Phoenix Song

WARNING: This story contains strong situations. If you are under the legal age of consent for your state, province, territory, or country, or if explicit scenes offend you, turn back now!

LAWYERS NOTE: I do not own the Harry Potter characters, only my own. If one or all of the characters desire to return to J.K. Rowling's universe, they are welcome to take the nearest Worldgate at any time.

ONE

His thirteenth birthday dawned bright and sunny, the slanting rays of golden sunlight filtering through the small window in his bedroom and shining directly into his closed eyes, but Aidan was not going to enjoy it. His thoughts were occupied with dread of what was yet to come, what inevitably would occur before the day was over when his adoptive father returned from traveling overseas. He shivered as he climbed out of bed, and it had nothing to do with the cool morning air that rapidly dissipated the warmth he'd built up underneath the blanket. Padding on silent feet across the small room, he peered through the half-open door out into the corridor; satisfied that Elisa was still asleep, he closed it quietly, turned and surveyed his room.

It looked like the bedroom of any other teenage boy: with posters of various rock groups on the walls, model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor and on the small writing desk in the corner by the window, bedclothes rumpled...but Aidan knew that he was not like any other teenage boy; he was an orphan, without a home or a family, save for this place and the people who had taken him in seven years ago, and neither one qualified for their respective title.

"We want you to think of this as home now," Elisa Sears had said to him on the day he was placed, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes as she stooped down to his level and took his hand in hers.

"Absolutely," her husband, Morgan, chimed in. "You can call us Elisa and Morgan, or 'mum' and 'dad', if you like," he added with a cheerful smile of his own. But Aidan remembered that the smile had not extended to his eyes; something else lurked there, something darker, more sinister, that gazed hungrily out at him from the man's eyes, and Aidan was afraid.

"It's natural to be afraid," his social worker told him a week later, during a routine visit, when Aidan had expressed his fear to her. "It's a new environment. You'll get used to it, in time." But she didn't know what had begun to happen after that, not even Elisa knew that; only Aidan and Morgan knew, and Aidan was constantly trying to forget.

Pushing the thoughts aside, for they led down dark roads in his mind, Aidan instead strode over to his closet, stripping off his t-shirt and letting it fall to the floor with the other discarded clothing. A full-length mirror was attached to the inside of the door, and Aidan wanted to see if his after-school workouts had any noticeable effects yet. But no, it was evident as he flexed his arms experimentally that he was still the same, skinny, red-haired kid as before, despite a week of weight training. His clear blue eyes took in his thin frame with dissatisfaction, taking particular note of his midsection, on which the faintest hint of baby fat still lingered--that definitely had to go. So, too, did his boyish face, even though he thought it looked okay--but he didn't want any traces of softness or boyishness remaining, he wanted to be a man: hard and strong and able to defend himself, particularly against...

Once more, he forced the thoughts from his mind with an effort. The dread he felt concerning the coming day was constantly stirring up old memories and fears, causing his heart to flutter in his chest as his every muscle tensed, sensing danger. Mr. Sears was coming home tonight, and that meant one thing, but Aidan refused to think about it. There was nothing he could do about it, not yet; in time, once the weight training began to show--but that thought didn't erase the stain of shame and guilt he felt, nor did it drive away the fear.

Aidan gritted his teeth and cast about in his mind for another train of thought, any other train of thought, but one was difficult to find. So many of his memories revolved around that particular bit of recurring horror, ever since he'd come here. His mind finally lit upon the faces of his friends from school, Brendan and Bridgid Conavan, the only real friends he had.

At school, Aidan was quiet and reserved; he kept his head down and did his work diligently, saying little and rarely smiling. On the other hand, both Brigid and Brendan were bright, friendly, talkative and outgoing--qualities which Aidan fervently desired to possess. Although the twins had many friends and acquaintances, they had noticed the quiet boy in their classes and took the time to approach Aidan to try and draw him out; a fact for which he was forever grateful. They would be here, he realized with sudden encouragement, for as long as his birthday party lasted, and they would bring their friends, quite possibly ensuring that the festivities lasted for a long time, delaying the inevitable and maybe even--he hardly dared hope--postponing it altogether.

With a sigh and a final glance at his reflection, Aidan selected a clean, short-sleeved shirt from the closet and swung the door shut. He rummaged through his bureau for his jeans and the rest of his outfit and quietly stepped out into the hallway, headed for the washroom and a shower. He showered and dressed quickly, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake Elisa; she was the only good thing about this place, so he did his best to be as considerate as possible.

