a
Light
They had kept Francis indoors, the first day that they let him out of the box. It wasn't so much that his parents had been afraid of what he might do, should they let him outside, around people beyond his family members, whom he had grown familiar with; they knew that any children, for the first couple of months when let out of the box, would be carefully monitored by the parents and older children of the family, not allowed to run unchecked among outsiders, not because he would not be able to keep control of himself, but just in case he did become overly stimulated. The way to transition children from the box to assimilating with the outside world, they all understood, was to expose them gradually, first allowing them to live in the rest of the house with their family, then to take them out to play in the yard and for short trips around the neighborhood. Eventually the child could be trusted to go to stores or brief expeditions around town, and at some point, the child could finally be allowed to go to school, having proven he had enough self-control to be reasonably secure to do so. With some people, like the twins, it wasn't so much a lack of self-control as a lack of caring for the consequences of their actions, at times, that got them in trouble, and children with those tendencies might have to be monitored much longer and more carefully than others.
Francis had been allowed out of the box earlier than David had by a year, and several years earlier than the twins had, due to his quieter, less aggressive nature, but nevertheless, their parents had still followed with him a similar protocol as his older siblings. Only through steps and stages had he been allowed to join the outside world, to encounter other people and then children his own age, and he felt, looking back, that their careful method had been the right decision for him, had probably saved him a considerable amount of trouble.
But with Lenny, their parents were long deceased, and the possibility of a slow, gentle easing him into life with outsiders was no longer a possibility. With four bodies to their credit, three of them located within their own home, they had to relocate immediately, and the easiest way to do it, the only way to manage without stirring up considerably more attention than was needed, was to let Lenny out of the box. To skip past all the easing in and monitoring, the making certain of his self-control, and simply walk out the front door with his hands in David's and Darlene's, in front of any person who might pass him by, whether he was ready or not.
And this was exactly what they did.
They had anticipated that he would be dazed by the sight of cars, despite having seen them on his TV, that he would stare at other humans until they grew uncomfortable and looked away. What they hadn't expected was for Lenny to stand, pale, open-mouthed, and blinking frequently as he looked up towards the sun with something between shock and wonder. Pointing his stubby finger towards the sky, he had tugged on Darlene's shirt hem with the other, asking her, "How did the light get up so high? Who put it up there?"
And Darlene had laughed, kneeling down in front of him and smoothing back his hair affectionately as she smiled at him, lowering his hand.
"Nobody put it up there, baby. That's called the sun."