Big Mistake

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

“The record says after you left the Halversons, you and your mother spent a week at the halfway house,” said Officer Stuben, glancing to the eleven-year-old boy the juvenile detention facility was trying to pass on to him. He had to get his records straight, as too many details about Tom Brown had been left out of the file, and he noticed some of the files were water damaged. There were parts that he simply could not read. “Then she got a job downtown at a dance studio as an assistant teacher where she worked for half a year before you both moved in with her boyfriend who was a bouncer at night club. True or false?”

“False.” Tom clenched his teeth. His abnormally orange eyes narrowed on the cop. It ruined what some might call his Aryan-white trash look. “It wasn’t like that.”

Nodding, Officer Stuben waved his hand for Tom to continue.

Tom’s frown deepened, shrugging his arms closer to his body inside his worn and fraying gray hoodie, as his own imps screamed to make stuff up. He ignored them. Tom preferred people knowing the truth. “Mom did not want to move in with him, and he wasn’t a bouncer.”

“How old were you then?” Officer Stuben looked prepared to write all the details of Tom’s life down, as this was a blurry part of the water-damaged records. Tom resisted feeling a sense of pride when he saw the ruined and difficult to read documents. It was proof that some things went right.

But Tom did not understand why this seemed so important to a cop. Yes, Officer Stuben was not like most policemen he had met, and Tom had met a fair number in his early childhood. Yet this man clearly knew a thing or two about the supernatural. Officer Stuben had hardly flinched at the mention of imps, which meant he knew about them. Much of Tom’s life could be explained if people knew about imps and his connection to them. But still, what was the point in questioning a kid who probably would spend most of his life going from foster home to foster home, and from on juvenile detention center to another juvenile detention center until he graduated to jail? Yeah, the guy had said he was taking him to a special private school, but they had tried that already, and it had not worked out. The school had kicked Tom out, saying he was too much trouble. Tom figured he had to actually be CIA. But the agents he had met had never pretended to be cops before. Tom decided to play along.

“Seven,” Tom muttered, watching the Officer Stuben—possibly Agent Stuben—carefully.

Officer Stuben quietly wrote that down. His imps, whom only Tom could hear, were screaming at him to just go take the kid out and get cannolis. ‘Enough with the questions. You know enough about the kid.’ And the policeman paused as if considering it. “Let’s get lunch. My treat.”

 The man rose from his seat, taking up all the files he had with him. His eyes asked Tom if he were still game. He had, after all, offered to take Tom to lunch before.

The thought of cannoli made Tom salivate. Despite everything that had happened in his life, he still could not hate Italian food, though he wasn’t all that fond of Italians.

The policeman collected Tom’s few belongings before signing Tom out with the juvenile detention center clerk. Places like that ran on paperwork. And though Tom was more than able to walk out of any four walls without any difficulty, run away again, it just was not the best option. Tom liked warm places where he was dry and had regular meals. And kids at juvie had long learned to leave him alone. Besides, the police always found him again after he ran away. He had favorite haunts after all. The library. The movie theater. The old dance studio. The only thing they couldn’t do was fly.

But he always got hungry.

And the food at juvie wasn’t the worst he had ever eaten.

Now…. the cannoli that he and Officer Stuben split at the Italian diner they stopped off at wasn’t the best cannoli he had eaten either. That one had been made by Mrs. Smith—his third foster home after his mom’s second arrest—who had flipped out when she discovered that Tom had wings. She was one of the best cooks, actually. After that, he rated the Jacobson’s second (who could make a feast of nothing), the Williams’s third, and so on. The worst had been Edwards’s family food. It had been like they had taken cooking lessons from Ebenezer Scrooge. Never had he tasted a blander potato.   

As they ate, Officer Stuben asked, “Do you mind if I continue to verify your record? You can keep eating while we talk.”

Tom lifted his head from his plate and fork. “Verify my record? What do you really mean?”

Nodding, Officer Stuben smiled. “Well, for example, you revealed earlier that you and your mother were not living with that man of your own free will. That would have helped her case, you know.”

It would have, maybe, Tom thought while his body stiffened at the memory of the trial. He pointed with his fork. “No one believed her when she said so.”

Officer Stuben noted that down. “I see. Well then, would you care to set the record straight?”

Set the record straight. Tom mused on that phrase as he did not want to help the CIA—if this cop really was one. His imps were too normal. “Would it get mom out of jail early?”

The policeman glanced at the charges Tom’s mother was under now, her third arrest and a serious charge (armed robbery). He hesitated to shake his head, but he did. “I’m afraid not.”

“Then why does it matter?” Tom felt peevish on his mother’s behalf. She had not wanted to hold that gun in the robbery—that much, he knew.

With a weary yet sympathetic smile, the policeman replied, “Because at least someone else will know the truth.”

A shiver whipped through Tom. Thinking, he realized that even though it would not change a thing—not the past and not the present—he did want to clear up his mother’s reputation. And this guy really did not feel like CIA.

“Ok, first off,” Tom said with a degree of annoyance, eying the man, “You need to understand something about my mom.”

Officer Stuben nodded, waiting with pencil in hand rather than his cannoli (which had been mostly devoured anyway).

“My mom is one of the most beautiful women in the world,” Tom said.

The policeman glanced at her file, which only showed her mug shot. It was not a beautiful picture. His imps screamed that she’d look prettier if she had used less crack.

“She’s not a crackhead,” Tom bit out, mostly at the imp. The picture had not done his mother justice. She had been exhausted, her makeup running from crying so much, but very few mugshots did look good.

Officer Stuben nodded, writing what Tom said down.

Heaving a sigh, Tom continued, “Anyway, being as beautiful as she is, she also attracts some of the scummiest guys. They all assume she is a hooker—which is not fair.”

The policeman made a note of that.

“It is not fair,” Tom continued angrily, “because they want to make her into that. My mom was happy working at the dance studio. We loved it there. It was her dream.”

The policeman set down his pencil. “So then, what happened?”

Tom closed his eyes. “He did. Tony Pepperoni—”

“Pepperoni?” Officer Stuben nearly laughed. He looked to the file and said, “I thought his name was Anthony Pedroni.”

“Whatever.” Tom did not care. He had called the guy ‘Tony Pepperoni’ since the day he met the thug. And he wished his mother had never met him.

 

Six-year-old Tom liked their two-room apartment near the dance studio where his mom worked as an odd jobs lady until she proved to the head teacher there that she could assist with the children in their dance class (If anything, she could keep the little kids in line and help them get in the right positions). The apartment was bigger than their last one in the halfway house, including a bedroom and full bath with a tub. It had a radiator for heating, decent lighting, a fire escape balcony which had a ladder up to the roof, and a small but useful kitchen. It also had a washer and drier—the true perks. They shared the bedroom and slept on futons. It was heaven.

During summer, Tom had been allowed to watch the dance classes while his mother helped out as long as he did not disrupt any of them. He had books he could read, headphones and a videogame he could play, but mostly he lingered on the sidelines mimicking the students with utter enjoyment. The first time the teacher saw him, she thought he was making fun. She had chased him away. But then later in the summer, she saw him practice the leap and landing the girls had been working on, executing it with perfect balance. Tom heard her imps screaming about Billy Elliot before he had even seen her in the room—and he fled.

However, since then, the teacher invited him to join the class, for free. His mother called it a birthday present as he had turned seven around then. And the teacher took great pleasure in having a boy mastering the steps and moves very well among her usual dreamers who probably would drop dance once they were teenagers, to do something else.

And then September rolled around and delayed all her plans and dreams, as Tom had to attend Second Grade. He joined the afterschool dance groups, but mostly he spent after school time doing the classwork that he could not finish while in school.  

Tom had attended this city school the end of the last year when they had moved. And though he missed all his friends at his old school, the environment of this new school was less hostile to childhood innocence. If anything, it was less Woke. Here, the kids learned the basics: Reading, Writing, Arithmetic, Science, and History. Their principal was a believer in the Marva Collins method of learning, and believed it was most important to get a child to learn how to read so that child could own his or her own education and not have to depend on a teacher to think for them. The neighborhood was not rich, but the school teachers had made a pact that the school grounds were a place to facilitate a child’s ability to learn and grow with a growth mindset. And that was all they cared about. Politics had no place in the classroom. Their credo was to make capable adults for the future.

But Tom still had difficulty focusing in class. Despite the new method, the imp noise was insanely loud for him with so many children in each room. However, Tom also had a teacher who knew that he suffered from ‘sensory overwhelm’ and usually let him escape to a side room to recover when it got too much for him. In fact, he often did quiet work in that room and only joined the class for group work and activities.

Tom was also one of the few ‘White’ kids in the neighborhood. Kids called him ghost, but it did not bother him as much as it used to. In fact, he pretended to haunt people when they called him that, and it made him friends. He had a few. When he wasn’t in the dance studio, he was out playing with Jorge Mendoza and Dennis Jackson who lived in his building. Jorge had an Xbox.

  Everything would have been perfect. Their lives would have gone on without any more big problems if it had not been for Anthony Pedroni and the Pedroni Family. And yes, that was Family with a big F.

The Family had three girls who took dance at the studio. Alicia Pedroni. Vivian Scarponi, and little Lici Rozanno. Neither girl really thought of becoming a dancer in the future, but at all their performances and recitals had a full house. The Pedroni Family were happy patrons of the dance studio, as it gave their girls a place to learn grace, and it also kept them off the streets.

It was at an after-party after one performance that Anthony Pedroni saw Tom’s mother. Helene Brown was minding her own business trying to promote the school among the patrons who had come. And in her dance attire, she looked particularly beautiful. But then Helene had always taken care of herself. When she saw him, the large Italian man who had been watching her all night, she had been flattered. And, ignorant of his Family connections, had flirted. After all, he was well-dressed and polite when he spoke to her. She kind of liked the slightly European look to him as he had embraced his Italian roots.

But Helene Brown had never brought him home to meet Tom. She had considered her interaction with Anthony Pedroni a mild flirtation, and nothing more.

Yet he did not.

Anthony Pedroni wanted Helene Brown—desperately, like an ache.

Tom found out about his mother and this man long before she had told Tom about him. Her imps screamed and fretted over her new love affair, but Tom kept tight-lipped about what he overheard. It had always been her habit to keep her dating life far from her home life. She wanted to protect Tom. Besides, in a one-room apartment with a kid in a shared room, she could not exactly bring a man home for an overnight stay. And further, she was not quite sure this fling with Anthony Pedroni would work. She had a feeling he was hiding stuff from her.

Then one Saturday, Helene made up her mind and told Tom about Mr. Pedroni during a walk that was supposedly to a park. And it was not the talk he had expected. “I need you to help me get rid of him.”

Tom blinked at her, as her imps were suggesting they make Mr. Pedroni fall down some stairs so he breaks his neck. But he knew she did not mean that.

“He wants me to move in with him, and he does not know about you,” she said. “It is getting too serious for me, and he is just way too Italian.”

Tom did not know what she meant by that.

“So when I introduce you to him today, I want you to be the biggest brat to him. Make him regret ever knowing me,” she said.

That made Tom smile. “I can do that.”

Helene gave Tom a side hug. “Thanks a bunch. You’re a lifesaver.”

She then took Tom to an Italian restaurant where Anthony Pedroni was waiting for her—but not expecting Tom. Tom saw the man’s eyes widen when his mother nudged him forward to meet the giant in real life. He looked to the gal he wanted and then to the kid he most certainly did not want.

Right away, his mom’s plan went awry. Anthony Pedroni slapped on a huge smile and said, “Well, this is a surprise indeed! I didn’t know you had a little brother.”

“He’s my son,” Helene replied, gaining hope that this would drive the man away.

But Anthony Pedroni merely laughed. “Well, whatta ya know! Put’er there kid.” He held out a meaty hand, which Tom eyed up.

Tom also eyed this man’s imps. They had large horns. But unlike the evil imps at his former elementary school, these seemed more dragonish as their suggestions were spoken, not whispered—and if ever whispered, they were hisses. If anything, they seemed to have taken on a New York accent and held themselves, like gangsters. One suggested to Anthony to drag the kid out back to kick the crap out of him to show him who was boss. The other shouted that he just kiss Tom’s mom good and hard in full public view to upset the kid, as clearly Tom did not approve of him.

“I said put’er there.” Anthony’s voice took on a threatening tone.

So Tom said, “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Anthony Pedroni put on a crocodile smile, maintaining his extended hand, expecting Tom to take it. “Oh, well we’re going to be good friends real soon. My name is Anthony Pedroni and—”

“Tony Pepperoni?” Tom shot back with a laugh.

Anthony Pedroni’s imps screamed for him to off the kid. Apparently Tom had triggered some childhood horror—possibly invoking a childhood nickname that he loathed.

“No,” Anthony Pedroni said after a moment of inner rage, his voice taking on an edge. “Anthony Pedroni. And what’s your name?”

“Superman,” Tom replied, glaring up at him.

This time the man gazed wryly at Helene, retracting his hand. “Funny kid.”

“He’s a crackup,” Tom’s mom chuckled, rubbing Tom’s head. “So, anyway, here’s the thing, um, Tom and I have this tradition every night when we go to bed where we read a novel together before we snuggle down together. This is why I never invited you over. There’s no room for more than just Tom and me at my apartment.”

Anthony Pedroni cracked a wide smile. “Then just move in with me.”

Tom rolled his eyes. The man saw it and pretended not to, though his eyes narrowed a little.

“I’ve got a big, empty apartment that needs a woman’s touch,” Anthony Pedroni explained.

Yet Tom’s mom replied frankly, “I like my independence. And my apartment. It’s cozy.”

Yet Anthony Pedroni would not take ‘no’ for an answer. His imps were screaming for him to take her now—for what, Tom was not sure. “Cozy is just another word for small. No. You, and the kid, are moving in with me. And that’s final.”

Helene’s eyes went wide. Her heart raced. Her imps screamed for her to knee him in the groin, grab Tom, and run.

So Tom said loudly, “I don’t wanna move.”

“It is for your own good.” Anthony Pedroni crouched down to be eye-level with Tom. Yet being eye-to-eye with Tom’s orange gaze, the man stared. “Damn… they really are orange.”

Tom gazed dryly at him. But he then stomped on Anthony Pedroni’s foot and spat in his face. “I don’t like you! Mom dump him! He’s an ugly ape!”

The imps around Tom and his mother were cheering.

But Anthony Pedroni’s imps hissed for the man to slap Tom hard.

Instead, the man grabbed the top of Tom’s head, which surprised the little boy. The heavy weight and size of it held Tom fast to that spot. Speaking low, Anthony Pedroni said, “Now that was disrespectful. I don’t usually allow punk kids to be disrespectful to me. So, this is warning one.”

“What happens after warning two?” Tom asked, not quite intimidated, though nearing it.

Surprised by such a grown-up reply, Anthony Pedroni said, “You don’t wanna know.”

He then let go of Tom’s head and smiled at Helene. “I’ll have your things moved over to my place tonight.”

Tom looked desperately to his mother, whose eyes were wide with panic. Her imps were really screaming for her to grab Tom and run now. Tom agreed, it was the best move. She tried to back away to the door with her son. Yet as soon as she made that move, several men and women shifted so her path to the door was blocked. The Family had come, taken a good look at the coveted woman, and for some odd reason approved of their family member’s choice. It was clear that no one was going to let her leave. Anthony Pedroni had made a decision, and they were trapped.

“So…” Officer Stuben said with a chuckle. “The Pedroni family made the biggest mistake of their lives.”

Tom nodded with a smirk. “Yep.”

 

Tony Pepperoni

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Tom and his mother had lunch at the Italian restaurant with Mr. Pedroni where they were served some antipasta, cheesy bread, and a salad. Tom’s mind raced, as it was clear the ‘brat’ route was not going to work. Mr. Pedroni’s imps were savage. Tom had a feeling this man would beat him, maybe even in front of his mother.

Besides, they were surrounded by what Tom at the time figured were monsters. He did not know about the Mafia yet. He was only seven. But he could see two death angels in the room. One looked like a nun from a horror film. She was in her habit, bleeding, and carrying a scythe. Her expression was grim. The other looked like rapper. He had enough bling on him to be one at least. His scythe was more low-key. Oddly, both had wings made of take-out menus. Tom would have tried to read what was on the menus if the other Pedronis in the room has not been staring at him as if he were a freak-show curiosity.

Tom did not eat much. Just the cheese bread. And he glowered at Anthony Pedroni the entire time.

 Tom realized that Mr. Pedroni was either a man who did not read social cues or ignored them. Tom’s mother was furtively looking for escape routes. She was reticent in her remarks and frequently said it was about time she and Tom go.

“Oh, we’ll go together soon enough. Finish lunch first,” Anthony Pedroni replied more than once.

Tom finally said, “She doesn’t like you. We want to leave.”

Several heads turned. His own mother froze, stiffening in terror. She pulled her son onto her lap, whispering into his ear, “Stop.”

“Is that what you really think?” Anthony Pedroni turned his gaze on Helene.

Helene forced a smile. “He’s so outspoken—”

“Because no one breaks up with Anthony Pedroni.”

Tom glared at him. His mom’s imps were now sobbing. Several of them were saying they were dead—as in Tom and his mom, not the imps themselves.

“No, of course not,” Helene said. Her hands were shaking and damp. “He’s just not used to, um, me dating.”

Anthony Pedroni eyed Tom up. “What he needs is a good father figure. A real man to look up to.”

Tom rolled his eyes again.

“Don’t sass me, boy.” Anthony Pedroni pointed a finger at him.

“Do you know karate?” Tom shot back, wondering if there was a way to get him and his mother out of there. His mother was scared enough to wet herself. Yet Helene internally groaned. Tom could hear it. He had been, after all, quoting a line from an animated movie he liked.

Anthony Pedroni pulled out his gun and set it on the table. “Nope.”

Tom stared at the weapon. It was not the first gun he had ever seen. He had seen plenty on policemen. Until now, he had not given guns a second thought. However, he now felt the sudden urge to find a bathroom.

 

Lunch finished when Anthony Pedroni finished. He then indicated to a couple people in the restaurant to go get the car. He also spoke with another guy who rushed out on a different task.

“Apartment keys,” Anthony Pedroni extended his hand to Tom’s mom.

She colored. Her imps screamed defiance, but others still wailed that she was dead. She dug her keys out of her purse. Mr. Pedroni took them from her. He handed them other to another guy who hurried off.

