Ficcyficcy!
So I wrote this because The Book wouldn't get out of my head, and a fanfiction seemed my only escape. It didn't work, but I'm okay with that! I'm sure you all understand. It doesn't have a title yet, because that's sort of a weakness of mine. So if any of you have any suggestions, I'm willing to hear them!
Warning for spoilers!
For the most part, it was a very good house. There was a yard with a garden and even a little sidewalk up to the spacious front porch. Inside it was two stories, with a kitchen and dining room one one side of the front hall, and the living room on the other. At the end of the hallway there was a gorgeous spiral staircase leading up to the bedrooms. There were three bedrooms, like most of the houses they lived in. It was rare to find one with four, so Alan was used to sharing with Nick. Olivia always got her own room, no matter what. Dad made sure of it, even though he occasionally had to sleep on the couch so the boys could get a room.
The only thing Alan didn't like about the house were the trees in the backyard. He wasn't the kind of child that scared easily, for obvious reasons, but he hated the way the wind howled through their branches. Sometimes it was so loud he used to worry that the magicians would catch up with them and he wouldn't even be able to hear them coming. Other times it was quiet, which he liked better, but the whispery sound made him slightly uneasy.
He lay there, warm and comfortable, deep in a dream about birds. He didn't remember what, exactly, after waking up, but he did remember their wings beating and the color red. It was a good dream, whatever it was.
"...Alan..."
He woke with a start at the sound of someone whispering his name. He sat up, but there was no one there, except Nick, who was lying peacefully beside him. Alan started to go back to sleep when he heard it again, but less certain this time. He sat up straight and strained to see through the blackness. He saw a deeper shadow move on the wall and tensed for a moment, before he realized it was the tree outside his window blowing in the wind. It was whispering softly, and a branch was scraping gently against the glass, which it had never done before. He supposed it sounded a little like his name, enough to think it while he was asleep anyway.
His heart still pounding a little extra hard, Alan relaxed back onto his pillow. He took a few slow, deep breaths, already feeling silly for being scared over a tree, of all things. Seven years old was really was much too grown up for that, even for a normal child. And Alan was anything but normal. He started to feel better, but for some reason he was finding it difficult to fall back asleep. He rolled onto his side to get a little more comfortable, and found blank black eyes gleaming in the darkness, inches from his own.
He didn't cry out, but he did jump back a little. He hadn't realized Nick was awake.
"What's the matter, Nick? Did you have a bad dream?" he asked softly.
Nick didn't answer, just continued to stare. Alan was used to that too. "Wait here, I'll get you some water."
He climbed out of bed and fumbled his way downstairs in the dark. In the kitchen there was just enough moonlight for him to find the cabinet and get out a glass. He fished a few ice cubes out of the freezer and turned to go over to the sink. Nick was standing motionless in the doorway, watching him blankly. Alan smiled at him as he filled the glass with water. Nick's unfeeling eyes followed his every movement, but he didn't return the smile. He never had.
"Here, drink this and go back to bed. And you can nudge me if you have another bad dream, okay?" Alan whispered as he held out the glass of water. Nick's head tilted back a little as he looked up into Alan's eyes, but he made no movement to take the water.
"Oh, you're not thirsty?" Alan set the glass on the counter and reached out to ruffle Nick's hair. Nick stepped back to avoid it so fluidly that in the dark he seemed almost to glide. And he still hadn't made a sound. But then again, he never did.
Alan raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you want then?" Nick made no movement to suggest any response, just continued to stare unblinkingly into Alan's eyes. Alan loved Nick, he really did, but sometimes the kid was just too creepy. He took a sip out of the glass of water himself, and then held it out for his brother again. Nick still didn't reach for it. Sighing, Alan poured the rest out and went back upstairs. He didn't hear a sound behind him and didn't turn back to look, but he knew Nick was following. He could feel those black eyes staring at the back of his head the whole way.
***
"Are you sure you'll be alright here by yourself?" Dad asked as he poured cornflakes into three bowls. Nick was sitting at the table, silently watching him, and Alan was getting the milk out of the fridge.
"I've done it before plenty of times, Dad. Besides, Olivia and Nick are here."
Dad smiled worriedly, the lines around his blue eyes crinkling. "Well, you know what I meant. And I might have to work late tonight."
"We'll be fine," Alan assured him. "Don't worry about it."
"Oh I know you will," Dad said, as he and Alan both sat down to eat. Alan poured some milk in Nick's cereal and held out a spoon for him. Nick stared at him for a few seconds before taking it. "I just worry about you during the summer. Maybe this year I can find a daycare that can take Nick while I'm at work. You know, like I do when you're at school."
Alan looked at him thoughtfully. "No, that's really alright Dad. I don't mind watching him. Really," he added, when Dad raised an eyebrow. "I like talking to him. I think he's starting to understand me. See how he watches whoever is speaking?"
"Well he knows it's communication, Alan," Dad said unhappily. "That doesn't mean it makes any sense to him." All the same, he looked at Nick, and Nick stared blankly back at him. "It would be nice if he did, though."
"You said he was a child mentally as well as physically," Alan pointed out. "Children learn to talk."
Dad sighed heavily. "He's four years old, Alan. Kids pick it up much earlier than that. I don't think he'll ever understand." He cast Nick a sad look, and ruffled Alan's hair. "I'm off to work, I'll be back as soon as I can get away. Be sure and drop in on Olivia once she's up, I didn't want to wake her for breakfast."
With that, Dad got up from the table and walked into the hall. Nick slipped out of his chair and followed him. Alan smiled slightly as he heard Dad tell Nick a special goodbye and sigh as Nick undoubtedly stepped away from him to avoid being touched. The door shut and Alan heard Dad start the car, but Nick still hadn't come back. Alan peeked out into the hall and saw his baby brother staring uncomprehendingly at the door, as if unsure where Dad had gone and if he'd come back. Alan took his hand and led him back into the dining room.
"He'll be back tonight, Nick, I promise. Do you want to go to the park today? We can go after I've brought your mum breakfast."
***
Nick watched the girl on the swings. Although he looked just as blank as always, Alan suspected he was catalouging her movements and translating the motion of her legs into the force driving the swing. She was shrieking with laughter at her friend standing nearby, and Alan was fairly certain that meant nothing to Nick.
"That's a swing, Nick. I took you on the swings last year, do you remember?" It hadn't been a particularly fun trip to the park. Nick had sat on the swing but refused to hold onto the chains. Alan had had to wrap his fingers around them three times before he understood to keep them there. And then when Alan had started to push him, gently, Nick had swung stiffly. Not as though he were scared, but as if he didn't see a point to it. When Alan had let him down, he'd given the swing a blank look and then stared at Alan as if to say wordlessly, "Now what?" The swings were probably not an option again.
"How about the slide? Do you see the slide?" Nick simply looked at him. Alan pointed to the slide, and Nick's black eyes followed his finger, and finally rested on the big plastic slide. "That's the slide, Nick. It's yellow. Do you know yellow?"
Nick continued to stare at the slide. Well, Alan thought, at least he's not looking at me again. We're making progress. "Let's go on the slide, Nick!"
Nick stood silently beside the slide, as Alan went down it a few times, laughing. "Okay, Nick, it's your turn!" He helped Nick climb to the top of the ladder, and coaxed him into sitting down, with his feet resting on the yellow plastic. Then he told Nick to wait--and motioned too, just in case--and climbed back down to the ground. He ran around to the bottom of the slide, where he was rewarded with the sight of Nick still sitting there, exactly where he'd left him. Alan spread his arms and called, "Okay, Nick! Come down to me!"
Nick didn't move. Alan was vaguely aware of a few amused parents in his peripheral vision, watching him. They thought Nick was afraid of heights. Alan ignored them. "It's okay, Nick! Just slide down!"
He received a perfectly blank stare in return. Then Nick looked at the slide again. Though his face was still emotionless, Alan thought he was remembering the way Alan had slid down it. "That's right! Just like I did, Nick. Just like Alan!"
Nick's head snapped up, and he looked at his brother. It sent a chill up Alan's spine. He was sure that, somehow, Nick had learned to associate him with the name Alan. "Can you say Alan, Nick?"
At this point he heard the various parents muttering to each other, wondering what Nick's problem was. They probably thought he was disabled and felt bad for him. Alan tried to keep ignoring them, but it wasn't easy with Nick's blank silence. "Do you know who Alan is, Nick?"
