Chapter 1
When he wasn’t staring out the big window that overlooked the beautiful blue mountains looming in the distance, Howard often liked sitting in the plushy oversized chair in the library. He could scoot it close to the fireplace and curl up on its cushion, where he’d often take naps during the colder months of the year, nursed to sleep by his favorite drink. A hot chocolate drink with a stick of cinnamon, marshmallows, and whipped cream made by his caretaker.
It was here he read works from all around the galaxy. He had a soft spot for stories, stories that featured faraway places with wonderfully painted descriptions. Through books he could transport himself outside the walls of his home, and lose himself in a wild escapism that he took great joy in. In his imagination he fought side by side with daring heroes, chased after terrifying monsters, and made lifelong friends with the characters. He’d often pretend they were his real friends and imagine what it would be like to be a part of a grand adventure himself.
On many days he’d sit in his chair and read from sunup to sundown, stopping only to use the bathroom. He would sometimes be so obsessed with his adventures, that he would even forget to eat, not that he could stomach much in the first place being on a mostly liquid diet. This was because he’d gotten acutely sick when he was only a year old from a horrible disease that swept through the colony, leaving his lungs scarred and unable to digest more than just the tiniest morsel of food. The origin of the disease was never pinpointed exactly, thought to be obfuscated deliberately by the Whitman Mining company. But as far as the court of public opinion was concerned, the company had failed to sanitize their mining equipment on a return expedition from virgin space, exposing their home world and at least two other ports to an unknown fungus.
His father, Kirk Whitman, an inheritor of his father’s asteroid mining business and recent founding of his own colony, tried everything to preserve the health of his prodigal son. With the power bestowed to him as an Executive, one of the privileged to trade his business directly on the Grand Exchange, he threw every modern medical marvel, legal or otherwise at his son's illness, but nothing succeeded in reversing or slowing it down. Surgery, pills, eventually insane alternative medicines that involved borderline cuckoo magic hackery. None of it changed Howard’s condition.
So, Howard was labeled as a failed asset, and as a result was left to his own devices in the upper floors of his family estate. His father would occasionally come up and check on him, though usually only to rant about the business and to shame him for the disgrace he’d brought about their family. His mother, Sally Whitman, hardly ever came upstairs, too busy with his father’s new project, Howard’s baby sister Julia. She was also secretly afraid that despite the doctor's insistence, that whatever had happened to Howard would ruin yet another child.
But Howard was too young to understand any of that, and often felt lonely up in the library all by himself for reasons his little mind couldn’t comprehend. Luckily for him, his father ordered his head of staff, a woman by the name Miss Berkshire, to take charge of him. Though it was not in her job description, she accepted her employer's request, as many Executives often liked to change the terms of their employees’ agreements on a whim. She would be the one to bring him his meals, monitor his condition, and give him the occasional haircut. Per his father’s orders, she was only supposed to be there for perhaps fifteen minutes each day. But Howard, simply happy to have a frequent visitor, took to her quickly and begged her to stay longer every time she visited.
Before long Miss Berkshire found herself as more than his unofficial caretaker. She recognized quickly that there was something about the young Howard that perhaps the family had missed, a certain quality to his personality that made him a joy to be around, more so than other children she’d ever worked with in her long career as head of staff for numerous families.
The moment she’d enter his domain, Howard would stop whatever he was doing and slowly trudge himself and his oxygen cart, adorned with stickers she’d given him, over to give the strongest hug he could muster. He’d then badger her immediately with whatever book he’d been reading, dragging her over to his large chair, making her sit next to him on the footstool while he excitedly rambled about his favorite character, or a scene he’d just read. Often, he couldn’t go more than a few sentences before becoming winded or breaking into a coughing fit, but it didn’t deter him in the least. Usually after he caught her up to speed, he’d ask her to play with him.
His favorite activity was pretending to be the great pirate king, the Immortal Captain Halock. The legendary destroyer of Armada vessels, claimer of grand treasures, and above all, the greatest adventurer to have ever lived. Channeling his spirit, Howard stomped around the library wearing a paper pirate hat, with Miss Berkshire his loyal companion. She helped him fight off other pirates from stealing their treasures, discover creatures no one had ever seen before, and of course clap after Howard would make a triumphant speech in the name of discovery and adventure.