Then Anthony Pedroni flashed his shiny Italian smile at her and said, “My lady, let me escort you to your new home.”

Tom watched as his mother played along out of sheer terror. When Anthony Pedroni extended his arm, Tom’s mother hooked her arm in his—all to the approval of those in the restaurant. But Tom held his mom’s other hand, terrified they would take him away from her.

They were taken and escorted to Mr. Pedroni’s home via a black shiny car with tinted windows. His home was a fancy uptown penthouse, modern style, also with huge tinted windows, paintings, and all the trappings of single man of wealth. It wasn’t kid friendly at all. It wasn’t even friendly for his mother, though she seemed to recognize the place. Tom realized she had been there before, and that made him feel depressed. He wondered when and why.

“I’ll have the maid make up a room for your kid,” Anthony Pedroni said as if giving Tom a magnanimous gift. “Now darling, I have a present for you.”

“What is it?” Helene had not quite let go of Tom’s hand, her eyes looking around the place with a sense of being trapped but trying hard not to let on how she felt. Tom stared at the open living room, wondering how much in that place was breakable and when he should start breaking it all.

Anthony Pedroni smiled, gesturing for her to follow him into his room.

She followed, but did not let go of Tom’s hand.

The man picked up a box from off the bed and held it out to Helene. She took the lid off and then drew in a breath.

Inside was a fancy, sparkly purplely blue-black dress. Anthony Pedroni lifted it out of the box and held it up for Tom’s mom to see better. He was smiling with pleasure. “Tonight we dine at the Hilton with several important muckety-mucks. You will be the most beautiful woman in the room; my crowning achievement.”

Tom rolled his eyes again. His imps were making gagging gestures.

“You aren’t coming,” Anthony Pedroni said to Tom, ignoring the imps telling him to backhand Tom.

“I… I can’t leave him alone.” Tom’s mom grasped at what escape she could find.

But Anthony Pedroni merely chuckled. “Oh, we won’t be leaving him alone.”

Yet this time Helene grew a hardened look. “I am not leaving my Tom with a bunch of thugs.”

Anthony Pedroni blinked at her. “A bunch of thugs? What thugs? Do you mean my bodyguards? Oh no. Now that is unkind. Besides, I’ve called for a sitter. And soon, we’ll hire a nanny. He will get the best care any child could need.”

But to Tom’s mom, this seemed worse. She stared wide-eyed at her son. “A nanny? I don’t need a nanny. I can take care of my own son.”

Yet Anthony Pedroni chuckled again in a way his mother may have found charming once but no longer did. “As much as I appreciate your maternal instincts, you’ll be too busy. Besides, a nanny is mostly to help you—not supplant you. She’ll be much more reliable in any case. She’ll make sure your Tom is always safe and where he needs to be.”

There was so much packed in that statement. Tom felt like a hostage. The word ‘nanny’ was supposed to make him feel safe and secure, but Tom knew from experience that women could be worse than men when it came to handling kids. Tom only wanted his mom, and he wanted to get away from there.

When the sitter came—a young Italian girl with dark hair, pale skin, and a shrewd eye—Tom knew he was in trouble. And when his mother was made to put on that fancy dress and go out with Mr. Pedroni, Tom knew for certain he was indeed being held hostage. Her imps were screaming for him to run away now. But Tom did not want to leave his mom alone with this man. He had to save her.

His toys and his mother’s things arrived at the penthouse before they left. While Tom was being kept in the entertainment room where a Disney flick was being played on the big screen TV in an attempt to entertain him, watched by the sitter, the maids and the thugs were making up a room for him. Tom did not like it. He also did not like it when his mother left with Mr. Pedroni, looking scared like a captured rabbit in the mouth of a fox… though thinking on it, the rabbit probably would have been dead by then.

Once his mother was gone, the sitter sat Tom down for a face-to-face tête-à-tête. She eyed his irises in particular as she said, “I dunno what you are, but kid, listen here. You’re gonna to be a good boy for Mr. Pedroni. Otherwise, I gonna have to smack ya around, or get Marco to do it. Understand?”

“That’s child abuse,” Tom said, eyes narrowing.

“No.” The girl snorted. “It isn’t. It’s called discipline.”

Tom looked skyward and shook his head. “Discipline is the ability to control yourself. Abuse is when you smack someone around.”

She slapped him. “No sass!”

Clutching his stinging cheek, Tom stared into space. Very few people ever tried to hit him. Apparently she needed no temptation so he had no warning. It was her knee-jerk reaction. Tom lifted his tearing eyes to her face and made a decision.

He went invisible—or mostly, as he could not completely become unseen. His shadowy essence was still there sitting in front of her.

The sitter screamed. Her imps shrieked with her in panic.

Tom made himself go light and flew straight up to the ceiling and flipped upside down where he sat on it like he would the floor. All the while, the sitter kept screaming, staring after his transparent, ghostly form. Tom then slipped up through the roof where she could not see him at all. The imps who followed him cheered.

He found himself on the roof of the building. Tom walked across the gravel and tar covering over to where he figured the guards were standing. He wondered what it would take to drive them crazy—all of them. Though the imps had applauded and cheered his exit, but Tom did not want to cause his mother trouble. Just these folk.

And thinking, Tom walked further across the roof to where his ‘new room’ ought to be and he sank through the ceiling to the floor where he softly landed. Thinking just a second, Tom quickly changed his clothes to his pajamas, grabbed a book, and sat on his bed like a ‘good little boy’. From there, he told the imps in the apartment what to do.

It was easy.

Imps loved trouble.

They also had great ideas, and so Tom asked them what would get his sitter in the most trouble.

‘Get her drunk,’ one said.

‘Have her steal something,’ another said.

‘Get her to break something valuable,’ a third suggested.

And they gave more awful suggestions, some of which included her flirting with the guards. However, at the current moment, with her having lost ‘the kid’ and running around with hysterical shrieks that he had vanished like a ghost, Tom settled for the guards thinking she was crazy.

After a short search of their own, when the guards ‘found him’ in his bedroom behaving himself, she got a sharp talking to.

“The kid is just playing hide and seek with you,” one snapped.

Yet the sitter stared at Tom, sure of what she had seen. She shouted at Tom, “How did you get in here?”

Tom made a face. “I walked.”

She rushed over to him to slap him again, but Tom tumbled off the bed and threw his book at her. It smacked her hard in the face.

She rubbed her nose, but continued after him like tiger. As she made chase, Tom darted out of her reach to the cheers of all the imps who were enjoying this chase. He was too fast. The only thing he did not do was fly—not in front of the guards.

“Damn! The kid’s a gymnast!” one of them said.

“Just a pansy,” the other shot out with a snort.

“Gymnasts aren’t pansies, man,” the first retorted. “Think ninja.”

“Then you should have said ninja,” the second shot back just as Tom literally sprang over the sitter’s back and ran into the family room. Once out of their sight, Tom went transparent again and ducked through a wall. Though they followed him out of his room, Tom had gone back in and fetched his book. He slid under his bed where he stayed there for a while, watching the sitter rush around in panic again.

“Those crazy eyes! I’m telling you! He is not normal!”

The guards were starting to agree after a while, their imps calling Tom a freak. By then, Tom had climbed out from under his bed and sat on the edge with his book again, quietly ‘reading’.

And his mind went over what the imps has suggested. Yet he wondered what a slime like Anthony Pedroni would do to a sitter who stole from him or drank his alcohol.

‘Same thing,’ one imp said. ‘Maybe shoot her.’

“Even if she brought her own alcohol?” Tom asked aloud.

One of the guards heard him. But instead of alerting the sitter, he wisely closed the bedroom door with a wink at Tom. Tom glared back. He was in no mood to make friends with a thug who was keeping him and his mom captive.

However, Tom noticed that the man had eventually alerted the sitter who—despite her best efforts to get to Tom—was thwarted by the guards who told her she was ‘doing it wrong’. And they left him alone.

 

Tom eventually fell asleep, waiting for his mom to come home. He woke only when she kissed him on his forehead, very late into the night.

He nearly jumped into her arms, sobbing. “I need to get you out of here.”

His mother sighed, brushing his tears away while she also quietly cried. “I am supposed to say that to you.”

Tom sniffled. “But I have an army.”

Blinking at him, it took a moment for her to realize he was not just quoting from the Avengers movie. Yet she replied, “They have a Hulk.—several, actually.”

Snorting, Tom shook his head. “But I am Superman.”

She kissed his forehead. “What can you do, Superman, when they’ve got kryptonite?”

Slowly, Tom shook his head. “They don’t have kryptonite. They took my Lois Lane, and they only have guns.”

“But guns can hurt you,” his mother said.

Yet Tom wondered. “Can they?”

Her eyes widened on him. “Don’t you try it, Tom. I know you are fast, but you are not faster than a speeding bullet.”

Tom nodded. “I know. But… I can walk through walls.”

“So?” His mother shrugged at him. Tom noticed then that she was not wearing her usual pajamas. She was in a silky robe which was over some frilly thing that did not look like comfy pajamas at all. They were small. Silky undies and a satin thing like a tank top. In fact, she looked cold, yet mussed up and sweaty. It made him uneasy seeing her like that.

He said, trying not to let that bother him, “So… maybe things can go through me.”

She stared, horrified.

Nodding, Tom said in earnest, “At school in science, we are learning about the atom. And our teacher says that the atom is mostly empty space. And I was thinking, maybe imps know how to make that empty space work—so my atoms can go through other atoms without the pieces hitting each other. That’s how I can walk through walls.”

“You know about atoms?” His mother stared at him in the late night darkness (which was probably early morning, actually), dazed.

Tom nodded. “Our teacher says we can know about anything if we know how to read.”

“Does your teacher know how you can go invisible?” she whispered, curious. When she had learned that he could, not long after he had left his grandparents’ home, his mom had been overwhelmed and amazed.

But Tom shrugged. “Nope. My teacher thinks all that stuff about magic and imps is made up. He only believes in things he can see.”

And Tom felt sad about that. He knew there was a great deal that most people could not see. It made no sense to him to disbelieve something simply because he lacked the capacity to detect it. It was like a deaf person denying sound existed because they could not hear it.

“Mom,” Tom said, gazing into her face, “Let me help you.”

“You could just run away,” his mother whispered. “Go find Ms. Broacher. Go to your Nana’s. Go to Florida.”

Tom sniffled. “I’m not leaving you. He is a bad man.”

Sighing, his mother hugged him. “I know…. Oh, I made a big mistake. We should never have gone to the restaurant. I should have taken you to Ms. Broacher’s myself. They might have helped us.”

Thinking on that, Tom was sure his mother earlier that morning had not even conceived that this would happen. He had a feeling she did not even know Anthony Pedroni was mafia until they had sat down to lunch. She had added it up only then. But by then it was too late.

“It’s ok,” Tom said. “I am here.”

 

Tom woke in his mother’s arms the following morning—and to the disapproval of the stern Italian mother who gazed in on them from the opened doorway, carrying breakfast in on a tray.

“You’re going to turn that kid into a momma’s boy,” she said.

“Too late,” Anthony Pedroni cut in with a snort, leaning against the doorframe. He was half dressed. His pants were on, but he was wearing a white sleeveless tank top which Tom heard was called a ‘wife beater’.  Anthony Pedroni then gestured to Tom’s mother who was also waking. “Helene, we have brunch today. I’ve got a new outfit for you in our room.”

Tom felt his mother shudder.

“Tommy boy, I’ve got something for you as well.”

Tom narrowed his eyes on the man. He would sic all the imps in the room on him right then had his mother not hissed in his ear, “Clark Kent, remember?”

Inwardly moaning, Tom did not want to be Clark Kent. Clark Kent was a wimp.

But the Italian mother, observing Tom’s face, took in a breath and crossed herself, speaking rapid Italian.

“Yeah,” Anthony Pedroni said, nodding to her. “I know.”

“Maybe we should call a priest,” the woman murmured. “Has this boy been christened?”

Helene huffed. Her imps called the woman a rude word.

“I’ve already seen three priests and one exorcist,” Tom said with a huff just like his mother’s. “I’m not possessed.”

Anthony Pedroni laughed out loud, his imps snickering. “Really?”

Tom nodded frankly. “The Witch called them to our house.”

“Witch?” the Italian mother bristled. She looked to Helene who was smothering a laugh despite herself. “You know a witch?”

“It’s just what we call my aunt—” his mother started.

But the woman’s shuddering and flinching and all that catholic crossing herself gave Tom an idea, and he said, “Yes! We know a witch!”

Tom shot his mother a look that said, ‘Trust me.’ Out loud he said, “She cursed us. Bad things follow us wherever we go. We’re haunted. Scary spirits. I see dead people.”

The Italian mother crossed herself and spat, panic filling her eyes.

But Anthony Pedroni gazed solidly on Tom with a smirk. He folded his arms and lifted his head back. “Really? Well, I see dead men walking. Now come on. I have something for you.”

The man could not be swayed. Tom looked to the man’s imps to see if he had any feelings of superstition or conscience. So far, no. The corkscrew-horned imps just smirked back at him and said the man will smack him once his mother was gone. But the guy liked Tom’s moxie.

The thing Anthony Pedroni had for Tom was a kid-sized suit in white. He made Tom put it on then urged both Tom and his mother to get ready to go out. Apparently, this brunch was a big deal.

It turned out, it was.

The Pedroni Family had ‘connections’. That is to say, they knew other Families which they did business with and attended societal events with. On this occasion, it was some kind of celebration, though unclear what it was about. Tom saw kids of these mobsters at the brunch, their wives and secret lovers… and not so secret lovers. All of them were dressed up and listening to what one might called classy music. It wasn’t exactly classical, but it most certainly wasn’t modern. Tom could feel his mother’s hand go clammy in his.

But his mom was there to put on a show on behalf of Anthony Pedroni. She was his trophy. And the ladies greeted her with critical, poisonous eyes. She was, after all, like an elven princess walking among mortals. At least, that was how Tom saw her. The women around them were beautiful in their way, but to him, they were all plastic. Three of them definitely had plastic lips. Tom was sure a few had plastic butts and plastic boobs. Their body shapes were not normal. And their makeup…? Now Tom had seen women with heavy makeup before, but some of these ladies were trying too hard. They were almost drag queen level. And they gazed on his svelte and pale mother as if they wanted to maul her to death. All of them put on smiles of attack as their words passively aggressively worked to put her in her place.

“Honey, I could give you makeup tips,” said one woman with heavy blue eye shadow and long claw like fingernails covered in spangly stuff. “And my hairdresser, I totally recommend him. He’ll do wonders for you.”

Helene put on a long-enduring smile. “How nice.”

Her imps were screaming what Tom had been thinking—that she wouldn’t visit that hairdresser even if her own hair were on fire.

The kids were not as stealthy.

“Your eyes are funny,” said a thickset kid with moppy black hair to Tom. “What are you? A ghost?”

Angling his head to the side, Tom peered at him then said, “Boo.”

The kid pulled back, flinching. But then he huffed. “You look stupid in that suit.”

Tom gazed at the suit he had been forced to wear. “It is stupid, isn’t it? But Tony Pepperoni made me wear it.”

The kids around Tom gasped and took a step back from him as if they just found out Tom was a leper.

“He’s gonna kill you!” one of the kids hissed.

Tom merely shrugged, ignoring the screaming imps around him who were saying if Tom really wanted fun, he should throw the cake he was holding into that kid’s face. “I’ll settle for him leaving us alone.”

“Are you really seven years old?” Anthony Pedroni stood over him. “You don’t talk like a kid.”

Looking up, stiffening as that man’s silent imps creeped him out, Tom replied, “I get that all the time.”

Anthony Pedroni rested his heavy hand on Tom’s head and crouched down. “If I find out you are some midget my Helene hooked up with, you’re going to be real sorry.”

The man’s hand then rested on the back of Tom’s neck, threatening to break it.

“If you hurt me,” Tom said in a low voice, “my mom will kill you.”

Anthony Pedroni stared into Tom’s orange eyes. “You’re going to keep playing this game?”

Tom leveled a dirty look at him. “I am seven. But maybe you should ask my mom who my dad is. Because I am not a dumb kid. I’m a smart kid.”

“If you are so smart,” Anthony Pedroni squeezed the back of Tom’s neck, “then why don’t you run away?”

“I’m not leaving my mom behind.” Tom glared at him.

The man eyed Tom’s irises up, then pushed Tom’s mouth open to look at his teeth—or rather his baby teeth and the missing ones where the adult teeth were pushing their way up. He took in a breath as Tom shoved his hands off his face.

“He really is a kid….” the man murmured, rising. His imps screamed to find a way to still get rid of Tom.

Anthony Pedroni left Tom alone for the rest of the brunch—and so did the other kids. He did, however, order some of his men to find out more about his lady’s brat, as apparently he had not researched enough about her as he ought to have. 

When they got into the car to go ‘home’, a young woman of a sweet disposition came with them. Her name was Carmen Pagelli. And she, according to Anthony Pedroni, was Tom’s new nanny.

Carmen really was a nice person, too. She actually liked kids and she had volunteered to help with Tom when she heard about him. Her imps were normal also, giving her average temptations. Tom wondered if she knew what kind of family the Pedronis were, until he learned she was a granddaughter to one of the other mob bosses and had been born into it all. Tom actually felt bad for her. She probably had no choice about her future.

It turned out, Carmen was also to be his tutor. Anthony Pedroni had decided that Tom would not be going back to his school, but would be homeschooled from here on out.

“So what were you reading in class?” Carmen asked Tom, perusing through Tom’s bookshelf once they were back in the apartment. “Any of these?”

Tom shook his head, throwing off the stupid white suit coat and searching for his hoodies. “No. The book is at school.”

“But what was it?” She looked genuinely curious.

Sighing, Tom peered out his bedroom door where Anthony Pedroni was having a heated yet whispered conversation with Tom’s mother—probably about Tom with what their imps were shouting. His mom’s imps were screaming for her to tell the complete truth about who his dad was—hoping it would freak Mr. Pedroni out. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.”

He heard Carmen gasp. “What? But you are seven.”

“It’s an advanced school,” Tom said, still peering into the other room as Anthony Pedroni’s imps shrieked in anger over getting a woman who was ‘tainted’. Tom hoped he would just let them go.

