Chapter 4: Searching for a Baseline

Days went by. It never was easy hiding in the lab. It was very uncomfortable and cold. I missed class because I only left the lab to eat, and only when Peter or Agent Dunham went with me. I think our emotions were probably the worst part. We were all scared. I was worried every day about Papa. And Hanami, she always looked so sad. It broke my heart. She wouldn't tell me why, but I was sure it was because of her Uncle Hiro. And though Dr. Bishop's experiments were all fascinating, they were uncomfortable.

There wasn't really much to speak of, at least what I could talk about, until after Harmony came to us from out of nowhere. She wasn't very verbal either, so we don't know where she came from or how she got there. Our only clue was a puppet she carried around with her. It was shortly after she came that I saw the Nazi face to face.

I was at the cafeteria. Agent Dunham left me for one second, I forget why. Then I heard his cold voice. "Well, well, well, Quasimodo emerges from the bell tower."

It was the albino soldier standing over my table. He had a smirk on his face as he looked at me. I looked up at him with intimidation. "Who are you?"

"Call me Danko."

"Why are you here?"

"My partner has been playing nice with you, and it hasn't been very effective."

"I'm not coming with you. You might want to know an FBI agent is in this room, and if you try to take me–"

"I'm not here to take you. I'm just here with one piece of information to change your mind." He leaned down onto the counter so that he could look down on me, and he said, "We have your father."

"No! Papa!"

"That's right. We caught him just outside of Mayberry, but we just might release him if you turn yourself over as well as those in your custody."

"What are you doing to him?"

"That's for us to know and you to find out. I'll give you 24 hours to decide." And with that, he walked off.

I saw the hairless man in a booth adjacent to mine, and I mouthed to him, "Was he telling the truth?" I don't think he even noticed.

I played the scenario over and over again in my head. I flipped through all of Dr. Lightman's books, looking for some clue that could help me. One piece of advice he had was to look for a baseline. Have the person being interrogated answer simple questions that they will answer truthfully, such as what his/her name is or what color is the sky. Then when you ask the harder questions, if they display obvious changes in facial expressions, they were probably not being truthful. Well, the only simple question I asked him was his name, and he didn't even answer that directly. I don't think his expression ever changed.

I approached Wiki right as I came to the lab. "I need to talk to Rebel. Ask him if Michael Bonhomme is in the Nazis' custody!"

Wiki shook his head. "I don't know! I don't think so, but he is wanted!" That was all the explanation I got. I was just freaking out all day, worried about my Papa . . . until Peter pointed out that Mayberry was a fictional town from a television show.

Agent Dunham and I met Danko together and we told him that I refused to go with him because I discovered that he was lying. She did most of the talking, but at one point I yelled at him. "Why are you doing this? Why do you hate me?"

His answer chilled my bones. "'Cause you're not one of us. You're not normal. You don't belong."

That was just the beginning of my troubles.


"The agents still there?" he asked.

"No, I'm pretty sure you lost them. But just to be sure." That bratty passenger checked the RADAR. "Yeah, we're clear. Officially off the grid, no communication within 50 miles."

"You sound disappointed."

"Well, maybe I am. I mean, the way I see it, agent catch up to us we just," (he made an annoying explosion-like noise), "charbroil them from the inside out. So, what about your shape-shifting friend? Is he around?"

"Don't call him that."

"What?"

"I don't have any friends, and I don't want them."

"Dude, I was just being sarcastic."

"Even so."

"Well, is he following us?"

He sighed and looked around the horizon. "No, he's not here. Why, you wanna 'charbroil' him too?"

"No, I just wanted to make sure if the agents weren't following us that he wasn't either. And if you don't consider him your friend, why you get defensive at that thought?"

"Never mind! I told you, it's none of your business."

Then the kid started whining about how horrible parents are. He taught him a lesson about that. At that moment, though, he felt the tingle in his brain. He searched all around, and then something caught his eye. It wasn't a crow. It was a memory. He suddenly pulled over to an abandoned. The boy complained and asked if he felt the shapeshifter appear. He didn't answer. He didn't even want to acknowledge the boy was there, but the buzz in his brain never stopped the whole time.