Often though their playtime would be interrupted by his illness, a sudden violent coughing fit, or a surprise bout of fatigue that required him to rest. But despite it he always looked chipper, his little sunken brown eyes filled with vigor in stark contrast to his form, deathly skinny and pale.
As he grew older, his obsession with reading only deepened. Having no library in the company town, as such things were considered a waste of money, Miss Berkshire had to convince his father that Howard needed more books. Howard had already read nearly every book in the library twice by then, and Miss Berkshire badgered her employer persistently enough that he eventually caved. Books began being hauled in sometimes by the crate to the residence. For every holiday, birthday, or special occasion, Howard asked for a book. He grew to have a weakness for poetry alongside his love for fiction, to the ire of his father, who found the medium a waste of time. Though, perhaps more depressing than a strong protest, truly his father never more than grumbled about it.
Not helping his obsession either were Miss Berkshire's stories. Daughter of a merchant herself, she often spent months in space on long commercial voyages. Howard pestered her endlessly with questions about what it was like, down to the tiniest details like how cold the floor was, and how the ships sounded when in space.
The once tidy library over the years turned into a hoarder's den of fiction, guidebooks, and dreams, a true vessel for the imagination. Howard had Miss Berkshire cover the ceiling in glow in the dark stars, which he’d gaze up at from makeshift pillow forts and pretend he was out on a grand adventure of his own. He frequently moved the furniture around to make sailing ships where he could be the captain of his own vessel, commanding a crew of dangerous men across even more dangerous waters. He made flags of long forgotten kingdoms and fought under their banners in great wars. Howard began to live virtually every hour of his life in the library, and under his stewardship it seemed that the boundaries of it crept along the upper floors of the estate, piles of books snaking out of its grand doors, claiming rooms and hallways one by one. He became like a dragon, the library his den, the books his treasure for him to hoard and guard.
But the more Howard delved into this obsession, the more restless he became. A once quiet and timid boy, turning into a young man whose heart yearned for more. He’d gaze out the blue distant mountains, and wondered what it looked like to be so high up? He longingly stared at the bustling town down the hill, and wondered what it was like to simply walk amongst the people. Soon he gazed not at the stars stickered to his ceiling, but in the ones that winked out of reach in the night sky. He dreamed of the infinite things out beyond his atmosphere. He began to ask Miss Berkshire if he could go outside more, but his Father would always catch wind and deny the requests. “Too risky,” he’d say. His health was too fragile. Despite his relegated status as a family recluse, he was still an Executive by blood, and could one day prove useful. The more Howard asked, the more irritated his father seemed to become with him and Miss Berkshire. He accused her of putting ideas in his head, of enabling his brain rotting behavior of obsessing so much over his love of fiction. So Howard stopped asking, if only to spare Miss Berkshire of his father's ire. His library, his window to the outside world, began to feel more like a prison.
Eventually, he came to a simple conclusion. That his life was in fact, miserable. The realization came on his 15th birthday, which he quietly celebrated with Miss Berkshire. A feeling had been stewing inside of him for some time, something he didn’t know how to express, but made him feel heavy, and terrible from the moment he woke up.
Miss Berkshire noticed his eternal chipperness had finally seemed to have faltered and did her best to try to get him to open up about what was troubling him.
He admitted to her that he felt bad. It was his fifteenth birthday, and where was his family? Where were his friends? Would he spend his sixteenth there, in the library? His seventeenth? His 30th? His 80th? Would they all be alone, just him and her, and the big window taunting him with a world to behold that he could never more than gaze at? Was he doomed to this life, useless to himself and the world for his illness?
She comforted him as a mother would her own child, holding him firmly and stroking his hair. She told him that his illness did not define him. That she’d seen firsthand how wonderful and strong he was. He wasn’t useless, far from it. He was creative, he was intelligent, and most importantly, he was kind. She told him that in their time, these traits were often overlooked by those who ran the systems that governed their lives, but that they were invaluable. He was exactly the kind of person that others would welcome to meet if they had the chance. She knew she certainly was glad to have known him.
Out of all the accolades she ascribed to him, the one that stuck out the most to the impressionable boy was that his heart could take him anywhere. It did not matter where he was in the universe, what trial or tribulation it put before him. His heart could guide him through it all, and give him the power to do it.
