A peek into the life of The Freak
The government man, Mike Oldman, was following behind Dylan with a giant, sickly smirk on his lips. He was smart, he was staying a good way behind Dylan Sinclair so he, hopefully, wouldn't notice the sleek black car following his gray Honda.
Dylan hummed along to the radio, his mind flashing back to Avonlea's whispers to the song playing in the car, the singing filling up his car. He really needed to put a stop on his thinking about her. It was happening too much. Pulling into his old, crappy house, a frown took over his face. Compared to Avonlea's house filled with happiness, smiles, and laughs, Dylan's house seemed to be a place of torture. Well, it kind of was. Groaning, Dylan grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat and hoisted himself out of the car. After seeing how other people lived, how normal people lived, he didn't care about staying quiet and keeping out of sight from his foster parents. No, he was a minor and should at least be given food every day and shouldn't have to worry about survival. He didn't mind if he wasn't loved, he just wanted to live, and that was being put in jeopardy.
Mike Oldman pulled in the driveway across the street. His boss had already made sure that no one was home. Luckily for them, they were on vacation. Nothing would stop his team from finding out who this boy was, what he could do, and soon, get him for themselves. Other people in the team had disagreed, saying that Dylan Sinclair has done nothing to be considered a threat to them, or anyone. They had been dealt with. Sure, he had done nothing yet, but he could do something. Plus, he could be very useful to them. They will get what they want. After all, they always do.
Dylan opened the door, not loudly, but just normally. He wasn't careful like he always was, creaking the door open ever so carefully and watching where he steps. No. He opened the door like Avonlea had opened her front door and her bedroom door. His feet stepped wherever they needed to in order to get to the kitchen. However, his feet soon stopped moving as he heard a groan of displeasure coming from upstairs. Clearly, he had made too much noise and had woke up Trent. Crap.
The blue in his eyes darkened out of pure fear, something that had happened many other times. Too many times to count. Gulping thickly, he decided that he couldn't get food today, there was no way. Attempting to sneak out into his room, Dylan Sinclair cursed under his breath as he heard Trent call out for him. "Boy! What are you doing? Making a ruckus."
Not answering, Dylan attempted to slip into his room, but he felt a hand tighten around his ankle, causing him to fall onto the ground with a loud thud. "This should show you to never wake me up." That was the last sentence Dylan thought of that entire night.
Mike Oldman's jaw clenched, shaking his head. The boy's foster dad had made the boy bleed, a lot. Usually, this would cause his team to relocate the boy, but they wouldn't. Not when they needed Dylan for their own selfish gain. Although it was very, very wrong, Mike simply drove away, ignoring the voice in the back of his head to run towards the screams coming from the old, run-down house.
Driving back to the secret hideout that his team was staying at, he drove his car into the small dugout like contraption that allowed them to stay out of sight. Swinging the car door open, he climbed out, coughing a bit from the swarm of dust that filled his lungs. There was a camouflaged door to the left of his car. Opening it with a wrinkle of his nose, he stepped into the place that held 7 full-grown adults. The leader, Scott, turned in his chair and smiled. "Ah Mike, welcome back. What news do you have of the freak?" That seems to be what everyone has started calling Dylan Sinclair. The Freak.
Mike told them everything he had seen. From him leaving the girl's house to what he had seen happen at his own home. Every little detail. Scott slowly nodding his head, stroking his graying brown beard. Scott had brown hair that was beginning to gray from age, with dark brown, seemingly soulless eyes. His skin was tan with a few wrinkles here and there. Mike, on the other hand, had black hair that had no ounce of gray in it with dark blue eyes.
"Hmm. I see. Well, that definitely puts a damper on our plan." Mike nodded in agreement with Scott's words. "That is all. You may go to your chambers." Mike bowed his head, mumbling a thank you before heading off to his chambers. In a lot of ways, Scott seemed to be the sort of king of the group, no matter if everyone liked that a lot. In fact, no one did.
Scott needed to change his plan.
In the morning, Dylan winced from the pain in his shoulder. There would definitely be a brand new scar on his shoulder, as well as many other places. Forcing himself to stand up, he cursed when he realized he had to go to school. If he didn't, he would have to go through the same thing as last night again. He didn't want to do that. Ever. Very slowly, he got himself ready for the day, wincing every two seconds. Especially when he changed his clothes. He was cursing like a sailor. Finally, it was over. He limped the whole way down the driveway to his car, climbing in and yelping out when he sat down. Groaning and sighing, he got his legs in the car and drove all the way to the school, happy he had found a comfortable position to drive in so he wasn't in pain the entire time. After a few minutes, he arrived in the parking lot. It was going to be a long day.