Still toweling his hair, Aidan made his way downstairs and into the immaculate, gleaming kitchen, whose spotless tile floor bore witness to Elisa's dedication. The kitchen often doubled as her workspace when she was writing; she would sit at the small wooden table typing furiously at her notebook computer, pausing every now then to stare out the large sliding doors that led to the side yard and sip from her coffee mug. Coffee was what Aidan had in mind; he flipped the switch on the machine, which he had prepared the previous night, and went to fetch the morning paper, tossing the damp towel onto the dark green leather couch in the living room as he opened the front door.

It was not yet eight in the morning, but the day already promised to be bright and warm; there was not a cloud to be seen in the blue sky as Aidan trod barefoot over the cool green lawn, still wet with dew, to where the paper lay. Birds chirped and fluttered from tree to tree, a dog barked somewhere, and everything seemed right with the world. Aidan stood with the paper in his hand, face uplifted, eyes closed, letting the warm sun caress his skin, inhaling the scent of grass and damp earth and trying to internalize the sense of peace that morning brought with it. Finally, regretfully, he returned to the house.

Elisa was already in the kitchen, her blonde hair in curlers, wearing a white robe and slippers and pouring herself a cup of coffee as Aidan reentered the room, dropping the sodden paper on the table. "Morning," she said sleepily, busying herself with cream and sugar for the coffee. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," Aidan said. It would only be happy so long as Mr. Sears was away. "What time will Morgan get home?" he asked her, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Around seven," she replied, picking the wet newspaper up from the table with a sigh. "I wish they wouldn't leave it in the grass."

The Sears house was one of many medium-sized houses making up the small neighborhood of Arshield Close, one of many such neighborhoods in the greater London area, a short distance from the Thames. The neighborhood was well-kept; its high hedges closely trimmed, its lush grass verdant, its tall trees casting cool shadows that were most welcome in the summer heat. A few children lived there, mostly younger than Aidan, and they could often be seen skipping rope or tearing up and down the street on their bicycles and scooters, sometimes to the displeasure of the older residents. Elisa, Morgan, and Aidan were well-known and well-liked, and so Elisa had thought to invite some of the kids to Aidan's party, despite his protests. Shortly after noon, therefore, they began to arrive, laughing and giggling, balancing gifts on their heads or merely carrying them as they made their way up the walk to the house.

"Get the door, would you, Aidan?" Elisa asked from the stepladder on which she was making a few last-minute adjustments to the decorations, which, in Aidan's opinion were completely unnecessary. Elisa would hear none of it; a party wasn't a party in her mind without the proper embellishments, and she had busied herself with putting up a large banner that read "Happy Birthday, Aidan", along with the associated streamers and crepe paper braids. The coffee table in the living room had been cleared for the purpose of receiving gifts and already bore two, marked "From Elisa" and "From Morgan", respectively.

Obediently, he opened the front door, letting the heat of the day enter into the cool house. Bethany Jordan, a precocious little girl from the other end of the street stood there in a bright yellow jumper, her brown hair pulled back into pigtails, a box almost as big as her body clutched in her arms. "Come on in," he said, holding open the screen door and she traipsed through the doorway, followed by Levi and Malcolm Porter, who were shoving at each other, each boy trying to get the other to drop his gift.

"Welcome, kids," Elisa said, stepping down from the ladder to survey her work. "Just put your presents on the coffee table, and Aidan will fetch you something to drink."

"Sure," Aidan replied, shutting the door and eyeing the Porter brothers, who were wrestling noisily on the couch. He shot Elisa a you-invited-them-not-me look and said, "Anybody want anything?"

"Do you have punch?" Bethany asked.

"I'm afraid not," Aidan answered. Elisa was a health nut and deplored sugar; everyone else in the house suffered accordingly. "We have lemonade, iced tea, water, juice..."

"I only drink punch," the little girl declared, pouting, her lower lip thrust out. At the same moment, Levi and Malcolm both tumbled to the floor with a thud and an audible "Oof!"

Aidan rolled his eyes and sighed. He couldn't wait until his friends showed up; the thought of spending the afternoon with a bunch of horrible, snot-nosed brats was unappealing. Fortunately the twins arrived in short order, followed by half a dozen of their friends, so that Aidan could hang out with people his own age and leave the neighborhood terrors to Elisa. Aidan knew most of the teens by sight, but Brendan went through the introductions anyway.