Nick didn't answer or move. Frustrated, Alan decided it must have simply been a coincidence. Nick's movements were often sharp. "I have an idea. Wait there, Nick," he called, and made another motion for Nick to stay still. He climbed back up the ladder and sat down behind his brother. Nick didn't look up. He seemed to know it was Alan behind him and to trust him enough not to turn around. Alan was unexpectedly touched. Although, to be fair, Nick had never struck him as notably evil. Just a little creepy.
"I'm going to push you, okay, Nick? And then I'll come down right behind you, okay?" Nick still didn't look around, so Alan took that to mean yes and gave him a gentle nudge on his shoulder blades. Nick slid down without resistance, although he didn't wave his arms or stretch his legs, or any of the other motions most kids made going down slides. He didn't laugh either, but that went without saying. When Alan reached the bottom of the slide, Nick was standing there waiting for him, with the all-too-familiar blank look. Alan was struck by how deep those black eyes were, and how very little he understood of what was going on behind them. "Was that fun, Nick? Do you understand fun?"
"Is he okay?" asked a stranger's voice, before Nick could answer, not that he would have. "Does he have a learning disability?" One of the mothers from the nearby bench had gotten up and walked over to them.
Alan glanced at Nick, who was staring at the woman with the same empty expression he wore looking at Alan or Dad. His heart fell a little. "I guess you could say that," he sighed. "C'mon, Nick, we'll go to the pond and you can feed the ducks."
They didn't have any duck food supplied at the pond, and Alan hadn't had the foresight to bring breadcrumbs. Mature or not, he was still seven.
"Sorry, Nick. I thought they'd have food here. I promise we'll feed them next time." Supremely unconcerned, Nick stared out over the water. "This is the pond. It's water. Like from the sink." Alan knelt down and Nick knelt beside him. Alan splashed him a little, hopefully. "See? Water?" Nick put his hand in the pond and pulled it back out. Then he proceeded to stare at his hand as if he didn't understand why it was wet. Alan's mind began to glimmer with hope again. Nick did know what water was, so maybe he was actually starting to associate it with a word. It wasn't enough proof to go by though, so Alan let it drop.
"Those are ducks, Nick. What color are they?" Nick looked where he was pointing but it was obvious he didn't see any substantial difference between the ducks and the water they were swimming in. "They're white, Nick. They're white ducks."
Nick plainly did not care. He stuck his hand back into the pond, but this time he left it there. He didn't twirl his hand or wiggle his fingers like most children would. He simply sat there with his hand in the water and looked at it, as if waiting for something to happen. Alan knew he wasn't though. Nick was smart, he was sure of that, just in a strange way. Alan didn't understand him.
"Let's cross the bridge, Nick. Can you point to the bridge?" Whether he could or not, he didn't. "The ducks are closer to the other side. Let's go there." He took Nick's hand again and pulled him across the bridge. Their footsteps thudded on the wooden planks. Nick ignored it. This reaffirmed Alan's belief that Nick could distinguish between words and noises. And if he could do that, he could learn to understand. Somehow. Hopeful but daunted, Alan looked out across the water and saw one of the ducks ruffle its wings. The flash of feathers reminded him of his dream the night before. For a moment he forgot about teaching Nick to talk and tried to remember. There had been a big bird--he thought it was probably black--and a huge red room with a big mirror on one wall...
His hand jerked strangely as he lost Nick's grip. He turned in time to see Nick trip and land hard on the bridge. Alan stopped immediately and knelt beside his little brother. Nick did not cry out in surprise or pain.
"Nick! Are you okay?"
Nick looked up at him, still without any hint of expression, and then got up as though nothing had happened. But his palms were smeared black and he looked at them for a moment, blankly confused. Alan reached for his hand again, but Nick shied away. Alan bit his lip. Nick had never liked being touched, but he usually let Alan hold his hand when they were outside, if reluctantly. He hoped Nick didn't blame him for having fallen.
"Okay Nick, if you're not hurt you can just follow me. But don't wander off or I'll have to hold your hand again, all right?" he asked, as sternly as he could. Nick followed him wordlessly.
They got to the other side of the pond and Nick promptly put both hands in the water this time. After a few moments he pulled them out, and with the black smears almost gone, Alan could see he'd been scraped and was bleeding a little.
"Here, Nick, let me see," he commanded. Nick resisted a little but not very much, and Alan was able to get a look at his hands. They didn't seem bad, but most other four year olds would be wailing. Nick's only concession to the pain was to want to put them in the water. The cold must have been soothing. Alan sighed.
Nick was not a normal child, in any way. Alan was used to it, but he still wished they weren't functioning on such totally different levels.
***
"Sit still. Right here. No, no cereal right now. It's lunchtime anyway, what do you want cereal for? I said sit STILL, Nick!"
Nick did not want Alan touching his hands. But they were still bleeding and he wanted to make sure they didn't get infected, especially since the bridge where he'd fallen had been so dirty. He dabbed peroxide on as gently as he could and Nick bared his teeth and squirmed. His eyes didn't change.
"Nick, you're making it worse, you know," he sighed, exasperated. "If you don't struggle it'll be over faster. But I'm doing it one way or the other. Your pick."
Nick glared at him and stopped moving. Alan was so shocked he forgot what he was doing. It was amazing. Nick had never glared before, that Alan had seen, and the effect was frankly terrifying. His inhuman eyes were burning black with anger, the kind of fury that stops you dead in your tracks. It was the first time Alan had ever seen emotion in his little brother's face. And what's more, he'd obeyed a verbal command. This time, Alan was positive it wasn't coincidental. Nick had definitely understood him, he must have. For Alan, at that moment, the world stopped turning. He couldn't do anything but stare just as blankly as Nick usually did.
Nick took the oppurtunity to yank his hands away and grab the box of cereal. Jerked back to reality, Alan took it from him and put it on the counter, in the back where he could reach but Nick probably couldn't. He'd have put it on top of the fridge if he'd been taller. Nick glared at him again, but this time Alan was prepared for it, and anyway he wasn't scared of Nick. As he dabbed the peroxide on--Nick was no longer fighting, although his glare alone could have melted steel--Alan knew why he was so pleased, but wondered why he wasn't frightened. Most people would have been, even without knowing what Nick was. Alan did, and he wasn't. He felt confident Nick wouldn't hurt him, and that scared him more than Nick himself did. He knew Nick could never be fully trusted.
***
When Alan told Dad at dinner what Nick had done, Dad was surprised and disbelieving. He kept asking if Alan was sure, and coming up with a dozen different reasons why Nick might have stopped struggling, each one more feeble than the last. Alan could tell he was trying to convince himself, to avoid getting his hopes up and being disappointed. Alan felt the same way, but he couldn't help being optimistic about it. The whole time they were talking, Nick looked back and forth between them, and whenever they stopped to look at him, he stared back at whoever he'd happened to be looking at beforehand. At this point, even Dad thought Nick might be following the conversation, although he did his best to dismiss that notion too.
"Just don't mention it to Olivia," Dad warned, as if Alan didn't know that already. "It would only upset her."
Alan hardly ever talked to Olivia, and when he did, he never mentioned Nick, unless there was simply no way around it. It wasn't worth sending her into screaming fits. Her blue eyes would get even more distant than usual and she'd scream and lash out. Sometimes she hurt him or Dad, and sometimes she hurt herself. Nick never showed the slightest inclination to go into her room, but Alan was careful to keep him out anyway. He went cold at the thought of what Olivia might do to Nick if he set foot in there.
Halfway through dinner, she started screaming. Something made a crashing sound, as if thrown at the wall. All three of them looked up at the ceiling. Alan noted with pleasure that Nick seemed to recognize that it was a human making those noises, even though they weren't speech. Before he'd had time to think about it, though, Dad was getting up to see to Olivia. He left his dinner half-eaten and went upstairs without another word to the boys. Alan carefully placed a glass lid over his plate and put it in the oven next to Olivia's to keep it warm.
After dinner, Alan took Nick upstairs for bathtime. Nick was standing there with the bathtub half full, staring at the tub just as he'd stared at the pond. Just as he stared at everything.
"Lookie, Nick, a rubber duck. Like the ducks at the pond. Except this one is yellow. Do you remember what else was yellow today?" Nick stared at him. How exhausting. "The slide, Nick. The slide was yellow. Did you have fun on the slide?"
