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Chapter 4
The next morning, Brendan woke to darkness. The Vegas-quality blackout curtains would ensure guests sleeping late. Nice going, Mom. As he rose out of bed, he realized the dizziness was gone. In fact, I feel pretty good! Padding over to the bathroom, Brendan took a very long shower. After a good shave, and a bit of pampering, he exited the steamy room into bright sunshine. Someone had been in his room. The curtains were thrown open and on the bed was a small tray with a slice of toast and a tall glass of orange juice. A smile curved his lips as he spotted the note card.
There's more where this came from. Go now, or Martha will find you. Be back soon. The Judge.
Taking a bite of toast, Brendan rummaged through the chest of drawers and closet for something comfortable to wear. He tromped down the stairs with the glass of juice in hand. The tile floors were cool beneath his bare feet, making him wish he wore slippers. Entering the very bright and very cheery kitchen, he snagged a piece of bacon off the platter on the counter.
Martha and Andrew Carswell were chatting at the sink, coffee mugs in hand. "Well," Martha said, "It's about time you woke up. You hungry? I'll make you something."
"I think that's all we're allowed to do," Andrew winked. "Your mother left strict instructions."
Brendan chuckled. "I'll bet she did." He flopped onto a stool, and munched on the rest of his bacon strip.
"Anything you want in particular? The Judge went a bit overboard stocking the kitchen." Martha leaned down to Brendan's eye level, elbows on the counter. "What'll it be, kiddo?"
"I think I'll stick to oatmeal and toast for now," Brendan replied thickly. Bacon probably wasn't the best idea right now, but it sure was good. "You know how I like it."
Martha swatted him on the shoulder. "All that sugar and butter, it's a wonder it still tastes like oatmeal."
Grinning happily, Brendan hopped off the stool and headed over to the sun-drenched nook with more orange juice. After staring outside at the grounds, he blinked away the afterimages and spotted the stack of newspapers on the next chair. His mother subscribed to nearly every paper in New York, and probably never read them. The front page of every paper was about the senator's daughter. His stomach turned at the images that popped into his head; Brendan threw down the paper he held without realizing it.
"Hey, Martha. Would you mind bringing that to my room? I'm... I think I wore myself out this morning."
She smiled apologetically; she saw the newspaper sliding to the floor. "Of course, sweetie. But I expect to find you tucked up in bed, not pacing like a caged lion." Martha held up a hand to stall his excuses. "Just because you haven't lived here for a number of years doesn't mean I don't remember your habits."
"But –"
"Son, I don't think you're getting out of this one," Carswell shook his head, and placed a hand on Brendan's shoulder. The younger man tried not to flinch; Andrew felt the stiffened joint and the watchful eye.
"Doesn't look like it." It was Brendan's turn to be apologetic. He smiled and headed for the stairs. By the time he reached his room, he felt worn out. Eying the bed dubiously, Brendan paced in front of a sunny window. Oh my God. She's right. He shrugged. Old habits die hard. Crossing his arms, he stared out at the grounds again. His father came into view, and Carswell walked quickly to meet him.
Brendan watched curiously as the men had a brief conversation. Robert nodded and put his hands in his pockets. Stepping around the caretaker, he stared at his shoes dejectedly as he walked towards the house. Then he stopped suddenly, and turned his head unerringly to Brendan's window. Brendan took a step back automatically; years of surveillance had taught him that. He didn't see me, did he? There's no way... Never mind.
He heard shuffling in the hall through his open door. Brendan ran from the window to the bed and jumped under the covers. Martha entered the bedroom with a larger tray, loaded down with his late breakfast, and a cheerful flower. She squinted her eyes at him; of course she heard him run and jump into bed.
Brendan gave her the look of pure innocence, and she laughed loudly. "Once a brat, always a brat. Eat your oatmeal." Martha bent down and kissed his forehead. She fussed at his blankets a moment more, then left the room.
"Still giving her trouble, I see." Robert leaned on the doorjamb, hands still in pockets. "Mind if I join you?"
"Nope. Come on in." Brendan took a tentative taste of his oatmeal, then smiled. "Perfect."
He and his father talked about their jobs, Paget, change, and anything that sprang to mind except the two subjects neither wanted to broach. Halfway through breakfast, Brendan's eyelids started drooping. Robert looked up from his hands to watch his son closely, opening his mind to receive emotions. :warmth/happiness/concern: drifted over him as he focused on the sleepy young man before him.
Taking a deep breath, Robert decided it was time to tell his son. "Brendan, you know when you were rescued," he began, unable to quite find the right words. "What do you remember?"