So after their small celebration, he found himself gazing out the window once again, trying to listen to his heart. He gazed out to the mountains, and his heart spoke to him. He decided to take a risk. The biggest he’d ever taken. He would climb the mountain, his own health be damned. He bided his time, gradually acquiring the things he thought he’d need for such a trek. He waited for X-Mas to come around, the most famous tax free holiday across the Confederacy where everyone was encouraged to gorge themselves on gifts and excess. Then, when the time was right and the snow had thawed months later, he packed it all together and shoved it into a bag with some of his liquid bags of food. Then early one morning he made his way down the stairs of the estate. One might have found it quite strange sneaking through on his own house, but the lower levels never felt like home to him. To him it felt as if he was sneaking through foreign territory on a secret mission.
But he was able to slip out the upper floors easily, as there were no real countermeasures against him doing so. Nobody frankly thought he’d ever even attempt such a thing. So with great anticipation he paused at the tall wooden doors to the estate, staring up at them with vigor in his eye, stopping only to grab one of his father’s point cards, the only supposed civilized way to transfer money in the Confederacy according to him.
Then, as quietly as he could, he stepped foot out into the world. The first thing he felt was the wind rustling his hair, then the sun gently kissing his face, as if warmly welcoming him into its domain. He quickly scurried down the hill, which immediately winded him and forced him to set a more even pace. Each step he took toward the town below his heart began to swell with excitement. Every step down the gentle hill bringing him father than he’d ever been from home. He felt like the explorers from his books, charting into new territory. All that was missing was a stylish cape or hat that the explorers so often seemed to have.
It wasn’t long until he was walking the quaint cobbled roads of the town below, Doughland, named after Howard’s grandfather. A collection of businesses and homes catering to the Whitman estate and its company employees, as well as some local shops that set up to make their own profits. To his pleasant surprise, nobody had any idea who he was.
Normally a Whitman walking around was cause for some commotion, as everyone wanted to meet their benefactors, or perhaps wanted to avoid them at all costs. But no one seemed to realize who Howard was. There were many who had heard of the young man in the Whitman estate, crippled by the same illness that had killed many of their children, but none who’d actually seen him. Instead, he was regarded with a general wariness, as all sickly people tended to be, but nobody bothered him much beyond the odd glance.
By the time he made it to the center of the town he was feeling winded, so he took a rest in the town square. He waved at strangers while he recovered. Sometimes they waved back, which was quite the thrill for him. He decided to buy a candied apple at a food cart, using the point card he’d taken earlier, tapping the little plastic square at the vendors register and hearing the satisfying “ca-ching” that marked the successful transfer of funds from his father’s account to the vendors.
But his final destination was not simply buying a snack at a stall, no, his ambitions were larger, his aims quite literally higher. Once he felt up to it, he left the paved streets of the town and made way for the somewhat maintained path up the mountain trail. It was easy for a while, the incline not too steep, and well cleared by the crew that maintained the lower preserve for the villagers. But soon the well manicured paths disappeared, and became a real rugged trail.
Mt. Success, his father’s designated name for the mountain, equal parts bland and commercial. From the window of the library, the mountain had always seemed distant and gentle, a sleeping giant looming over their valley in Howard’s mind. Now up close, it stood powerfully before him, tall, rocky, and awe inspiring. Far below he knew there were mines were being worked twenty four hours a day, extracting resources from under the giant mountain, resources to be used and sold for the colony's development.
He hauled his cart over gravel and rock, through thick grass and thickets. The foliage was heavily lined with fern like plants, giving the impression that everything had a low grassy skirt. He was immediately struck at how noisy the outdoors was. There was always a twig snapping, a critter chirping, or a wind blowing something somewhere around him. Each noise startled him, making him jump at first, but gradually he began to recognize most of the sounds brought him no ill will and relaxed.
The thrill of discovery aside, it was grueling for him, a boy who’d never had more exercise than a light walk around his home, but he was determined for a literal change of scenery, to make his own adventure, and could think of nothing more than the mountaintop he’d spent his life staring at. So even though it tired him greatly, it was equally exciting to be out hiking, giving him the energy he needed to keep going.
