Here ya go.
* * *
“We should tell him,” said Savannah.
“We are not telling him,” whispered Leslie. She looked around, as though their father would suddenly appear on the stairs.
Leslie and Savannah had managed to convince Gray to go to bed, and he had finally fallen asleep. Now they were deciding how to explain things to Mr. Matheson. If they explained things at all.
“He can help us,” insisted Savannah.
“How?” asked Leslie. “How, exactly, can he help us? He’s an accountant, not a…a secret agent. I mean, what exactly are we going to say? ‘Hey Dad, guess what? Your foster son is from another planet?’”
“Another world, not another planet,” said Savannah. She leaned against the wall. “There’s a big difference.”
“Well, in any case, I don’t want to involve him in this.”
“He’ll be involved if what Gray has wasn’t something he ate or drank and it spreads to us,” muttered Savannah.
“I guess that’s why we need to find Professor Brown.”
The sound of the garage door opening silenced Savannah and Leslie. They sat, poised, in the darkened hallway.
“Downstairs,” Leslie said.
Savannah was already halfway down the stairs. “Pretend we’re watching TV.”
“Don’t say a thing.”
“For now.”
Savannah and Leslie sprinted to the living room, perching on the edge of the couch. Savannah grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. The mud room door opened, and Savannah waited half a second before turning the TV off.
They waited in silence as their father’s heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen. As he entered the living room they turned their heads, smiling cheery grins.
“Hi,” Leslie and Savannah said in unison.
“Hi yourself,” Mr. Matheson said. He pulled off his suit coat and draped it over one arm. “What are you still doing up?”
“Just waiting for you,” said Leslie.”
Mr. Matheson set his briefcase on the floor next to the bookshelf. “And how’s Gray?”
“He’s,” Savannah began. Leslie shot her a look. “He’s already asleep. I wouldn’t wake him.”
“Good,” said Mr. Matheson. He rubbed the back of his neck. “At least one of us is sleeping. Come on, no more TV. It’s time for bed.”
Leslie didn’t think she’d ever fall asleep. She lay in bed, staring at the light reflected from the street lamp onto her ceiling. The branches from the orange tree moved in front of the light, creating dappled shadows. Gradually, the shifting patterns lulled Leslie to sleep.
* * *
Leslie woke to sunlight streaming in her window. Too much sunlight. Her eyes flashed open, and her hand jerked to grab her alarm clock on the bedside table. The clock read nine-thirty. She was late for school! Leslie scrambled to get out of bed.
“The school called this morning,” said Mr. Matheson. Leslie jerked up in bed. He was standing in the doorway. “You and Gray were both suspended for the day. Gray for fighting, you—well, you more so people wouldn’t ask you questions about last night’s news broadcast. I went to the school and got your homework from your teachers.”
Mr. Matheson came and sat on the foot of Leslie’s bed. She could tell he was mad—not about school, but something else. She waited apprehensively.
“I found this,” he said, showing Gray’s bloodied shirt.
Leslie stiffened. She shrunk down in her bed.
“When I asked Gray about it,” Mr. Matheson continued, “he showed me the gouges you sewed up. Why didn’t you just tell me Gray was injured?”
“I—” Leslie stammered.
Mr. Matheson crumpled the shirt in his hands. “Gray told me he didn’t want the bother of going to the hospital. He said you suggested you sew him up, cover up his injuries so that I wouldn’t find out.”
“I—” said Leslie.
“I am trying to build up the boy’s trust in me,” said Mr. Matheson, “and you tell him to go behind my back. How is he supposed to trust me if you imply I can’t get him medical treatment when he needs it?”
“I—I’m sorry.” Leslie hung her head. “How’s Gray?”
“I took him to the emergency room,” said Mr. Matheson. “We had to contact the police so that they could confirm Gray’s wounds came from a cougar attack, not child abuse. They cut the threads and stitched Gray up the correct way. His flesh was already swollen, so they put him on antibiotics. He was also given a rabies vaccine, and he’ll need three more over the next two weeks. He’s sleeping right now.”
“Oh,” whispered Leslie. She stared at her hands. Her dad hadn’t mentioned anything about the black flesh under Gray’s eyelids. She peeked at her father. His face was set in a disappointed frown. Shame welled in Leslie, and she looked back at her hands.
Mr. Matheson sighed. “I’m late for work. Get your homework done. I’ll see you this evening.” He stood, placed a hand on Leslie’s head, and left.