“Hey.” Carmen turned Tom’s chin to face her. “It is rude to not look at the person you are talking to.”

Tom peered at her with a frown. “Well, it is rude to be taken hostage. We don’t want to be here.”

Sighing, Carmen gently closed the door. She shook her head at him. “Listen, Tom. I am just trying to make things easier for you. Life is what it is. What Anthony Pedroni wants, he gets.”

But Tom shook his head. “Not my mom.”

Gently moaning, Carmen sat next to him. “It’s too late. The family is planning the wedding.”

“Will they shoot her if she says no?” Tom growled, his imps screaming for him to run away and leave his mother. He glared at them.

Thinking, Carmen shrugged. “Maybe. Or… she’ll see the light and say ‘yes’.”

Tom pulled away from her. “This is not the light.”

Carmen sighed, shaking her head at him. “Look, kid, I’m trying to help you.”

“Help my mom get away,” Tom shot back, fists clenched.

Carmen shook her head more. “I can’t.”

“Then you are no help.” Tom rose and tromped away to his bed. It wasn’t like he expected one of the Family to help him anyway. She had just seemed more sympathetic. He looked to the near imps and hissed, “I want you to haunt the Pedroni family. Move things. Scare them. I don’t care what you do. But freak them out.”

Gleefully, the imps in the room whipped off to do just that.

“Who were you talking to?” Carmen stared at him.

Tom crooked up an angry smirk. “My army.”

 

Tom did not see the effects right away, but every morning when he pretended to pray under Carmen’s direction, he told the imps to haunt the Pedroni family. Flood their bathrooms. Destroy their fancy stuff. Damage their cars. Make them lose their valuables. Basically, scare the crap out of them. He had even instructed some to write on their house walls with their lipstick, red nail polish, paint, and other things for them to let Helene Brown go.

The Family soon sent people to Anthony Pedroni’s house to talk to him. Tom got to overhear about all the crazy things that were happening. One house had flooded so much that there was severe water damage. Another had a grease fire which had gutted their kitchen and made their chef quit. Anthony Pedroni himself was being tripped by imps all the time, often when he was on stairs. The only place they were not haunted was wherever Tom’s mother was. He made sure the imps stayed away from her.

But instead of letting them go, the Pedronis called in priests. One right after the other came to the apartment. The first one took a long hard look at Tom, and held a cross in front of Tom’s face. He was dismayed to see nothing happened. Tom shot him a wan look. Garlic and silver had also been brought, but that of course did nothing. Tom played with both, stringing the garlic around his neck like a boa and danced around with the silver, singing a silly song. The priest snatched both back and left the apartment in a huff. The second priest was old and knobby-fingered. He threw a lot of holy water at Tom and even suggested they make Tom bathe in it when that didn’t work.

That’s when they discovered Tom had wings—as Carmen forced Tom to take off his shirt for the bath in holy water, aided by the thugs while that Italian mother held his mother back. They were even more stunned to find out that Helena knew all about them and did not care they existed.

“Well, of course I know! I gave birth to him!” she exclaimed, hugging her little frightened boy close, wrapping a towel around him.

The holy water bath did nothing either.

Three more priests came together to see what could be done with the ‘cursed kid’. All three had the look of a man who had eaten more than their fair share of food and certainly understood the word ‘piety’, yet did not quite comprehend the true meaning of the word ‘charity’. Their imps were even snobby. They pulled off the magnanimous priest look with all their robes and clean-shaven faces, but it was a look. Among the three, one gasped, pointing the moment he saw Tom. “I know what he is! I’ve seen one before!”

Tom wondered if he really had. Maybe from a book. Some of the catholic priests he had met when his great aunt had tried to have him exorcized had recognized something like him from a book.

“But this one’s got no horns,” the priest declared, looking rather puzzled.

“What is he?” the other priests and Anthony Pedroni demanded. Carmen was not in the room. She had been beside herself after seeing Tom’s wings and was taking a breather to get her head straight.

“It’s a half-imp,” the priest replied.

Tom perked up a bit. One did know something after all.

“What’s that?” Anthony Pedroni asked, feeling he was finally getting somewhere.

“Trouble,” the priest replied, eying Tom who eyed him back. “Pure trouble. I suggest you let him go.”

‘Yes!’ Tom thought. This priest was not a fool.

“What if I were to just kill him?” Anthony Pedroni finally said, watching Tom’s emotion flicker across his face. His imps nodded in agreement.

Stunned, the priest snorted. “Kill that? The fact that he is sitting here, entertaining your whims, shows he has chosen to stay. You can’t cage or kill a half-imp. No four walls can hold them. They’ve got fast brains and fast bodies. Whatever you did to anger him, you need to stop now before it gets truly bad.”

But that advice might as well have been shouted to the wind. Anthony Pedroni refused to believe any of that. And to prove it, he pulled out a gun and put it to Tom’s head.

The priests yelped. But his imps were hissing to him to just do it and get it over with.

“My mom will kill you,” Tom said, feeling the mussel of the gun against his skin with an instinctive ripple to not want to be solid. His imps were chanting, ‘You can do this.’

The man shot one off, not caring.

Tom felt the bullet go through him with the same sensation he got when walking through stuff.

Through.

The bullet lodged against the wall.

Everyone stared. Tom was still sitting there, unscathed yet with a slight headache and ringing ears. That gunshot had been loud. There was no exit wound and no entry wound.

“I could have sworn one of God’s commandments was ‘thou shalt not kill’,” Tom said, lifting his orange glare onto the man who had just shot at him.

The priests took a step back.

Horrified, Anthony Pedroni unloaded his clip ‘into’ Tom. Each bullet went straight through the little boy to the wall as if he were made of air. Not even his clothes had holes.

Tom then rose from the bed and floated up, using his wings to steer.

“I’m telling…” Tom said with a manic grin, realizing he was not so much bullet proof as in completely control of his own space.

It had the right effect. Mr. Pedroni practically peed his pants—seeing not only could he not shoot the kid, but the kid could fly.

The priests ran from his room and out the apartment.

However, Anthony Pedroni merely backed away, his mind racing over what he had brought into his house. Yet, being the prideful idiot that he was, instead of letting Tom and his mother go, he went straight to where his thugs were holding her back, and forced her tell him again who Tom’s father was.

She was shaking, as the sound of gunshot had rattled her. And yet, here was Tom walking into the room after the terrified thug, entirely unscathed.   

“… I didn’t know until after Tom was born that his father was… I don’t know, a devil maybe. He was super-hot, and I thought it was a costume,” she said back to him, her mind now awash with hope, as the man had been unable to hurt her son. “It was Halloween for pity’s sake!”

“How do we exorcize your boy?” Anthony Pedroni shouted at her. Sweat beaded on is upper lip.

His thugs stared exchanged silent looks between them, already of the same mind that it probably would be best to let this woman free and for her to take her kid with her.

A secretly proud-of-Tom smirk rested on Helene’s lips when she replied, “You can’t. Tom is my angel.”

“HE’S A DEVIL BOY!” Anthony Pedroni pounding on the dining room table.

Gazing at him calmly, Helene responded, “Oh, that is where you are wrong. Tom is a good boy. That’s why he cannot be exorcized. He protects me.”

Anthony Pedroni grabbed her by the throat. “Does he now?”

“Get his hands off her!” Tom shouted, marching up to get between them. The thugs tried to hold him back, but Tom somersaulted over their heads in the air and landed on the table.

And the imps did get Mr. Pedroni off—much to Anthony Pedroni’s horror. He felt the tiny hands pull his hands from Helene Brown and bite him all over.  

 Yelping, the thug staggered back, horrified at what had just happened. He could not see it, but he could feel it. The imps’ teeth welts were all over his hands and arms, though already fading.

Tom now stood between them, glowering at the man.

“You should let us go,” Helene said calmly to their captor. “This will all stop if you just let us go back to our life, and leave us alone.”

Anthony Pedroni stared, horrified at them. However, his imps were just as proud as he was and they suggested all sorts of nasty things he could do to her and to Tom. Bullets might not work, but poison might. Or he could kill Tom while he was asleep. Anthony Pedroni squared up his shoulders and shook his head. “No. There is a way to deal with every problem.”

He walked away, going to his room to ‘wash up’ and change.

Just hearing the man’s proud imps, Tom glowered. He could defend himself with an imp guard or just slip out at night. Yet, as he watched the man and his imps, it became clear that it was Anthony Pedroni’s pride which kept him from letting Tom’s mother go. The man hated to lose. He believed he never could. He would rig the game. He would cheat. He would lie. But he would never, never, never lose.

And that gave Tom an idea.

Mr. Anthony Pedroni needed to lose. He needed to lose big time.

So Tom changed tack. He kept up the imp-haunting of the Family, but switched his instructions for the imps. He ordered the imps to have the police—the good ones not on the mob payroll—to catch the Family in the middle of their crimes. The best way to kill a crime Family, Tom figured, was to get them where it hurt the most—legally, and with money.

It took some time. Weeks even.

First, the arrests were small.

But then bigger Family operations began to be revealed, and ‘Family’ members rounded up by the police. Drugs. Smuggling. Extortion. Even human trafficking. It all made the newspapers. But it took several weeks. And yes, Tom dodged all attempts on his life by Anthony Pedroni and his thugs, from poison to knifings, to just getting beaten up. Tom used all the imps he could get to torment the thugs watching him so none of them wanted to take one step near him.

Somewhere in the middle of the Family’s legal chaos, Anthony Pedroni brought a specialist to the penthouse and presented Tom to him, clearly with the intent that the man could remove Tom like animal control did to a rabid, wild beast.

Yet when Tom saw the specialist, his face cracked into a smile. “Maxwell Trask!”

“Tom Brown…” The dignified and mysterious SRA agent shook his head, laughing, much to Anthony Pedroni’s utter horror. The man put his knife back into its sheath and his anti-evil talisman back into its pouch. “Long time.”

Nodding back, Tom then smirked at Anthony Pedroni. “Did Tony Pepperoni call you in to deal with me?”

Anthony Pedroni bristled, unable to cope with being called that name.

Sighing, Maxwell Trask nodded. “Yep.” He then turned to face Mr. Pedroni. “You are one unlucky man. My advice is to leave this kid alone.”

“He’s not leaving me alone,” Anthony Pedroni pointed at Tom, looking nearly savage.

The SRA man glanced around at the place and then at the kid’s toys with visible doubt. His imps told him to leave and go get a drink.

“He’s keeping my mom captive,” Tom snarled at Mr. Pedroni with a nod to Mr. Trask.

Maxwell blinked then shook his head. He said to Anthony Pedroni, “Is he telling the truth? That’s a bad move if it is.”

“I didn’t hire you for advice,” Anthony Pedroni shot back, the veins in his neck and head throbbing. His face was getting redder and redder. “You need to kill it.”

Maxwell Trask smirked at him in the way an expert would at an amateur. “That’s cute. You want me to kill a seven-year-old halfer because you can’t?”

“Halfer?” Anthony Pedroni mouthed. He said, “It’s what you do, isn’t it? Kill monsters?”

But the SRA man looked to Tom then at the penthouse again, mentally calculating the distance from the top floor to the ground floor. “Let me stop you right there. This kid, if let alone, is harmless. But if you have harmed or maltreated him in any way, you have created the monster. And messing with his mother? That is the stupidest thing you could have done. He’s not evil. He’s just trouble for the wrong kind of person.”

Mr. Pedroni and his guards exchanged looks that begged to differ.

Maxwell walked to the door, mentally done with this. He was more than able to kill anyone who dared try to stop him. Yet with a little more ado, he said, “I call this karma. Mr. Pedroni, if I were you, I’d let his mother go, unharmed… and maybe even given a decent amount of money for her pains.” He was nearly at the door.

But that was the wrong thing to say to a man at the end of his rope. Mr. Pedroni lifted his gun, pointing it at Maxwell Trask. “You are going to do the job.”

However, Maxwell smirked back at him, his eyes so full of danger that even Mr. Pedroni flinched. “If you need me to get rid of that kid, then what makes you think you stand a chance against me?”

And he walked out.

Lowering his gun, his hand shaking, Anthony Pedroni stared once more at Tom. Tom smirked back.

Cursing under his breath, Anthony Pedroni went out again like a man on a hunt. His imps continued to shout, ‘There has to be a way! That woman is yours! No brat can take her from you!’

Tom glared after him. There had to be a way to get rid of this man without going full demon on him. Seeing Maxwell Trask again reminded Tom there was fine line between mischief and real trouble.

Into the System

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

The day of the big bust, the one that changed everything, happened while Tom was at the park with Carmen. Carmen had recovered from the initial shock of seeing Tom’s wings, and had been assured by his mother that Tom would only hurt people who hurt him.

Tom had done his usual that day—getting the imps to help the police to find enough evidence against the Pedronis to get them arrested long term, if possible. His mom was currently with Mr. Pedroni’s family at one of their houses, supposedly preparing for the wedding she did not want. Tom had a feeling they were trying to exorcise her, figuring Tom was in fact a demon connected to her. He sent a bunch of imps to guard her and fight off anybody who touched her without permission. The only thing Tom was sure of was that Anthony Pedroni still wanted his mother. But Tom kept wishing his family would convince the thug to let this woman go—or free her themselves.

But when a policeman came up to Carmen at the park, Tom had no idea what mischief the imps had unearthed this time around. The imps didn’t exactly give him updates. He just asked those he had sent off if they had fun, and they usually answered ‘yes’ with wide crooked smiles.

This cop looked grave, his imps telling him to get another coffee and put some alcohol in it. “Miss Pagelli, I’m Officer Breydon. Would you and your young charge come with me, please?”

“What are the charges, officer?” Carmen gazed calmly up from her book she had been reading at the park bench, as if she had done this before.

“You are not under arrest,” Officer Breydon said to her. “But that boy is now a ward of the state. His mother has been arrested.”

“My mother?” Tom hopped off the near swings where he had been playing. “Why? My mom didn’t do anything!”

Officer Breydon sighed, nodding to Tom in acknowledgment as he walked up. “Ever hear of aiding and abetting?”

Tom blinked. “On TV. But I don’t know what that means.”

Smiling, appreciating that, Officer Breydon patiently explained, “Aiding and abetting means your mom helped bad people do bad things.”

“Didn’t,” Tom protested loudly as Carmen drew in a breath.

“Did,” the cop countered frankly.

Tom hated him. No way did his mother aid or abet a bad person. She had been captive this entire time.

But the policeman led both Tom and Carmen to his car in which he drove them to the local courthouse. There they were to meet a social worker—possibly for them both as the policeman remarked that Carmen’s family was connected.

It was a very different courthouse from the one where his mother last went to at her first arrest. This one seemed better built, but older. Tom expected Ms. Broacher to march in and take him from there, just like last time. But what he got was a man with a comb-over and an ugly brown tie. His nose was like a small potato, and there were spots where his shaving wasn’t quite right.

“I’m Mr. Kormac,” he introduced himself. “Your caseworker, Ms. Broacher, is on vacation—so you’re stuck with me.”

“Vacation?” Tom frowned. This was not good. Ms. Broacher knew nearly every quirk about him—including his wings and parentage. And now he was stuck with this guy who probably would wet himself once he read Tom’s files. That is, unless this man was some kind of ‘freak expert’ or would not believe what he read at all.

“She needed a break,” Mr. Kormac informed him with a shrug. “And her workload at the time was down. I’m contacting her tonight to let her know I am taking your case. However, you’ve been red-flagged to handle with care. The memo did say you understand things on an adult level, and I should not talk down to you—but, you’re seven, right? What are you? Some kind of genius kid?”

Tom shrugged, ignoring his imps which called the man a moron. “What about my mom? What’s going on? She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mr. Kormac sighed, seeing Tom needed this first. “Do you know a man by the name of Anthony Pedroni?”

“Tony Pepperoni?” Tom huffed while Carmen shot him a look. “I wish I didn’t.”

Mr. Kormac nodded, hearing how Tom had said that, while his imps urged him to get out a cigarette. “Well, your mother was charged with aiding and abetting Anthony Pedroni in his drug smuggling operation.”

“She didn’t do it!” Tom nearly broke. This was all wrong!

But Mr. Kormac pulled out a paper from a file folder and showed it to Tom. “I heard you can read big words. Can you read this?”

Tom took the paper and look at it. He did not know a good number of the really big words. They sounded chemical to him. And at lot was funny legalese. “Some. Not all.”

The caseworker smiled, “Neither can I. But this is a list of the chemicals found at your apartment. They were cooking crystal meth there.”

Tom did not know what that was.

And Mr. Kormac could see that. “It’s dangerous drug.”

“Tony Pepperoni took my mom’s keys,” Tom briskly informed him. “He took them from her.”

“And she moved in with him,” Mr. Kormac added, watching Tom’s reaction. His imps were now just saying Tom was a stupid kid with a big imagination.

 “They made her,” Tom wailed. “We didn’t want to live with him!”

Carmen stepped away a bit, looking like her deepest desire was to run. However, the policeman was not far and her caseworker had not arrived yet.

“That’s not what witnesses said.” Mr. Kormac then read from a file. “Witnesses say she flirted with Mr. Pedroni, and after a time, she took you to meet the man. Then she moved in with Mr. Pedroni, with you.”

Glaring solidly on the man, Tom said through his teeth, “Mom took me to meet Tony Pepperoni to scare him away.”

“It didn’t work,” Mr. Kormac replied with doubt all over his face. His imps were calling Tom’s mom all sorts of rude names, including whore. Already Tom did not like the man.

“That’s because my mom is beautiful, and he is mafia.” Tom sniffled, wishing he had Ms. Broacher there. She’d believe him.

“Your mother has a criminal record, Tom,” Mr. Kormac said. “It is Tom Brown, isn’t it? Not… oh, say, Thomas Halverson?”

Right away Tom realized the man thought they were going around with an alias. Both names were now on file, thanks to his stupid grandfather who had entertained, for a time, to adopt him. Back then, Mr. Halverson had already change Tom’s name on certain legal forms. It had been a fight correcting it then. Tom was even angrier now that it had happened. 

“My name is Tom Brown. I was born Tom Brown, and I intend to die as Tom Brown,” Tom snarled. His imps cheered, giving him thumbs up.

Yet the caseworker smirked at the ferocious kid, as he said, “Even though your mother’s real name is Halverson?”

Tom frankly snorted. “What is real?”