So he walked, climbed, and fell over quite a lot. But he’d get up each time, laughing at his mistake, grinning with pride at each bruise or cut that appeared on his hands and knees. By the time the sun dipped behind the tip of the mountain, he’d hardly even made it halfway up. Using his bookish knowledge of survivalism, he tried with meager success to find a good spot to place his sleeping bag, a nice clear area with some trees to shelter him from the wind. He found a choice spot off the trail that met his requirements and set up his tent, which up until that point had been used for pretend camping in the library, nestled next to the fireplace and a mountain of pillows. By comparison the reality of how hard the ground was a rough surprise, but Howard welcomed it with pride, feeling himself to be quite manly and accomplished.
The next day he was up early waking to unfiltered daylight peeking through the flap of his tent. He had a breakfast of his liquid food, which tasted a bit sour after not being refrigerated, but his tired body welcomed the calories greedily. His muscles were sore from yesterday, so he was even slower, but his heart compelled him onward.
He initially made great progress, easily finding the trail a second time. But after a while of hiking, he suddenly realized he’d lost the trail entirely. He looked around, trying to find the blue paint on the bark of the pine trees that were his lifeline to the trail, and none were found. He tried to recall the last time he saw one, and figured it had been about thirty minutes ago. He knew from his free time in the library that generally speaking, the trail tended to run in a north west direction. His own home was south east to the town below. So he peered up at the sun, noting its position in the sky, it was late morning. So he walked towards it, hoping that by walking in the reverse direction he’d stumble back onto the trail. After about 15 minutes of backtracking and carving his own switchbacks, once more he spotted the blue paint, and sighed with relief before he resumed his mission.
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As he progressed he stopped often to rest, frequently over exerting himself, but also to take in the smells and the sights of small furry creatures scampering about. In particular finding the chipmunks bred from Earth’s ancestry to be uniquely entertaining up close. He had planned to summit by sunset, but again couldn’t make the distance due to his lack of strength, and losing the trail earlier. By the time the sun had set he was disappointed and barely able to move. He collapsed into his sleeping bag and passed out the moment his head hit the ground.
The next day he woke up once more to the critters of the mountain, his back feeling stiff from the hard ground. Nearby, a deer watched him silently, chewing something absent-mindedly. When he stirred the deer fled, leaving him alone once again.
Mentally preparing for another day he made a terrible discovery. Normally he needed a new canister of oxygen about once a week. But he’d been exerting so much effort over just the past two days that he'd already burned more than halfway through his canister. A moment of doubt crept into his mind, debating whether or not he should abandon his adventure. He had enough oxygen that if he turned around right then, he could safely make it back home. He shook his head at the thought, he’d been gone nearly a full two days and it had seemed like no one had even noticed. Even if he was found, he’d likely be locked up to the house for good, unable to make a second attempt. So he swallowed his doubt, and pressed onward towards the top.
By noon he was already drenched with sweat and extremely light headed. The thinning oxygen from the altitude sucked up more of the tank than he was using already. Then the air became colder, chilling him with every breeze. With every twenty meters he had to sit down for a few minutes to get his heart rate to settle. It took him all day to traverse the distance a healthy man could have done in a mere few hours, but soon the summit was in sight, the trees becoming shorter and bushier, parting away, welcoming him to the top. Invigorated at the endless sky opening up before him, he quickened his pace and made a fatal mistake. His balance, already unsteady, was thrown when he tried to rest his weight against a loose pile of rocks. His feet went flying out from underneath him and he fell onto his back, knocking out what little wind was in his lungs and sending him sliding back down the hill a painful distance. His cart and oxygen were thrown with him, and tumbled far, far down the hill, breaking the tube connecting him to it and disappearing over the edge of a cliff never to be seen again.
He tried to sit up but found he could hardly even lift a finger, all of his effort going to forcing air into his scarred lungs. Too weak to move, he lay there for many hours watching the sun fall into evening, and the lights of the town below light up one by one as it turned to night. Though he hadn’t made it to the top, he still smiled. He could settle for having climbed as high as he did, farther than he ever had in his entire life. As the sky darkened and the warmth of the sun dwindled, the stars came out, and gave Howard a refuge from the cold in his mind. It was as if he could feel the burning warmth of their blaze from billions of miles away. He closed his eyes, taking in the sounds around him. The powerful howl of the wind rushing over the rocky submit, clawing up the sides of the mountain, filling his ears with a symphony of its power. He felt the rocks and dirt under his body, gently running it through his hands. This mountain would be his grave, where his spirit would rest eternally. The elements would claim him and he would become part of the beautiful painting that’d he’d stared at his entire life from the library window. He smiled and opened his eyes to the heavens to bask in its glory for the final time.
