Brady woke with the sudden fear of an earthquake. His body was shaking, and the room seemed to moving. His eyes fluttered open, only to see darkness. When he tried to sit up, he couldn't. Something was holding him down. Still half asleep, his vision spun around the room, hoping to find something familiar.
"Brady? Brady are you awake?" said a familiar, whispering voice.
Realizing he was in Mark's room, the television still flickering in the corner, he became aware of someone's hands on his shoulders. Looking to his left, he saw Mark, fast asleep and facing away from him.
"Brady, it's Peter, you fell asleep lad," said the voice.
Brady reached his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, hoping to force them into focus. Finally, hovering directly over him, he saw Peter's face, consumed in shadow and slightly glowing from the light provided by the TV. "What time is it?" Brady mumbled as Peter let go of his shoulders.
"It's nearly two in the morning," explained Peter. "Too late to go home."
Sitting up, Brady rolled his legs off the side of the bed. "Is everything okay?" he asked, unsure why.
"Everything's fine," Peter reassured him. "But you can't sleep here. Come with me. There's a spare bed down the hall."
Brady nodded and sleepily climbed to his feet. Before he could even complete a first step, he kicked something, causing a loud clanking sound followed by an echoing chime. Looking down at the floor, he became aware of the bowl which he had used to hold his ice cream, now laying upside-down on the floor with the spoon nowhere to be seen. "Sorry," he mumbled, while staggering in behind Peter toward the hallway.
"Don't worry about it," whispered Peter. "I called your mum. She knows you'll be spending the night."
Brady followed Peter to the end of the hall and into a small bedroom. Inside, the room was cluttered with stacked, empty boxes and scattered plastic bags. In the far corner, buried under several suitcases was a small twin-sized bed that looked to be taken right out of a nineteenth century orphanage. Peter approached and removed the empty luggage then placed them on the floor, at the foot of the bed. "Just a moment. I'll go grab you some sheets and a pillow," said Peter, as Brady turned and sat down on the bed.
Barely a minute later, Peter returned to the room with several blankets and a flattened pillow. Brady stood back up when he saw the man enter. "Thanks," he said, reaching for sheets to offer some help.
"It's fine," said Peter, passing Brady toward the bed. "You're tired. I can do it."
Too tired to argue, Brady nodded and stepped back to allow the man some room. Peter dropped the sheets on the floor and, in a single motion, tossed another in the air. A loud swoop filled the room, and air pushed its way in all directions. The mattress cover glided down to the bed, just like a parachute, and Peter tucked the corners under the mattress's ends.
Tossing a pillow at the head of the bed, Peter turned to face Brady and gestured for the boy to lie down. "Go on then, hop in," he said while reaching for another sheet.
Brady did as he was told, and Peter, holding one end, threw the fabric into the air. The sheet gently fell down to the bed, covering Brady's body. Brady smiled up at Peter, as if to say thank you, and closed his eyes as the man slid a thin quilt over the boy's shoulders.
"Goodnight, son," said Peter as he walked toward the door and grabbed the handle.
"Goodnight."
Hearing the door gently close, Brady felt his chest flutter, differently than before. It had been so long since he heard a man call him son that the word, even though it was an empty gesture, made him feel warm inside. Snuggling into the covers, Brady could feel his muscles begin to relax and his eyelids become heavy. Taking one last, deep breath, he allowed his mind to drift into slumber.