For the reviewer who asked, yes there will be a third book.

Um, the only reason the updates have been slow is because I'm lazy, sleep in until noon, and procrastinate a lot.

Updates are no different.

November 15th 2013

Christine's Pov

Rainy Sundays were my favorite things in the world. I don't know what it was, but something about flashing lightning and the loud boom of distance thunder fascinated me.

Plus, I was in a fantastic mood. My dad was back, feeling better than ever after a few days of much needed rest. And that wasn't even the best part—the play was a huge success! Being out on stage, completely stepping into someone else's shoes and taking on a whole new persona, thrilled me.

Of course there was still the threat of James and my mother's disappearing act hanging over my head, and the fact that we were now clueless on what to do with this information, but waking up that morning and starting down stairs, smelling bacon and eggs, I was in too good a mood to care.

"Well, aren't you in a happy mood today," Rem observed, catching on to my emotions as soon as I came down the stairs, "any reason why?"

I shrugged, reaching up to scratch at my bun, my gather hair about to flop in my face. "Just a good day I guess. Plus, I smelt bacon. Every day is a good day with bacon."

She couldn't agree with me on that, so Rem just tossed some strips of meat onto my plate and slid some scrambled eggs next to them. I salted them, nodding in thanks as she poured me a glass of chocolate milk.

Because dad was back home, Rem's sugar rush ended. I loved pancakes and snicker doodles as much as the next person, but a girl could only take so much before the taste was permanently etched into her mouth.

It just felt right to see dad sitting at the table, his steaming coffee in his favorite mug next to his elbow as he read the paper, just this close to spilling all over his clothes.

While dad didn't sulk around flannel pajama pants and robe anymore, you could still tell that he was sad if you looked close enough, and knew how to look. I could tell because his jaw was tightly set, and the tiny vein above his left eyebrow twitched from time to time.

I couldn't complain, because he was home and not stuck in some stuffy hospital with moronic doctors getting on my last nerve. Because seriously, my boyfriend could diagnosis my father better than him, bionics or not!

Just as I was about to stuff another piece of bacon in my mouth with a forkful of eggs, the doorbell rang. That action in itself was unusual because all the people we know knocked or called first, or in my friends case, tapped the door, said their name, and then came in. The doorbell was what we considered a useless decoration that came with the house.

"Something's using the doorbell," dad said, raising his coffee mug to his mouth, "that's never a good sign."

I rolled my eyes, getting up and starting over to the door. Being cautious, I stood on my tiptoes and looked through the peephole. I couldn't make out much due to the person standing so closely to the door, but I could make out the top of a Red Wings cap and some escaping curls of brown hair.

A short guy in a cap on our doorstep at nine in the morning—everything about that sentence screamed that something shady was going on. But, like the idiot I am, I grabbed the nearest, heaviest object—a walking stick dad never used and Rem and I thought was hideous—and projected it above my head like a javelin, then threw the door open.

Oh great, I thought drily, meeting big brown eyes under messy locks and that worn cap, I'm trying to defend myself against a middle schooler.

"Uhm…" I started unsurely, looking down at him, "hello? Are you lost?"

The kid looked up at me, tearing his cap off and shaking out his hair. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said professionally, taking me by surprise, "I'm Bradley Allan. And you are Christine?"

Dumbly, I nodded my head.

He smiled politely, sticking out his hand. "Hello, I'm your brother."

There's a lot of things a ten-year-old randomly appearing on your doorstep could tell you. Like, for instance, he got lost and wanted to use the phone; he was running away from a creepy truck that had been following him for several blocks; he needed to alert 911 of an emergency.

But a ten-year-old appearing at my door and claiming to be my long-lost brother that I didn't know existed wasn't on that list.

"Okay, so…what?" I asked near hysteria as I paced frantically in front of the couch where Bradley calmly sat, drinking a glass of chocolate milk Rem had brought out for him.

"Our mother, Maria, is being held by James," he explained, "and his accomplices are making sure she stays that way. And I need your help to get her free."