Eying him, Tom heard Mr. Kormac’s imps remark that Tom was cynical and acted too old for his age. In fact, like Mr. Pedroni, he was not so sure Tom was a kid at all. But the man said, “Real is what is true.”

Glaring at him, Tom said, “My mom stopped using the name Halverson long before I was born. And I am not a dummy. My mom was arrested once for taking food past the sell-by date. Not a real crime.”

“She stole from the place she worked.”

“The food was going into the dumpster anyway!” Tom snapped back.

Appalled, Mr. Kormac asked, as his imps reacted with revulsion, “You’d eat dumpster food?”

“We did it all the time!” Tom argued back, resisting the urge to kick the man in his shins. His imps were annoying. “Unlike you, we weren’t rich!”

“That’s food in the trash!” Unable to fathom it, Mr. Kormac’s imps were now screaming Tom was a liar. Now Tom wanted to kick him in the gonads.

“It was still good.” Tom stomped his little foot.

The man finally gave up arguing. Instead, he summed up for Tom what his mother was facing, which was a lesser sentence than what Mr. Anthony Pedroni would get—but still would land her in jail if found guilty. That meant Tom would have to go into the system again.

“So she needs a good lawyer,” Tom murmured, thinking about the last trial. She had lost then, and it was not likely these folk would give his mom a fair chance if their attitudes were the same as this man’s. They all saw her as a hooker and nothing more. Trash.

It wasn’t fair. 

 

The trial was swift, and there was nothing Helene Brown could do to prove she had not gone along willingly with Anthony Pedroni in his scheme. He had paid her rent, and he had her keys. People had seen her flirt with him, and all his family swore she was about to marry him. They were taking her down with the ship. If they were going to sink, they were going to drown her with them.

Tom decided to punish them for that lie. He ordered the imps to make sure the Pedroni Family would lose all their wealth. He wanted them to see how they liked living with nothing.

Before Child Protective Services picked Tom up to place him in a home, Tom was allowed a few minutes with his mother. She would be in jail two years now. Mr. Pedroni had gotten ten-to-twenty. But Tom had a feeling the man would try to use his influence to get a reduced sentence. Tom wanted him impoverished before then.

“You’ll be ok, Tom,” his mom said, looking pale once more in prison orange. He preferred it when she wasn’t.

“It’s my fault,” Tom broke into loud sobs. “I was just trying to get them to let us go. And nobody will believe us about what they did.”

“The judge is probably in their pocket,” his mother explained, stroking his hair. “They have better lawyers.”

Tom angrily shook his head. It really wasn’t fair. If the judge was in the Family pocket, he would have to expose that too.

Yet Helene sighed. “Come on, Tom. I’d rather you be more like Superman—kind and good. Revenge is not a good thing. It does not fix anything.”

Tom glowered at the table, seeing she had read his body language. Her imps were screaming to swat him then hug him for what he had done.

“However,” Helene looked thoughtful, “If you could get those imps to, uh, make Mr. Pedroni drop his soap while in the shower from now on… That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“What?” Tom’s brow wrinkled. His imps exchanged looks.

Helene looked skyward, innocently. But her imps were cackling. Whatever she had suggested, it really was quite a naughty thing.

“I’ll come visit,” Tom said, nodding to her, wiping his eyes.

Yet she sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t think your foster parents will bring you.”

He gazed levelly with her. “I will come visit.”

And she knew he meant it.

 

The police took Tom to Anthony Pedroni’s apartment where he was to fill a suitcase with his most precious belongings. He was only allowed one suitcase, but at least he could grab one on wheels out of Mr. Pedroni’s own closet. Tom filled a large one nearly as tall as him, mostly putting in the books and clothes he wanted.

He grabbed the Ironman doll Moroni had given him, cramming it in. He also snatched up his Superman pajamas that Nana had made for him. The social worker made him pack underwear and a selection of socks, shoes, pants, and shirts before finally making Tom close and zip up the stuffed bag. The rest of his belongings, they said, would probably go into impound. It might even get sold to pay off part of his mother’s ‘public debt’. It felt like robbery.

As Tom was ushered into a car to take him to the Child Protective Services building, he whispered to the imps to steal away all their personal precious things out from Mr. Pedroni’s apartment and stash them safely away in the attics of the dance studio. He knew there was space at the studio as he used to play there in the summer when the teacher had chased him out. To give the imps incentive, he told them they could trash Mr. Pedroni’s apartment, destroying everything he had of value—or better still, stash away anything they could later pawn once his mom got out of jail. The imps could even break the windows. After all, he deserved it.

 

Tom’s home placement was not so easy. Mr. Kormac foolishly approached Mr. Halverson about taking Tom in. As a result, he had several tools thrown at him, along with a number of curse words. The caseworker then approached the cousins—as the great aunt was out of the question. None of the sons of the Dragon wanted to have anything to do with Tom, though Mindy Halverson seemed sympathetic. She explained to the caseworker that Tom freaked most of them out.

Mr. Kormac then contacted Tom’s Nana, Amanda Woods (no longer Halverson as she was now happily divorced), who lived out of state. She was more than happy to have Tom.

But when this was proposed to Tom, Tom shook his head and declared, “No. I want to live near my mom!”

As his Nana was living in Florida and was unlikely to leave, that ended that.

By this time, Mr. Kormac sat down and more carefully read Tom’s file. What he discovered confused him. It made no sense to his mind, which was constructed of things one could touch and feel in the grimy physical and political world. Words like ‘imp’ and ‘wings’ and ‘demon’ seemed to glare out from the pages like pimples on a face. Words like ‘condition’, ‘ADHD’ and ‘schizophrenia’ made a lot more sense to him. And immediately he made several calls—first to Dr. Bindi, then to several policemen who had learned of Tom’s ‘condition’, as well as the physical examiner who had a year ago seen Tom’s wings for herself and had taken various ‘samples’. 

Mr. Kormac was soon beside himself, unable to believe what he heard from all of them, and even more the photographs, even though it was all there. That Tom had functional bat-like wings. That the kid could fly. That he could practically read a person’s mind. After all, there was no such thing as the supernatural—he was sure. Finally, he decided to interview Tom himself.

Tom was staying in one of the spare rooms at the Children’s Home. With dirty-looking, off-yellow painted walls, they seemed more like rooms to take a nap in, but the place functioned as a half-way house with wardens to help kids come and go from one home to another. A policeman was giving Tom advice when Mr. Kormac approached him.

“…You need to act normal while among people, or worse may happen to you.”

Tom huffed with folded arms. “I am tired of normal! Normal only works when I am near good people!”

“Most people are good,” the policeman said.

Tom shook his head. “Most people are selfish. I hear the bad things they think, and I watch what they do.”

“Can you really hear the bad things people think?” Mr. Kormac asked, standing in the doorway, maintaining a distance.

Turning to look at him, Tom nodded. “Yeah. You thought some really bad things about my mom that are not true. My mom is not a whore.”

Mr. Kormac pulled back, blinking.

The policeman struggled to mask his shock, as he had also thought that Tom’s mom was way too sexy to be a sweet and good kind of woman.

With a look to him, Tom added, “It is no sin to be beautiful. But it is wrong to try to make a woman like my mom into something she is not!”

Scratching the back of his head, Mr. Kormac ventured, “But what if she, um, was found to have worked as a stripper or a prostitute in the past?”

Narrowing his eyes on the man, Tom said, “What if I were to go on to your computer and show everyone what websites you visit?”

Mr. Kormac went pale. He tried not to look at the policeman who glanced curiously at him.  

Changing the subject, Mr. Kormac lifted up the documents in his hands. “I need to interview you so I can properly place you in a foster home. I just read your file, and I have to say I am having a hard time believing it.” His imps called for him to get a stiff drink.

This time the policeman smirked at Mr. Kormac with a nod.

Tom huffed, folding his arms. He was sick of this.

“So.” Mr. Kormac pulled up a chair. “Let’s just get my facts straight. You have wings. I saw pictures, but can I see the real things?”

“NO!” Tom pulled away from both men. “They are mine! You can’t touch them!”

“Then how do I know the picture wasn’t photoshopped?” Mr. Kormac frankly asked.

“How do you know I am a boy? I’m not going to pull my pants down to show you!” Tom shouted.

The policeman, chuckled, nodding. “Good one.”

Mr. Kormac grumbled. It was an exceptionally good point. “Ok… Ok.  It’s private. I get it.

“Now your medical record says you’ve been on ADHD medication and also medication for… schizophrenia. Did any of it help?” Mr. Kormac asked.

Tom glared at him. “No. I am not ADHD or schizophrenic.”

“But you, according to this report, see things that are not there.”

“That’s false,” Tom shot back, huffing. “I see things that are there. You just can’t see them.”

“Prove it,” Mr. Kormac said.

Huffing more with a grumble, Tom nodded. “Ok.” He then turned to face an imp and said, “Tie his shoelaces together and mess up his hair.”

Almost immediately, Mr. Kormac saw his shoelaces untie while at the same time he felt something crawling all over his scalp. It felt like a spider. He jumped.

And tripped.

The cop smothered laughs, taking a step back.

“Believe me now?” Tom asked from over him, his voice smug, as Mr. Kormac was tasting dirty carpet.

Pushing up from the ground, looking back to his feet, Mr. Kormac saw that his shoelaces were indeed now tied together—tangled in knots, rather. And there was no spider. Breathless, he looked to Tom. “What was that?”

“Imps,” Tom told him. “They’re everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Mr. Kormac nearly choked on the thought, sitting upright while reached to his feet to untie the knot there. “Even when I shower?”

Tom nodded. “Yeah.”

“Is there any way to get rid of them?” The knot was really tight. He tugged and looked for how to undo the thing. The man’s face grew hot when one pull just made the knot go tighter. This was embarrassing.

“No.” Tom shook his head, smugly watching Mr. Kormac struggle with the knots. “They are the source of all your naughty thoughts—if you are just a normal person. They tempt everybody. All the evil thoughts you might have on your own from your own head, I can’t hear. But I can see if you listen to the imps.”

Frustrated, Mr. Kormac pulled off his shoes to free his feet. Then he really stared at those knots. In no way could they have formed naturally.

Mr. Kormac lifted his eyes to Tom as a shudder rippled through him. Now in sock feet, he went back to the table and pulled out one file from the folder and read it. The file had the list of all the things Tom had said he could see. It also included a set of drawing from an artist by the name of Jason Connors. Mr. Kormac pulled out one of the angel pictures. This one was of the one who had been on his school playground way back. “So, this… you’re saying these also exist?”

Tom leaned back, glaring at the picture as he still hated Mr. Connors. “Yeah.”

Mr. Kormac pulled out a faerie picture. “And this?”

Tom nodded, looking to the man’s imps who were grumbling that Tom was making this no fun.

“And this?” Mr. Kormac held up one labeled ‘common imp’.

Tom nodded again. “That’s an imp.”

Mr. Kormac peered at it then said what many had thought. “How come we can’t see them?”

Shooting him a wry look, Tom replied, “Because you don’t have my eyes.”

The man blinked a moment as he stared at Tom’s face, taking in his orange eyes again. “Yeah… I’ve read the different explanations about your eyes. One here is an assumption that you have a rare form of albinism. But then… wouldn’t your eyes be pink?”

Tom rolled his eyes. This was dumb. His imps told him to just runaway from there. He ignored them

“You are…” Mr. Kormac shook his head. “A lot like your mother. But… I can’t reconcile with the whole wing thing. The record claims you and your mother believe that your father is one of these imps. But… it’s like a foot tall.”

Moaning, Tom reached into the stack of pictures and pulled out the picture Mr. Connors had drawn of the human-sized Halloween imp. “This is what my mom meant. On Halloween they can be seen and can become big.”

He then searched to see if they had a copy of the picture his Nana had gotten of a Halloween imp on her phone at school. It did not seem to be there.

The policeman peered over Mr. Kormac’s shoulder at the picture. It was rather well drawn. Regardless of being a nasty pedophile, Mr. Connors was an excellent artist.

“How… how much do you take after your father?” Mr. Kormac asked, now breathless.

Thinking, Tom replied, as he searched once more for that picture among the drawings. It just wasn’t there. “I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”

And that ended that part of the discussion.

Mr. Kormac turned it to other things. He did not bring up the police record connected to Tom, though the three arrests now bothered him. From Mr. Connors’s arrest, to the arrest of his school teacher and the exposure of the vile behavior of all those other teachers at Tom’s school, Mr. Kormac wondered how Tom had known those people had been involved in such heinous acts. And as for the arrest of his great aunt who had tried to cut his wings off and inadvertently stabbed her brother-in-law, that one made this current arrest make more sense. The police had found the Pedroni’s drug operation by ‘accident’, or so they had believed. Now he was not so sure.

He also scanned Tom’s school record which was more on the level of his view of the world. Tom was known as ADHD and possibly mentally unstable—slow child, easily distracted, and yet also passed his end of year kindergarten skills test with flying colors. His score in first grade had also been odd. Incomplete work most of the time. But when Tom did complete something, it was always done very well. Most of his tests were incomplete, yet correct.

“Tom, how do you feel about tests?” Mr. Kormac asked, now looking at Dr. Bindi’s test which had revealed that Tom was actually rather brilliant but highly distracted.

Tom looked to Mr. Kormac’s imps who were telling him to get a double scotch, and shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?” Mr. Kormac listened carefully and watched Tom’s body language, which said the boy did not trust him. His arms were pulled in, body tense and he glared at everyone, though often looking more over their shoulders at the air there.

“On how many people are in the room,” Tom replied. His eyes flickered to the imps near the cop who were telling him to leave early, that it was not necessary for him to be there.

Then it clicked. Mr. Kormac looked at the class file then asked, “How many people are usually in your classroom?”

Tom groaned. “Too many….”

“Can I get a number?”

Nodding, Tom sighed, “About twenty-five to thirty.”

Mr. Kormac was amazed that Tom had the kind of brain that could give him a range. Little kids could not do that. But then Mr. Kormac asked the pertinent question, “How many imps are in a classroom?”

Blinking at him, Tom leaned back and thought on it. “Usually there are at least two imps around an ordinary person. Some have three. So at least sixty.”

Mr. Kormac leaned back. “You can multiply?”

Tom blinked at him, confused. “I’m in second grade. We’ve already learned our two and three times tables.”

And yet, the man had a feeling Tom was playing it down.

“Ok…” Mr. Kormac nodded. “That’s a full room.”

“And they shout all the time,” Tom added with meaning. His heart thumped in hope that maybe someone would now understand what he was suffering.

The man stared at him, imagining it now. A room full of sixty shouting voices…. He peered at the file again. Of course, after several minutes of that kind of thing, anybody would go nuts.

“And I can’t plug my ears from them,” Tom added to make it clear.

Staring, Mr. Kormac asked, as enormous pity washed through policeman’s expression, “How many are in this room right now?”

Tom’s eyes flickered to them. “Five.”

“Do they all look the same?” Mr. Kormac asked, seriously wondering yet finally accepting that this was real.

Glancing at each one, Tom shook his head. “No. There is one girl imp. Her horns are medium sized. The other four are boys, but… one has stumpy horns and a short tail, so he is young. There is one that is really old with big knobby horns and a long tail, but… that’s just from age. Most of these are a tiny bit fat, but not real big fat. You entertain some bad things they tell you to do. I think…” Tom narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Oh… You have an addiction.”

The policeman looked shocked. His imps glared at Tom.

“So do you,” Tom said to the cop.

The policeman blushed, going pale. “No, I don’t!”

Tom cast him a wan look, and right away the cop knew what he was talking about.

“Ok…” the policeman nodded. “Ok. I smoke. I guess that could be an addiction.”

Tom nodded sharply. “Yes.” His eyes then turned to the Mr. Kormac. “Do I need to say what yours is?”

Coloring, Mr. Kormac muttered, “Ok… I drink a bit more than I should.”

Yet Tom gave him a look that said that was not the addiction he was talking about, and the man colored more. He was embarrassed to see that Tom could tell what it was. He probably even heard the imps make suggestions to him. And being stressed, this craving increased like a bad coping mechanism.

Something occurred to Mr. Kormac, and he said, “You hear a lot of adult stuff then, don’t you? What really lurks in the hearts of people…”

Making a face, Tom shook his head. “I would not call it adult. That’s a euphemism for—”

“How do you know the word euphemism?” Mr. Kormac exclaimed, now really amazed. Tom did not sound like a second-grader.

Tom shrugged. “I heard it once from Nana. And she tells me what they mean. I like knowing big words.”

Mr. Kormac nodded. It made sense if this kid really was a precocious as Dr. Bindi had reported.

“I hear a lot of bad stuff,” Tom said frankly. “I hear what bad things people think about my mom. And I hear what bad things my mom thinks. And she is not what you think she is.”

“Then she needs to change the way she dresses,” the cop finally said.

Tom looked bemused. “Mom dresses pretty.”

“She dresses sexily,” the cop retorted. And his imps chimed in with wolf whistles.

And Mr. Kormac nodded. She did. Short skirts, plunging neckline that revealed cleavage. Tight tops. High heels. All of it. The only thing she did not do was wear tons of makeup.

Tom huffed, folding his arms. His imps merely shrugged.

“Do you not know the difference?” Mr. Kormac asked.

Tom just shrugged, sulking. How was he supposed to know. He was seven.

“He’s just a kid…” the policeman whispered to the caseworker. “Still innocent, despite it all.”

Mr. Kormac sighed and beckoned to Tom. “Alright. I need you to come with me. Dr. Bindi wants to see you, and I do believe he has a friend who would also like to meet with you.”

Tom groaned, hoping it was not another exorcist or priest. He was getting tired of those.

 

Dr. Bindi’s friend turned out to be a scientist. The man was baffled when he met Tom. And at Dr. Bindi’s request, he had Tom take an official IQ test—which Tom found annoying. Outside of the doctors themselves, Mr. Kormac was the only other person who saw the results.

And their results—setting aside the IQ rank which he just could not believe—Tom was brilliant indeed, yet high highly distracted… something he already knew.

The other thing he knew was that Tom had a lot more self-control than he had given the boy credit for. And at the moment, he had to give Tom the ‘talk’. It wasn’t the dreaded talk about how life is made and why there are boys and girls rather than just one gender—though Tom knew it already; it was the talk where he had to explain to Tom that he would be a guest at the foster home he will be staying at, and he ought to be on his best behavior, regardless of how he felt and what had happened to him.