"This is Eric," he said, indicating the boy with spiky orange hair and several piercings that was standing next to him. "And over there is Zeke"--he pointed to a dark-haired boy wearing baggy cargo pants--"and Louis." A stocky boy with angular eyes waved genially from the group surrounding Brigid, smiling at Aidan and revealing a mouth full of braces.

"Who's sitting next to Brigid?" Aidan asked, noting the boy with blonde hair and blue eyes who had one arm casually draped over the dark-haired girl's shoulder.

Brendan's smile became mocking. "That's her boyfriend, Conrad. He's sixteen and a football player. They've been going out for what," he asked Eric, "a week?"

"Two," Eric corrected him, grinning also.

"I think it's getting serious," said Brendan. "He's all she ever talks about anymore." His sister looked up from her conversation with the two girls that usually accompanied her as if aware she was being discussed; catching her brother's look, she stuck her tongue out and made a rude gesture. Brendan laughed and turned toward Aidan. "She hates when I make fun of her for it. Which is why I do it, of course."

"Of course."

"The two girls that follow her around everywhere are Janet and Christine, and the only place they haven't been yet is on one of Brigid's dates."

"We heard that!" Brigid called.

Brendan grimaced. "Better talk quietly," he said, lowering voice.

"You're not afraid of your sister?" Eric accused him.

"You don't have to live with her," Brendan retorted. "So, what's up?" he asked Aidan, frowning as the Porter brothers chased Bethany squealing through the kitchen. "What's with the brats?"

"Elisa invited them," Aidan replied. "Their parents are friends of the family."

"That changes the whole tone of the party," his friend observed.

"I know," Aidan said mournfully. "Actually, I think that's why she did it."

Brendan nodded thoughtfully. "Guess we'll have to make the best of a bad situation," he said decidedly as Elisa shooed the Porter boys out of the kitchen, Bethany clutching tightly to her legs.

"Time for cake," Elisa announced, "and then Aidan can unwrap his presents. Everyone ready?"

"I don't like cake," Bethany said, letting go of Elisa.

"That's okay, dear; you don't have to have any." Elisa opened the refrigerator door and withdrew a square cake, covered with white frosting and the words "Happy Birthday, Aidan!" To Aidan's horror, a picture of himself at six years of age had been frosted onto the cake, with thirteen small blue candles arranged to one side.

"Oh, how cute!" Brigid exclaimed upon seeing it. "Don't you think?" she asked her two girlfriends, who smiled and nodded unconvincingly. Brendan and Eric smirked, and Aidan, blushing furiously, wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor.

"Nice picture," Eric remarked.

"Why?" Aidan asked Elisa reproachfully, feeling his ears burning.

"I just wanted to remind you of how far you've come," Elisa replied, setting the cake on the kitchen table. "You're officially a teenager today. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Don't worry," Brendan told him reassuringly. "We'll dispose of the picture for you."

"Dude, when you blush, you really blush," Eric snickered. Aidan touched one hand to his cheek and pulled it away sharply as his reflexes registered a burning sensation in his fingers. It felt like his face was on fire.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, dashing hurriedly from the kitchen.

"Don't be long," Elisa called after him. "You've still got to blow out the candles!"

Aidan rushed into the downstairs washroom, flipping on the lights, and gasped as he saw his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His face, his ears, his neck, his hands--all were flaming red, as if he had been badly sunburned, making even his hair look pale in comparison.

Concerned, he twisted the handle for cold water as far as it would go, letting the faucet run for a moment into the basin before bending over and splashing water on his face. It was wonderfully cool and wet against his skin, and immediately he began to feel better. Looking up into the mirror, he saw the redness had already begun to fade, and he continued vigorously showering water all over until his skin felt cool again. Panting, water trailing down his face, he stood up. His skin had almost returned to its normal coloring, except for his cheeks, which retained a slightly pink cast.

That was weird, he thought, mopping his face with a hand towel. He had never blushed so furiously before, and it worried him. But it had gone away. It was probably an anomaly, a one-time occurrence brought on by severe embarrassment. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to relax. At least it wasn't a naked baby picture, thank God. I just hope I don't have any other surprises today. Squaring his shoulders, Aidan left the washroom and made his way back into the kitchen, where Elisa was lighting the candles on his cake.

