Sixteen.

Jonathan came in as the sun slipped below the horizon. "Martha," he called into the house.

"In here," was the hushed reply from the living room.

Walking over, he was greeted by his half-smiling wife sitting on the sofa. Their nearly grown son was asleep, covered in a quilt, head pillowed in her lap.

"Jonathan, I am afraid for him," she blurted, her eyes tearing.

"What happened?" Jonathan sat in the armchair beside her.

"When you left he just jumped up and started yelling, he wouldn't talk to me. Then I was out front and heard him screaming in the back yard…" her voice quivered. "I didn't know what to do. I got him in here and we started looking through the photo albums. I was telling him stories from when he was little. He calmed down and fell asleep…" she trailed off, brushing Clark's hair off his forehead.

"You did good then, Martha. With what he has been through, he needs to feel safe again," Jonathan tried to reassure her. He rubbed her arm, kissed her on the top of the head. "That doctor is supposed to be out tomorrow. We just have to make sure we tell him about all this."

Jonathan came around to the front of the couch. "Come on, son. Let's get you up to bed," he called, patting Clark's shoulder. The boy sat up, still half asleep. Jonathan pulled him to his feet and got him up to bed.

By the time Martha and Jonathan headed to bed it was nearly ten thirty. Peeking in on their son, they saw him belly down, half uncovered.

Martha whispered to Jonathan, "This is going to take time, isn't it." Statement, not question.

Jonathan sighed, "He's a strong kid, Martha. We just have to be strong, too."

She walked softly over to her son's bed, tugged the covers over him. Leaning down, she kissed his head, smoothed his hair, then she and Jonathan went to bed.

The morning came with the cock crow. Still disconcerted about the previous day, Martha didn't sleep well and was out of bed with Jonathan. After their coffee together, he went to start the morning chores, while she made breakfast.

Clark came down just as the bacon finished and plopped down on the barstool. "Morning, Mom," he said quietly, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful quiet that blanketed the house.

Martha smiled at her son with his hair in all directions and his sleepy face. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

Clark looked directly at his mother. "I had a dream…"

She dished his plate as she waited patiently for him to finish.

"I was in the loft," eyes distant "someone was up there with me…" looking at the tabletop "but I didn't know who it was…his face was just a dark blur…he tried to take me away…but you and Dad came up…" turned to face her "and he ran away…"

Martha walked behind her son. Putting her arms around his shoulders, she kissed the top of his head. "I love you, Clark."

Clark's eyes closed, leaning his head against his mother's.

"Hey, did you save some for me?" came a voice from the door.

Martha kissed the top of her son's head again, then went to fix Jonathan's plate.

"So when can he go back to school? He has missed so much already," Martha asked Dr James.

The doctor sat on the porch with Jonathan and Martha while Clark shot hoops by the barn. Dr James had come out after lunch and walked the farm with Clark for nearly four hours.

"Clark and I spoke extensively on our little stroll. He experienced something that I have only seen with prisoner's of war. He needs time and routine. He needs his identity reinforced. His security has been compromised, it needs to be reestablished. If he doesn't exhibit signs of aggression or extreme depression, I don't see why he can't start back next week."

Martha clasped Jonathan's hand, smiling, which he returned with a pat on hers.

"Clark, Dr James left," Jonathan said climbing the stairs to the loft. The sun was low in the sky shining through the big window.

Clark looked up from the notebook in which he was writing. He had tired of b-ball and everyone watching him as if he were unaware, so he hid up in the loft.

"What are you writing?"

Clark looked at his notebook then back to his father. "Dr James said I should write…when I'm upset or scared or whatever…" shrug.

"Oh." Uncomfortable silence. "Clark, you know you can talk to me about anything."

"I know, Dad…I guess…" looking anywhere but at his father "I'm afraid that if you know what I've seen…things will be different…you'd look at me and not see me but remember what I told and…things would be different…" shrug.

"Clark, I love you, son…no matter what." voice caught "I'll be here when you need me." He moved to go back down the stairs, turned back a few rungs down, "Pete called wanting to bringing Chloe over to see you. We told them maybe in a few days."

Clark nodded to his dad but his insides twisted with anxiety.