A/N:NOT EDITED. So I have a request... if something I write confuses you, can you tell me what confuses you? When you say you're confused, but give no indication of what is troubling you I don't know what is. So you kind of have me running around in circles... Especially when I don't see what exactly could be confusing you... if it is that you're not seeing the whole picture then that's different (since you're reading updates and not a finished work) than not understanding what's going on.

So help me, help you :) [so lame lol]

A/N: Not Thoroughly Edited.

Chapter 12 – Enigma (Samson Conrad POV) Pt. 1

I've brought the sick bucket upstairs for mom, where she does not spare me a second glance after I've set it down, all her attention is on Fatima. Not touching the girl, but whispering softly as she begins cleaning the area, ordering dad to go wait for Uncle Trevor. Feeling completely useless, I follow my father silent, taking in everything from his straight back to the hard look in his eyes.

The tension from Fatima's room carries follows my father as he passes my siblings silently, ordering them to stay away from the halls and to look over Simon and Amy. Ignoring when Brennan asks what's wrong, he walks straight to the front room, while I linger back. When the door closes and it's just my siblings and me in the kitchen, I swallow thickly, the image of Fatima on the floor in her own vomit, the blood... Her voice was unusable but surely, before she ended up in such a state she could have called out to someone?

Right? I mean... at the first sign of a temperature, before our shifter abilities kicked in, we'd call for mom, moaning and milking even the slightest fever to our advantage. How did she end up on the ground, down and unconscious without even so much as making a sound to alert others in the house of her illness? 

Why suffer in silence?

Why – how – what? I think baffled.

It was a full house. There was no reason for her to be up there in misery. Had we maybe not done a good job at inviting her to join us? Was it maybe me? Had I ruined her finding a place in the house?

When it was the dorms, Thaddeus and Brennan both had returned with stories of the 'amazing meal that the new girl Faith made...'

A meal for the family that I had not shown up for. Then the next day in my own prison I treated her cruelly; yet – thankfully – that didn't affect the way she treated Talia, running into the burning building for her.

"What's wrong?" Brennan asks in a whisper, his eyes shifting from the direction dad went to the stairs he ordered them to keep clear of. I just shake my head still processing what I saw myself, "I – Fatima is up there passed out, and she hit her head, and there's blood on the – the bathroom floor," I point up still frozen and processing.

"Wait! What?" Thaddeus jumped to his feet, coming over to me, plate in front of him forgotten, "Bleeding? Blood? Why didn't she call for us? We've been home for about two or three hours..." he says slowly just as stunned as I am. It really made little sense. How had no one heard her? We would have. So that only meant that Fatima had not called for anyone.

"Is she – what's going on?" Talia asks her eyes on the stairs, wide and fearful, "Dad called Uncle Trevor so... he's going to look at her – maybe take her to the hospital?" I said knowing less than anyone in the room but at the same time, knowing much more than them as well. I couldn't quite explain the fascination I had with Fatima, but I knew that it was not the same with Brennan, Thaddeus or my sisters – not counting Talia and Harleigh.

I knew that Talia was often seeking Fatima out, but none of my siblings did as much as I did. In trying to make amends for my terrible first impression I stumbled across an enigma.

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Standoff (Fatima Safiya Ashlynn POV)

"From her records – I see that she's always been on top of her shots, I – just – flu," I groan trying to sit up, but the pins and needles feeling traveling up and down my back, spikes up to my neck, and flares all over my scalp.

Laying my head back down, my head just lulls to the side, and three blurry figures – Ansel, Dr. Conrad – his brother – and Kalenah are in the room they gave me. Closing my eyes, I'd rather not know what they were planning and if only I could turn off my hearing, well that would be heaven.

Trying to ignore them, the silence almost helps in tricking my mind that they aren't in the room, different senses are coming back, the first is I feel hot.