Monsieur Broyles was not happy with me. "Another Pattern event occurred today, and we had to decline our investigation of it. Do you know why, Bonhomme?"

"Why?"

"Because our research lab was used for other purposes! I have told you, once you reveal this location to anyone–"

"Please don't fire me! Most of these people aren't verbal, or their verbal skills are very limited. They could never relate to anyone what goes on here!"

"That doesn't matter!"

"But I didn't invite them here! They were sent to me. Someone named Rebel's been sending them to me. Do you have any clue who he is?"

Broyles just crossed his arms. "Here's a better question: how does he know where you are?"

"I told you. He's been spying on us through the electronics!" Monsieur Broyles just looked more impatient. "Alright, it doesn't matter. I know how to communicate with Rebel, and I will tell him to stop."

"You better, because if one more person, autistic or not, just shows up out of nowhere and this Rebel is responsible, you're out of here."

This sounded very serious, so I rehearsed over and over again what I was going to say. I thought about contacting him through Wiki again, but eventually I decided this was so serious, I needed to say it to his face.


Hanami felt sad, and she didn't completely understand why because all of her friends were around her. Some of the new people scared her, like the doctor, but the woman with the black, curly hair and the woman with the long, yellow hair were nice. But there was someone there who wasn't her friend anymore. Every time she saw him, it made her feel sad.

Sometimes when she woke up, she had a black blanket on top of her that wasn't there when she went to sleep. That made her feel a little happy, though she didn't know who gave it to her.


In the morning, I saw him again, sitting alone in a booth, staring at me. "Excuse me," I told Peter, "I going to talk to Rebel."

I rose and nervously approached him, turning over in my head again what I was going to say, but almost before I could open my mouth, he said along with me, "This has got to stop!"

I was a little stunned for a moment, but then I remembered when people usually say the same thing you're saying at the same time, it was a form of mockery. So I got angry. And even though he continued to speak at the same time with him, I continued to talk. "Don't you understand what you're doing? I want to help, I do, but you are putting my job and my whole future at stake! I cannot allow you to bring anymore people to me. Please, why won't you end this? Why me?"

There was a moment of silence as I waited for his answer, but he only stared. And then he said, "Do you miss your mother?"

It was the most unexpected, unrelated question that could have ever been asked. It was completely ridiculous! I don't know why I answered, but I said, "No." I regretted saying that, so I timidly added, "I-I-I know that sounds terribly cruel, but . . . how can you miss someone you've never known?"

He blinked and cocked his head questioningly. Then he said, "Your life is hard and complicated. It is going to become harder and more complicated soon. I would offer you advice, but I am not supposed to get involved." Then, he stood and began to walk away. But then he turned and said, "I am not Rebel."

"Then who is?" I called after him, but he never turned back.

So I returned to the booth. Peter gave me an astonished look. "Looks like you just met the Observer."


"Look, the guy's a jerk, plain and simple!" the kid yelled at him. "I told you parents su–"

That was it. He threw a chair at him and whispered, "He killed my mother."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," that dumb kid replied sympathetically. But he had enough from this kid. He pressed him against, but even then the idiot proposed taking their trip up to Canada. He just didn't get it. So, he pushed harder.

"You used me for some joyride, an escape. I got news for you, kid, there is no escape. There is only pain! And you can never outrun it no matter what you do, no matter where you go!" And just to show his uninvited guest that he can be merciful, he let the boy fall. "Go home to your mother, Luke."

"You're not gonna kill me?"

"Seems a little on the nose." He turned away.

"Wait, where are you going?"

This kid just doesn't have a clue! He turned back and said, "To find my father, because now that I've seen the truth, I want him to die."