"Wait, how are we here talking? Wouldn't they have held you captive too?"

He shrugged, his bony shoulders rising and falling noncommittally. "I'm ten. I'm pretty sure they didn't expect for me to have many brains."

Truth be told, neither did I. For a kid who was claiming to have seen our mother trapped, and would have had to be with her when she was captured, his education was showing quite brightly. He was like a miniature Chase, if not how he was when he was this age. Who said I had to believe him? This kid could very well be one off the streets, looking for some food and shelter for a bit, making up some names and excuses. Just because he was saying the right things could be a coincidence, right?

"Listen, kid," I started, giving him a pointed look as he wiped away a chocolate mustache, "how am I supposed to believe you? You could be an orphan kid off the streets for all I know!"

This Bradley kid shrugged again, looking indifferent as he wiggled a phone out of his pocket. "I believe these will change your mind," he said simply, tossing it to me.

I caught it single-handedly, looking at the sleek rectangle in my hand. For a moment, I let myself be envious. While I too had a smart phone, I had a cheap one with dents from dropping it all the time and a keyboard that didn't slide out.

Bradley's was obviously a newer version, the entire face a screen with no real keyboard except for one that popped up when you needed to type something. That wasn't fair, he's only ten but had better technology usage than I did?

Then I took notice of the picture on the screen. It was blurred, as if taken in a rush, but I could make out the lab-like features with the wall entirely made of screens with a control panels pushing out below it. I slid, bringing up the next picture. It was of a dim room with a metal table in the center, what was taken of the walls lined with filing cabinets.

Something about the detailing made the room seem very familiar to me, even though my father's semi-labratory looked nothing like this, and neither did Davenport's. Those were the only two labs I've ever been in my entire life.

Although, I have forgotten important details before, so it wouldn't surprise me in the least if something drugged me to make me forget about being in their private evil lab.

While this was big information, I had no idea what to do with it by myself. I sighed, stuffing his phone in my robe's pocket and stuffing my feet into my Uggs that were lying by the door. "I'll be back!" I called out to Rem and dad, dragging Bradley behind me and the door.

Bradley didn't seem surprised when I dragged him to the Davenports' and down to the lab.

Everyone was there, including Tasha, was down in the lab when the elevator doors opened to expose me and the guy who could or could not be my long-lost little brother.

Davenport's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "AHHHHAAHA!" he shrieked, dropping whatever invention he had been proudly showing off this time.

Adam snorted, his leg tangled in the arm of his chair as he hung upside down. It was going to be a bitch trying to get up, I knew. "Even I'm not that stupid."

"And he's an idiot," Leo added for emphasis. Adam nodded along in agreement, his face bright, bright red from the heavy blood flow to his brain.

Leo and Chase gave me stupefied looks, as if I knew that bringing down humans was a violation. Which, I did, but when they really started glaring was when I began laughing at the looks of their faces. Because it was priceless.

Bree eyed Bradley curiously. "This little better be important."

I decided on giving them the short version. "Bradley, my team. Team, Bradley, the ten-year-old who may or may not be my long-lost brother."

When noticing that their panicked looks still stayed plastered on their faces, I dug out his phone and tossed it to Davenport. "You're gonna want to have a look at this."

Davenport grabbed a plug that would connect the photos to his control panel so everyone could see them. Apparently all the photos had been in an album labeled "SECRET FOOTAGE," which Davenport clicked on to bring them up.

I knocked Bradley on the shoulder. "Way to be subtle about it," I snorted.

He shrugged. I was beginning to see that he did that a lot. "Like I said, they didn't care what I knew."

With his face hidden under his thick mass of curls and that stupid cap, it was hard to tell what he felt, even more so with how indifferent he kept his tone and the steady glance he remained trained on his shoes. He must know that anyone who sees his face can read him like an open book.

Bradley remained silent as everyone let out their gasps and mutters of disbelief. The pictures carried less of a shock to me. I couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason as to why, but I think it had something to do with the fact that my life already suffered to many surprises to react many more of them, at least in this lifetime.