Nick waited for him to stop talking and then turned back to the bathtub. Alan pulled out a cardboard book about a teddy bear with an umbrella to read to him while he bathed. He glanced up and saw the bathtub littered with neglected rubber duckies, boats, dolphins, and even a foam sword. Nick had never played with bathtoys, unless you counted the sword. And Alan didn't, since Nick had an ominous way of playing with it that didn't recall fun. Nick let Alan's words wash over him like the water and soap, while he moved the sword in thoughtful, calculated movements or scrubbed his hair.
"'There is a puddle!' Teddy called to Kitty. 'Come play with me in the puddle!'" Alan read out, and showed Nick the picture of the bear and the cat jumping happily in the puddle. Nick looked at him, and then got out of the tub and grabbed a towel to dry off.
"Too cute?" Alan asked him with a smile. "I know you probably don't like this kind of story, but it's waterproof. I'll read you something better before bed, okay?" Nick looked at him again, put on his clothes, and left. Alan sighed after him.
Since he'd promised Nick a more interesting bedtime story, he had to dig through all his books for a suitable one. He found quite a few that were entirely too bloody to read a four year old--although, he thought grimly, they were probably just right for Nick--and some that were too sappy. Somehow he didn't think Nick would care for Jane Austen. He settled for Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and decided not to read Nick the gory parts. Anyway, Alan didn't understand quite all of it, so probably Nick wouldn't either.
Nick listened intently but just as blankly as always. Alan talked himself hoarse by the time he gave up for the night.
"Alright, Nick, that's enough for now," he said as he tucked his brother in and turned off the light. "Good night, Nick."
He waited, hopefully, but there was no response. He could see a faint glimmer of moonlight reflecting off of Nick's eyes in the darkness. Smiling to fight back the sudden swell of disappointment, he leaned over and kissed Nick on the cheek before climbing into bed himself. He'd really thought tonight would be the night. Maybe Dad was right after all. Maybe Nick would always be mute.
***
A long hallway stretched before him, the end of it lost in darkness. Alan didn't need to look behind; he knew there was nothing there. So he walked forward, without it even occuring to him to be afraid. There was a faint sound ahead of him. He wondered what it could be. Whatever it was, he'd find out at the end of the hall. So Alan kept walking, the noise getting louder and louder. He recognized it now. Olivia was wailing in anguish. She did that sometimes, although screaming was a lot more common. Alan got the impression rage came to her a lot more easily than grief did.
As she continued to sob and moan, Alan got increasingly more concerned. She was fairly close now, but he didn't hear Dad trying to comfort her. Where was he? Alan started to jog. The hallway still seemed endless. Unless he looked at his feet, he couldn't even tell he was moving. He put on more speed. Olivia's wailing got louder and louder. She sounded like she was right there, but there was nothing but the hallway, stretching on into oblivion.
He stopped, and turned around, wondering if he'd missed a door. Behind him there was a black eagle. Were there any black eagles? Alan didn't remember reading about any. Anyway, this one was black. It ruffled its wings exactly like the duck at the pond had. Alan would have smiled, but he was too worried about Olivia.
"Have you seen the woman who's crying?" he asked the eagle. But, being a bird, it didn't understand him. Olivia was positively howling now, and Alan had no time to waste. He turned back around to keep running, but instead found himself in a big red room with a mirror on one wall.
He could still hear Olivia. She sounded as if she was just on the other side of the mirror. Alan went forward and pressed his hand against the glass, thinking somehow he could get through it. She really needed help. But as he was beginning to panic, looking for a way through, he felt someone watching him. He looked in the mirror, and saw Nick standing a few feet back. His blank black eyes were reflected in the mirror, staring at Alan. It was the creepiest, and yet somehow the most comforting, thing Alan had ever seen. He relaxed. Olivia was still bawling, but Alan stared into Nick's black eyes and though it was more than a little disconcerting, it was very soothing. Suddenly Alan was strangely happy and peaceful. He smiled at Nick, who stared blankly back. Olivia wailed, Nick stared, Alan smiled, Nick stared, Alan smiled, Olivia wailed, Nick stared...
"...Alan..."
Alan woke suddenly. Olivia was still weeping, and the wind was whispering outside the window. The branch was dragging on the glass again, scraping out his name. He made a mental note to break it off tomorrow so it wouldn't wake him again. He got out of bed carefully, so he wouldn't wake Nick, and tiptoed into the hall. He still didn't hear Dad trying to soothe Olivia's misery, so he made his way to her room instead. But the closer he got the quieter she sounded, until he was just outside her door. At that point it was embarrassingly obvious that Olivia hadn't been crying at all, that it had only been the wind in the trees again.
Feeling like a fool, Alan walked as softly as possible back to his room. Nick was sitting up, silhouetted against the dim moonlight from the window. Alan was fairly sure he was watching for him to return.
"Shh, Nick," he murmured, and then wondered why. Nick was silent as ever. "Sorry to wake you. I tried not to. Go back to sleep."
Nick, however, didn't move until Alan had climbed back into bed. Only then did he lie down. After a few seconds, Alan looked over and saw Nick watching him, his black eyes visible only because of a tiny bit of reflected light. Alan put an arm over him. Nick squirmed but didn't seem to mind very much.
***
The next morning at breakfast, Dad was very quiet. He kept glancing at Nick. Alan could tell he wasn't aware that he was doing it, didn't realize how much he was hoping Nick would, just once, say something. Alan did. But he was still stinging with resentment about the night before, when Nick hadn't told him goodnight. To keep his mind off it, and to break Dad's silence, Alan told Nick about the kitchen for probably the thousandth time.
"That's a spoon, Nick. You use a spoon to eat cereal. But we're not having cereal today. We have bacon. This is bacon. And egg, Nick, do you like eggs? Shall I put eggs on your plate? Point to your plate, Nick."
Nick, of course, did no such thing.
"Want some juice, Nick? You like juice with breakfast, don't you? Here you go. What color is it, Nick, do you know? Is it blue?" No answer. No acknowledgement. Nick simply stared. "It's not blue. It's orange."
"Don't say it like that, you'll only confuse him," Dad said suddenly. "Assuming he even has any idea what you're saying," he added darkly. All the same, he looked at Nick hopefully. Nick stared back for so long that Dad had to look away. "Anyway, I'm going to be home early today. I told Bulworth flat out I wasn't working any more overtime this week."
"Your boss? He was okay with that?" Alan asked incredulously.
"Well I told him I had a mentally unstable wife and an autistic son," Dad admitted.
Alan frowned. "Nick's not autistic."
"No, but what would you have me say?" Dad laughed. "My wife is insane and my youngest son is possessed?"
Alan laughed too, a little uneasily. It was kind of funny to imagine Bulworth's reaction. "I guess not."
"Anyway," Dad continued, "he felt terrible and is letting me off a few hours early today. I'll be able to take you and Nick out for ice cream or something, if you like."
Alan smiled. They didn't have very much normality these days. Honestly, Alan could barely remember life before Nick and Olivia. He only had a few real memories of Mum. It would be nice to go out and do something as a family. Well, the three of them, anyway. Olivia would be happier at home by herself.
Dad got up, kissed Alan on the forehead and ruffled Nick's hair. Nick pulled back a little and stared at him. "You boys behave yourselves today. Stay in the neighborhood, all right?"
Alan nodded and Dad left with a smile. Alan looked over at his brother, who was staring intently at his plate as he chewed the bacon Alan had cut up for him. "Finish your breakfast, and then we'll go out."
***
"What do you want to do today?" Alan asked, as he and Nick went out the back door into the woody backyard. "I didn't think you'd want to go back to the park, but maybe we could go to the museum? Or the library, I could pick out a couple books to read to you at night. What do you think?"
Nick didn't even look at him, this time. Instead he was looking around the backyard as if vaguely confused what they were doing there.
"I'm going to break off that branch outside our window," Alan told him. "It keeps waking me up. Do me a favor and wait here. I have to climb the tree so if I fall out you'll have to go get Olivia for help, can you do that?"
Nick's blank stare was nowhere near as comforting as it had been in Alan's dream. If he fell out of the tree and Nick didn't get Olivia--or she wouldn't go with him, that was definitely a possibility--Alan could get seriously hurt. Maybe he should wait until Dad got home to do this. He couldn't rely on Nick. Nick wasn't at all trustworthy.
But, nevertheless, Alan found himself climbing the tree while Nick watched him from below. He was a little unnerved but not frightened, not really. Somehow, he was sure that he could trust Nick.
It made Alan doubt his own sanity.
