in the bunk below mine; no doubt dreaming of some childish fantasy or other ... his mind was never troubled by the complexity of art or science. My sister, Elize, had her own room down the passage, on account of being a girl.

My parent's room was between mine and my sisters, so that they could hear if any of us needed them. I hated this setup, since I often heard their arguments when I struggled to sleep. Most of the time they argued about our finances, my dad's other children or about me ... They never argued about Ronaldo and Elize – their normal children.

Tonight was no different. Hours before, Granny tucked us all in after a glass of warm milk and turned off the light, before standing by my bed and stroking back my unruly curls.

"Try to sleep, Erik, dear: there is enough time to solve the world's problems tomorrow." She kissed my forehead before leaving the room.

My grandparents understood me better than my parents did and they encouraged my precocious intellect with complex problems and experiments. Dad hardly ever had the time to spend time with us during the day, since he worked at the local hospital and at night he was too tired to pay attention to a son who was older than his years. My mother, on the other hand, hated my intellect and tried her best to ignore my unusual questions. What else could you expect from a part-time secretary at the local church?

I heard movement from my parents' room, before my mother said: "That child is strange, John. He always stares at me with that adult look in his eyes, as if he understands much more than he ought and your parents encourage his abnormality."

"Don't be silly, Maddy," he said in that tired way – Dad was the only person who could call her Maddy without being chastised. "The doctors said Erik has above-average intelligence, he will always be ahead of everyone else."

"But he doesn't play like the others, John," she said with irritation. "He just plays by himself all the time. He never cries or laughs – he only wears that serious expression like he knows much more than the rest of us."

"That's to be expected, Maddy."

"And do you know what the teachers say?"

"No."

"They never encountered a child like him before. They can't handle him, John."

"Does he misbehave?" Dad sounded more alert now. "If he misbehaves, then I will slap it out of him."

I cringed. Often, when I was bored, I would make things with whatever lay around. Many times my mother had complained about something going missing because of me. No matter if it was something she didn't really use, no matter if I gave her flowers made from whatever I picked up, Dad always punished me for it. He used to use the hair brush until my mother complained that I still misbehaved. On her encouragement, he took me behind the house to slap me with his belt in the hope that it would discourage my creativity. It never worked.

"No. He just doesn't act like a five-year-old. He grasps new concepts quicker than the other children, he asks more questions and his art ... John ... his pictures are more detailed, his clay figures are more realistic and he told the music teacher that she sings off key. They can't handle him, John, he makes them feel inferior."

The local preschool was rather restrictive and I enjoyed terrorizing the teachers with my superior intellect. My teacher often complained that she was out of her depth with me and my mother often came home despondent with the reports of her highly gifted son. I often wondered how the music teacher had been employed since she couldn't carry a tune to save her own life.

"What am I supposed to do, Maddy?" Dad sounded angry now. "Where am I supposed to send him? He is too young for primary school and I don't think they will be able to handle him, anyway. Am I supposed to beat him until he becomes stupid! Will you be happy then!"

"Maria sent me a pamphlet for a school for children like him."

"How are we supposed to afford that, Maddy! I am already working as much as I can. Are the other children supposed to starve so that HE can go to some special school?"

My heart leapt. Maybe if I hoped hard enough I would be going to a school for children like me. I smiled in the darkness. Eat that!

"The pamphl
et says that he can get a scholarship if he passes the entrance test."

"How is he s
upposed to do that? The child doesn't even know how to write yet."

"I don't kno
w, but it is worth a try."

Their voices
became softer after that and I finally fell asleep.

I surveyed my latest painting through critical eyes. It was missing something, I thought, but the teachers wouldn't notice it. Somehow the ideal image evaded me. I looked up at the crystals as I thought.

Some minutes before I had seen the image of a girl in the pool. She was beautiful, I thought, with fine features, soft brown eyes and long light brown hair. She seemed to be lonely in some way, as if she had lost everyone who appreciated her. I wondered if she was like the other silly girls in the school, or if she was an outsider: a kindred spirit. There was only one way to find out for sure. I would observe her from a distance, get to know her through her interactions with others and make my move when the time was right. In the meantime, I would only be a distant stranger on the school grounds and her voice in the mirror when she needed me.