But as he stared up into space, something strange occurred. An usual star was shining brightly, one that Howard did not recognize. It grew brighter, and brighter, until he realized that the star was falling, descending in a brillant spray of golden flame that appeared to be on a direct course for him. He watched in awe as it came crashing down, colliding not with him, but with the top of the mountain itself just above him in a magnificent explosion of fire and earth. Its collision was loud, shaking the ground beneath him, and sending rocks tumbling down the hill, narrowly missing Howard in his prone position. As the chaos quelled, he could see a warm yellow glow at the top of the hill, its light shining into the night sky like a beacon.
Compelled to use what strength he had left, he managed to spin himself around to face the top of the mountain by flipping onto his stomach. Then he crawled painstakingly up to the top using the last of his oxygen, digging his fingernails into the mountain itself to give him leverage. Each grueling move forward now powered only by his will, his breath coming out as horrible, strained wheezes. But the heavens themselves were giving him a sign that he must reach the top, and he wasn’t about to ignore their call. So he crawled with every ounce of strength he had left, his boney hips scraping across the rock and rough dirt to climb the hundred meters to the top.
When he finally reached the edge of the crater, his clothes were ruined, torn and soiled with dirt. His hands were raw from the rocks. He glanced down and saw where the star had fallen, still glowing hot from entering the atmosphere. Unable to crawl further, he nudged himself over the edge of the crater and rolled down into it. He landed roughly, badly bruising his shoulder and dislocating it. Breathing haggardly, he turned to get a closer look at the impact.
A brilliant, shining sphere no bigger than a football, glowing with a green and purplish hue. Using his elbows he crawled the final distance, lungs filling with spit and blood from his efforts. He reached out, and grasped the star in his hands. A warm glowing ball with an unusual stretchy texture. He held it tight in his hands, and rolled onto his back so he could stare at the night sky once more. Holding it aloft like a trophy, he managed a weak laugh, spitting up blood that ran down his cheek. He brought it to his lips and gave his trophy a kiss.
At the touch of his lips it suddenly pressed back against his mouth, and violently crammed its way inside, filling his mouth with a horrible slimy texture. He tried to pull it out, but his arms and hands were dead after the climb he forced himself through. He could only watch, and feel in horror, as what he thought to be a star worm and claw its way down his throat, cutting off any oxygen he had left. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision, and pulled him into the void of unconsciousness as he felt something alien and unnatural happening inside of him.
***
When he awoke, he inhaled sharply filling his lungs deeper than he’d been able to his entire life. He noticed the change immediately, the absence of his lightheadedness or his hair- trigger cough. He took a deep breath, then another. He exhaled with bewilderment, and climbed to his feet. He breathed in the rich air, doing so to the point where he began to hyperventilate and had to take a break. It was only then he realized how good the rest of his body felt. His arms and legs were still sore, but they had a strength to them he’d never felt. Why, he could likely throw a ball more than a few meters with the vigor flowing through him! He let a genuine laugh escape his throat, which echoed across the rocky mountaintop.
He glanced around the hole where the star had fallen, and noted the empty center of the crater. His mind went back to his last moments of consciousness, the thing that had fallen from the sky, crawling down his throat. He placed an uneasy hand on his stomach, perhaps that was something that should be checked out…But right now he was too preoccupied with how amazing he felt. He jogged in place, did a few jumping jacks, and punched the air in front of him with such speed that it was only a blur. He even hurled out a raucous shout that echoed across the mountain top. It was truly unbelievable.
He climbed out of the hole, a new kind of excitement rallying in his heart as he made his way down the mountain. He peered over the cliff he’d seen his oxygen cart and saw it stuck in a tree far down below him. He laughed, he wouldn’t be needing it any longer. Making sure to pick up his pack with his sleeping bag, he practically raced down the mountaintop to the town below, stumbling, tripping, and falling a good portion of the way. But he didn’t mind the scraps, the bruises, or the cuts. Each time he’d simply get up, and kept running, enjoying even just the feeling of his legs working hard beneath him. At one point he tripped so hard he flipped himself head over heels, and slid down the mountain path some distance, but he leapt to his feet, with a bleeding nose and a toothy grin.