He climbed up to the big limb, where he could look inside and see his bookshelf on the wall opposite the window. He crawled on his stomach out on the limb, trying to see which of the smaller branches was doing the scraping. As he got further from the trunk, the limb began to creak ominously. He stopped uneasily and looked down.
It was a long way to the ground. He hadn't realized it was this high. But then again, it was a second-story bedroom. Alan swallowed, his throat tight. This was really a terrible idea. He was smarter than this. But then he saw Nick's black eyes, watching him dispassionately, and felt a bit better. He'd come all this way, he might as well break off the stupid branch. He turned his face forward again and watched for the wind to start moving the branches, so he could see where he needed to snap it.
The wind picked up, and the limb creaked again, louder this time. Alan gripped it hard, even as he saw the end of the branch rub against the glass, heard the scraping.
"Got it!" he said triumphantly, and began to inch forward, trying to get close enough to grab it. He could feel Nick watching him. He stretched out one hand; it was so close. Just a little more....just a little...
***
"...Alan..."
There it was, scraping at his window again. This time he didn't even open his eyes. He was too annoyed. Surely he'd managed to break it off.
"...Alan..."
Or had he? Obviously not, or he wouldn't still be able to hear it. He'd probably have to wait for Dad anyway.
"...Alan..."
No, he HAD broken it off. He remembered now. The whole limb had broken off, he could remember falling. And if the limb was gone, the branch at the end COULDN'T be scraping his window. It wasn't possible.
"...Alan..."
So who was whispering his name?
Alan opened his eyes. At first everything was too blurry to see properly. He didn't know where he was. He didn't see anyone, or at least he didn't think he did. He must have been hallucinating. Falls can do that to people, he remembered. He had probably hit his head.
Right on cue, his head began to ache intensely. For a moment the world spun around and there was nothing but the pain in his skull. It was the kind of sharp ache that made him see red. The rest of his body seemed to not exist, his head hurt so badly. And then the ache slowly began to fade, so slowly, and he became aware of a different kind of pain, just above his right temple. A stinging pain.
He opened eyes he didn't remember closing, and saw horribly blurry double images, crisscrossing each other wildly, for a moment before his sight resolved itself, and he realized he was on his back in the yard, staring up at the tree he'd been childish enough to climb. He didn't think he'd been unconcious more than a few minutes, but it was hard to tell. The pain in his head, though it had spread throughout his skull, seemed to be centralized above his temple, where the stinging was. He thought he understood now. He'd split his head open there, and someone was dabbing peroxide on it.
"...Alan..."
He turned his head to the side, and saw Nick kneeling there beside him, a wad of bloody gauze in his hand. Alan didn't know what to say. He'd expected Olivia, or maybe even Dad.
"...Alan..." Nick whispered. Alan's heart stopped. "...Alan...?"
"Nick? Nick, you said my name?" Alan thought he was as happy as anyone with serious head trauma possibly could be. "Nick, you can talk?"
Nick looked blankly back, and dabbed the gauze uncertainly against Alan's wound again. "...Alan."
Alan sat up and then immediately collapsed back onto the ground, his head swimming. Probably not the time for hugs anyway. "Nick, go get Olivia. Can you do that? Can you get Mum?"
Nick stared at him some more; clearly he didn't understand.
"Mum. Olivia. Your mum," Alan said, and prayed it would make sense to Nick, somehow. "Alan wants Mum. Please, Nick."
Nick surveyed him blankly. Alan felt his conciousness swaying. For the first time that day, he was frightened. He knew he could die in the hours it would take for Dad to get home and find him. And Nick didn't understand.
"Nick. Alan needs Mum. For Alan. Please."
Finally Nick stood up. But he didn't make any move toward the house. He just stood there, staring down at Alan who imagined he was probably bleeding to death. Alan thought he might cry from frustration, when Nick took a few steps back toward the house, and then came back. And then Alan realized that Nick didn't want to leave his brother alone.
"I'm okay, Nick," he said, fighting to stay concious. "Alan's okay. Get Mum. Hurry, Nick. Alan needs you."
And without a glance back, Nick was gone.
***
A hand was stroking his hair. Alan opened his eyes, and saw the mirror from his dream, his own reflection and Nick's behind him. No, it wasn't a mirror. It was dad. And Nick was there too.
"Alan, are you alright?" Dad asked, his voice soft but trembling. "Alan?"
"I'm okay," Alan grumbled, his voice slightly slurred. His head didn't hurt anymore. He tried to sit up but couldn't. So he looked around from his prone position and realized he was in the hospital. Dad was stroking his hair, smiling at him even with tears in his eyes, and there was Nick in the background, silent and creepy, as usual.
"What were you thinking, son? Why would you climb that high without anyone out there to catch you?"
"Nick was there," Alan slurred. He was on painkillers, that was it. That's why his voice was funny and his head didn't hurt, and why everything felt kind of warm and fuzzy.
"Good thing too," Dad said, and sent a furiously proud look at Nick, who stared impassively back. "He went into Olivia's room and upset her into calling me to come home and get rid of him. She said you wouldn't come. When I got there Nick took me right to you. But Alan, you can't trust to that. What if I hadn't got back in time? You could have died. You're lucky you won't have lasting injuries as it is. I know Nick is your brother, but, Alan, you can't trust him for things like that. Not if he can't talk."
And then Alan remembered. "He can talk, Dad. He can talk. He said my name. Nick said my name."
Dad looked stunned. He stared at Alan. He twisted around to stare at Nick. Back to Alan, back to Nick. "...When?"
Alan smiled. "When I was on the ground. He brought me peroxide and said my name. I told him to get Mum and then we were here."
For a long moment, Dad just sat there and shook. Then he turned back to Nick and said, hesitantly, as if afraid of scaring a baby, "Nick...Who is that?"
Nick's blank stare followed Dad's pointing finger to his brother, laying in the bed, smiling at him. Then Nick looked back at Dad.
"Alan."
***
Three houses--approximately six months--later, Nick was finally talking in whole sentences. He was still abnormally quiet, but neither Dad nor Alan cared in the least about that. He probably always would be. But he was understanding everything they said, everything! And he was even talking on his own, telling them what he wanted to eat, or asking for a specific bedtime story. Not that he ever cared, not really, but he knew Alan was going to read him one anyway, and Alan let him pick them now.
When Olivia found out Nick could talk, she went completely hysterical. Even Dad couldn't calm her down for almost a week. Alan couldn't say he blamed her. She hated Nick for stealing her son.
Which made Alan think too. As far as Alan was concerned, Nick was a demon. Not a human possessed by a demon, but the actual demon. Sometimes he would look into Nick's demonic eyes and wonder if there was a human being in there somewhere, a little brother he had but didn't know. The idea gave him chills. He learned to stop considering it. He loved Nick, although he wasn't ever quite sure what Nick was thinking or feeling. And anyway, Nick himself thought he was human. Surely if there had been a second conciousness in there, he'd at least be aware of it. Alan did his best to convince himself of this, and for the most part it worked. Although sometimes at night when he'd awaken and find Nick already up, silent and staring, he had his doubts. Nick was definitely not human, so only God knew what was going on in his head.
Dad was ecstatic. He was brimming with confidence that if they could teach Nick spoken language, which demons are supposed to be incapable of, surely they could teach him morals. This was another thing that set Olivia off.
"It's not him!" She would scream hysterically. "It's not! It stole him! Just kill it! It stole him!"
She did this for about a month before Dad got her to stop. And Dad never gave up trying to teach Nick how to be human. He and Alan both gave it their all, especially once Nick started attending school. By that point he was speaking as naturally as anyone, although he was quiet and, not surprisingly, dyslexic. Dad said it was the demon's incompatibility with words that did it.
"It's a miracle he can talk at all," Dad explained happily to Alan, who already knew that. "Dyslexia is hardly even an issue, compared to that. I think it's probably more important to teach him the difference between right and wrong."
So did Alan, but that didn't make it easy. Once Nick began talking, Alan found he understood Nick better than anyone, even Dad. There were still some things about Nick he just didn't get, but sometimes he almost felt as though he could read Nick's thoughts. And he began to think that, though Nick seemed completely devoid of any emotion, he felt plenty. He had trouble expressing them, to say the least. More than that, Alan thought Nick's emotions weren't quite the same as a human's to begin with. Sometimes talking to Nick was extremely frustrating. But for years, even after Dad died and they were on their own, whenever Alan felt he was about to lose his patience, he thought back to the three years it had taken to teach Nick to talk. And then he'd think about how much more complicated emotions really are. He knew, he knew almost for certain, that Nick was capable of feeling love.