Tom’s eyes seemed to glaze over. But he nodded. “I have to put my Clark Kent on.”

Confused, Mr. Kormac wondered what that meant.

The Johnsons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

Trent and Melba Johnson picked Tom Brown up at the Center, introducing themselves as his new foster parents. As people go, they were ordinary. Trent was an ordinary ‘Black’ dude. Melba was an ordinary ‘White’ lady. Their imps were ordinary. And their reactions were ordinary. Therefore, they were more than a little freaked when they saw Tom’s orange eyes, especially against his pale skin and nearly white hair. And though they had been given an explanation about Tom’s condition, it was clear they did not know it all.

That morning (before the Johnsons arrived) Dr. Bindi had provided Tom with a medical bracelet which informed whoever read it that Tom had to wear sunglasses for ‘clinical reasons’. He also gave Tom the sunglasses which covered his eyes rather well. Tom had to wear it at all times, mostly to make people ease into his quirks better. Dr. Bindi and his doctor friend had schemed it out and explained it to Tom. On record for the adults, Tom was declared ADHD, but allergic to the meds. They also marked him as having Asperger’s Syndrome, though Tom was sure that was also a lie—but it was better that saying he was schizophrenic. It at least explained his hyper sensitivity to ‘sound’. The biggest thing was that there was no mention of anything supernatural. They had decided that no one would understand, and those that might would take it the wrong way—like Tom’s Aunty Kennedy had.

When the Johnsons introduced themselves to Tom, in summary they said, “We run a safe but strict home. We have three other foster children who live with us, and one of our own.”

Tom could hear their imps remark how Tom was freaky-deaky, and way too intense for a seven-year-old. They were half tempted to pinch him to see how he would react.

But they didn’t.

They merely collected his bag and took him to their large tan automobile—a suburban. Tom was tall enough now not to need a car seat, but they did put him on a booster seat. They acted nice, and helped him out, but Tom could tell he was already rattling their nerves as the phrase ‘special needs kid’ roiled around their thoughts with worry. The imps badgered them with worry. They made the couple feel inadequate in their ability to deal with such a child. Worrier imps were a new thing to Tom, and Tom watched them with fascination.

As it was a Sunday, on their drive home they explained to Tom that they were religious folk. And though he did not have to believe what they believed, he did have to come with them to the church next week and simply sit quietly as they were not allowed to leave him at home alone. They would give him books to read, including a children’s Bible, which they encouraged him to study.

Tom found this fascinating, as his Nana, though religious, really had not pushed Bible reading. His mother never really gave it much thought, and his grandfather only went to church because it was what was done in the Halverson family. Even his crazy great aunt who was always acting self-righteous had never really tried to get Tom to read anything actually scriptural. This couple was rather nice, Tom thought.

The moment they arrived home (the house being a one-floor deal with brown edging around white painted walls), parked, and climbed out; Trent pulled Tom’s giant suitcase out of the trunk—which he eyed, wondering where Tom had gotten the fancy leather thing from. Melba took Tom by the hand to lead him along to the front door. And as they seemed nice, Tom decided it was ok to be Clark Kent for a while. He would just miss flying.

Inside the home, Tom saw once they entered through the front door, was ordinary. It wasn’t too different from the Halversons’ home actually. Fewer decorative pillows and bowls than his Nana’s style. More practical. And the pictures on the walls were either of family or cultural. There were a few African tribal masks along with a flag of a country Tom did not know, though Tom was sure Trent was not from there. It was probably ancestral, as the man’s accent was New York City English, and well-spoken—so not from the ‘hood. But the rest of the place was ordinary boring.

The moment they stepped further onto the carpet, a boy with creamy skin and tight black curls sauntered from the kitchen with a half-eaten creamcicle in his hand. His clothes were new and in fashion, from his shoes to his tee shirt. But his expression was smug. He eyed up Tom in a look and said, “This him?”

The parents nodded with smiles. Trent pushed Tom’s bag further along to the hallway on the right to take it to a room. Melba held Tom’s hand for encouragement. She said to Tom, “This is our son, Tobias.”

Tom glanced at Tobias’s imps. They were a degree naughtier looking than most. One had a little plump belly, so it ate well. The only good thing was that its horns were not that large. He was most likely a naughty, possibly selfish boy, but not evil. A brat, probably. Tom had met a few at school, and internally cringed. Brats could be a pain.

Tobias continued to lick his ice cream, eyeing Tom. “What’s with the glasses? Is he blind, or does he just think he is cool?”

Melba said, “He has an eye condition. It is best to leave it alone.”

And Tom could tell the boy was incredibly tempted to steal his glasses now. His imps were screaming for him to do it.

“Let me show you your room, and then get you something to drink,” she said to Tom. “You’re probably thirsty.”

Tom went along with her, wondering how it was going to be.

There was one boy in the bedroom when they stepped in, about ten or so years old. He had curly dishwater blonde hair, blue eyes, and imps who were raging. Tom was a little scared to see that, as raging imps usually accompanied kids who liked to fight. Melba called out to him as Trent was unzipping Tom’s bag in front of an open dresser drawer and now staring at what Tom had brought.

“Evan. Meet Tom. Tom Brown.”

“Damn…” Trent muttered, heaving out the books from Tom’s bag. “I was wondering why your bag was so heavy.” He looked to Tom. “Why so many books?”

Tom shrugged, his eyes tracking to the bunk bed and the plain walls. “I like books.” He did not say ‘They don’t shout’, though he had thought it. His eyes rested on the bare cork board on one wall where apparently they could tack up pictures.

Trent chuckled, shaking his head. “Ok… but it looks like you brought a library.”

Evan peered over and looked at one of the books. Then he eyed Tom. “Are you a brainiac?”

Tom blinked at him. He was unfamiliar with that word. He was also getting anxious with Trent touching all his stuff. When Trent unearthed Ironman, Tom jumped in and grabbed it.

But Trent chuckled, letting the action figure go. “Ah. Sorry. I guess I am in your space, huh? Just wanted to help.” And he stepped back from the suitcase.

They were nice.

Tom clutched Ironman in his hands and trembled a little.

“Is he your favorite hero?” Trent asked him, his chocolate eyes raking over Tom. His imps were screaming for him to call Tom ‘Jumpy’—not the worst curse.

Tom also heard a crude imp shout from the doorway for Tobias to kick Tom or his dad in the butt. Another of those imps told Tobias to take Tom’s Ironman doll and say it was tax for living in his house.

“No,” Tom replied. “Superman is. But my best friend Moroni gave me this when I moved away. It was his.”

“Oh…” Trent nodded and so did Evan.

But those imps around Tobias still shouted that he take it. The kid was selfish. Zero empathy. He was worse than a brat.

Trent helped Tom unpack (Tom soon realized from the man’s imps) because he wanted to know what came and left his home. The man did not quite trust the kids he fostered. But he was really good at acting that he was being helpful. Tom let him.

Once Tom was unpacked, the parents showed Tom around the house. Evan followed at a distance—notably away from Tobias like someone who was aware of a biting dog. They pointed out the bathroom, the laundry room (all of them learned how to do their own laundry), the kitchen, Mr. Johnson’s studio (it was more like a den, as he wasn’t so much doing art as working in there on the computer), and the other bedrooms. They showed the other bedrooms last, as bedrooms were sacred spaces—their words.

“To enter a bedroom, you must always knock then listen. If they say ‘Come in’, you can go in. If they do not, you are not allowed to enter that room,” Melba explained.

Tom stared, dazed at the three closed doors as she pointed each one out.

“This is our room. This is Tobias’s room. And this room belongs to Louise and Jamal, our other two foster children.”

She then knocked politely, waiting.

“Who is it?” asked a female voice of a Black persuasion. She sounded a lot like some of the classmates at his old Marva Collins Method School.

“It’s Melba. I’ve come for you to meet your new foster brother—Tom.”

The door creaked open, opened by a dark-skinned boy older than Tom by maybe two years. His hair was cut very short, probably so it could be easily maintained. He peered out then opened the door more so that all could see in.

“Hi Jamal,” Melba said with a polite if not formal smile, then gestured to their new foster kid, “This is Tom Brown. He’ll be sharing a room with Evan here.”

Jamal eyed Tom up, from his platinum blonde hair to his skin to his sunglasses. Behind Jamal, a tall coffee-colored girl (ten or eleven) rose from cross-legged positon on the ground where she had been playing Uno with her brother. They definitely looked related—with the same stare of questioning. Their imps were screaming ‘Who is this White boy?’

Tom waved, feeling awkward.

The gal cocked her head to the right and folded her arms. “Uh huh.”

“Play nice,” Trent said with a knowing look. “This is his first foster home ever. It’s all new to him.”

“Uh huh,” she said again, nodding, a little less hostile. “What’s with the glasses?”

“Eye condition,” Trent said.

“Uh huh.” The girl sat back down on the ground, getting ready to play again.

Yet Jamal eyed up Tobias before saying to Tom, “You like Uno?”

Blinking, Tom thought on it and shrugged. “I played it once.”

“Once?” Jamal laughed. “Man, you po’ baby. We play Uno all the time. You wanna learn?”

Thinking, Tom nodded as Jamal’s imps called him all sorts of things from ‘cracker’ to ‘ghost’ to ‘albino’ to ‘freak’. Nothing he hadn’t heard before. But Jamal wasn’t repeating them, which in the end was what mattered.

“Come in.” Jamal waved him inside.

“Can I play too?” Evan asked, looking hopeful.

“Man!” Jamal nearly whined. “As long as you don’t get all mad and stuff when you lose!”

Evan kicked some carpet and promised not to do that. His raging imps were telling Jamal where to get off and all sorts of things. Evan’s imps were also calling them ‘crack babies’—which honestly wasn’t the worst thing Tom had heard imps shout. He wasn’t sure what a crack baby was either.

Tobias stood in the doorway but did not ask to come in. He just watched as Jamal made Tom sit next to one bed on the carpet while his sister, Louise, shuffled the deck and dealt out.

“Can you read?” Jamal asked, eying Tom more.

Tom nodded.

But Evan laughed as he plopped down cross-legged. “The kid practically brought his own library! Half of his giant bag was books.”

“Are you a nerd?” Jamal asked, as his sister dealt him another card, nearing the end. She was fast.

Tom’s brows met. He knew that word, but it was the first time anyone had called him a nerd. “Not really.”

“His bag was so big, he could climb into it.” Evan laughed more, stuck on that.

“Do you have a favorite book?” Louise asked as she laid down the last card.

Thinking, Tom imagined all the books he had read, and he shook his head. “Not really. I like any good story.”

She smiled at him. “Any favorite authors?”

Blinking as he thought on that, Tom nodded. “Roald Dahl. I like him a lot right now.”

Louise grinned at him. “Me too. I really, really, really like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where the brat girl fell into the trash and the jerk TV kid got all stretched out after being shrunk.”

Tom laughed. He had liked that part too. But he said, “I like the Oompa-loompas.”

“Did you know Charlie was originally going to be a Black kid?” she continued, picking up her cards. She demonstrated to Tom how to hold them properly.

Tom shook his head. He had not known that. He picked up his cards, fitting them dexterously in his hands, which marveled Evan, as he sometimes dropped them and held them askew.

“Kinda unfair they never made a movie with him Black,” she finished.

“The first movie was better than the second one,” Tom muttered, organizing his cards by color. “Only it had the wrong name. And I did not like the whole thing about the dentist and the teeth in the second movie. That was dumb.”

Jamal and Evan both laughed.

“You’re dumb,” Tobias said, echoing his imps.

Tom could feel the boy watching, but he decided not to look. This kid, Tom decided, was trouble.

“Are you going to come in and play, or not,” Louise demanded, “Because we’re shuttin’ the door.”

Tobias cast Louise a particularly sullen look before stepping back into the hallway. “I was just tryin’ to welcome the new kid.”

He walked off as Jamal leaned back and pushed the door closed. Then he locked it. Tom was impressed.

“Word of advice,” Louise said in a lower voice as she arranged her own cards, having never dealt a hand for Tobias in the first place. “Try not to upset the prince too much.”

“Prince?” Tom echoed, stunned other people thought like his mother when it came to families.

Jamal, Louise, and Evan nodded together.

Evan hissed, “He hates all of us. He pretends to be nice in front of his parents. But they aren’t looking, he is mean.”

“He pushed me down some steps once,” Jamal said, pointing to a scar on his knee. “Pretended I tripped.”

“He once cut my hair with some scissors,” Louise said, pointing to a shorter twist in her pulled-up and bunched tight curls which honestly fascinated Tom. The hair of his Black classmates was so different from his—especially the girls—that he wanted to stare at and maybe even squeeze it as it looked so fluffy, like wool. His mom’s hair was straight and light; and though he loved it, they were world’s different from Louise’s fluffy coif. 

“He purposely flushed my Lego men own the toilet,” Evan said. “And he stole one. But he told his parents that I gave it to him.”

“Did you tell them?” Tom asked, his eyes widening.

All three kids shook their heads in silence. Their imps screamed the parents were stupid.

“We used to,” Louise said. “But they don’t believe us. His parents think he is a little angel.”

“The prince steals stuff from the kitchen and all that, and blames it on us all the time,” Evan added.

Tom cringed. They had their own little mob boss.

“So… this is your first time in a foster home?” Evan asked, waiting for Louise to start the game.

Jamal nudged him, shaking his head not to ask Tom any personal questions. Their imps were screaming to ask him all the questions.

But Tom just nodded. “Yeah. I was supposed to go in one years ago, but they found my grandparents, and I lived with them for a while.”

“Why aren’t you with them now?” asked Louise, seeing Tom was ok with talking about it.

Tom shrugged. “Mom got out of jail. And I moved back in with her.”

“Then why are you here now?” asked Louise, flipping the top card, which was a red seven.

Shrugging again, Tom replied, “My Nana divorced my grandfather and moved to Florida—but I don’t want to move so far away.”

“Oh…” Jamal nodded, mostly to end the conversation. He put down a red three.

Evan put down a green three. “Why not live with your mother?”

Tom put down a green six. “My mom is in jail again.”

“Oh.” This time Evan colored, nodding.

“But what about your grandfather?” asked Louise, who was curious now. She put down a green Reverse.

Tom played a Wild Draw Four and said, “Blue.”

Jamal picked up four cards then Evan put down a blue two. All of the kids eyed Tom patiently.

Tom finally said, as it was clear they really wanted to know, “He hates me. He blames me for his divorce.”

Evan squirmed in his seat, sorry to have asked the question.

“But it wasn’t my fault,” Tom continued as Louise put down a blue four. Tom put down a blue Draw Two. Jamal shot him a dirty look as he drew two cards, getting a fuller hand. “It was long time coming. I just gave her the motivation to finally do it.”

“Oh.” Evan nodded, playing a red Draw Two. This seemed to be familiar territory for him. “Yeah. My parents are also divorced. Dad cheated on my mom.”

Tom stared as Louise picked up two cards (she had been so close to Uno). “Really?”

Evan nodded, clenching his teeth. “Yep. And then he married the lady. Did your grandpa cheat?”

Shaking his head, Tom sighed as he played a red five. “Nope. But he was possessive and mean. And when my mom ran away from home, Nana blamed him.”

They stared at Tom.

“Oh, Uno,” Tom added.

They all stared at their cards.

Jamal laughed and nudged Tom. “Ok, hotshot.” He put down a Draw Four for Evan and called for green.

As Evan drew four cards, Louise put down a green Draw Two for Tom.

As Tom drew two cards, Jamal said, “Your mom ran away from home?”

Tom nodded. “When she was sixteen. She even changed her name.”

“So what’s your real name?” asked Jamal.

“Tom Brown.” Tom eyed him to make sure Jamal knew he meant it.

“What I mean was… what was her real last name?” Jamal played a green four.

As Evan put down a green Reverse, Tom said, “Her old name was Halverson. But her real name is Brown.”

Louise nodded. “I get it. She wanted for forget it all.”

Tom shrugged while Jamal played a green Draw Two on him. She didn’t want to so much forget it as leave it in a mythical past.

While Tom took two cards, Louise said, “Our family is a mess too. Dad shouted a lot. Fought with mom a lot. But we didn’t know better then.”

“Is that why you are here?” Tom watched Louise draw a card, having nothing that matched.

Jamal and Louise exchanged a look before she said, “Our parents are in jail too. But not for fighting. Our folks thought it’d be ok to make and sell drugs.”

Tom groaned, closing his eyes.

Evan drew a card. “Better than my mom. At least your parents loved you.”

Tom blinked at him. Jamal put down a green Reverse.

Evan put down a blue Reverse.

Smirking, Jamal set down a blue three and said, “Uno.”

“Why would your mom not love you?” Tom asked, putting down a red three.

Evan colored. He averted his eyes.

But Louise said, kindly, “Some parents kind of break.”

“She was mad at my dad,” Evan snapped, almost crushing the cards in his hands. “But she punished me.”

Tom stared. A shudder whipped through him. It was much like his grandfather. But then he offered, “My great aunt went after me with a knife, and accidentally stabbed my grandfather.”

All of the kids stared. But Tom could tell that was not enough for Evan. It was clear he had been beaten a lot, and for nothing he had done. Tom really counted himself lucky as his mother did love him with all her heart.

“My mom’s in jail because a rich mobster decided he wanted to keep her, because she is very pretty—but he used our old apartment to make drugs. Mom was charged with aiding and abetting, but she didn’t do it,” Tom told them.

“But your mom loves you,” Evan said, meeting his gaze.

Tom sighed. “Yeah. She loves me tons. I am sorry your mom broke.”

Evan sniffled a bit, yet nodded.

Jamal won the game. They talked about other things as they played—their favorite movies, favorite foods, and what Tom should expect from his new school as they were told Tom would go with them Monday. Tobias, thankfully, would be at the middle school and they would not have to endure his company until after they got home. But Jamal explained that their real home was not the Johnson house, it was their bedroom. It was their haven, as it was the last sacred and personal place they had. Even the Johnsons punished Tobias if they could prove he had entered their room without permission.

“They really do believe that bedrooms are sacred.”

 

Monday morning, all of them breakfasted, washed up, got dressed, and went off to school. The Johnsons drove Tom and the others to school that day. Normally the kids took the bus, but as the parents had to introduce Tom to his new class and speak with his teacher, they did this special. 

