Thomas couldn't be sure of how long he'd been there. The same dusty blanket was under him, the same unkind cage surrounded him. He couldn't be sure of the last time he'd eaten or drunk anything. His throat was dry from breathing in the dust and not having anything to drink. His stomach growled from hunger, but there was nothing he could do to stop its protests.
Too scared to request food or water from his captors, Thomas suffered in silence. When the night came after the first day, he slept in the darkness. Hungry, he began to bite his nails in an attempt to quell some of the hunger, but it didn't do much.
When he woke again, the man was gone. Light shone in from the windows in the room, and he could see what was there now. It appeared he was in a living room. A couch was facing the wall opposite him. It was green, dirty, dusty, and falling apart. Rips and tears covered its surface. On the wall above it were two small rectangular windows that let in the light. They were dingy and dusty, and seeing out of them was impossible.
To the left and right were doorways, leading towards other rooms. The floor of the room was covered with a flattened, old, pale green carpet, and the walls were a beige color that he could tell was starting to fade from years of neglect and age.
Through the left doorway, Thomas could see a kitchen, and his stomach growled as he thought once more of food, but tried to keep his mind off it. The woman entered the room. She wore a thin, silken green dress without sleeves. At first she paid no attention to Thomas, but as she past through the room, he caught her eye and gave her his best set of puppy-dog eyes.
"Whaddaya want?" she grumbled at him, obviously not a morning person.
"Could I have a little food, please?" he asked quietly, bowing his head and not meeting her eyes in an attempt to look as pathetic as possible.
The woman grumbled to herself and headed back to the kitchen. A moment later, she returned to the room, carrying a plate with a sandwich and a glass of milk. She set them down on a small table in front of the couch and, taking a set of keys, unlocked Thomas' cage.
With a squeak, the door swung open, and he was free. Thinking on impulse, he jumped down from the ledge the cage was set on and started to run. The woman, caught by surprise and still groggy from the morning, began to feebly chase after him.
Thomas ran immediately to his right instead of to the kitchen. Maybe there was a way out this way, he thought. But he was wrong. The only thing off to his right was a bedroom. A small double bed, a dresser, and a full-length mirror were all that was there. He was cornered.
The woman had caught up to him by now and, taking him by surprise, grabbed him around the waist. Thomas struggled and kicked in an attempt to get loose, and the woman struggled to lift him off the ground. Through the door way from the living room, came the man. He was yelling at the woman, at Thomas, at anything and everything that he thought needed to be yelled at. Taking over for the woman, he dragged Thomas by the hair back into the living room.
The man was furious. He yelled at Thomas and the woman. He screamed and yelled. Thomas was scared. He didn't even know what the man was yelling, he just knew that it wasn't anything nice.
Then he felt the pain. He'd had a feeling that it was coming, and he was right. The man began to hit him. Everywhere and anywhere. Pain began to fill Thomas' body. The man continued yelling, and he could hear the woman yelling in the back, but he couldn't understand what was being said.
He tried to move away, to avoid the pain. The man grabbed him by the arm and shoved him up against the wall. His head banged against the hard surface, giving him another jolt. With the man's face right up in front of him, he could finally understand what he was saying.
"What did you think you were doing, boy? Escapin'? Where would you go? Nowhere! You're stayin' with me, y'hear? Another stupid stunt like that and you'll never go home. You're lucky yer alive!" the man raved. He ranted and raved, on and on, continually hitting Thomas, shaking him, banging his head into the wall.....
Peter walked through the living room of the pad to see Nicole sleeping on the couch, and smiled to himself. She hadn't gotten much sleep last night, he knew, and he was glad to see her rest. Worrying took a lot out of them all, and he didn't want to see her worry herself until she was sick.
He tiptoed through the room to where the others were in the kitchen. Mike and Davy were at the table, but Micky was nowhere to be seen.
Mike was reading the newspaper, and didn't notice as Peter walked in. Davy sat, motionless, in a chair, and stared at the silent red telephone that was on the table in front of him, trying unsuccessfully to will it to ring.
"Where's Micky?" Peter asked to whomever would answer.
"On the beach," Davy replied, without looking up from the phone. "'E said 'e wanted to do some thinking or something," he added.
"Oh," Peter replied. "Waiting for a call?" he asked, feebly trying to make a joke.
Davy looked up just long enough to give him a look that clearly told Peter it wasn't appreciated.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
Davy just shook it off and went back to staring at the phone. Peter glanced out at the beach. Feeling restless, Peter left the kitchen and went for a walk.
Out on the beach, the air was cool and comfortable. Overhead, he could see storm clouds starting to form, but it would be a while before the rain came.
Peter scanned the beach for a sign of his friend. Far down, he could see Micky. He was near a tree that had been knocked down in the last rainstorm, sitting on one of the felled branches.
"Hi Mick," Peter called awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Micky looked up to see Peter. He smiled a moment, briefly, and then went back to staring at the ocean.
"What are you thinking about?" Peter asked. Micky shrugged. Peter sat down on the branch next to him. For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Peter looked out at the ocean, watching the waves flow in and out. Far in the distance he could see a few boats, and overhead were a few seagulls.
"I was thinking about the first time I saw him," Micky replied without preamble.
"Thomas?" Peter asked. Micky nodded. Peter smiled. He remembered the first time he'd seen Thomas, too.
"Yeah," Micky replied. "We were all at the hospital, worried, and then all of the sudden, you burst into the waiting room, all cheerful and everything, and announced that it was a boy." He paused a moment to remember the scene. Peter nodded in agreement.
"Remember the first time we started to think he was, like, weird?" Peter asked. Micky nodded. "That's what I've been thinking about lately. I mean, he was never a normal kid, but I remember the first time I thought he was odd. The first time I really started to suspect."
"The time with the pie?" Micky asked, and Peter nodded. Both of them smiled, remembering the incident. Thomas had been about three then, barely able to talk, but already able to show off his strange abilities.
Peter had gone one night back to the Pad to practice, and afterwards had planned to join the others in some banana creme pie that a generous neighbor had given them. Unfortunately, all had gone haywire.
In a rather clumsy move, Micky had tripped over the edge of the table on his way to the refrigerator. The pie had gone flying across the kitchen, and somehow, by a weird coincidence, hit Peter square in the face just as he was entering the kitchen.
"Took us a good half-hour to figure out why Thomas was laughing so hysterically when I got home," Peter recalled.
Micky grinned at the memory. "It was pretty funny. And then when he told us, it was so astonishing," he added.
Then, suddenly, he was silent. He stared back at the ocean. "I don't want to loose him," he said, fighting back tears he knew were coming.
"Me either," Peter said, and looked at the sand. Micky looked at Peter. Drying his own eyes, he patted his friend on the back.
"I'm sure he'll be alright," he consoled. "You know Thomas. I think he can handle this."
Peter nodded but didn't look up. "Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, non-committal.
Just then both heads jerked up at the sound of a scream coming from the Pad. Micky and Peter exchanged glances, and then, without a word, rushed back across the beach.
