Author's Note: I know, I know – please don't be mad! Blame the delay in updates on a hectic real life that left me no opportunity to write. But I'm back now, so I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 7

Spinning himself around and around, Scott tried to completely disorient himself. When he stopped spinning, he stood in the middle of the room, taking a moment to let the dizziness pass. He was very still, letting his surroundings speak to him. His side felt warm, which told him the window was to his left – that meant he was facing the right way. He listened to the noises around him, and when he was satisfied, he set off with a smug smile.

Piece of cake, he thought to himself.

Fifteen steps to the door. He stopped, then turned left. Twenty-nine steps down the hall to the top of the stairs. Reaching out confidently, he grasped the handrail and counted the eight steps to the landing, then the 12 down to the main floor.

"At it again, Scott?" one of the staff called as Scott passed by the reception desk. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Yup. Gotta beat Tim's time."

Forty-two steps down the corridor to the common room. Seventy-seven steps across the common room to the back door. He opened the door and the hot late-August air hit him in the face like a physical blow. He cringed, hating the sticky humidity that made him feel permanently damp. Thirty-four steps to the massive oak tree on the far side of the yard.

"Done!" Scott announced triumphantly, ripping the blindfold off his eyes. He blinked in the bright sunlight and looked over at Tim. A third boy, Roger, held a stop-watch and grinned up at Scott.

"Tim still holds the record – by 1.72 seconds."

"Ha! Told ya! Can't beat the blind boy at finding your way through the house blindfolded," Tim crowed.

"I'll beat you, Tim. I'm gonna destroy your record," Scott paused and clenched his eyes tightly shut as the first stabbing pain of a migraine suddenly lanced through his head.

"Scott? You ok?" Tim asked, deducing from Scott's sudden silence what was happening.

Leaning against the tree, Scott fought against the pain; he hated to give in to it, and had been known to hide – for hours – the fact that he was in agony. During Scott's first year and a half at Essex House, the headaches had been only a mild nuisance, a couple of days off school every month or two. But for the past six months, the migraines had increased not only in frequency, but in severity. At the age of 13, Scott Summers spent nearly half of every month incapacitated by migraines and fuzzy-headed from pain medication.

"Scott?" Tim prodded, as he walked over to his friend and reached out a tentative hand. He connected with Scott's upper arm, and gripped it gently. "You flaking out on us again?" he tried to joke.

"Uh –" was all that Scott managed before Tim felt the arm drop from his grip as Scott collapsed.

"Roger, go get help," Tim ordered as he gingerly lowered himself to the ground beside Scott.

"Ellen! Ellen, Mark, anybody," Roger hollered as he ran back to the house. "Help!"

By the time Roger returned with the adults, Scott was curled up in the fetal position, gripping his head and moaning softly.

"What happened?" Ellen asked as she dropped to her knees beside the fallen boy.

"We were just playing, and he was fine. Then all of a sudden he was gone," Tim explained.

Andrew, one of the newest staff members, stood above them, watching with curiosity. "What's wrong with him?"

"Short answer: migraine. Go to the med kit and get a shot of morphine for him," Ellen ordered, gently brushing Scott's sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. "You'll be ok, sweetie, I promise. The medicine's coming, and the pain will go away."

"Morphine? Isn't that kind of drastic for a headache?" Andrew asked, not moving.

"Not in this case. Go!"

Andrew trotted to the house, returning a few minutes later with a syringe and a small bottle of medication. Ellen snatched them from his hand, shooting him a dirty look for dawdling. She quickly injected Scott with the medicine, speaking in soft, soothing tones.

"We need to get him into bed so he can sleep this off. Andrew, bring him inside please," Ellen instructed as she got to her feet.

Andrew looked at her dumbly.

"Pick him up and carry him," Ellen told him through clenched teeth.

"He's too tall – I won't be able to carry him," Andrew whined in protest.

"He's tall but skinny as a rail – I could probably carry him. Bring him inside now." By the time Scott was settled into his bed, the pain was fading away and was being replaced by an irresistible need to sleep. Scott cracked open one eye to look at Ellen as she fussed over him, but the sun shining through the window forced him to close it again quickly with a very faint groan. Faint though it had been, Ellen heard it and immediately drew the curtains.

By the time she turned back to him, his breathing had turned even, indicating that he'd fallen asleep. She sighed and sat on the bed beside his, watching him for a moment. In the two years he'd been at Essex House, he'd endeared himself to the staff. He was quiet and a bit shy, overly responsible, and always looking out for the younger children. If something needed to be done, they always asked Scott – he took control and made sure the others pitched in. He was bright and quick to learn, and Ellen often found herself wondering just what side effects his brain injury could have caused – other than the headaches, he appeared perfectly normal.

But the "brain damage" label in Scott's file had scared away all foster families or potential adoptive families. And now that he was a teenager, just about all hope of Scott ever finding a loving family to take care of him had all but vanished. Families rarely wanted children over the age of 9, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd placed a teenager, let alone a teenager with special needs.

At least he'd found a friend in Tim, the only child who had been at Essex House longer that Scott.

Sighing sadly, Ellen rose from the bed and glanced once more at the sleeping boy before leaving to let the medication work its magic.