"Are you all right?" she asked, glancing worriedly up at him as the last candle began to burn. "I'm sorry about the picture."

"It's okay," he reassured her. "It was just--unexpected." She nodded slowly, still looking worried. "Shall I blow out the candles, then?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

"Yes!" Brendan replied immediately. "So that we can be rid of that foul picture."

"Don't say that," Elisa chided him. "He was cute when he was younger."

"He was," Brendan agreed. "Don't know what happened, do you? Ouch!" he cried in mock pain as Aidan socked him lightly on the arm, grinning despite himself.

"Go on, then," Elisa said, turning the cake so the candles were closest to Aidan. "Make a wish."

I know what I wish, he thought, momentarily carefree, looking around at the room, at the twins and their friends. He snuffed all but one of the candles with a single breath, and for some reason, the sight of the single remaining incandescent candle, jet black in color with a flickering tongue of fire, brought a sense of foreboding. Quickly, he blew it out, but the feeling of dread did not die with the flame but remained, augmented by the inexplicable fever of a few minutes prior.

"I want some cake," Bethany whined, watching as Elisa cut a large piece for Aidan and placed it on a paper plate. He accepted it automatically and went to sit on the couch in the living room. Something bad was coming, but he already knew that; when Morgan finally got home, the torment would begin anew. Except that this feeling was far deeper, far more urgent than even his fear of Morgan.

"See? I got your head," Brendan said, sitting down next to him. "Now, even if the cake falls into the wrong hands, no one will know it's a picture of you. Are you all right?" he asked, noticing Aidan's faraway look.

"Yeah," Aidan said with a forced smile, dragging his mind back into the present. But the image of the black candle that refused to go out with the others haunted him for the rest of the day.

The party, such as it was with the neighborhood children present, lasted until early evening. Finally, only the twins and Conrad remained with Aidan. They sat around the coffee table, playing poker with the M&M's Elisa had procured from somewhere. In the background, on the high-fidelity stereo system Elisa had given him for his birthday, a singer was screaming into the microphone, although his unintelligible lyrics were kept low enough to avoid disturbing the neighbors.

"I'll see your blue and raise you two reds," Brigid said smartly, tossing two M&M's into the pile at the center of the coffee table.

"Damn," Brendan swore, throwing his cards down disgustedly. "I fold." He yawned and checked the clock on Aidan's stereo. "Uh-oh. It's six-thirty. Mum and dad are going to be here soon."

"Do you have to go?" Aidan asked, suddenly anxious. "I fold, too," he added, laying his cards on the table.

Brendan nodded. "Yeah. They suddenly don't like us staying out late." He frowned at Bridgid and Conrad, who sitting across from each other. "I don't think they like Bridgid's taste in older men; afraid she'll be out all night with him, I expect."

"I call," Conrad was saying.

"Are you sure? All right," Bridgid replied in a you-asked-for-it tone of voice. "Straight flush," she announced triumphantly, showing him her cards.

Conrad scowled darkly. "Four of a kind," he muttered. "You win."

"Get used to it, mate," Brendan told him. "Maybe he'll think twice about dating someone who always beats him," he whispered to Aidan, grinning mischievously.

Aidan did not share his friend's high spirits, however; at that moment he heard a vehicle pull up outside and his heart began to pound wildly in his head. Listening hard, he caught the sound of one, two car doors opening and slamming closed. He began to feel sick with dread as he heard footsteps approaching the house, and the air suddenly felt cold.

"That's Mum and Dad," Brendan declared, peering through the drapes on the living room window. Aidan sagged with relief.

"Your parents are here!" Elisa called as she came downstairs. "Get the door, Aidan, don't leave them waiting outside."

Aidan got shakily to his feet and did as she asked.

"Hello!" Dr. Conavan greeted him cheerfully. "Are B and B ready?"

It was easy to see where the twins got their looks. Both Dr. and Mrs. Conavan had dark eyes and jet black hair, though Mr. Conavan's was beginning to show some silver, particularly in his neatly-trimmed beard. They were both well-dressed: Dr. Conavan in a gray jacket and dark pants, Mrs. Conavan in a tight black dress and white blouse.

"Thank you," Mrs. Conavan said as Aidan invited them inside.

"How was the party?" Dr. Conavan asked him, smiling broadly. "Feeling those raging teenage hormones yet?" His dark eyes twinkled mischievously from behind his glasses.