His first word had been Alan..
Warning for spoilers!
For the most part, it was a very good house. There was a yard with a garden and even a little sidewalk up to the spacious front porch. Inside it was two stories, with a kitchen and dining room one one side of the front hall, and the living room on the other. At the end of the hallway there was a gorgeous spiral staircase leading up to the bedrooms. There were three bedrooms, like most of the houses they lived in. It was rare to find one with four, so Alan was used to sharing with Nick. Olivia always got her own room, no matter what. Dad made sure of it, even though he occasionally had to sleep on the couch so the boys could get a room.
The only thing Alan didn't like about the house were the trees in the backyard. He wasn't the kind of child that scared easily, for obvious reasons, but he hated the way the wind howled through their branches. Sometimes it was so loud he used to worry that the magicians would catch up with them and he wouldn't even be able to hear them coming. Other times it was quiet, which he liked better, but the whispery sound made him slightly uneasy.
He lay there, warm and comfortable, deep in a dream about birds. He didn't remember what, exactly, after waking up, but he did remember their wings beating and the color red. It was a good dream, whatever it was.
"...Alan..."
He woke with a start at the sound of someone whispering his name. He sat up, but there was no one there, except Nick, who was lying peacefully beside him. Alan started to go back to sleep when he heard it again, but less certain this time. He sat up straight and strained to see through the blackness. He saw a deeper shadow move on the wall and tensed for a moment, before he realized it was the tree outside his window blowing in the wind. It was whispering softly, and a branch was scraping gently against the glass, which it had never done before. He supposed it sounded a little like his name, enough to think it while he was asleep anyway.
His heart still pounding a little extra hard, Alan relaxed back onto his pillow. He took a few slow, deep breaths, already feeling silly for being scared over a tree, of all things. Seven years old was really was much too grown up for that, even for a normal child. And Alan was anything but normal. He started to feel better, but for some reason he was finding it difficult to fall back asleep. He rolled onto his side to get a little more comfortable, and found blank black eyes gleaming in the darkness, inches from his own.
He didn't cry out, but he did jump back a little. He hadn't realized Nick was awake.
"What's the matter, Nick? Did you have a bad dream?" he asked softly.
Nick didn't answer, just continued to stare. Alan was used to that too. "Wait here, I'll get you some water."
He climbed out of bed and fumbled his way downstairs in the dark. In the kitchen there was just enough moonlight for him to find the cabinet and get out a glass. He fished a few ice cubes out of the freezer and turned to go over to the sink. Nick was standing motionless in the doorway, watching him blankly. Alan smiled at him as he filled the glass with water. Nick's unfeeling eyes followed his every movement, but he didn't return the smile. He never had.
"Here, drink this and go back to bed. And you can nudge me if you have another bad dream, okay?" Alan whispered as he held out the glass of water. Nick's head tilted back a little as he looked up into Alan's eyes, but he made no movement to take the water.
"Oh, you're not thirsty?" Alan set the glass on the counter and reached out to ruffle Nick's hair. Nick stepped back to avoid it so fluidly that in the dark he seemed almost to glide. And he still hadn't made a sound. But then again, he never did.
Alan raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you want then?" Nick made no movement to suggest any response, just continued to stare unblinkingly into Alan's eyes. Alan loved Nick, he really did, but sometimes the kid was just too creepy. He took a sip out of the glass of water himself, and then held it out for his brother again. Nick still didn't reach for it. Sighing, Alan poured the rest out and went back upstairs. He didn't hear a sound behind him and didn't turn back to look, but he knew Nick was following. He could feel those black eyes staring at the back of his head the whole way.
***
"Are you sure you'll be alright here by yourself?" Dad asked as he poured cornflakes into three bowls. Nick was sitting at the table, silently watching him, and Alan was getting the milk out of the fridge.
"I've done it before plenty of times, Dad. Besides, Olivia and Nick are here."
Dad smiled worriedly, the lines around his blue eyes crinkling. "Well, you know what I meant. And I might have to work late tonight."
"We'll be fine," Alan assured him. "Don't worry about it."
"Oh I know you will," Dad said, as he and Alan both sat down to eat. Alan poured some milk in Nick's cereal and held out a spoon for him. Nick stared at him for a few seconds before taking it. "I just worry about you during the summer. Maybe this year I can find a daycare that can take Nick while I'm at work. You know, like I do when you're at school."
Alan looked at him thoughtfully. "No, that's really alright Dad. I don't mind watching him. Really," he added, when Dad raised an eyebrow. "I like talking to him. I think he's starting to understand me. See how he watches whoever is speaking?"
"Well he knows it's communication, Alan," Dad said unhappily. "That doesn't mean it makes any sense to him." All the same, he looked at Nick, and Nick stared blankly back at him. "It would be nice if he did, though."
"You said he was a child mentally as well as physically," Alan pointed out. "Children learn to talk."
Dad sighed heavily. "He's four years old, Alan. Kids pick it up much earlier than that. I don't think he'll ever understand." He cast Nick a sad look, and ruffled Alan's hair. "I'm off to work, I'll be back as soon as I can get away. Be sure and drop in on Olivia once she's up, I didn't want to wake her for breakfast."
With that, Dad got up from the table and walked into the hall. Nick slipped out of his chair and followed him. Alan smiled slightly as he heard Dad tell Nick a special goodbye and sigh as Nick undoubtedly stepped away from him to avoid being touched. The door shut and Alan heard Dad start the car, but Nick still hadn't come back. Alan peeked out into the hall and saw his baby brother staring uncomprehendingly at the door, as if unsure where Dad had gone and if he'd come back. Alan took his hand and led him back into the dining room.
"He'll be back tonight, Nick, I promise. Do you want to go to the park today? We can go after I've brought your mum breakfast."
***
Nick watched the girl on the swings. Although he looked just as blank as always, Alan suspected he was catalouging her movements and translating the motion of her legs into the force driving the swing. She was shrieking with laughter at her friend standing nearby, and Alan was fairly certain that meant nothing to Nick.
"That's a swing, Nick. I took you on the swings last year, do you remember?" It hadn't been a particularly fun trip to the park. Nick had sat on the swing but refused to hold onto the chains. Alan had had to wrap his fingers around them three times before he understood to keep them there. And then when Alan had started to push him, gently, Nick had swung stiffly. Not as though he were scared, but as if he didn't see a point to it. When Alan had let him down, he'd given the swing a blank look and then stared at Alan as if to say wordlessly, "Now what?" The swings were probably not an option again.
"How about the slide? Do you see the slide?" Nick simply looked at him. Alan pointed to the slide, and Nick's black eyes followed his finger, and finally rested on the big plastic slide. "That's the slide, Nick. It's yellow. Do you know yellow?"
Nick continued to stare at the slide. Well, Alan thought, at least he's not looking at me again. We're making progress. "Let's go on the slide, Nick!"
Nick stood silently beside the slide, as Alan went down it a few times, laughing. "Okay, Nick, it's your turn!" He helped Nick climb to the top of the ladder, and coaxed him into sitting down, with his feet resting on the yellow plastic. Then he told Nick to wait--and motioned too, just in case--and climbed back down to the ground. He ran around to the bottom of the slide, where he was rewarded with the sight of Nick still sitting there, exactly where he'd left him. Alan spread his arms and called, "Okay, Nick! Come down to me!"
Nick didn't move. Alan was vaguely aware of a few amused parents in his peripheral vision, watching him. They thought Nick was afraid of heights. Alan ignored them. "It's okay, Nick! Just slide down!"
He received a perfectly blank stare in return. Then Nick looked at the slide again. Though his face was still emotionless, Alan thought he was remembering the way Alan had slid down it. "That's right! Just like I did, Nick. Just like Alan!"
Nick's head snapped up, and he looked at his brother. It sent a chill up Alan's spine. He was sure that, somehow, Nick had learned to associate him with the name Alan. "Can you say Alan, Nick?"
At this point he heard the various parents muttering to each other, wondering what Nick's problem was. They probably thought he was disabled and felt bad for him. Alan tried to keep ignoring them, but it wasn't easy with Nick's blank silence. "Do you know who Alan is, Nick?"