All he could see was fire. The plane's engine was shooting bright orange flame, casting a reddish hue over the inside of the plane's cabin. The reflected glow made it appear that the inside of the plane was actually ablaze.

Scott looked around, frantically trying to find Alex and his parents. Everything looked red. He ran up to the cockpit, but no-one was at the controls. His family was gone, and no-one was flying the plane. He'd been left alone in the plane as it fell from the sky, out of control. Scott could see the red and black ground getting closer and closer through the cockpit windshield, but could do nothing more than watch, helpless, as the plane plummeted towards the ground.

He could feel the scream of terror building inside him, a great pressure in his chest and head as he could do no more than be carried downwards. The pressure building and building, moving upward from his belly and chest until it felt like his head would explode. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact, but the pressure in his head, the need to scream, the need for release, was impossible to ignore. He had to do something, and he didn't know what.

The plane continued to fall towards the earth, and Scott finally opened his eyes –

Scott jolted awake, and for a moment he thought he was still locked in his dream. Everything around him appeared to be washed in red. He shut his eyes tightly to clear his vision, and opened them again – and the room looked completely normal. No red.

Must be the drugs, Scott thought idly before falling asleep again.

Some hours later Scott woke again, his head feeling like it was going to burst open at any second. The silence, save for the sounds of his room mates' breathing, told him that it was still night. He lay completely still, afraid that any movement, no matter how slight, would send bolts of pain from his brain down through his entire body.

The throbbing in his head grew, the pressure increasing behind his eyes, to the point where tears were streaming down Scott's cheeks. He'd never had a migraine like this before; the severity of the pain was like nothing he'd ever experienced. He was beginning to seriously consider the possibility that he was going to die; that this time the pain was simply a symptom of something much more serious. A sudden flash of pain, more intense than any of the others, caused his whole body to tense, and with a shout his eyes flew open.

Everything he saw was red.

The pressure increased, pushing against his skull, behind his eyes and above the base of his nose. It was like something was trying to break free, and the only way out was through the front of his head.

Suddenly and with a deafening roar, a hole appeared above Scott's head, plaster and concrete and wood raining down on him, showering the beds around in the room. People were screaming, confused, knowing only that something horrible was happening and that they were in danger. Scott looked around the room, and the walls seemed to crumble around him. He swiveled his head towards the window, and it exploded outward in a tinkle of shattering glass. Scott watched in amazement as the tree beyond the window was blasted to splinters.

All around him, people were shouting and running; the staff were trying to evacuate the building. He could hear Ellen in the hallway, screaming at everyone to keep down close to the ground, to keep their heads covered to protect themselves from falling debris.

Scott's traumatized brain was frantically trying to piece together what was happening. Whatever you see, whatever you look at, is pulverized. Not a coincidence! You're causing it! Close your eyes, it's your eyes, idiot, close your eyes before you kill someone!

Scott snapped his eyes shut and the sounds of destruction stopped almost instantly. The screaming and shouting, however, continued. He could hear the staff trying to usher the children from the building, taking head counts along the way.

Someone came into Scott's room - Ellen again, from the sounds of it - and herded the boys out the door and down the stairs. Scott hung back, trying to disappear, knowing that this was all his fault.

"Scott, are you ok?" a voice, Ellen, called, running over to him. "Come on, sweetie, we've got to get you out of here." She draped his arm over her shoulders and wrapped her own around his waist before hefting him to his feet. "One foot in front of the other, Scott, you can do it," she murmured reassuringly as she led him out of the room.

When they were finally outside, Ellen sat him down by a tree, telling Scott that she'd be back soon. It was choas outside, children weeping and shouting, sirens growing louder as the firetrucks came blaring down the street. Scott waited a few minutes at the base of the tree, staying as far away from everyone else as possible. Listening to the tragedy that he'd caused, he realized what he had to do. He needed to leave, he needed to get away before he hurt anyone else.

And so in the confusion, Scott Summers slipped away from the crowd of children and disappeared into the darkness of a nearby alley. Eyes still tightly shut, his hand on the wall to guide his steps, he slowly made his way through the unfamiliar terrain.

He walked for a long time, though for how long he didn't know. The sirens had faded into the distance, so Scott figured that he was now far enough away from Essex House that he wouldn't be discovered. He entered another alley and found a dry corner where he could spend the rest of the night. Curling up, legs drawn up tight against his chest and head resting on his knees, Scott waited for the morning to come, hoping that it would literally and figuratively shed some light on his situation.

The warmth of the morning sun woke him before the sound of the traffic. Confused, Scott lifted his head and opened his eyes. As he took in the brick walls around him, the events of the previous night came back to him and he snapped his eyes shut again.

Wait a minute, Scott thought in sudden realization, opening one eye slightly. Nothing happened. No red, no walls crumbling, nothing at all unusual. He sighed in relief, but the relief was short-lived. What if it happens again? He realized that he couldn't go back to Essex House, he wouldn't risk it.

Scott was suddenly more afraid than he'd been since the moments before he and Alex jumped from the plane. He had nowhere to go, and no-one he could call for help. He was completely on his own.

~~

Coming Soon, Chapter 8

I'm going into feedback withdrawal!