As he walked out, he made sure that the tingle was still there, and it was. So he turned around and said to nothing, "I know you're here. I don't know what form you're taking, but I know you're here. I know you've heard every word spoken here. Now, you know too. Everything I said to that boy, I'd say to your face if I could. Even if you did show yourself, if you materialized right here and now, it wouldn't make a bit of difference. You can't stop me. You can't change me! So just leave me alone! Do you hear me, Michael? LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAVE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ALOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!"

He fell to his knees, his fists clenched. And then, that annoying buzz, that tingle, was gone. He got up and looked around, but he didn't see anyone. Michael really did leave him alone.


The doctor put a strange hat on Hanami's head that made her itch and told her not to take it off. Then Gabriel came in with the lady with yellow hair and talked to him, and they all left very quick. That's when the person that made Hanami sad came to her. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Hanami looked down. "You don't like me anymore," she said in her head.

"Ah, come now, love. Where'd you get an idea like that?"

"I never see you."

"Nobody does," he laughed. "I'm invisible, remember?"

"But I don't dream about you either. You used to come whenever I dreamed. When I dreamed you, you dreamed me, and we played hide and seek, and you read me stories. And Uncle Hiro would come and tell me about Princess Yaeko and Takeiso Kensei. So would Mr. Petrelli. But they don't come anymore, no matter how hard I think about any of them. They don't like me anymore."

Mr. Rains sighed. "Stories?" he whispered. "I don't know any stories."

"You see?"

"Oh, I don't think it means that," he said louder. "It probably means you're growing up."

"Growing up?"

"Yeah. See, when you're a wee one, your imagination is very strong. You have a lot of dreams imaginary friends and go to Never-Never Land and all that. But when you get old, like me, your imaginations . . . fades. Then you start seeing the real world, which is nothing like the world in your dreams, and Never-Never Lands keeps disappearing. And then when you want to go back, you can't."

"I don't want that to happen! I don't want to grow up!"

"Well, nobody wants to, but it happens. Look, you were 6 when I met you, right? That was three years ago. So you have to be at least 8, probably 9."

"9 ½."

"See? You're almost a decade old. Your teenage years are right on your heels. You're not the same girl you were when I met you."

"But I like my imagination. That's where my magic is."

"Oh, your magic will always be there. It may show itself in a new way. And I guess it doesn't always happen. There are some grown ups that never lose their imaginations."

"Like who?"

"Well, poets, authors, directors, television writers, that doctor who was just here–his imagination's fantastic."

"He scares me."

"Yeah, he is a bit, isn't he? The point is, there could still be hope for you. Maybe you just need to keep trying."

"OK, I will."


"I want to show you something," Agent Dunham said. She pulled up a number of photos on her computer, all of which had crowds. She zoomed in on every picture to one man who had absolutely no hair.

"The same man?" I asked.

"Just like the one you saw."

"Are you sure it's not some kind of cult or secret order of men who shave off all their hair and . . .?"

"Well, there is more than one," Peter answered. "We found that out not too long ago. Still, these guys have a tendency to show up before some major events, most of which related to the Pattern."

"So why didn't you tell us that you've been seeing him?" Agent Dunham asked.

"I never thought much about it, I guess. He did give me the heeby-jeebies, and I may have entertained the thought that he could do . . . unusual things, but I always thought that he was . . ." I didn't want to say "normal" because I hate that word, but I couldn't think of another way to put it.

Dr. Bishop patted my arm. "I'm sure he meant you no harm, George."

"Gabe!"

"We call him the Observer because all he does is observe, as far as we can tell," Agent Dunham explained. "But the mere fact that he's here and he's singled you out means something big is coming, and you're going to be involved."

"He told me my life is about to get harder and more complicated. So he really meant that?"

"He wouldn't have said it if it were not so," Dr. Bishop said.

"What does that mean? They can't lie?"

"It means they don't really talk much at all," Peter said. "So if they say anything, it's usually important."

"He asked me if I missed my mother. What does that mean?"

They just stared at me for a moment.