Nick didn't answer or move. Frustrated, Alan decided it must have simply been a coincidence. Nick's movements were often sharp. "I have an idea. Wait there, Nick," he called, and made another motion for Nick to stay still. He climbed back up the ladder and sat down behind his brother. Nick didn't look up. He seemed to know it was Alan behind him and to trust him enough not to turn around. Alan was unexpectedly touched. Although, to be fair, Nick had never struck him as notably evil. Just a little creepy.
"I'm going to push you, okay, Nick? And then I'll come down right behind you, okay?" Nick still didn't look around, so Alan took that to mean yes and gave him a gentle nudge on his shoulder blades. Nick slid down without resistance, although he didn't wave his arms or stretch his legs, or any of the other motions most kids made going down slides. He didn't laugh either, but that went without saying. When Alan reached the bottom of the slide, Nick was standing there waiting for him, with the all-too-familiar blank look. Alan was struck by how deep those black eyes were, and how very little he understood of what was going on behind them. "Was that fun, Nick? Do you understand fun?"
"Is he okay?" asked a stranger's voice, before Nick could answer, not that he would have. "Does he have a learning disability?" One of the mothers from the nearby bench had gotten up and walked over to them.
Alan glanced at Nick, who was staring at the woman with the same empty expression he wore looking at Alan or Dad. His heart fell a little. "I guess you could say that," he sighed. "C'mon, Nick, we'll go to the pond and you can feed the ducks."
They didn't have any duck food supplied at the pond, and Alan hadn't had the foresight to bring breadcrumbs. Mature or not, he was still seven.
"Sorry, Nick. I thought they'd have food here. I promise we'll feed them next time." Supremely unconcerned, Nick stared out over the water. "This is the pond. It's water. Like from the sink." Alan knelt down and Nick knelt beside him. Alan splashed him a little, hopefully. "See? Water?" Nick put his hand in the pond and pulled it back out. Then he proceeded to stare at his hand as if he didn't understand why it was wet. Alan's mind began to glimmer with hope again. Nick did know what water was, so maybe he was actually starting to associate it with a word. It wasn't enough proof to go by though, so Alan let it drop.
"Those are ducks, Nick. What color are they?" Nick looked where he was pointing but it was obvious he didn't see any substantial difference between the ducks and the water they were swimming in. "They're white, Nick. They're white ducks."
Nick plainly did not care. He stuck his hand back into the pond, but this time he left it there. He didn't twirl his hand or wiggle his fingers like most children would. He simply sat there with his hand in the water and looked at it, as if waiting for something to happen. Alan knew he wasn't though. Nick was smart, he was sure of that, just in a strange way. Alan didn't understand him.
"Let's cross the bridge, Nick. Can you point to the bridge?" Whether he could or not, he didn't. "The ducks are closer to the other side. Let's go there." He took Nick's hand again and pulled him across the bridge. Their footsteps thudded on the wooden planks. Nick ignored it. This reaffirmed Alan's belief that Nick could distinguish between words and noises. And if he could do that, he could learn to understand. Somehow. Hopeful but daunted, Alan looked out across the water and saw one of the ducks ruffle its wings. The flash of feathers reminded him of his dream the night before. For a moment he forgot about teaching Nick to talk and tried to remember. There had been a big bird--he thought it was probably black--and a huge red room with a big mirror on one wall...
His hand jerked strangely as he lost Nick's grip. He turned in time to see Nick trip and land hard on the bridge. Alan stopped immediately and knelt beside his little brother. Nick did not cry out in surprise or pain.
"Nick! Are you okay?"
Nick looked up at him, still without any hint of expression, and then got up as though nothing had happened. But his palms were smeared black and he looked at them for a moment, blankly confused. Alan reached for his hand again, but Nick shied away. Alan bit his lip. Nick had never liked being touched, but he usually let Alan hold his hand when they were outside, if reluctantly. He hoped Nick didn't blame him for having fallen.
"Okay Nick, if you're not hurt you can just follow me. But don't wander off or I'll have to hold your hand again, all right?" he asked, as sternly as he could. Nick followed him wordlessly.
They got to the other side of the pond and Nick promptly put both hands in the water this time. After a few moments he pulled them out, and with the black smears almost gone, Alan could see he'd been scraped and was bleeding a little.
"Here, Nick, let me see," he commanded. Nick resisted a little but not very much, and Alan was able to get a look at his hands. They didn't seem bad, but most other four year olds would be wailing. Nick's only concession to the pain was to want to put them in the water. The cold must have been soothing. Alan sighed.
Nick was not a normal child, in any way. Alan was used to it, but he still wished they weren't functioning on such totally different levels.
***
"Sit still. Right here. No, no cereal right now. It's lunchtime anyway, what do you want cereal for? I said sit STILL, Nick!"
Nick did not want Alan touching his hands. But they were still bleeding and he wanted to make sure they didn't get infected, especially since the bridge where he'd fallen had been so dirty. He dabbed peroxide on as gently as he could and Nick bared his teeth and squirmed. His eyes didn't change.
"Nick, you're making it worse, you know," he sighed, exasperated. "If you don't struggle it'll be over faster. But I'm doing it one way or the other. Your pick."
Nick glared at him and stopped moving. Alan was so shocked he forgot what he was doing. It was amazing. Nick had never glared before, that Alan had seen, and the effect was frankly terrifying. His inhuman eyes were burning black with anger, the kind of fury that stops you dead in your tracks. It was the first time Alan had ever seen emotion in his little brother's face. And what's more, he'd obeyed a verbal command. This time, Alan was positive it wasn't coincidental. Nick had definitely understood him, he must have. For Alan, at that moment, the world stopped turning. He couldn't do anything but stare just as blankly as Nick usually did.
Nick took the oppurtunity to yank his hands away and grab the box of cereal. Jerked back to reality, Alan took it from him and put it on the counter, in the back where he could reach but Nick probably couldn't. He'd have put it on top of the fridge if he'd been taller. Nick glared at him again, but this time Alan was prepared for it, and anyway he wasn't scared of Nick. As he dabbed the peroxide on--Nick was no longer fighting, although his glare alone could have melted steel--Alan knew why he was so pleased, but wondered why he wasn't frightened. Most people would have been, even without knowing what Nick was. Alan did, and he wasn't. He felt confident Nick wouldn't hurt him, and that scared him more than Nick himself did. He knew Nick could never be fully trusted.
***
When Alan told Dad at dinner what Nick had done, Dad was surprised and disbelieving. He kept asking if Alan was sure, and coming up with a dozen different reasons why Nick might have stopped struggling, each one more feeble than the last. Alan could tell he was trying to convince himself, to avoid getting his hopes up and being disappointed. Alan felt the same way, but he couldn't help being optimistic about it. The whole time they were talking, Nick looked back and forth between them, and whenever they stopped to look at him, he stared back at whoever he'd happened to be looking at beforehand. At this point, even Dad thought Nick might be following the conversation, although he did his best to dismiss that notion too.
"Just don't mention it to Olivia," Dad warned, as if Alan didn't know that already. "It would only upset her."
Alan hardly ever talked to Olivia, and when he did, he never mentioned Nick, unless there was simply no way around it. It wasn't worth sending her into screaming fits. Her blue eyes would get even more distant than usual and she'd scream and lash out. Sometimes she hurt him or Dad, and sometimes she hurt herself. Nick never showed the slightest inclination to go into her room, but Alan was careful to keep him out anyway. He went cold at the thought of what Olivia might do to Nick if he set foot in there.
Halfway through dinner, she started screaming. Something made a crashing sound, as if thrown at the wall. All three of them looked up at the ceiling. Alan noted with pleasure that Nick seemed to recognize that it was a human making those noises, even though they weren't speech. Before he'd had time to think about it, though, Dad was getting up to see to Olivia. He left his dinner half-eaten and went upstairs without another word to the boys. Alan carefully placed a glass lid over his plate and put it in the oven next to Olivia's to keep it warm.
After dinner, Alan took Nick upstairs for bathtime. Nick was standing there with the bathtub half full, staring at the tub just as he'd stared at the pond. Just as he stared at everything.
"Lookie, Nick, a rubber duck. Like the ducks at the pond. Except this one is yellow. Do you remember what else was yellow today?" Nick stared at him. How exhausting. "The slide, Nick. The slide was yellow. Did you have fun on the slide?"
Nick waited for him to stop talking and then turned back to the bathtub. Alan pulled out a cardboard book about a teddy bear with an umbrella to read to him while he bathed. He glanced up and saw the bathtub littered with neglected rubber duckies, boats, dolphins, and even a foam sword. Nick had never played with bathtoys, unless you counted the sword. And Alan didn't, since Nick had an ominous way of playing with it that didn't recall fun. Nick let Alan's words wash over him like the water and soap, while he moved the sword in thoughtful, calculated movements or scrubbed his hair.