Tom’s second grade class was on the first floor of a three-story brick building. It was noisy and full of regular ordinary children. Some of the teachers were naughty, but most were rather ordinary. Tom was glad he had not landed back into another hellish school like his first one, but he still missed the Marva Collins Method School so much now. It had been the best.

The Johnsons had a few words with the teacher then left Tom at the door. Once they were gone, his teacher—a tall lanky sort of man with ordinary imps said to Tom, “We don’t wear sunglasses indoors.”

“I do,” Tom replied.

The teacher’s imps called Tom a smart mouth.

“I need you to take them off,” the teacher said.

Tom lifted up his arm and showed the teacher his medical bracelet. “I can’t. Doctor’s orders.”

His teacher read the bracelet, but his imps still called Tom a liar. So Tom lifted his sunglasses to show the man his orange eyes.

The teacher pulled back with a sharp intake of breath.

“Ok…” the teacher said after another breath. “Keep them on.”

Most of the day, Tom struggled to pay attention. The classroom was noisy and full of imp chatter. The only thing Tom was glad about was that none of these imps were evil—just naughty. But the teacher watched him carefully as the noise in Tom’s head escalated, and he had begun to look for ways to silence the voices—which in this case started with hitting his head to telling the imps to play little pranks outside to keep them busy. By the time recess arrived, Tom got to see their handiwork.

Tetherballs were tangled up on their poles, posters outside looked like the tape had failed and several hung down or fell off. And the drinking fountain sprayed stronger than it ought to, causing several kids to get wetter than they had wanted.

Out at recess, Tom looked around. None of his old friends were there on the playground, which was also new to him. He walked over to the geodesic jungle gym and climbed up on it.

But then Jamal called out to him. “Hey! Tom!”

Tom hopped off from a high place and jogged over, glad to see a friendly face. The boys with Jamal were all Black, probably eight or nine years old, and they eyed up Tom as if Jamal had called over a mangy dog he had befriended.

“Who is this cracker?” asked one of them.

Jamal shook his head at him. “Be nice. Tom is my new foster brother.”

“Tom, huh?” said another boy. He was plump with chubby cheeks and fat lips. He gave Tom the impression of a chocolate stay-puff marshmallow boy. “I’m Marcus. That’s D. And he’s Leroy.”

Tom saluted them. “Tom Brown.”

And they laughed.

“How’d you get so white?” asked D.

Tom shrugged, knowing his imps were shouting meaner things to say. Tom knew them, as his old teacher Miss Lowry had taught all ‘White’ boys were naturally bad and naturally oppressors. It was illogical, but lots of people were.

“Are you a ghost?” asked Leroy.

Thinking, Tom shrugged and said, “Boo.”

The boys busted up.

Marcus and Leroy slapped him on the back, grinning to Jamal. “He’s cool.”

They pulled Tom over and showed them the game they were playing, inviting him to join. They were throwing a small, blue rubber ball at the brick wall and mixing the game with a sort of tag. That person had to catch the ball and peg someone with it before the group could touch the wall themselves.

Tom loved it.

But the rest of the day was torture. Back in class, Tom could not focus, and was hitting his head again. The teacher saw it and stopped him before Tom could hurt himself.

“Why are you doing that?” the teacher asked him.

“It’s too noisy,” Tom whimpered.

“Can I see that medical bracelet again?” The teacher pulled on Tom’s arm.

Tom let him.

Dr. Bindi’s number was also on the bracelet. Taking Tom into the hallway, as being out of the room seemed to help, the teacher had his students silently work in their workbooks. He walked with Tom toward the registrar’s office while he made a call to Dr. Bindi on his cell phone.

“Hi… Dr. Bindi? I’m Mr. Lieberman at the…”

Tom ignored most of the conversation. He had heard a number like it before. Tom was exhibiting unusual behavior. He wanted to know the details, specifically how best to help ‘this child’. Blah, blah, blah. What he did pay attention to was where they were going. They had passed the registrars and were now stepping toward the principal’s office. Mr. Lieberman had Tom sit in one of the large chairs as he went in. Not long after, Tom was called into the office for the principal to have a good look at him. It was a woman, lean as a skeleton with boney cheeks. Her hair was in what his mother called a ‘Karen haircut’. But her imps were average. Tom could tell she had a smoking habit and could not live without her coffee. ‘Well-meaning’ could describe her in a nutshell.

“Hello, young man,” she said to him in a surprisingly warm voice. It sent tingles down his back. “You have trouble focusing in class?”

Tom averted his gaze.

“Do you really always have to wear those glasses?” she asked him.

Thinking, Tom shook his head. “No. It just keeps people from freaking out.”

She exhaled with the teeniest nod. “Do you like your class?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t know them.”

“Would you mind going into a different class?” she asked him.

Thinking, Tom was about to shrug, but he asked, “How different? Is it a Marva Collins method class?”

The woman broke into a smile. Her front teeth were a little discolored and a mite crooked. Her imps were telling her to get out a cigarette, but she didn’t. “Is that the kind of school you went to before?”

Tom nodded. “And if it got really bad, they let me go into my own room.”

The principal smiled at him then nodded to Mr. Lieberman. “You can go get Ms. Falloway. He may be more suited to that classroom environment. I will contact his parents—”

“Foster parents,” Mr. Lieberman reminded.

“Ah, right.” The principal smiled. “I’ll call them and let them know about the change.”

Mr. Lieberman left immediately. The principal then looked to Tom again before picking up her phone to call the Johnsons. The conversation would be the first of many like it. She was calling to inform them of a class reassignment. It was nothing Tom had done. They just felt the boy needed a more suitable classroom environment to help him cope with his special needs. There were questions, and answers, and awkward pauses. Tom could only hear her side and could fairly sum up that she believed that this move was for the best.

Well, Mr. Lieberman returned with the anticipated Ms. Falloway, who turned out to be a spunky hippie kind of lady who greeted Tom with a wide smile and spoke to him as if she were hosting a children’s show. Her clothes were that colorful, and her hair was that kind of straight, with braids in it.

“So! You’re the young man! I’m Ms. Falloway! Do you want to come to class with me?”

Her eyes were wide with animated excitement. Tom nearly busted up, especially as her imps were demanding she get a macchiato NOW! Her energy was dying and she was doing all she could to hold it together. Tom resisted the urged to tell her that she did not need to do that with him. He could tell it would devastate her to not be able to put on the act for him.

So, playing young and shy, Tom ducked his head in his shoulders and nodded, extending his hand to her so she could lead him along. It was better this way.

Ms. Falloway really was a hippie. Tom noticed she wore crystals and she even had a marijuana charm on a necklace. It reminded him of how Aunty Kennedy was all about wearing crosses to show one’s religiosity. It was just a different thing of worship.

His new classroom reminded Tom of kindergarten all over again. Instead of round tables, the cubby desks were arranged in blocks of four so they served as one big table. But the kids in the room were of varying ages… and for that matter, varying cognitive levels. A good number of the kids suffered from birth defects.

Tom was stunned.

This was where they thought he belonged?

And yet the imp screaming was more innocent. Simple stuff—like eating glue, taking without asking, hitting when angry. Nothing really big. And some of these kids did not know the difference between inside and outside voices. There were three teachers in the room, all three clearly trained to handle difficult teaching situations.

Ms. Falloway led Tom to a desk and sat him down with his second grade work. She opened the workbook to the page they were doing in Mr. Lieberman’s class. “This is what your class was doing, right? Can you finish this while I get your books and lesson things ready?”

Moaning, Tom took up his pencil and nodded.

But that room was still noisy. Tom could not focus. Eventually he just put his hands over his head and rested his head on his desk.

Mrs. Johnson showed up after school to speak with Ms. Falloway, mostly to meet her. When she drove Tom and the other kids home, it was in uncomfortable silence. Jamal had heard and could not look at Tom. Louise, however, stared at Tom the entire time, unable to believe it. Tom did, after all, talk like an older kid. Evan was the only one who did not seem to care. But then his imps were raging at him to scream, as life was so unfair.

When they got home, Mrs. Johnson muttered, “I told them… no special needs kids…”

They all overheard.

Jamal looked away from Tom. But Louise still peered at Tom with disbelief. Evan hopped out of the car without a word, not caring.

Tobias came into Tom’s and Evan’s room when he arrived home, munching on a freshly baked gingersnap cookie, leaning against the door jamb, a sneer curled on his lip. “So… what do you really use those books for? Smuggling stuff? No special needs kid can read all that?”

Evan rolled his eyes, turning from his homework which he was doing at his desk with Tom. Tom was finishing up an assessment packet Ms. Falloway had given him. With fewer imp voices shouting, he could focus on it.

Tobias took one step into the room.

“Nuh, uh, uh!” Evan waved a sharp finger at him. “Not your room!”

Tobias shot him a dirty look and stepped back to the doorjamb. “Fine. But how do you like sharing with a retard?”

Evan got out of his chair. At first Tom was sure Evan was going to punch the prince, as his imps were shouting for him to, but he just closed the door in Tobias’s face.

“Hey! That’s not nice!” Tobias shouted through the closed door. “You could have crushed my fingers!”

“I wish,” Evan muttered as he sat down again.

Tom nodded in thanks to him.

But after a silence, Evan asked, “So what’s the real deal? Are you smart or stupid?”

Blinking at him, Tom thought, then said, “Neither. I’m highly distracted.”

Thinking on that, Evan nodded. “Ok.” But then after a silence, he said, “I was once diagnosed as ADHD. They made me take drugs for it, but I hated them.”

Tom nodded and whispered, “Me too.”

“What’s that medical bracelet really for?” Evan asked. “Whatta you got?”

Sighing, Tom said, “Imp DNA.”

“What?” Evan stared at him.

With another sigh, Tom said, “They don’t know.”

 

The Johnsons ate together as a family. That night they had ham and cheese casserole. It was quite good. Trent asked them about their day, and the kids shared their good news—mostly. Evan complained.

“—so I said to Van that he was being a jerk. But his friend Doug said that it was not Van’s fault. Leon had taken his math paper and copied it then passed it to me. And that was why we were all in trouble. I was just trying to give it back.”

“Right…” Tobias said, putting shade on what Evan was trying to explain.

But Tom believed Evan. His imps were clearly distressed that Evan had not cheated when he could have. At least then he would have deserved the punishment he had gotten.

“You know that does not sound plausible,” Melba replied with a ‘knowing’ look. She didn’t know, though. Her imps believed Evan was a liar.

Evan’s imps screamed at him to scream at her.

But Tom whispered to him, “I believe you.”

Louise heard it.

So had Tobias who laughed. “That’s because you’re special.”

Tom’s head jerked around to stare at him. He had never heard the word ‘special’ said in such a snide way before. It startled him. Tobias’s imps were shrieking all sorts of nastier names to call Tom, but the prince did not take the bait—at least not in front of his parents.

That evening, Tom overheard Trent call Mr. Kormac and speak to him about Tom’s ‘special needs’. When the conversation ended, they called Tom into Trent’s studio and asked him a few questions.

“Will you show us your ‘wings’?” Trent asked.

Tom silently shook his head. His imps were screaming he flash them.

“You never go about with your shirt off?” Melba asked him.

Tom shook his head again, this time saying, “Never. Never. Never.”

“Not even when you bathe?” Melba eyed him, her imps eying him, now calling him a freak.

Stiffening, Tom said, “I can wash myself! No looking!”

“Ok,” Melba held up her hands. Her imps said ‘Freak’ louder.

“But you hide this?” Trent said, peering over Tom’s shoulder as if to see Tom’s wings. All he saw was Tom’s hoodie hood. “Why not just get them cut off?”

Horrified, Tom glared at him. “NO!”

“Ok,” Trent held up his hands, like his wife as his imps also screamed that Tom was not what they had asked for. “Then just tell me one more thing. Do you need any medication?”

“Not at all,” Tom replied peevishly.

“Then what can help you?” Trent asked.

Tom snapped back, “Fewer people.”

Trent looked to Melba who seemed to nod with confirmation. He rose and said, “Ok. Then we expect you to do your best at school. No excuses.”

Tom nodded. Then he saluted.

They let him join the others in watching TV—though really it was just Evan in one chair sitting far from Tobias who was nearly hogging the couch. Louise and Jamal were in their ‘home’. Tom walked back to his room. But instead of opening the door like he would have normally, he walked through it. No one saw him, but it felt great to take that risk.

 

Tom went to the Special Ed class—that’s what everyone called it—starting Tuesday. The class had a different schedule, so Tom no longer had recess with Jamal… which Tom realized was a relief to Jamal. Jamal had taken it personally that Tom was now a ‘Special Ed student’. Jamal refused to now talk to Tom, feeling lied to. His sister, however, still thought Tom was just playing a game with the Johnsons. She thought it was amusing.

But the class was not set up to help someone like Tom—at all. It was quieter, yes. But Tom only needed a room with fewer people in it to function. He did not need special attention of a teacher to coach him to keep his attention. And when the teacher had tried, she found her efforts wasted. The upside was that this teacher was prepared to change tack when her previous assumptions were proven incorrect. She gave Tom a task instead, then went over his skills assessment packet to see what he needed.

Ms. Falloway was stunned by what she read. Tom had completed the packet one hundred percent correct. And she could tell it was all done in Tom’s hand. But she wondered if anyone at the Johnson home had helped him with it. She decided to call and ask Mrs. Johnson as a follow-up.

One of the other teachers, Ms. Hills (who was a plump thirty-something with a short pixie cut style and a nose ring), noticed that Tom was explaining things to his classmate on his right, helping him choose the right colors for his picture and coloring the right letters. Tom was reading it to him. She also noticed that Tom acted fast when his classmate tried to eat his crayon, stopping him before he could—explaining why not. And she spent most of the day watching Tom be a ‘little helper’ at his desk of four kids. He only grabbed his head a little bit when more creative activities were started—when chaos usually started. She could see he was sensitive to the moods of others… especially their naughty moods.

“I think he is empathic,” Ms. Hills shared with her co-teachers during their lunch break.

Their third teacher, Mrs. Draper—a young yet materialistic-minded woman—shook her head. “Not that hippie stuff again.”

Ms. Falloway huffed. “I did not suggest it.”

Ms. Hills shot Mrs. Draper a longsuffering look. “I’m not suggesting something mystical, like a star-child. I am talking about the kind of intuitive person that is sensitive to their environment—especially the moods of others. It is scientifically proven. This is Jungian psychology. I bet you he is at least an IN—intuitive introvert.”

“He seems extroverted to me,” muttered Mrs. Draper between bites of her club sandwich.

“He is kind of boisterous,” Ms. Falloway murmured, sipping her tea.

Yet Ms. Hills rolled her eyes. “Only in that he has lots of energy. But in being an introvert, he recharges while alone. Extroverts need to be with people. He hates crowds.”

“Good point,” Ms. Falloway said, setting down her mug, thinking.

“I think we need to keep him on the same study path as he was in Mr. Lieberman’s class,” Ms. Hills continued. “And… for him, let him use the time-out room whenever he needs it. I think he will do fine with only a little instruction. His foster mother said he came with a bunch of books, so maybe he can do self-study.”

The other two teachers exchanged looks. It sounded like the best option to them, so they agreed on it. Ms. Falloway sought out Mr. Lieberman to get the materials and lesson plan.

After school, Tom had to take the bus home with Evan, Jamal, and Louise. When he approached the waiting line, Tom saw a kid push Evan down, calling him a rude name. Evan’s imps raged, and Evan nearly sprang up to pound on this bigger kid—but Tom whispered to the imps nearby to trip the bully. Tom hurried over, watching with satisfaction as the kid tripped on his own shoelaces just as Evan was held back by his classmates. The kids around them laughed.

When Jamal saw Tom join them, he averted his gaze from him—but Louise waved. Evan also saw him then and smirked, pointing back at the bully. “Did you see that?”

Tom nodded with a chuckle.

And the bus pulled up before the bully could tie his shoelaces again. Tom noticed his imps were also raging.  

Evan sat with Tom as they rode home. All the other kids stared at Tom, including D who called out, “Hey retard ghost boy! What happened to you?”

Tom ignored him. That was not the worst that D had been hearing from his imps.

When they arrived home, Jamal ran ahead, leaving Tom and Evan behind. Louise walked slower with Evan and Tom.

“What’s his problem?” Evan asked, gesturing after Jamal.

Louise shrugged, her eyes on Tom. “No idea.”

But Tom knew, and he knew she did as well. Jamal was embarrassed. His friends teased him for having a ‘retarded brother’. He felt tainted by the association—all revealed by his imps who were shrieking that being a foster child made him a defect too. All of it was extremely mean.

 

“Hey dummy,” Tobias said when he found Tom playing with Evan with their action figures. Evan had Captain America and an old Thundercat. They were having a battle. “I heard they might send you back to kindergarten if it doesn’t work with you being in the retard class.”

Tom ignored him, knowing Tobias was just listening to his imps.

Tobias pushed Tom’s head. “Are you also deaf, dummy?”

Clenching his teeth, Tom resisted the urge to listen to his own imps. They told him to fly up on the prince and punch his face in.

Evan was watching Tom’s expression and popped to his feet. “Hey, smart-mouth. You can’t be in our room.”

“Who’s to stop me?” Tobias looked back into the main part of the house. “Mom’s out getting Chinese food and Dad’s out putting up storm windows.”

“I’ll tell,” Tom said, struggling hard against that earlier urge.

But Tobias snorted. “They won’t believe you. They know foster kids lie.”

Tom narrowed his eyes then took off his glasses, turning around to face him.

Tobias automatically lurched back, then realized he had. He straightened up to be taller and stuck out his hand, grabbing Ironman from Tom. “This is mine.”

“No, it isn’t!” Tom yelped, jumping to his feet and reaching for his Ironman. “Give it back!”

“What?” Tobias rubbed a mocking fist near his eye, puffing out his lower lip while using baby talk. “A dummy like you doesn’t deserve Ironman. Besides you owe me for living here.”

“No, I don’t! That’s mine!” Tom reached out and grabbed for his action figure. But Tobias just put his hand on Tom’s face and shoved him to the ground. Tom fell on his rump, physically no match for a junior high kid.

With a laugh, Tobias sauntered away with Ironman.

