Chapter 2

After the hunting trip my brother Ivan made every effort to stay as far away from me as possible. Since he was five years older it wasn't too hard for him to find reasons to be elsewhere. He was finishing his senior year of high school, had played varsity football and had been recruited with offers of full scholarships to several prestigious universities. He ended up attending an Ivy League school in Connecticut.

My father eased up on me a bit after that day. I think he and Granddad had some really long discussions about me, but neither one mentioned that day ever again.

I don't know for certain, but I think Granddad told my mother what happened. She was always protective of me, and for a few months after that she kind of went overboard... making me my favorite foods and letting me have my way if I got stubborn and pigheaded (like all teenagers tend to get). But by New Years she got over whatever had softened her up and she went back to being the hard as nails mother I had always known and I stopped being able to get away with much of anything.

Isabeau. She's four years older than I am and along with Ivan had been my first and most personal tormentors. But where Ivan was mostly a straightforward bully (using brute strength and size to abuse me), Isabeau was clever and ingenious, subtle and innovative. Ivan constantly got caught... Isabeau never did.

She would (as most older sisters do to younger brothers) use me like a doll, for dress up games, tea parties (when we were younger) and make over sessions (when she got old enough for makeup). When she hit twelve or thirteen and began puberty she suddenly gained a following of girls her own age and would bring them home after school to play. You can probably guess what their toy of choice was. Yup... me.

Prior to the hunting trip I can honestly say that Isabeau never apologized for anything she said or did to me. Ivan often did, but that was mostly under threat of death or worse from my mother. Isabeau, I don't think, ever considered me a real person, worthy of her compassion or personal interest, unless I could satisfy some momentary desire to hurt or torment.

But that changed abruptly two days after the trip.

I had jumped out of the truck as soon as it came to a stop in front of our garage and run into the house. My mother called out asking how the trip had gone. I ignored her and darted up the stairs and into my room, locking the door behind me. I kept the lights off and went looking for the deepest, darkest hole I could find to crawl into. I had to make do with my clothes closet. I burrowed in, forcing shoes, boxes and hanging clothing out of the way and pushed the folding track door closed. It was dark, cool and quiet. I fell asleep an hour or two later, slept thru supper, the entire night and breakfast the next morning. I awoke to hammering on my room's door.

"Ike! Are you okay? Do you want something to eat honey?" my mother called.

I wormed my way out of my hole to the closet door and opened it a little way.

"I'm not hungry Mom." I said, not caring if I could be heard, and then pulled back into my cave and shut the door. And I stayed there for two days, only coming out to use the bathroom or get a drink of water. I didn't see anyone, no one saw me (or so I thought) and that's the way I wanted to keep it. (Hey, I was thirteen and still thought that what I wanted mattered to the world at large. I was just beginning to realize how flawed that belief system was.)

The afternoon of the third day I heard a very soft knocking on the door of my room.

I had emerged from my hideaway the night before to sleep in my own bed, and was laying there under the covers feeling disgusted with myself and the world in general. I have to admit I'd started to think about what kind of uses I might be able to put my gift to. I'd also started referring to it (at least to myself) as my talent rather than gift. Gifts were supposed to be good things, fun and enjoyable (if you didn't include clothes you got from family at birthdays and Christmas). I hadn't been able to think of one fun thing I could do with my talent.

The knocking on my door jarred me from my semi-awake state. It was too soft to be my Dad, Ivan or Granddad, so that left either Mom or Isabeau.

Out of pure cussedness I decided to try and make a link with whoever was on the other side of the door. I tried to feel the heartbeat. And I couldn't do it. I was half relieved and half disappointed. Maybe a little more relieved.

"Who is it?" I called out half-heartedly.

"It's Izzy. Can I come in?"

I was more than a little surprised to hear her use her childhood nickname. It was the first time in about three years I'd heard it pass her lips. When she was thirteen she demanded that the entire family start calling her by her given name and refused to answer to anything else.

I dragged myself out of bed, unlocked the door turned and dove back under the blankets. It was getting colder outside and winter was coming on fast. My Dad was not one to turn up the thermostat just because it was cold out, so you either dressed warmly or stayed in bed and under the blankets.

Isabeau opened the door a bit and stuck her head and shoulders part way in. My room was pretty dark, since I hadn't turned on any lights and kept the heavy curtains drawn shut, but it wasn't completely black. There was a bit of daylight sneaking in from the edges of the curtains and now from the partly opened door.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked gently, having spotted me pulling the bedclothes over my head.

"What do you want?" I snapped from inside my cocoon. She was acting out of character, and I wasn't sure how to deal with her in a non-tyrannical mood.

"You've been hiding in here for days now, and I'm worried about you. Is that so odd?"

I poked my head out and locked eyes with my sister. I didn't say a word, I just stared, and after fifteen seconds she blinked and looked away.

She sighed quietly, then opened the door and stepped inside. I guess she was waiting for me to order her out, because when I didn't she shut the door behind her and walked over and stood beside my bed.