"My mother is dead! I've never known her. I don't even remember her. What is he saying?"

"We're really the wrong people to ask," Agent Dunham answered. "There's very little we know about him."

"Then what should I do, ask him?"

"Good luck," Peter answered.

"I don't know if that will do any good. I was completely wrong about the Rebel thing."

"Never mind that," Dr. Bishop said. "You'll find him, all in due time."


That night, as Hanami was trying to go to sleep, she thought very hard about her Uncle Hiro. Usually at the first thought, he'd appear right beside her, but he didn't. And she thought about Mr. Petrelli and Mr. Rains, but they didn't come either. She was so sad. She tried to think of anyone else that she could imagine. She thought very, very hard.

And then, she saw a shape standing next to her. She dreamed someone here. But when he took form, it was the man she saw when she first came here, the man with the funny hat and no hair. A stranger! So Hanami sat up and cried.

"Why are you crying?" the man asked.

"Because I'm growing up! I'm losing my imaginations! I'm losing my magic!"

"No," he said softly. He got down low. "No, Hanami."

Hanami stopped crying and looked at him. "How do you know my name?"

"Your imagination is still very strong, and your powers blaze within your heart. Do you know how I know this?"

"Uh-uhh," Hanami shook her head.

"Because you dreamed me here, and I do not dream."

"You don't?"

"I have no imagination. I only know what I see."

"Who are you?"

"Call me July."

"Mr. July, is this what is going to happen?"

"Not to you. Do not be afraid, Hanami." He looked over toward the tank. "Gabriel is going to learn the truth about his mother very soon. It will not be easy. He is going to need your help. You will help him, will you Hanami?"

"Hai, of course."

"Very good. Tell no one you have seen me. To you, I am just a dream. Understood?"

Hanami nodded, and the man disappeared. Hanami was about to lie back down when she heard a noise. She turned around and saw herself still lying on the floor. Mr. Rains walked over to her, got down low, and put the black blanket around her. "There you go, nice and warm," he said softly. Then he got down to her face, kissed her head, and whispered, "Stay innocent, love. Never grow up."

That made Hanami happy. Mr. Rains didn't like her anymore. He loved her.


His mind was still fuming after the very unproductive visit with his father. He felt angry, disappointed, and maybe just a little sad. One thing above all, though, was that he didn't want to be bothered. But then, he felt that buzz in his brain. He knew he was not alone.

He did just as he always had done, looked around at the trees, the birds, the animals, and everything, trying to get his extra sense to give him some clue, but it didn't. He thought about screaming again, "Leave me alone!" but what good would that do? He won't leave him alone. He never will.

It made him think about someone else who refused to leave him alone, and he had an idea. Maybe this was the only way to get him to show his face. He sat down against a tree and reached into his back pocket. It was still there, his gift. Sometimes he wished he threw it away, but it was always there, sorta like that song about the cat who wouldn't leave a guy alone. Sorta like . . .

He opened the Bible to his favorite passage. The words didn't look familiar. "What version is this?" he wondered. He turned back to the title page. "King James? Doesn't look like it." Then he remembered. Of course, this must be in French. He forgotten he had that ability.

So he turned back and he read aloud, "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to Heaven, You are there. If I make my bed in the grave, behold, You are there. If I fly on the wings of the morning, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Your hand will lead me and Your right hand will . . . will . . . grab me. If I say, 'Surely the darkness will overwhelm me and the light around me will be night,' even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You."

The sadness that was in him suddenly grew as he read these words, and without really understanding why, he started to weep. It started as a few sobs, just to get the tears out of his eyes blurring his vision, but then he was bawling like a baby. He dropped the Bible as he lifted his hands to dry his eyes. He curled up in a ball and continued to cry, just relieved that Peter or Bennet or nobody else but the Person he was reading about could see him.

But he forgot, he wasn't alone. Suddenly, he was there standing over him. His picked up his Bible and read aloud, "For You did form my insides. You did weave me in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

And Michael looked at me.

To be continued . . .