Tom was about to mutter to the imps to trip the kid and steal back his toy when Evan said, “I’m sorry…. Here. You can play with Liono.”

Tom felt the Thundercat shoved into his hand, but his eyes were still staring after his precious toy. It wasn’t fair. And his window of opportunity had slipped away. Clark Kent could do nothing except report on it. And Tom was sure the prince was not lying about his parents not believing him if he told them their son had stolen his toy. They would undoubtedly take Tobias’s side and accuse him of being a false-gifter. He already knew Trent thought the kids were dishonest if not a little greedy.

So, Tom sat down and planned instead.

That night, after a decent dinner of pot-stickers and fried rice, Tom went to bed early, or so everyone thought. Tom actually went ‘invisible’ and insubstantial, then floated up through the ceiling into the attic where he flew over to Tobias’s room. From there, he floated down through the ceiling into the room where he found Ironman on a shelf as if it were a trophy. It stood alongside several Lego figures and space craft.  Tom was sure the prince had stolen those from Evan. Tobias had a lot of toys, actually. Tom wondered how many were really the prince’s.

But as his time was short, Tom only stole back his Ironman. He took it back to his room using the same route and hid it in his pillowcase.

 

Tobias did not kick up a fit when he discovered that the Ironman doll was missing. How could he? His parents had not seen him with it, and therefore he had been unable to spin his lie. And he could not claim Tom came into his room without permission either, because he had zero proof. But he kept a sharp eye on Tom as they ate their breakfast.

Once they split up to school, once again Tom walked into his Special Ed class expecting a boring day of stupid work—as the class level was way too low for him. Yet when he sat at his desk, Ms. Falloway brought him his books from his second grade class. She said to him, “I am going to give you a work chart. Each day I will assign you a task and your job is to complete that task. I will check in on you and answer any questions you have. Ok?”

Tom nodded, amazed. Her imps were still calling for her to get a strong, sweet coffee.

And he looked to the chart she had made.

There was math, reading, science, and cursive writing practice… along with English grammar. He started with the math—which to be honest, was super simple. Tom already knew all his basic multiplication tables. They were rather advanced at his previous school, and he did not need the instruction.

When the noise in the room grew to be too much—enough to want to bang his head or cause the imps to make mischief to keep them occupied—Ms. Falloway introduced Tom to the time-out room where he could de-stress. When he saw it, he hugged her around her waist.

“Thank you!”

She rubbed his head and wiped a tear. “You are welcome.”

He finished a lot of work in the time-out room. It was so quiet in there—even when someone else was in there on time-out. That was still only one person’s set of imps to deal with, not a chorus of them.

Recess for this class was rather pathetic, though. Most of the kids were like stray cats when it came to organizing them in a game. The teachers had their hands full, and it took a lot just to get them all to play together.

Now that he was less distracted, Tom noticed there was one other kid who seemed as bored as him during lessons and games, and she was deaf. Ms. Hills usually attended to her, though all three teachers knew sign language. Tom could hear her imps, though. They did not sign, but their language was less like English and more like pure thought. Tom saw images and felt loud impressions and feelings from them… then realized he always had. They had only been accompanied by words with most other people.

As he watched her, wondering what it was like to not be able to hear sounds, wondering if it was more peaceful, he would mimic her hand signs, wondering more what they meant.

During their recess, she approached him angrily… signing and near shouting, though her words came out slurred and grunty. Tom staggered back wondering what was making her so mad. Her imps ‘shouted’ out images of her stomping on his fingers.

Tom signed the word ‘Why?’ He had learned that much from watching her.

She blinked at him. Then she signed a whole complicated mess, which irked her imps. Her anger ebbed as he tried to make out what it meant.

Shrugging with his hands up, Tom made a confused face.

She sighed, yet her hostilities still ebbed. She then pointed to his sunglasses and signed something. Tom did not know what it meant, but he decided it was probably to know why he wore them. He took them off.

As she drew in a breath, she signed something. Then she waved a hand in front of his eyes as if she assumed he was blind. Tom caught her wrist and shook his head at her. Glaring at his grip, she jerked to get out of it.

Tom let go. He said, gesturing to his eyes before putting his sunglasses back on, “I see more, not less.” He made his own hand signs, trying to communicate with her. Though they were not what she used, she understood him. Tom was rather demonstrative.

She smiled, blushing.

Then she tried to sign her name, which Tom did not understand. But went they got back to their classroom, she pointed to her name card—Hannah Jones, Grade Three. And now Tom really saw her.

Hanna Jones was about as tall as he was, a butter blonde with peaches and cream skin. She had worn tee shirts and jeans most days, but in pink. She had long fingers which she kept rather clean. Tom noticed that she took good care of her hands. Her fingernails were better care for than most kids. Manicured. Her hair was usually pulled back from her face, either in pigtails or ponytails. She also had a sister in two grades above who came to pick her up from class every day—and Tom met her that day when class let out.

Hanna’s sister was a mixture of emotions. Her imps were a bit schizophrenic in that half of them were shouting shame and embarrassment for having a sister in the Special Ed class. The other half were screaming out smug, if not hostile pride in her sister and her own ability in sign language. Tom decided to approach her before he had to catch the bus to go home.

“How do you say ‘thank you’ in that hand language?” Tom asked her.

Hanna’s sister blinked at him with a degree of revulsion as her opinion of Special Ed students was extremely negative. Yet she signed it, which was a rather simple gesture of a hand touching his mouth then extending out like a blown kiss.

Tom turned to Hanna and signed, “Thank you for playing with me.” Half of it was his own signs, but the rest had been mimicked from Hanna.

Hanna grinned wide and signed back.

Her sister translated, seeing Tom’s earnest confusion and eagerness to know. “She said, ‘My pleasure’.”

Tom nodded, sighing. He then looked to Hanna’s sister. “How did you learn that?”

Hearing his full and clear sentence, Hanna’s sister replied while signing for Hanna’s benefit, “I grew up with it. We all learned after Hanna was born.”

“I wanna learn,” Tom declared.

Both Hanna and her sister grinned when he said that. Hanna understood.

Hanna signed, “I can teach you.”

Ms. Hills had watched this, and secretly smiled.

As Tom ran off to catch the bus, Ms. Hills followed after him. Evan, Jamal, and Louise watched as Ms. Hills handed Tom a book just as he reached the tail end of the line.

“I overheard. If you want to learn sign, this book can help you. It would be good for Hanna to have a friend in class.”

When she walked off, Tom was dazed. However, he eagerly opened the book. His eyes widened on each page as they showed each hand sign for each thought concept.

The day would have ended well had not the prince confronted Tom, demanding to know where Ironman was.

“Maybe he flew away,” Tom said while sitting in the living room, practicing the sign for ‘please’ with the book in his lap.

The prince slapped Tom’s book out of his lap. Evan saw, his mouth falling open. “Give him back!”

After a quick glance to his fallen book, Tom lowered his sunglasses and stared hard at Tobias, rising so he stood on the couch. “It’s not yours.”

And the prince punched him… in the face.

Blood spurted out Tom’s nose. He clapped his hands over it and fluttered up to the back of the couch, landing on it the same way he had when he great aunt had come after him with that knife. Staring at the blood on his hands, Tom glared back. “I am so telling…”

He dropped down behind the couch and ran to look for Melba. He found Trent.

Trent was cleaning up some window screens he had taken off the day before when he had put up the storm windows. When he saw Tom with the blood running out of his nose down to his chin he almost dropped one. “What happened to you?”

“Tobias bunched me!” Tom said, feeling the blood congeal in both nostrils.

Tobias came in right after, grabbing the doorjamb to stop his momentum. “We were roughhousing and he fell. Sorry man.”

Trent shot both Tom and Tobias chastening looks. “You know you are not supposed to roughhouse in the—”

“No!” Tom protested, stomping a foot. “He bunched me! In de face!”

“It was a total accident,” Tobias said, his face that of innocent guilt. “We were playing superheroes, and he got too excited.”

Sighing, Trent nodded. “I see.” He turned to Tom. “Let’s clean you up. And no more roughhousing.”

Shuddering, Tom heard the man’s imps say that Tom was exaggerating and clearly way too hyper. There was no way the man would believe him over his son.

Tom glared after Tobias as he pretended to help.

“Go away!” Tom snapped, pushing Tobias’s hands from him as he grabbed tissues for his father to tend to Tom’s bleeding.

“Now that’s not nice,” Trent said.

“He BUNCHED ME!” Tom snapped, pulling back from him. “In de dose!”

But Trent’s imps were still telling him the same thing. And now calling Tom a spiteful brat.

Tom jerked away. “And you don’ care.” He pushed through, back into the hall and to the bathroom where he closed and locked the door and washed his own nose out at the sink. Tom floated up off the ground and really dunked his face into the water. Blood issued out. Tom had never really done this before, but he had seen ‘Coach’ Connors treat a nose bleed once and tried to remember what he had done. Head back and tissues, while pressing up on the underside of his nose. Tom lay down on the bathroom floor, letting the water run.

Melba unlocked the bathroom door with a sardine can key. She straight away turned off the water that was continuously running at the sink. Then she looked down at Tom. Her imps were screaming about the waste of water. Yet she looked down on Tom whose shirt was stained with blood, and now her imps were screaming about the social worker and how they could lose their license.

It wasn’t about him. It was always about them.

Crouching down next to Tom, Melba said, “Next time you want to roughhouse, you do it outside. Tobias told us everything.”

“Dobias is a liar.” Tom stared up at the ceiling.

Melba bristled. Her imps called him a liar. However, she said, “You misunderstood play for a fight.”

Tom rocked his head side to side against the bathroom floor. “Nobe, I didn’t. I was reading. He cabe afder be.”

Heaving a sigh, she rose, shaking her head. “I was told you have a great imagination. But you can’t live in fantasy land, Tom. Now get off the floor before you catch your death of cold.”

Inwardly moaning, Tom knew it was useless. Those two could not even grasp that their son had been anything less than perfect.

But Tom was hungry and cold. He sat up and let Melba check his bloody nose. There was a little bruising under one eye and his nose was swollen. Thinking, she led Tom to the kitchen and got a bag of frozen peas to put on it. She made Tom hold it to his face as she prepared dinner.

Jamal peered funnily at Tom as he ate his supper while Evan was particularly silent. Trent talked about his latest project and then gave them the weather report, which was a predicted snow before Thanksgiving. Tom realized then that he had missed Halloween while he had been among the Pedronis. He was surprised and saddened, as his last school had planned a party. He had not even gone trick-or-treating. And now Thanksgiving was upon them, and these folk were talking about visiting relatives that were not his.

“…when we go to Grandmam Gretchner’s house. So, I want all coats and mittens and sweaters taken out and washed,” said Melba, the conversation flowing back into Tom’s consciousness. Thanksgiving was next week.

Tom stared at his cream of chicken soup and dumplings which had gotten cold despite how hungry he had just been. He missed his mom.

“Does Tom have a winter coat?” Melba asked Trent.

Trent shook his head.

“Nod here,” Tom murmured, poking a cold dumpling with his spoon.

They looked to him for the first time since the start of dinner.

“Is it in storage?” Melba asked, her imps screaming she could raid his mother’s storage shed for supplies if she could get the key.

Tom shook his head. “De police impounded id all.”

The parents and older kids stared at him. He knew the word ‘impounded’.

“I guess we’ll have to buy one,” Trent murmured. His imps expressed louder resentment at having to spend more on a foster child.

Anger bubbled inside Tom. His imps raged, ‘They’re bad people! They don’t care about you! They’re just doing this for the money!’

Tom worked hard to ignore it—especially as Evan’s imps were screaming the same thing. And then Jamal’s and Louisa’s chimed in.

Despite how awful it was, and knowing it would cause trouble, Tom realized not all the things imps said were lies. They also told truths. It reminded him immediately of something his mother once said: ‘Truth told with bad intent, beats all the lies you can invent.’

Her voice echoed in his head like an angel. His temper cooled down. Even if it was a truth… even if these people only really did care about the money and not them, he still needed a home. And he still needed food and someone to care for him—even if they really did not care.

Tom glanced to Evan, then the others, their gazes connecting. They understood. All of them were biding their time until they could make their own home.

 

The following few days seemed to blur together at school, yet dragged while at home. His teachers were concerned about Tom’s bruised face—and Tom told them plainly that the Johnsons’ son had punched him because he wanted his toy. And they believed him. Jamal remained embarrassed with Tom and avoided him at school. His friends now made fun of Tom, calling him all sorts of rude names, mocking his developmental intelligence whenever they saw him. Tom ignored that.

Happily, Tom found a friend in Hannah who helped him learn sign language. He even had his seat moved next to hers so they could study together as their ‘impairments’ did not require that much supervision.

Tom learned sign language relatively quickly. He was already a rather animated person, and Hannah was a respectful ‘listener’. She was also a patient teacher. They played together during recess, and Tom showed Hanna a few tricks he knew—mostly gymnastic and on the jungle gym.

At home, however, Tom and Evan returned to a wrecked bedroom.

“What happened?” Evan stared at the mess. Their toys and clothes were everywhere. Evan was a neat freak, so this really bothered him.

Tom ran straight to his pillow where he discovered that Ironman was missing. “He took it.”

“The prince?” Evan’s face flushed red. He turned around and stormed into Tobias’s room where he was playing video games with his friend. “YOU MESSED UP MY ROOM!”

Evan grabbed the video game controller out of Tobias’s hand and started to beat him over the head with it.

The prince let out a huge yelp, punching back hard.

But Evan knew how to fight. And it took Trent to tear him off. As Evan shrieked over the prince’s invasion and desecration of his room—Tobias countering that it was Tom who had done it—Trent dragged him to a corner and made Evan face the wall.

It was unfair, especially as Trent told Tom to clean up his mess. The man had believed Tobias without evidence.

And that was it. Tom had reached the end of his tether. If the prince was going to wage war on them, it was only fair to strike back in the same manner. As Tom quietly cleaned up the bedroom, he ordered the near imps to steal Ironman back, and for good measure, to give the prince a wedgie.

Tobias yelped when it happened. The prince looked around for the source. But as no one was nearby, there was nothing he could do about it.

Friday, the prince struck back when he could not find Ironman again. When he was sure his father was not there to hear, he demanded once again for Tom to give Ironman back to him.

This time, Tom stepped back in preparation for a fight. He boldly and loudly declared so others could hear him, “I never gave you my Ironman, and I never will! It was a gift from my friend Moroni, and you cannot have it!”

Melba heard this and peeked into the room from the kitchen. Tom had known she was there by her imps.

Tobias had not seen her yet when he said with his hand forming into a fist, “I don’t care if macaroni gave it to you. You owe me. It is mine!”

“What are you going to do? Punch me in the face again?” Tom demanded loudly, “Even your parents won’t believe that if it happens twice.”

Snorting, Tobias said, raising his fist, “Some kids get bloody noses all the time.”

“I’m not one of them,” Tom said, then gestured to the kitchen.

Tobias looked. His eyes widened when he saw his mother, who folded her arms in the doorway, nearly tapping her foot.

But Tom could tell from her imps that she resented that he, a foster kid, had proven to be right about her son. The imps called Tom all sorts of names, from ‘wise guy’ to ‘smart mouth’ to ‘manipulative dog’. Of course nobody wanted to find out that their kid was a bully. No parent would want to believe it.

 And when Saturday rolled in, with no school to distract him, Tom dreaded an entire day stuck in close proximity with the prince.

Evan, however, was in a good mood Saturday—mostly because Friday evening, Tobias had a talking-to by his mother about his actions towards Tom. He had to handle the ‘special needs boy’ with kid gloves. They could lose their license over a spat between two boys, and they did not need that, etc. Evan thought it was a sliver of justice, and he was sure Tom had orchestrated it.

The prince spent most of his day playing video games in his room. Jamal went out to play with his friends as Louise did the same. Evan was still grounded for fighting with the prince, and Tom was not allowed to go anywhere by himself so he stayed inside to play with Evan.

“…you mean you lived in a dance studio?” Evan nearly laughed, pausing as he fit a Lego bock into what he was making.

Tom shook his head. “No. But we were there all the time. It had all these different rooms for props and costumes.”

“What are props?” Evan asked, fascinated. He found Tom fascinating, actually. Tom had a strange life, he said, and an exciting one.

Tom shrugged. “Stuff they use and carry on during a play or dance. It is part of the theater.”

“Oh.”

“My mom was going to be more than just an assistant dance teacher before Mr. Pedroni set his eyes on her.” Tom sighed. “She was auditioning for one of the plays. She was this close to getting a part.”

“I heard your mom was a hooker,” the prince said.

Tom stiffened. It took everything in him not to throw the entire set of Legos at Tobias who was once more in their doorway.

Evan looked to Tom then said to Tobias, “You’re a jerk.”

But Tobias stuck his tongue out at the both of them and walked off.

“Trip him.” Tom muttered under his breath.

Immediately Tobias fell flat on his face.

“Make him wet his pants,” Tom added as Evan stared with a burst of laughter, barely hearing Tom.

Tobias let out a loud painful yelp then whimper, which immediately caused Tobias to run to the bathroom… not in time. Tom did not look back, though, even as Evan laughed at the prince who was freaking out.

But then Tobias came out of the bathroom, charging straight after Evan. “Shut up!”

“Trip him,” Tom said before the prince could even get to the door.

The imps clustered around the boy’s ankles and made him fall once again, face-first onto the carpet.

With rug burn on his hands, Tobias scrambled to his feet, angry confused, and now worried. He backed away from the two boys, leaving them alone for the rest of the day.

 

Despite what the Johnsons had previously said, Tom did not get his Children’s Bible until that Sunday, a week after his arrival. They did, however, go to church together.

This church was different from the Halversons’ church. At the Halversons’ church, there was organ playing, some choir singing, but mostly a lot of sermoning. This one had a band. Tom was fascinated with the band as they had drums, cymbals, even a xylophone.

The preacher was also different. This one could only be described as… slick. Tom half wanted to call him Pastor Slick; but as his name was Pastor Coffman, Tom decided to leave it alone. The pastor coughed to clear his throat a lot, and it just seemed funny to Tom that he had to keep it.

During Pastor Slick Coffman’s preaching, Tom noticed a couple death angels in the room, standing near the exits. One was familiar—with menu wings. It took a moment for Tom to realize where he had seen that one before. It had been in the café… when he had been with the Pedroni family.