"'There is a puddle!' Teddy called to Kitty. 'Come play with me in the puddle!'" Alan read out, and showed Nick the picture of the bear and the cat jumping happily in the puddle. Nick looked at him, and then got out of the tub and grabbed a towel to dry off.
"Too cute?" Alan asked him with a smile. "I know you probably don't like this kind of story, but it's waterproof. I'll read you something better before bed, okay?" Nick looked at him again, put on his clothes, and left. Alan sighed after him.
Since he'd promised Nick a more interesting bedtime story, he had to dig through all his books for a suitable one. He found quite a few that were entirely too bloody to read a four year old--although, he thought grimly, they were probably just right for Nick--and some that were too sappy. Somehow he didn't think Nick would care for Jane Austen. He settled for Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and decided not to read Nick the gory parts. Anyway, Alan didn't understand quite all of it, so probably Nick wouldn't either.
Nick listened intently but just as blankly as always. Alan talked himself hoarse by the time he gave up for the night.
"Alright, Nick, that's enough for now," he said as he tucked his brother in and turned off the light. "Good night, Nick."
He waited, hopefully, but there was no response. He could see a faint glimmer of moonlight reflecting off of Nick's eyes in the darkness. Smiling to fight back the sudden swell of disappointment, he leaned over and kissed Nick on the cheek before climbing into bed himself. He'd really thought tonight would be the night. Maybe Dad was right after all. Maybe Nick would always be mute.
***
A long hallway stretched before him, the end of it lost in darkness. Alan didn't need to look behind; he knew there was nothing there. So he walked forward, without it even occuring to him to be afraid. There was a faint sound ahead of him. He wondered what it could be. Whatever it was, he'd find out at the end of the hall. So Alan kept walking, the noise getting louder and louder. He recognized it now. Olivia was wailing in anguish. She did that sometimes, although screaming was a lot more common. Alan got the impression rage came to her a lot more easily than grief did.
As she continued to sob and moan, Alan got increasingly more concerned. She was fairly close now, but he didn't hear Dad trying to comfort her. Where was he? Alan started to jog. The hallway still seemed endless. Unless he looked at his feet, he couldn't even tell he was moving. He put on more speed. Olivia's wailing got louder and louder. She sounded like she was right there, but there was nothing but the hallway, stretching on into oblivion.
He stopped, and turned around, wondering if he'd missed a door. Behind him there was a black eagle. Were there any black eagles? Alan didn't remember reading about any. Anyway, this one was black. It ruffled its wings exactly like the duck at the pond had. Alan would have smiled, but he was too worried about Olivia.
"Have you seen the woman who's crying?" he asked the eagle. But, being a bird, it didn't understand him. Olivia was positively howling now, and Alan had no time to waste. He turned back around to keep running, but instead found himself in a big red room with a mirror on one wall.
He could still hear Olivia. She sounded as if she was just on the other side of the mirror. Alan went forward and pressed his hand against the glass, thinking somehow he could get through it. She really needed help. But as he was beginning to panic, looking for a way through, he felt someone watching him. He looked in the mirror, and saw Nick standing a few feet back. His blank black eyes were reflected in the mirror, staring at Alan. It was the creepiest, and yet somehow the most comforting, thing Alan had ever seen. He relaxed. Olivia was still bawling, but Alan stared into Nick's black eyes and though it was more than a little disconcerting, it was very soothing. Suddenly Alan was strangely happy and peaceful. He smiled at Nick, who stared blankly back. Olivia wailed, Nick stared, Alan smiled, Nick stared, Alan smiled, Olivia wailed, Nick stared...
"...Alan..."
Alan woke suddenly. Olivia was still weeping, and the wind was whispering outside the window. The branch was dragging on the glass again, scraping out his name. He made a mental note to break it off tomorrow so it wouldn't wake him again. He got out of bed carefully, so he wouldn't wake Nick, and tiptoed into the hall. He still didn't hear Dad trying to soothe Olivia's misery, so he made his way to her room instead. But the closer he got the quieter she sounded, until he was just outside her door. At that point it was embarrassingly obvious that Olivia hadn't been crying at all, that it had only been the wind in the trees again.
Feeling like a fool, Alan walked as softly as possible back to his room. Nick was sitting up, silhouetted against the dim moonlight from the window. Alan was fairly sure he was watching for him to return.
"Shh, Nick," he murmured, and then wondered why. Nick was silent as ever. "Sorry to wake you. I tried not to. Go back to sleep."
Nick, however, didn't move until Alan had climbed back into bed. Only then did he lie down. After a few seconds, Alan looked over and saw Nick watching him, his black eyes visible only because of a tiny bit of reflected light. Alan put an arm over him. Nick squirmed but didn't seem to mind very much.
***
The next morning at breakfast, Dad was very quiet. He kept glancing at Nick. Alan could tell he wasn't aware that he was doing it, didn't realize how much he was hoping Nick would, just once, say something. Alan did. But he was still stinging with resentment about the night before, when Nick hadn't told him goodnight. To keep his mind off it, and to break Dad's silence, Alan told Nick about the kitchen for probably the thousandth time.
"That's a spoon, Nick. You use a spoon to eat cereal. But we're not having cereal today. We have bacon. This is bacon. And egg, Nick, do you like eggs? Shall I put eggs on your plate? Point to your plate, Nick."
Nick, of course, did no such thing.
"Want some juice, Nick? You like juice with breakfast, don't you? Here you go. What color is it, Nick, do you know? Is it blue?" No answer. No acknowledgement. Nick simply stared. "It's not blue. It's orange."
"Don't say it like that, you'll only confuse him," Dad said suddenly. "Assuming he even has any idea what you're saying," he added darkly. All the same, he looked at Nick hopefully. Nick stared back for so long that Dad had to look away. "Anyway, I'm going to be home early today. I told Bulworth flat out I wasn't working any more overtime this week."
"Your boss? He was okay with that?" Alan asked incredulously.
"Well I told him I had a mentally unstable wife and an autistic son," Dad admitted.
Alan frowned. "Nick's not autistic."
"No, but what would you have me say?" Dad laughed. "My wife is insane and my youngest son is possessed?"
Alan laughed too, a little uneasily. It was kind of funny to imagine Bulworth's reaction. "I guess not."
"Anyway," Dad continued, "he felt terrible and is letting me off a few hours early today. I'll be able to take you and Nick out for ice cream or something, if you like."
Alan smiled. They didn't have very much normality these days. Honestly, Alan could barely remember life before Nick and Olivia. He only had a few real memories of Mum. It would be nice to go out and do something as a family. Well, the three of them, anyway. Olivia would be happier at home by herself.
Dad got up, kissed Alan on the forehead and ruffled Nick's hair. Nick pulled back a little and stared at him. "You boys behave yourselves today. Stay in the neighborhood, all right?"
Alan nodded and Dad left with a smile. Alan looked over at his brother, who was staring intently at his plate as he chewed the bacon Alan had cut up for him. "Finish your breakfast, and then we'll go out."
***
"What do you want to do today?" Alan asked, as he and Nick went out the back door into the woody backyard. "I didn't think you'd want to go back to the park, but maybe we could go to the museum? Or the library, I could pick out a couple books to read to you at night. What do you think?"
Nick didn't even look at him, this time. Instead he was looking around the backyard as if vaguely confused what they were doing there.
"I'm going to break off that branch outside our window," Alan told him. "It keeps waking me up. Do me a favor and wait here. I have to climb the tree so if I fall out you'll have to go get Olivia for help, can you do that?"
Nick's blank stare was nowhere near as comforting as it had been in Alan's dream. If he fell out of the tree and Nick didn't get Olivia--or she wouldn't go with him, that was definitely a possibility--Alan could get seriously hurt. Maybe he should wait until Dad got home to do this. He couldn't rely on Nick. Nick wasn't at all trustworthy.
But, nevertheless, Alan found himself climbing the tree while Nick watched him from below. He was a little unnerved but not frightened, not really. Somehow, he was sure that he could trust Nick.
It made Alan doubt his own sanity.
He climbed up to the big limb, where he could look inside and see his bookshelf on the wall opposite the window. He crawled on his stomach out on the limb, trying to see which of the smaller branches was doing the scraping. As he got further from the trunk, the limb began to creak ominously. He stopped uneasily and looked down.
