Four weeks later, there was tension in the Majors home.
"We have to call a doctor!" Janet wailed. "Frankie's really sick, Brad!"
"We can't call a doctor!" Brad shouted. "If a doctor looks at him too closely, you know they'll spot something off! We were lucky when he was born! Do you want Frankie taken away from us?"
"If we don't do something he's going to die!" Janet screamed back, pointing up stairs where Frankie's room was. "I will not let your stupid fight with Dr. Scott kill my child!"
"He's mine too!" Brad shot back. "I'm just thinking of what's best for him! If I thought a doctor would help, I'd drive him there myself! But a doctor isn't going to help, Janet! Okay? He's an alien! We need alien help!"
"How do you suppose we get alien help?" Janet growled. "Light up a beacon? Write a message on our roof?"
Brad ground his teeth and rubbed his face. "Janet, I have an idea. You have to run with it, though."