A shudder whipped through Tom, and he peered around to see if he could find whom the death angel was following. Tom guessed such beings only hung around two kinds of people—those that kill and those who lived risky lives. They were waiting to reap without judgement.

Then Tom spotted him. The face was slightly familiar. It was someone in the Pedroni Family, if not a Pedroni himself. And that man spotted Tom.

The Pedroni thug went pale. Tom lifted his sunglasses so the man could see him narrowing his eyes. They made eye contact.

Immediately the Pedroni thug hurried out in terror—his imps shouting for him to just shoot Tom now. But he did not, too horrified now that he had been seen. And the angel followed him, winking at Tom.

“So, how’d you like it?” Louise asked Tom after the service was over. “Personally, I thought the soprano was pitchy.”

Tom’s mind had been on the Pedroni thug since his exit, wondering if he had been looking for him to bump him off. Tom had told the imps to chase the man away… and for good measure, for Mr. Pedroni to drop his soap in the shower—just as his mother had requested.

Tom shrugged when he realized Louise actually wanted an answer. “I dunno. It’s different.”

Melba glanced to him. “You’ve been to church before?”

Tom nodded. “With my grandparents.”

“Not your mom?” Melba asked, not realizing she was being a snide.

Ignoring it, Tom shook his head. “Mom thinks most religious people are hypocrites.”

Though insulted, both Melba and Trent were amazed Tom knew the word ‘hypocrite’.

 

Once upon a time, there was a neighboring kingdom ruled by a selfish prince who could bully his parents into anything. King Trent was a guy who wanted to be strong, but was a bit of a wimp. Queen Melba wanted to be hardnosed, but was only that way for everyone but her beloved prince. They had three pets: The mad, hurt dog and the two rabbits. The mad dog would rage whenever the prince poked him. But the two rabbits would hide, being a little smarter. The selfish prince loved to provoke the pets. But then one day, in came Superman…

 

Tom told himself stories to cope with every time the prince tried to bully him. In the week up to Thanksgiving, Tom had a quiet war with Tobias over his Ironman action figure. The prince had changed tack and started to tell his parents lies about Tom.

Tom stole his Gameboy, he said.

Tom stole his Legos, he said.

And the parents found them in Tom’s sock drawer and punished him for it, making Tom stare at the wall and ‘apologize for entering Tobias’s room’. Tom refused the latter, saying he had never done it—which was the truth. So, they sent him to bed without supper.

But when he found out that Ironman was gone again, Tom lost his cool. This time, he ordered the imps to get his action figure for him.

Tom heard a yelp coming from Tobias’s room. In his mind’s eye, as Ironman flew back to his room, Tom could see Tobias freaking out as the action figure had left on its own.

Tom hid Ironman again—different place this time.

 

At school, things were better. His teacher had reported to the principal that Tom was too smart—not ADHD, but probably sensory effected. She even suggested he was on the Asperger’s spectrum with possible savant abilities. She asked permission to give Tom more advanced work. He was, after all, already learning sign language under Hanna’s tutelage. She also wanted to speak with his foster parents again to make sure he was being treated right. He had, after all, come to class the week before with a black eye and swollen nose.

Tom was thrilled to be given more challenging work on Tuesday. He also liked the new book his teacher recommended to him for reading. When she found out he like Roald Dahl, she had Tom write up a short essay telling her about the book, James and the Giant Peach, then asked him if he had seen the movie. He hadn’t. And so she arranged for the class to watch it before the vacation. She put on the subtitles for Hannah, but Tom did his best to perform the actual words with what Sign he knew. They enjoyed it.

They had Wednesday off for the holiday. Melba used most of it to bake pies for the feast on Thursday while everyone else packed a day-bag for the overnight trip to upstate New York where Melba was from. Trent made sure they did not take toys or other unnecessary things. He did allow Louise and Jamal to bring their Uno cards, and Tobias to bring his Gameboy. Tom was allowed one book.

“You’re bringing a book?” Tobias said when he saw it. Tom had been given a book called The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents from Ms. Hills. She said she loved the author and Tom might too. The author had also written a book with a man named Neil Gaiman called Good Omens, which Tom might also like—though it was more on the adult level… without the misuse of the word ‘adult’. She said they were books that required a mature mind to comprehend—or a warped one. Ms. Hills was not exactly sure.

Tom did not respond to the prince. It was often best not to.

“Didn’t you hear me, dummy?” Tobias said.

Evan walked by. “He’s ignoring you, stupid.”

Tobias would have shoved him, but his father came to collect all the bags to pack them into the suburban. He scurried off before his father could imagine he was ‘bullying the foster kids again’. That thought was now in their psyche, thanks to Tom. And they hated it. But it was also now a real possibility in their brains, which Tobias recognized.

The suburban had two rows of seats. Arranging them took a bit of thought, as Evan hated sitting next to Tobias. And putting Tobias next to Tom was also not an option. So they had Tobias and Louise sitting together on the middle row while the other three boys sat in the back.

Jamal napped most of the trip. Evan stared out the window to keep his stomach from feeling sick, having taken Dramamine to cope. But Tom read the entire way.

Louise turned around in her seat and asked, “You’re not feeling sick at all?”

Tom lifted his eyes from the pages and shook his head. “Nope.”

Tobias shot him a dirty look as he too had taken Dramamine to deal with motion sickness. He was not allowed to play video games while in the car as it nauseated him.

Louise peered at the book cover and asked, “What’s the book about?”

Thinking, Tom tried to sum it up quickly so he could get back to reading. “So far, there is a talking cat, a bunch of talking rats, and a stupid looking boy who can play a flute. I think the cat is sneaky, though. I haven’t gotten very far.”

“It sounds stupid,” Tobias said.

His parents heard him.

But Tobias really was on his best behavior whenever they were around. He did not say any more.

When they finally arrived at Grandmam Gretchner’s house, Tom stared at it with wide eyes. It was an impossibly large house in a rather wealthy neighborhood, with a stone façade and a huge sweeping lawn. The lot was gated and had security cameras. Melba had come from money.

Tom had never seen anything so nice—and that counted the Pedronis. There was a feeling of old wealth in this house. The word opulent came to mind. And when he met her, Grandmam Gretchner was nothing like Nana. A silver haired lady who held her head up like one used to looking down on people with magnanimity, she was rail thin, had high cheekbones, and a face layered with the proper proportions of makeup so that she would always look good on camera, but in real life seemed plastic. Her imps were snobs.

That is until they saw Tom. They peered at Tom curiously while all the other imps who had come with them scattered into the large house looking for fun things to create chaos with. Tom noticed their horns were not short, and yet not curled. Gazelle like. He was not sure what that meant as he had never seen imps like this before. They were amused when they saw him.

“Well now, Melba, who is this little one?” silver-haired Grandmam asked Tom’s foster mother.

“This is Tom Brown,” Melba said, gesturing to him as Tom stared up at the chandelier in the foyer of the mansion. Tom was trying that word out in his mind. It was a mansion. Not a house. Melba’s voice was the only thing anchoring him to reality to keep him from wanting to fly up into the chandelier to see how high it was. “He came to us last week.”

“Abuse?” Grandmam whispered barely below her normal speaking voice, eying Tom.

Melba colored, lowering her voice. “No. Um. Actually, that is from a… um, boyish altercation. Roughhousing.”

Grandmam eyed her. “I’d hate to see the other kid.”

Melba colored more, and quickly changed the subject. “So, I brought pie! Where do I bring it? And how can I help with dinner?”

Even the grandmother could see Tom was the type to fight back. But as this truth was so uncomfortable, Melba did not allow it to find residence in her mind

Grandmam either took the hint or decided the topic was not actually worth her time. The kids were shown to the entertainment room where the ‘cousins’ were waiting. 

The cousins were a bunch of posh-looking kids much like Tobias. All of them had trendy clothes, carried various tech to distract them, and one even had blue streaks in her hair. Blue streak girl also wore heavy eye-liner and looked extremely bored. Louise and Jamal kept apart, looking utterly uncomfortable among them as they were now in the minority while all these kids were what Tom’s first school would have identified as ‘White privileged’—and this time he would have agreed.

“Who’s the ghost?” asked one of the cousins.

Tobias snorted. “His name is, get this, Tom Brown. Sounds like an alias to me.”

The corner of Louise’s mouth crooked up. She mentally agreed. Tom could tell because her imps shrieked that Tom was not what he seemed.

“Where are his parents?” one of them asked Tobias.

“He’s not deaf,” Evan declared, easily irritated. “He can hear you.”

But Tom, thinking on that, tucked his book under his arm and began to sign, pretending he was deaf.

Evan rolled his eyes.

But Louise laughed. Jamal eyed him funny.

But Tobias said, “No, he is not deaf.”

“But he is learning sign,” Louise said, grinning.

“Because he has a deaf friend,” Jamal added. It started off as peevish, but ended almost admiringly. His imps were confused, not sure if Tom was the ‘dummy’ every one of his friends assumed he was.

“What book’s that?” one of the kids asked, a girl who looked just as likely to hit Tom as one would a bug, as she would simply make conversation.

Tom cautiously took it out from under his arm and held it up.

“Can you speak?” that girl asked.

Glaring at her, Tom said, “Arf.”

This time Evan busted up.

Several of the cousins rolled their eyes, but they took the hint and left him alone. He wasn’t a pet after all. And his sense of humor rankled them.

But as they waited for the meal to start, one of the cousins decided to find something on Netflix to watch—something their grandmother would not freak out over if, or when, she came into the room. They chose a holiday special. Those who did not want to watch could continue to play on their electronic devices—or in Tom’s case, read a book.

The goth cousin scooted next to Tom and said, “Good book. Terry Pratchett, right?”

Tom blinked and looked up at her. Her imps were angsty. They told her nobody care about her. They told her to sneak out some booze from the drinks cabinet. They told her to go out for a smoke. But she stared at him as if he were a brief amusement. Tom peered over at the cover to the author’s name and nodded.

“Ever read anything else he wrote?” she asked.

Tom shook his head. “First one.”

She smiled. Her teeth were white and clean. But that just told him that she had a great dentist and good hygiene. It wasn’t a sign that she was nice. Her angsty imps also had longer horns, though Tom was not sure why.

“So, how come you ended up with Melba and Trent?”

Tom did not want to answer at first, but he could tell ears had perked up. He could end this all now by scaring them. So, he said, “Ever hear of Anthony Pedroni?”

She almost shook her head, but then stiffened. She nodded. So did a few others. “He’s a mobster, right?”

Tom nodded. “Yep. Tony Pepperoni is a mobster. And when he saw my mom—who is very beautiful—he decided he wanted her. And he made us move in with him.”

Several of the cousins drew in breaths. Tobias made a disgusted face, though.

“But then the police found one of his drug labs—which he built in our old apartment—” more gasps “—and my mom was arrested on charges of aiding and abetting Tony Pepperoni, even though we were held hostage and my mom did not want to marry him, even though they said she did.”

Louise and Jamal exchanged looks.

“Are you sure she didn’t?” asked one of the other cousins.

“One hundred percent positive,” Tom shot back with glower. “My mom wanted me to scare Tony Pepperoni away.”

“You’re a kid,” said one of them. “How could you scare him away?”

Tom made a face. “He didn’t know I existed when they started dating. And I didn’t know he existed until it was too late. Most guys don’t want ladies with kids.”

“Your mom sounds like a hooker,” said one cousin.

Tom’s face turned red. His little hands curled into fists.

But Evan said, “Hookers are paid. Didn’t you hear him?”

“Maybe she was paid,” another cousin, snidely remarked.

Clark Kent. Clark Kent. Clark Kent. Tom wished he did not need to be Clark Kent. For once, it would be nice to go a little Lex Luthor on creeps like this.

“Stop.” Louise rose to her feet. She had been trying to watch the movie. “Stop being so nasty. How would you like people to say that about your mom?”

“My mom’s not a hooker,” that one cousin said. “Or a junkie.”

Louise balled one hand into a fist.

Tom hopped up and stopped Louise, hugging her around the back. He hissed into her ear, “Don’t mess with the demons. Let karma handle it.”

Louise turned, surprised Tom knew what karma was.

Of course Tom knew what karma was. What he had said to Louise was something his mother used to say to him when he got really angry. And in looking at him, Louise realized it.

“Demons?” Tobias echoed, having heard that part, knowing Tom was taking about them.

Tom gazed straight at him and allowed his mouth to crook up into a wide impish smile. “Yeah. Demons. Because no angel would talk like that to other people.”

“I’m gonna kill you!” Tobias leapt to grab Tom.

Tom sprang back from Tobias and Louise with a flip, landing deftly on the carpet behind the huge sofa. All the cousins stared. Tom had nearly flown. He had not even used his ability to defy gravity. But as a kid unafraid of falling, gymnastics came easily to him.

And Grandmam Gretchner walked in. “Wow. Now… young man, we do not do that inside the house. But if you want to run around, we do have an indoor gym.”

Yet several of the cousins moaned.

Louise exchanged a look with Jamal and Evan. She spoke up, “Can we see it?”

Grandmam Gretchner smiled kindly—all an act, Tom thought, as her imps really gave off the impression of a different kind of demon—and said, “Sure. But we’ll be having supper soon.”

They left the cousins, including Tobias, glad to get away.

Grandmam Gretchner walked gracefully, leading them to a far room down a long hallway where inside certainly was a gym, but the kind one would need a gym membership for. They had a Bow-flex, a rowing machine, a step machine, a treadmill, some weights, and a few exercise bikes. There was some open space with padding, clearly for floor work like yoga or Pilates, but it was wide enough for only a handful of people and not really big enough to run around in. Tom had a feeling they had a personal trainer who came by regularly.

“Are you a gymnast?” Grandmam Gretchner asked Tom, only mildly curious. Her imps were tempting her to lock all four of them in there.

Tom shook his head. “But I took some dance classes.”

An amused curl rested on the elderly woman’s lips. It gave Tom the impression of that weird Lady Catherine de Something in that long British TV movie his mom liked. This woman had the look of someone who did not ‘brook disappointment’ or was at least not used to having people go against her wishes. It was an aura of a woman with power, which Tom had always had found more frightening than men with power. Mr. Connors had not frightened Tom half as much as Aunty Kennedy had. Likewise, his female teachers freaked him out more than his male teachers ever had.

“Dance?” Her eyebrows raised, even as Jamal stared at him.

“You’re pulling our leg,” Louise finally said.

Tom shrugged, deciding not to argue.

But Evan smirked, sure Tom wasn’t joking. Tom had told him all about playing in the dance studio.

“Well, now that I have you alone,” Grandmam Gretchner said in a soft but a recognizably deadly voice that Tom comprehended, and so did Evan, “I need to remind you that you are guests in my home. During supper and tomorrow’s dinner, you four need to be on your best behavior. Otherwise, you will spend the rest of today and tomorrow in this room, alone.”

She met each of their gazes until she reached Tom’s sunglasses. She quickly snatched them off his face to meet his eyes as well. But the second she saw his orange irises, she drew in a breath and pulled back. Tom saw her eyes flicker to the top of his head as if expecting horns.

Interesting.

Tom smiled.

Grandmam Gretchner leaned further back. “Who is your mother?”

Her imps screamed something awful, something about making contact with her. It was a bit shrieky actually.

He shook his head. “Classified.”

Both Louise and Jamal exchanged glances.

Grandmam Gretchner narrowed her eyes at him. “Who’s your father?”

Tom’s smile crooked up more. “Never met him. Don’t know his name. But Mom met him at a Halloween party.”

And he watched the effect of his words. The woman had the slightest intake of breath. She knew something. Maybe not the truth, but clearly she knew something about what he was or at least something similar, which scared her. That could be useful, or dangerous.

“And she kept you?” Grandmam Gretchner said, echoing her imps.

That was rude. The other kids took in breaths when they heard her.

But Tom was used to this. He angled back his head and said, “Of course she did. She had fun, and she loves me.”

Grandmam Gretchner narrowed her eyes. “And how did you end up with my girl Melba?”

Tom thought for a moment, eyed her imps while thinking of the best response, then said, “Bad luck. We didn’t have a good lawyer.”

The kids stared at him. He was not talking like a child.

But Grandmam Gretchner laughed. She nodded, understanding very well. Yet she also led them out of the gym.

Louise hissed at him as they walked back to the entertainment room together, “What was that?”

Tom shrugged, deciding there was no way to explain it. This woman was not to be regarded lightly. Women like Lady Catherine de Something were treacherous. It was all vanity. But that, for some people, was enough motivation to do evil things.

 

Supper was good. Mostly soup and sandwiches. The feast would be tomorrow, and Tom had a feeling it would involve some important people beyond family. The imps were fussy like that, urging everyone to be in a highly panicked mode of worry about ‘looking’ right.

Funnily enough, during dinner, Tom noticed the cousins staring at him a little differently. Not so much the others. Just him. Tobias especially peered at him, as if not quite sure what he was. Their grandmother must have said something to them.

Melba had also been talking privately with her mother that evening. Tom noticed all the imps staring at him funnily too. One even spoke to him directly.

‘So… you’re the one.’

The one what? Tom thought. He did not say it out loud as he was at the table with the other kids. But the imp responded, ‘Trouble.’

Tom blinked at him, wondering what that meant.

After supper, those who were staying in hotels or bed-and-breakfasts departed. The Johnsons had reservations in an Airbnb where they each had soft comfy beds. Tom was nearly asleep when Louise came into his room and asked him, “What was all that with you and Mrs. Gretchner? She said that really rude thing to you, and you acted as if it was normal.”

Groggy, Tom leaned up from his bed. “What’s normal?”

Most adults would have nodded and let it alone, but Louise said, “Normal is what happens to most people. Most people would be angry that some old hag basically said your mother should have thrown you away.”

Thinking on that, Tom knew she was right. He sat up more and sighed. “True. It was mean, but… I have heard too many people say that to me. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Besides, I know my mom loves me. And only nasty people say such things.”

Louise looked confused.

He said more clearly, “She just showed you and me what kind of person she was. My mom says it does not matter what people think of you. If people say mean things, they are just showing the world that they are mean people.”

Louise cocked her head to the side and nodded. “That’s a good way to look at it. Your mom must be really cool.”

Tom’s eyes burned a little with tears as he nodded. “She is.”

 

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.02.2023
ISBN: 978-3-7554-7914-7

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