"Oh, Mark, stop it," Mrs. Conavan reproved him. "Just ignore him," she advised Aidan, "he's as bad as his children."

"The other way around, actually," Brendan said, pulling on his shoes. "That way we have an excuse."

"Not for everything," Mrs. Conavan commented dryly, looking sternly at her daughter, who broke lip contact with Conrad upon noticing the attention, and looked away, embarrassed. Brendan pretended to throw up, earning him a sharp rap on the back of the head from his mother.

"See what I was talking about?" Dr. Conavan asked wryly. "Let's get this lot home before they cause any more trouble."

"You'll be riding in front," Mrs. Conavan informed her daughter as she walked past Aidan, uttering a hurried "Bye!", Conrad trailing after her.

"Thanks for having us," Brendan said to Aidan, smiling. "Bye, Mrs. Sears!"

"Good-bye, guys," Elisa replied, seeing them to the door and waving. "Drive safely!"

Aidan watched as they crossed the street and climbed into the parked sedan belonging to Dr. Conavan, wishing he could go, too. Any minute now, Morgan's small, expensive car would turn onto Arshield Close. He backed away from the door, unwilling to risk seeing it; as long as he didn't see it, he could pretend it wasn't going to happen, that Morgan's flight had been delayed.

"Did you have fun?" Elisa inquired as he turned toward the stairs.

"Yes," he replied unthinkingly, his anxiety mounting with every passing second. His hands felt cold and clammy, his breath was coming in short gasps. Stay calm, he told himself, swallowing hard, stay calm.

Through the screen door, Aidan heard the sound of a car slowing to a stop in front of the house, brakes squeaking slightly. Please be the neighbors, the Conavans coming back for something, anything but--

"That's Morgan," Elisa said.

Aidan froze, shaking all over. His hands had gone completely numb; his legs were rooted to the floor. Move! he commanded, move! He had to get out of there before the man came, before he saw him, he had to hide! But there was nowhere he could hide, nowhere that he hadn't tried before, and Morgan had always found him, in the end. With an effort, his legs like stiff boards, he staggered over to the stairs. Have to get to my room before he sees me...

Outside, a car door slammed shut.

He tried to hoist himself up using the rail, but his hands would not move; it felt like an electric current was running through them, sapping all of his strength. Come on, one step at a time. Up the stairs...

"Don't you want to say hello?" Elisa asked him.

The sound of purposeful footsteps on the concrete walk, drawing closer...the top of the staircase seemed so distant...

"No," he croaked, "not feeling well."

The screen door squeaking on its hinges and, "You're not?" a male voice asked.

Still gasping, Aidan turned to face his fear. Morgan had come home.

Mr. Sears might once have looked intimidating. He stood about six feet high, with broad shoulders and a square jaw. His light brown hair was flecked with gray and had thinned somewhat as he aged. His figure, once robust, now sagged slightly in the midsection, the result of drink and inactivity, both of which he considered to be hazards of his occupation, which saw him sitting several hours on airplanes and in executive boardrooms. He wore a pinstriped, button-down shirt that bulged noticeably at his stomach before disappearing beneath his jeans. He held a bag of luggage in either hand, which he handed to his wife as he strode over to Aidan, a look very much like paternal concern on his face.

"Let's have a look at you," the older man said, grasping Aidan's forearm with one hand and placing the other on his forehead.

Aidan's skin crawled where the man touched him, he wanted to bolt, but he could not--Morgan's grip on his arm made sure of that. He stood, breathing heavily and trying not to throw up while the man felt around his forehead, nodding thoughtfully and frowning. "Well, you are a little warm," Morgan decided. "You might be coming down with something. Best get upstairs and into bed; I'll be along to check on you in a little while."

Check up on you. Aidan knew what that meant. He stumbled backward on the first step as Morgan released him; turning, he scrambled up the stairs, feeling the man's eyes boring into his back. Gasping, fighting back tears, he entered his room and threw himself against the door, slamming it closed. Sweat and tears trickled down his face, his mind and heart were racing, he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He wasn't safe, there was no place to hide and the awful reality of what was about to happen was pounding insistently against his skull with each heartbeat.