Brendan wearily shrugged. :apprehension/suspicion/confusion: "Honestly, I only remember a sign for the subway, being cold, and the smell of pastrami – What?"
Robert shook his head. "Not this time, son. When you were... younger."
:fear/suspicion/anxious: "Why do you want to know?" He said quietly, exhaustion abating as he stared straight into his father's eyes.
"Just... humor me." Damn those eyes! The only thing I wish he didn't inherit from his mother! The cold stare and the impassive expression made it slightly difficult to read, but Robert concentrated on the emotions behind the mask. Just when he got over his initial headache, Robert plunged into another, this one worse than the last.
:fear/relief/frustration: "I don't remember much other than you lifting me out of the trunk. And your hands were really warm." Brendan let his eyes drift over the comforter, then he snapped them back to his father. "Felt like I slept for a week after that." He could still feel the man's phantom hands around his arms, searing his flesh with their heat.
"Anything else?"
:suspicion/apprehension/weariness: Brendan shrugged again, placing the tray on the left side of the bed. Leaning back against the pillows he closed his eyes. Robert wondered if his son fell asleep; he was so pale and worn down, it wouldn't surprise him.
"Your voice."
Robert straightened in his chair; Brendan seemed to be organizing his thoughts. The empath tried not to voice any other concerns, and willed himself to stay still.
"You taught me about using rooms and doors to shut out the bad memories. Only I had the key to open them, and no one could get at them but me. I remember this because we built it from the ground up." Brendan opened his eyes, pinning his father with weary resignation. "You read a do-it-yourself book to me."
Now that surprised Robert greatly. He was sure his son would never remember half the things they more or less discussed. The empath wasn't sure where to go from there. "Yeah, I did. You asked me how to build a sturdy room. I tried to tell you to imagine rooms, but it wasn't working. So I used a book."
:love/relief/weariness: Brendan blinked sleepily. "Smart."
"Oh, no! You're the smart one. Grandpa Nolan gave me the book; he said you would make better use of it than he. I didn't understand then. Not until you finally woke up." Robert shook his head incredulously. "Who knew that crazy old man was right."
"Not that crazy. Mean. Stubborn. Stingy. Intolerant. But not crazy." Brendan's eyes softened as he remembered his grandfather. "Well, a little crazy."
Robert smiled, feeling the relief and love wash over him. Then it closed like a steel trap; he snapped to attention. Brendan was looking over his shoulder. Robert twisted around and saw Paget standing at the door.
"Everything all right?" She asked, hovering at the entrance. :apprehension/worry/suspicion:
"Just talking. Are you leaving now?" Robert grew suspicious; he got the feeling his former wife didn't want their son to know certain things.
Still not entering the room, Paget uncharacteristically shuffled her feet. "Yes. I'll... I'll be back by lunch." She disappeared from view without a good bye.
"That was weird," Brendan commented. He yawned greatly, sinking into the pillows. "Wonder why she's nervous."
For the first time, Robert looked away. "Your mother and I agreed we wouldn't tell you."
Brendan blinked awake. Great, two people acting weird. Well, weirder. "Quit with the suspense, Dad. I think I'm old enough to handle whatever it is you want to tell me."
His father sighed, not exactly sure why they kept this from their son for so long. Didn't mean to; it just happened that way. "I didn't know my hands got warmer when I projected." Glancing away, he smiled reflectively, until a zig zag of distress cut through everything. Looking back at his son, Robert saw Brendan wearing that indifferent mask. But underneath it all was clearly anxiety. The empath grabbed Brendan's hand before he could snatch it away. "What I'm trying to say is –"
"You're an empath, right?" :love/concern/relief: Brendan bobbed his head quickly. "I had a feeling, but I wasn't sure until I got locked in my own head recently. To be honest," he smiled as he squeezed his father's hand, "I thought you were gonna say something else."
Robert laughed out loud. "What? Like, you're adopted? You had a tail? Or you're a mutant?"
"Well, I am a mutant, right? No one should be able to remember the things I can." A jaw-cracking yawn interrupted his next thought.
"Look, son. We'll talk more about this later. Get some sleep, okay?"
"'kay. Hey, Dad? Glad ya told me."
The empath shrugged. "Thirty years too late, but who's counting?"
"Mom," Brendan replied as his eyes drifted close.
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When Brendan woke again, the sun was on the other side of the room. Glancing at the clock, he snatched his phone off the night stand. "Hey, Freya. How's it going?"
"Do you really want to know?" she deadpanned. "Feel better?"