When he made it back to the town it was late afternoon, there was a frenzy of activity. The local militia was out, searching homes door to door. People seemed generally alarmed, keeping to themselves as much as they could, but the atmosphere was entirely different than when he’d been there just a day or so before. Curious, he approached one of the armed soldiers and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Pardon me, but has something happened?” he asked the guard.
The guard turned to him with an annoyed look, too busy for the boy. "Are you living under a rock? The Whitman boy has gone missing!”
So, his family had noticed. He wondered who had sounded the alarm, but immediately knew the answer to be Miss Berkshire.
“Have you seen him?” the man asked hurriedly.
Howard looked at the man quizzically, then gestured comically to himself. “Well, of course I’ve seen him. He’s me.”
The soldier squinted at the boy, unsure of what he meant.
“I’m Howard Whitman,” Howard reiterated.
The guard pulled up his communicator, a standard issue military type, square, uninspired, but durable and likely to outlast the heat death of the universe. He glanced at the picture. The boy in question was deathly ill, practically on death’s door. The lanky lad before him was certainly in need of a sandwich or two, but he was told explicitly that the poor boy was so ill he could hardly walk on his own. Plus he was unsightly, covered in dried blood and dirt.
“Quit wasting my time.” The soldier shook his head and moved on.
Howard blinked with surprise. Another unexpected development, though not one that was unwelcome. He decided to start heading home, though not in the biggest hurry, catching bits of gossip as he crossed through town, wild rumors about his disappearance. One rumor stated he’d been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. Another that he had actually been dead for years, and how could anyone disagree? It wasn’t like he’d ever been seen publicly before.
Underneath all the wild speculation though, there was an unspoken anxiety that ran through every citizen of the colony. Howard picked up on it from the whispers when they spoke of their patriarch, Kirk Whitman. No one wanted to come up on his radar until this kerfuffle was sorted out. His outbursts were legendary among the denizens, and with the disappearance of his son, no one knew what he might have been capable of.
Interesting as these rumors and the general chaos of the town was, his stomach was unusually angry with him, protesting loudly, practically shouting and demanding to be fed. So he quickened his pace, finding himself quite winded by the time he made it all the way to the top of the hill where the estate was, he’d been running all day after all, the sun informing him by its position that the boy only had but an hour before it was going to be dark. He sauntered up to the front door and let himself inside, making sure to wipe his now ruined house shoes on the welcome mat. Then he went directly to the kitchen, where he hadn’t really been by himself in years, and had to re-familiarize himself with the layout. While he was prodding around the drawers, Miss Berkshire rounded the corner, nearly dropping her serving platter of used dishes in shock.
“Master Whitman?” She asked cautiously, not believing her own eyes.
“Miss Berkshire!” Howard exclaimed with radiating joy. He hopped over and gave her the hardest hug he could, squeezing the air out of her. “Do you mind helping me make a grilled cheese? I’m famished!”
Miss Berkshire was too overcome to do more than merely nod, and started helping the young man. Her shock quickly faded as she began instructing Howard on the basics of the grilled cheese. Two slices of bread, buttered on the outsides. Two slices of cheese, minimum, stacked neatly atop each other, then pressed downwards into a hot pan.
“Do you know the history of grilled cheese?” Howard asked abruptly.
Miss Berkshire, still not used to how loud his voice was flinched at the question. “N-no young master!”
“It was made during a time of great economic crisis in our ancestors' history,” Howard explained. “In fact, a lot of our ancestors' food was made during sad times. Pizza too, was made by poor immigrants seeking a new life in a place called New York City. Tomatoes on flatbread, an invention that still exists today thousands of years later,” he turned to her, beaming. “Isn’t that beautiful? Our best made in times of struggle.”
“Yes,” Miss Berkshire smiled. “I suppose it is.” Her smile vanished as she realized he was scorching the bread, and quickly fussed with him to flip the sandwich over. Once the other side began cooking, she began chuckling to herself.
“What is it?” Howard asked.
“I hadn’t realized you’d spent so much time reading about food.”
“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”
The moment the grilled cheese was off the burner, Howard was ravenously eating it, burning the inside of his mouth more than once.