It was a long way to the ground. He hadn't realized it was this high. But then again, it was a second-story bedroom. Alan swallowed, his throat tight. This was really a terrible idea. He was smarter than this. But then he saw Nick's black eyes, watching him dispassionately, and felt a bit better. He'd come all this way, he might as well break off the stupid branch. He turned his face forward again and watched for the wind to start moving the branches, so he could see where he needed to snap it.
The wind picked up, and the limb creaked again, louder this time. Alan gripped it hard, even as he saw the end of the branch rub against the glass, heard the scraping.
"Got it!" he said triumphantly, and began to inch forward, trying to get close enough to grab it. He could feel Nick watching him. He stretched out one hand; it was so close. Just a little more....just a little...
***
"...Alan..."
There it was, scraping at his window again. This time he didn't even open his eyes. He was too annoyed. Surely he'd managed to break it off.
"...Alan..."
Or had he? Obviously not, or he wouldn't still be able to hear it. He'd probably have to wait for Dad anyway.
"...Alan..."
No, he HAD broken it off. He remembered now. The whole limb had broken off, he could remember falling. And if the limb was gone, the branch at the end COULDN'T be scraping his window. It wasn't possible.
"...Alan..."
So who was whispering his name?
Alan opened his eyes. At first everything was too blurry to see properly. He didn't know where he was. He didn't see anyone, or at least he didn't think he did. He must have been hallucinating. Falls can do that to people, he remembered. He had probably hit his head.
Right on cue, his head began to ache intensely. For a moment the world spun around and there was nothing but the pain in his skull. It was the kind of sharp ache that made him see red. The rest of his body seemed to not exist, his head hurt so badly. And then the ache slowly began to fade, so slowly, and he became aware of a different kind of pain, just above his right temple. A stinging pain.
He opened eyes he didn't remember closing, and saw horribly blurry double images, crisscrossing each other wildly, for a moment before his sight resolved itself, and he realized he was on his back in the yard, staring up at the tree he'd been childish enough to climb. He didn't think he'd been unconcious more than a few minutes, but it was hard to tell. The pain in his head, though it had spread throughout his skull, seemed to be centralized above his temple, where the stinging was. He thought he understood now. He'd split his head open there, and someone was dabbing peroxide on it.
"...Alan..."
He turned his head to the side, and saw Nick kneeling there beside him, a wad of bloody gauze in his hand. Alan didn't know what to say. He'd expected Olivia, or maybe even Dad.
"...Alan..." Nick whispered. Alan's heart stopped. "...Alan...?"
"Nick? Nick, you said my name?" Alan thought he was as happy as anyone with serious head trauma possibly could be. "Nick, you can talk?"
Nick looked blankly back, and dabbed the gauze uncertainly against Alan's wound again. "...Alan."
Alan sat up and then immediately collapsed back onto the ground, his head swimming. Probably not the time for hugs anyway. "Nick, go get Olivia. Can you do that? Can you get Mum?"
Nick stared at him some more; clearly he didn't understand.
"Mum. Olivia. Your mum," Alan said, and prayed it would make sense to Nick, somehow. "Alan wants Mum. Please, Nick."
Nick surveyed him blankly. Alan felt his conciousness swaying. For the first time that day, he was frightened. He knew he could die in the hours it would take for Dad to get home and find him. And Nick didn't understand.
"Nick. Alan needs Mum. For Alan. Please."
Finally Nick stood up. But he didn't make any move toward the house. He just stood there, staring down at Alan who imagined he was probably bleeding to death. Alan thought he might cry from frustration, when Nick took a few steps back toward the house, and then came back. And then Alan realized that Nick didn't want to leave his brother alone.
"I'm okay, Nick," he said, fighting to stay concious. "Alan's okay. Get Mum. Hurry, Nick. Alan needs you."
And without a glance back, Nick was gone.
***
A hand was stroking his hair. Alan opened his eyes, and saw the mirror from his dream, his own reflection and Nick's behind him. No, it wasn't a mirror. It was dad. And Nick was there too.
"Alan, are you alright?" Dad asked, his voice soft but trembling. "Alan?"
"I'm okay," Alan grumbled, his voice slightly slurred. His head didn't hurt anymore. He tried to sit up but couldn't. So he looked around from his prone position and realized he was in the hospital. Dad was stroking his hair, smiling at him even with tears in his eyes, and there was Nick in the background, silent and creepy, as usual.
"What were you thinking, son? Why would you climb that high without anyone out there to catch you?"
"Nick was there," Alan slurred. He was on painkillers, that was it. That's why his voice was funny and his head didn't hurt, and why everything felt kind of warm and fuzzy.
"Good thing too," Dad said, and sent a furiously proud look at Nick, who stared impassively back. "He went into Olivia's room and upset her into calling me to come home and get rid of him. She said you wouldn't come. When I got there Nick took me right to you. But Alan, you can't trust to that. What if I hadn't got back in time? You could have died. You're lucky you won't have lasting injuries as it is. I know Nick is your brother, but, Alan, you can't trust him for things like that. Not if he can't talk."
And then Alan remembered. "He can talk, Dad. He can talk. He said my name. Nick said my name."
Dad looked stunned. He stared at Alan. He twisted around to stare at Nick. Back to Alan, back to Nick. "...When?"
Alan smiled. "When I was on the ground. He brought me peroxide and said my name. I told him to get Mum and then we were here."
For a long moment, Dad just sat there and shook. Then he turned back to Nick and said, hesitantly, as if afraid of scaring a baby, "Nick...Who is that?"
Nick's blank stare followed Dad's pointing finger to his brother, laying in the bed, smiling at him. Then Nick looked back at Dad.
"Alan."
***
Three houses--approximately six months--later, Nick was finally talking in whole sentences. He was still abnormally quiet, but neither Dad nor Alan cared in the least about that. He probably always would be. But he was understanding everything they said, everything! And he was even talking on his own, telling them what he wanted to eat, or asking for a specific bedtime story. Not that he ever cared, not really, but he knew Alan was going to read him one anyway, and Alan let him pick them now.
When Olivia found out Nick could talk, she went completely hysterical. Even Dad couldn't calm her down for almost a week. Alan couldn't say he blamed her. She hated Nick for stealing her son.
Which made Alan think too. As far as Alan was concerned, Nick was a demon. Not a human possessed by a demon, but the actual demon. Sometimes he would look into Nick's demonic eyes and wonder if there was a human being in there somewhere, a little brother he had but didn't know. The idea gave him chills. He learned to stop considering it. He loved Nick, although he wasn't ever quite sure what Nick was thinking or feeling. And anyway, Nick himself thought he was human. Surely if there had been a second conciousness in there, he'd at least be aware of it. Alan did his best to convince himself of this, and for the most part it worked. Although sometimes at night when he'd awaken and find Nick already up, silent and staring, he had his doubts. Nick was definitely not human, so only God knew what was going on in his head.
Dad was ecstatic. He was brimming with confidence that if they could teach Nick spoken language, which demons are supposed to be incapable of, surely they could teach him morals. This was another thing that set Olivia off.
"It's not him!" She would scream hysterically. "It's not! It stole him! Just kill it! It stole him!"
She did this for about a month before Dad got her to stop. And Dad never gave up trying to teach Nick how to be human. He and Alan both gave it their all, especially once Nick started attending school. By that point he was speaking as naturally as anyone, although he was quiet and, not surprisingly, dyslexic. Dad said it was the demon's incompatibility with words that did it.
"It's a miracle he can talk at all," Dad explained happily to Alan, who already knew that. "Dyslexia is hardly even an issue, compared to that. I think it's probably more important to teach him the difference between right and wrong."
So did Alan, but that didn't make it easy. Once Nick began talking, Alan found he understood Nick better than anyone, even Dad. There were still some things about Nick he just didn't get, but sometimes he almost felt as though he could read Nick's thoughts. And he began to think that, though Nick seemed completely devoid of any emotion, he felt plenty. He had trouble expressing them, to say the least. More than that, Alan thought Nick's emotions weren't quite the same as a human's to begin with. Sometimes talking to Nick was extremely frustrating. But for years, even after Dad died and they were on their own, whenever Alan felt he was about to lose his patience, he thought back to the three years it had taken to teach Nick to talk. And then he'd think about how much more complicated emotions really are. He knew, he knew almost for certain, that Nick was capable of feeling love.
His first word had been Alan..