"Sorta. Still really tired."
"Yeah, it'll be like that for another day or so. Two, tops"
"How do you know?"
"Michael told me. He would know, right? I've caught him twice sleeping at his desk. Harper finally told him to take today off."
Brendan smiled. He could almost hear the director's voice calmly suggesting the doctor go home. Was it possible to miss the office after nearly a week? "He probably needed it more than me. Hey," Brendan sat up in bed with an idea. "You got your license yet?"
"Tuesday. Why? 'Cause I'm not coming to spring you."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Just making conversation." He flopped back down to the pillows.
"Yeah, right. Can't be that bad. Is it?"
Brendan sighed. "My dad showed up. I have a feeling Judge Dean was a bit overwhelmed." He plucked at the lacy comforter.
"Your dad? He came to see you? That's good right?"
"I guess. At least he helped me realize some things about the first time I was... taken. Closure, or something." He wasn't sure he wanted to go into the whole empath thing. Of course, Freya was the one person who would understand everything.
Freya remained silent a moment. "You're thinking it's why they broke up. Wasn't your fault, you know."
"I know. For once, I know it wasn't my fault. I just – I think I just want to go home and –"
"Pretend none of this happened? Brendan," Freya sighed. Movement sounded through the line; she was going somewhere private, Brendan surmised. "I want to pretend none of this happened too. Then and now. Since I couldn't get the whole number off that van, I feel responsible. Can't change that."
Brendan grimaced. He knew he was whining, but when she said it like that it put things in perspective. "Don't even go there, okay? Who knew they were looking for me anyway? And that van was stolen. We can't change what happened, I get that." He sighed covering his eyes with a shaky hand. "God. I'm gonna have to corner my mother."
Freya laughed. "Yeah, you are. What is it with you two? The two of you are too much alike with that whole guilt thing."
"Nah. We're beautiful, winsome creatures who beguile all they meet."
"I'm hanging up."
"You know I'm right." Brendan pulled up the covers; he could easily fall back asleep. It's cold in here with all those windows! "Sure you don't wanna come visit? Last chance for the grand tour."
"What?"
"The Judge is selling the place. I have to agree with her. No one lives here but the caretakers. The occasional party doesn't account for keeping it."
"I'm sorry. I know you spent most of your life there." Freya cleared her throat theatrically. "How does that make you feel?"
"Honestly, a little relieved. Maybe even a little lost."
His partner seemed a bit stunned at the truthful answer. "One small step for Brendan Dean."
"You have no idea." Yawning, he snuggled down again, glancing out the window. "Come ooonnnn! Come see me. I'll take you to the garden maze. We can get lost since it's so overgrown. Stare out at the thawing cove, climb my favorite tree. I fell out of that tree six times, I'll have you know."
"Yeah? How many times your parents know about?" Freya teased. "Never mind! Don't answer that."
"Come for breakfast. Martha makes the best oatmeal."
"I don't think it's nutritional after a cup of sugar and a stick of butter, Brendan."
"Says you. Hey, you should bring Michael. He can debate with my mother. Keep her occupied while we escape. There's three secret passageways in this house. We could –"
"All right! All right! I'll come. Jeez!"
"Ha! I knew you would!"
"Anyone ever tell you you're a brat? A mouthy, nagging brat."
"All the time. Don't forget cute."
"Arrrgghh! Now I'm really hanging up."
Brendan couldn't keep the smile from his voice. "See you tomorrow."
"Fine. Bye. Take a nap!"
Closing his phone, he felt better than he had in a long time. Pulling the covers tighter around his body, Brendan fell asleep for the second time in a day.
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Music filtered through his dreams as Robert Dean groggily searched for the source. "H-hello?"
"Hey, Jacks. How do you feel?"
He scrubbed a hand across his face. "I must've fallen asleep. Sorry."
"It's okay, sweet – Robert. Headache?"
Robert smiled at her slip. "Yeah, Pug. A doozy. It's better now after my little nap." He untangled the blanket from his legs. "What's up?"
"I'm almost home," she replied quietly. "Did you... talk?"
"Yes, we did. Funny thing," Robert mused, carding a hand through his hair. "He already suspected."
"Really? I suppose he would. Smart kid we've got, Jacks." The engine of her car switched off; Paget was home. "Meet me in the parlor."
"All right," Robert drawled. "But only if you call me sweetie again."
For the first time since he arrived, Paget Dean laughed the laugh that made him marry her.
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TBC
Okay. Wow. This has taken off in a direction I never thought it would go. See what happens when I don't write it out first? LOL One more chapter to go.