Miss Berkshire scolded him and told him to be more patient, noting that all he was eating was burnt bread by that point. They buttered up two more slices of bread and started a second one. She lowered the heat and instructed him to be more patient, and the second came out with less carbon and more of the heavenly, golden crust.
She watched with great curiosity as the young Whitman shoveled down two, then four, then eight grilled cheese sandwiches. The boy seemed to have a bottomless hunger. But she was so happy to see him in this renewed state, that for a moment she’d entirely forgotten that he was even missing. They cooked and laughed together, finally enjoying eachothers company in a way they’d been unable to do up until that moment. That was of course until of course his father wandered into the kitchen, having just gotten back from speaking with the head of the militia.
As he crossed the threshold into the kitchen he froze dead in his tracks, his bloodshot eyes locking onto his son. “Howard?” he asked incredulously, his mouth hanging slackjacked.
“Evening Father!” Howard replied around a mouth full of bread and cheese.
His father was at a loss for words, walking over to the table in a sort of daze, the phone in his hand clattering to the floor. He placed a hand on his son's head, pushing his long messy hair out of his face to make sure it was him.
“My word,” he whispered. “You look…so alive. How is this possible?”
Howard ceased chewing at his father’s touch. Somewhere inside him he felt a spark of joy that he couldn’t deny.
“I ate a star.” Howard replied, mouth still stuffed with food.
“You ate what?” he asked skeptically.
“A star!” Howard nodded enthusiastically.
His father removed his hand, his normal scrutinizing gaze returning quickly.
“I climbed the mountain that you can see from the north side of the house, and at the top a star crashed down, and I ate it. Well, it sort of crawled down my throat…I suppose that still counts as consumption.” Howard squinted at his plate for a moment in thought, then nodded. Indeed, that would technically count.
His father glanced at Miss Berkshire, who in turn seemed equally skeptical. Yet, the boy was walking, eating, and talking more than he had in his entire life. So perhaps a miracle or something unexplainable had indeed happened. But not wanting to waste a moment, Kirk grabbed his son’s wrist and hauled him into the parlor to show the rest of the family what had transpired with their oldest son. Howard, face still dotted with crumbs and bruises, sat down on the large cushy couch in front of his family. They ogled him like a zoo animal with Miss Berkshire standing in the far corner of the room smiling broadly and thanking Heaven for answered prayers.
His mother too was overjoyed, fussing with him endlessly, tussling his hair and wiping his face clean with a white handkerchief. She gave him little kisses all over his forehead, overjoyed that her son had finally returned to her. His sister Julia seemed more fascinated by his sudden change, poking him with her index finger and asking him odd questions, more than once inquiring if it hurt when she poked him. The answer was no, it did not hurt, though if he was being honest it was becoming annoying. His father merely watched, the cogs in his brain clearly turning.
Howard was just happy to be getting so much attention from them. Normally they would walk around him with a sort of sad look in their eyes, or worse, indifference. He’d always felt like he was a ghost in his own home, lurking between the walls of rooms, but perhaps finally that was about to change. On cue, his father crossed the room and clasped his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Son, I don’t know how, but it seems the universe has given us another chance.”
“I think it was the star thing.” Howard replied.
His father shook his head quickly. Don’t you realize what this all means?” he asked excitedly. “You can take over the family business, just like I always planned!”
A hush fell over the room. His mother looked down at her lap, twisting her wrists. Julia’s eyes widened in surprise. “Father!” Julia protested. “You said I’d be CEO!”
“I’m not cutting you out Julia, we’ve spent far too much money on your education to just piss it all away. You’ll get what’s yours, but the title of CEO will go to Howard.”
“That’s unfair!” she stamped her foot into the tiger skin rug.
“That’s life,” he replied plainly.
Julia fell silent, clenching her small fists at her side.
Howard felt his heart sink a little, so much for the warm reception.
His father pulled out his phone, overjoyed. “I’m going to make some calls, we’ll need to resume tutoring immediately. I’ll have to go find my old timetables. Goodness, this is going to require so much work, but if we do it right, it’ll only take a few more years and we’ll be right back on track.” His father left the room, muttering excitedly to himself, his mind already thinking several years ahead.
Howard stuck his hands under his legs, gently swinging them back and forth over the edge of the couch, avoiding his sister’s gaze while his father began excitedly yelling into the phone from the other room.