Save me! he cried silently at the ceiling, willing the thought to travel through it, beyond it, to anyone who could hear. Don't let him do it to me again! There was no answer, but gradually Aidan felt the numbness descending upon him, the blessed darkness that was his mind's only refuge from the terror, a complete denial of emotion, of thought, of reality. Like a cloak, the dark void wrapped around his mind, silencing his fears. His surroundings began to seem like something from a dream; he looked down at his hands, which now seemed unnaturally small, as if seen from a great height. His mind had not been shut down; it had only removed itself from the immediate danger, leaving his body to work on automatic for the time being.

He watched, as if through a small window, as he climbed into bed and pull the covers over himself, startled at the blank expression on his face, at the robotic movement of his limbs. Presently, there was a knock on the door, and though Aidan's heart seized, it was from a distance.

In the rapidly-diminishing light, Aidan watched as Morgan entered the room quietly, closing the door behind him. He crept silently toward the bed on which the boy that was no longer himself lay motionless, face to the wall, and sat on the edge.

"Still warm?" the man asked, laying one hand on the boy's forehead. "Yes," he said in a low, husky voice after a moment. "You don't want to be under the covers when you're warm." He drew back the covers clumsily, depositing them at the foot of the bed.

"Better?" Morgan asked gruffly, laying a hand on the boy's forehead. "A little," he answered himself, "but you're still too warm. It's not healthy. Take off your shirt."

The boy on the bed stirred, and Aidan found himself wondering what was he was doing, until he saw that the boy who was not himself was doing as he was told, unbuttoning the short-sleeve shirt he wore and shrugging out of it, silent tears streaming down his face. He's actually doing it! he thought. Why? Doesn't he know what's going to happen? He felt a prickling sensation coming from somewhere behind his forehead; he tried to cry out a warning, but discovered he had no voice in this place, and a sudden thought came to him. Maybe he knows he can't stop it...

"That's better," the man in Aidan's vision breathed. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out his hand again, but instead of placing it on the boy's forehead, he rested it on the boy's stomach, breathing hard as he ran it up the boy's chest and back down again, stopping just above his waist.

The prickling sensation was growing stronger in Aidan's mind. He didn't want to see anymore, didn't want to watch was going to happen to the boy who was not him, but he couldn't help himself; he was transfixed. If only he could reach the man, stop him, wrench his filthy hand from boy, but he could not move, it was as if his limbs were stuck fast. Still he struggled, the fiery feeling in his mind growing, interfering with his concentration. He could not let this play out; he had to stop it, even if the boy who was not him could not...

"Mm, you're still warm," the man whispered, his voice husky, inching his hand beneath the boy's jeans. My jeans, came the sudden, jarring realization, he's doing it to me! Suddenly, his vision collapsed around him as the prickling sensation inside his mind exploded into a fury like he'd never known before, blowing apart the darkness that was his shield and plunging him back into reality.

A searing pain shot through his arms and into the tips of his fingers, causing him to cry out. The air surrounding his hands began to shimmer like the hot afternoon air above baking pavement, taking on an orange glow as it did so. Morgan's hand on Aidan's stomach was suddenly gone, and the older man was cursing and waving it wildly while blowing on it, as if it had been singed. He looked at Aidan with a mixture of anger and fear on his face, taking a step backward as Aidan stood up to face him, heat radiating from his hands, his arms, his face, every inch of bare skin, twisting and warping the surrounding air.

Aidan hardly noticed as the burning sensation in his hands, in his mind, intensified; all he knew was that he wasn't going to take it anymore, he wasn't going to let the man continue to humiliate him, he was going to fight back! Even as he thought this, both hands burst forth in flames, and without pausing to think, uncaring as his nerves screamed in protest at the scorching pain, Aidan reached out toward Morgan and the flames leapt from his outstretched hand toward the older man. Morgan cried out in alarm as his clothes caught fire and he ran toward the bedroom door, shouting and beating frantically at the flames with one hand while he flung the door wide with the other.

Aidan's mind had crystallized on one thought as seven years' worth of pent up rage and guilt and humiliation now found an outlet: the bastard would burn, he would pay for everything he'd done. He reached out with his other hand and the fire lashed through the air, curling whiplike around Morgan's leg as he attempted to flee into the hall, his shirt still smoking. The older man stumbled and fell as Aidan drew back his hand and the fiery whip with it, dragging the older man back into the room.

"Aidan, please," gasped Morgan, scrambling backward even as he was inexorably pulled forward, fear in his eyes. "Please."

At the same moment, Elisa appeared in the open doorway, looking alarmed. "What is going in here?" she demanded.