But the brother thing—that certainly remains a shock.

"So, why is he here?" Davenport asked me after the album has been completely viewed twice through.

I shrugged. "Apparently being a big sister means having to save their pathetic mother, who never bothered to share the tiny little secret of the thing standing under the cap."

There was a sudden gasp.

Everyone snapped their head to Bree, her face pale as she stumbled from where she sat on top of the desk to a free desk chair, staring at where a holographic screen had lit up the air, exposing the pictures to all the eyes in the room.

"That was the room," she muttered, putting her head in her hands, "that was the room I discovered my ability in. That warehouse."

Everyone in the room exchanged anxious looks at each other. Everyone except for Bradley. He stood still, head down like he was trained to act like a lamp—a piece of furniture without any form of opinion, let alone the right to share one.

I squinted at him. He was another thing altogether. I would get to the bottom of that later.

Adam let out a loud, pained groan. "Awh, man! That means we're gonna go back!"

Later that night, Rem refused to let Bradley out of her sight, or to sleep on a bus bench like he did the night before he showed up on our doorstep. He took the guestroom and retreated early, leaving my dad and me with things to discuss.

"Is he really my brother?" I asked. "Was mother really pregnant when she left?"

He sighed, staring at the coffee table listlessly. The very fact he could meet my eyes said just as much. "Christine," he said finally, "there are a lot of things your mother took with her that we shared. The news of another child being among those things wouldn't surprise me."

"But, for eleven years?" I sputtered. "If that woman was crazy enough to come back here for me ten she could've at least sent a postcard to say 'oh, yeah, by the way I have your other kid with me!'"

Dad sighed, nursing what had to be his fifth cup of coffee—at least.

"Your mother is a walking mystery, Chrissy," he gave wistfully, "No one knows why she does anything, or why she keeps the secrets she does."

More like mysteries, I thought bitterly as I trudged up to bed myself.

December 16th 2013

"What do I do with him?" I asked, looking at Bradley over the rim of my mug. The steam from the fresh cup of hot chocolate Rem made for me rose up to fan my fan, landing across my cheeks and nose, making the corner of my eyes water.

Rachel snorted from beside me, nursing her own cup in her manicured hands. "He's a kid Chris, not a wild animal."

"There's a difference?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You're horrible."

Bradley was in Leo's clothes, which Bree had brought over earlier that morning before school. Or, when we thought we would have school. But it was closed because of tornado warnings, and the heavy rain storm scaring the shit out of everybody.

Rachel braved these conditions and forced Trina to drive her here on her way to her trainee class at the salon, which she would be attending rain or shine.

"He looks so tiny," Rachel commented now, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

Bradley's own cup sat in front of him as he was bent over a notebook he had politely asked Rem for after he changed, completely Leo-ified.

"That's because he is tiny. And you would be too if locked in a lab with your mother by a wacko for God-only-knows how many years."

She leaned closer, her eyes still trained on Bradley from where we sat on the couch. "Does he have the youknowwhats?"

"Bionics?" I filled in, my tone loud just to annoy her. In return she shot me the bird and a really nasty look. "No, but he knows about them. And quit avoiding the word, it's not like Lord Voldermort will appear. Honestly."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"So, what are the guys going to do?" she asked, looking at me.

I shrugged. "Last time I talked to Chase was when he was texting me early this morning. He said Davenport was going to have Bree do some private training to control the hallucinations before they went anywhere. They're probably finishing up now."

"Why are you going?"

I rolled my eyes. Duh, the answer was pretty obvious. "Uhm, uh-duh, dude," I said, nodding my head in Bradley's direction.

Rachel went silent for a moment, loudly slurping her hot chocolate. Finally she said, "you know it would suck if he was just listening to us right now."

"Yeah, it really would."

Sucky ending to a sucky chapter. I feel a little okay because this is longer than the last chapter, but the next chapter will be better, I hope.

Anyway, please leave a review and tell us what you thought. Nine more until we have 100 reviews. That's always exciting, right?