As suddenly as it had come, the fiery rope wrapped around Morgan's leg vanished, leaving scorch marks on Morgan's jeans but with no other visible indication that it had ever been. The older man was panting, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his shirt charred and burned away over his chest, revealing raw, reddened skin underneath, gazing at Aidan with pure malevolence.

Stunned by what had just occurred, Aidan stumbled backward, landing on his bed and gazing in disbelief at his outstretched hands, which, aside from being slightly pink, bore no signs of the flame that had engulfed them.

"Are you two all right?" asked Elisa, glancing with concern first at Aidan, then at her husband. "What happened?" she asked, seeing his ruined shirt and rushing over to him.

"He...went crazy," Morgan said, wincing as he sat up. "He attacked me for no reason." Elisa turned to look at him, worry in her eyes.

"No," Aidan breathed, pointing a trembling finger at his assailant. "It was him. He was going to--"

A lump formed in his throat, choking his words; he could not admit his shame.

"We have to get you to the hospital," Elisa said to her husband, helping him to stand.

"I'm fine," Morgan insisted, grimacing. "Call the police."

"What? Why?"

"Why? Look what he did to me, Elisa! Look at my shirt! God only knows what would have happened if you hadn't shown up!"

Elisa glanced sharply at Aidan. "But why did he attack you? Surely he had a reason."

Yes, I did have a reason! Aidan wanted to scream. You don't know what he's done to me, what he's taken from me, how I can never, ever be whole again! How I flinch from human contact, how I can't even trust my own friends, how I wake up, terrified, in the middle of the night and all I can see is his face, all I can feel are his hands, all I can hear is his voice as he destroys me! You don't know! But he still could not speak, only stare, numbly, mutely as Morgan shook his head.

"No," the older man lied, glaring at Aidan. "He just snapped; he's probably always been unstable. Call the police. We'll lock him in until they arrive."

"But--"

"He's not safe, Elisa," Morgan said, hobbling over to the staircase. "If he attacked me, he could attack you, or the neighbors, or anyone!"

Reluctantly, Elisa turned.

No! Don't believe him! Aidan tried to yell, but all he could manage was a hoarse grunt.

"See?" Morgan asked. "Mad." He grimaced again as his wife, looking back anxiously at Aidan, helped him out into the hall. Aidan watched the door shut and heard the lock click and his stomach clenched horribly. The police--he was going to be arrested for what he'd done.

But what did I do? he asked himself. That was easy; he'd attacked his legal guardian, the man who was supposed to look out for him. He wondered what kind of a story Morgan would tell the authorities. I shouldn't have tried to stop him, Aidan thought miserably, starting to panic, I should have just let him...he shuddered.

No! an angry voice shouted inside his mind, recoiling from the thought.

Yes, he insisted. Yes, because now I'm going to lose my only home, my only family, my only friends, everything!

But I was only protecting myself.

The police wouldn't see it that way. How many people could shoot fire from their hands, and without even a mark to show for it? He would be sent to prison, where the kinds of things that Morgan did happened regularly anyway; he hadn't saved himself, only condemned himself to further, and even worse, torture than what occurred here.

Unless he left.

The thought terrified him, but he didn't have any choice; he'd made the decision to save himself and now he would have to see it through. He would have to run, as far and as fast as he could, until he found a place to hide from the police, from Morgan, from all of the unhappy memories of this place. And he had no time to pack, no time to take anything but what he wore. He retrieved his shirt from the bed and put it on, eyes darting sadly around his room. He wished he could take something more, but time was critical.

Slowly, forcing himself to remain calm, beating down the sickening anxiety that was doing its best to overwhelm him, he turned and walked to the small window, every creaking step causing his heart to skip a beat. It would be a tight fit, he thought, gazing out of the window, but he could make it to the roof above the garage, and from there to the ground and freedom. Opening the window, Aidan let the cool evening breeze wash over him for a moment before heaving himself through. As it turned out, it was more than a tight fit, it was nearly impossible, and some of Aidan's skin was left behind on the sharp edge of the windowsill; still, he managed to make it through, dropping to roof and crouching low, afraid a neighbor might see him and call out, alerting the man in the house below.

Carefully, he crawled over to the edge of the roof, looking down into the front yard. Heart pounding, a thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he leaped, landing with a thud that rattled every bone in his body. Scrambling to his feet, Aidan ran without looking back.