No not just hot, cold as well. Inside my bones hurt, I try to lift my hand, but even that feels like an impossible task in my current state. I ate the oatmeal, I was hungry, greedy and I ate it.

This was my punishment, "I shouldn't have eaten the food Dmitri – you were right," I weep when he appears perched on the shelf next to the bed.

My vision blurs and I want him closer, his smile is just as I remembered, and when I try to return it, even my gums hurt.

Dmitri shakes his head, and shame coats over me, stifling, "I only ate the oatmeal – I threw the other food away," his frown remains and I have no control over my limbs, and though I desperately want to reach out and hold onto him, so he can't disappear, he's gone when I blink.

Gathering my strength, I push myself up, but as I do, the whole room spins, blue whips around blending with the cream walls, lightening.

I'm as cold as I am hot but weaker than I am strong.

My head bobs and I feel like I have no control, the only thing I can do is close my eyes, but it's too late and bile fills my mouth, acid burning my throat and then cooler hands are on my face, "it's okay sweetheart, here's the bucket," Kalenah guides my face, and I expel what was left in my stomach. Crying still, cold inside, but hot with the fever I cry, "He always leaves me, why – why won't he stay?" I sob when Kalenah rests my head against softness. I don't bother to open my eyes, is it cowardly that I don't want to see their attack coming?

"She shouldn't be speaking," someone hisses but it's not Kalenah.

"We won't hurt you Faith, we won't leave you, this is your home," Kalenah says and I don't believe her, not while Dmitri leaves me and her food makes me sick. Yet, I open my eyes.

Not to see the attack coming. With tunneled vision, panting that was hurting me physically though I couldn't understand why; it was Kalenah's voice that made me open them. Her voice was hoarse and even in my fevered state I could compare it to that of Patricia. That couldn't be right, though, so I had to check.

Wet, sad watery eyes sat next to me, cool hands brushing my hair away from my face, and inside, deep down, I fought with myself, losing. It felt nice and I liked it. Closing my eyes again, shaking my head, I burrow down into the pillow, letting the desolation and hotness take over.

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"Sticking up for one of her own tormentors,

And willing to take his place.

And when his friends did just that,

Trying their best to make poor Sarah cry,

This time, he didn't join in, and at last understood exactly why.

"Treat others with respect, son,

The way you'd want them treating you.

And remember when you hurt others,

Someday, someone might hurt you."

It took a lot of courage,

But he knew he must be strong,

For at last he saw the difference

Between what's right and wrong.

And Sarah didn't seem so weird

Through his understanding eyes."

A soft voice – Kalenah's – whispers those words and through my disorientated haze, and my chest aches.

"Now he knew he'd never play again

The game of making Sarah cry.

It took several days of teasing

And razzing from his friends,

But when they saw his strength,

They chose to be like him.

And now out on the playground,

A group of kids meets everyday

For a game of kickball and laughter

And teaching their new friend, Sarah, how to play."

When I wake up again – and remember – shaking underneath the blankets, I feel a slight pinch, opening my eyes, my vision unfocused, I have a needle taped to the top of my right hand, and frantically my eyes start darting around the lamp-lit room, to the clock noting that it's a few minutes past midnight.

My eyes swing over to the sofa, near the table until my gaze has slowly moved to the spot next to me on my side of the bedroom. Stunned, I only blink at a chair that I had seen in Kalenah's room, but was occupied now by Kalenah. "You're dehydrated, so Trevor he's giving you fluids, you vomited quite often..." I can only blink and try to shift my body to face hers.

"Do you remember what happened?" I couldn't even move, much less remember vomiting, repeatedly. "It's okay if you don't, but you hit your head quite hard once again, so I've been waking you every hour, but your body's so weak..." her eyes are watery, and she tries to smile but it's more of a grimace.

"Now that you're awake, would – how would some soup sound? Can I go make it fresh for you? We have running water now," the minute she mentioned food period, my stomach clenched uncomfortably.

"Trevor said you have the flu, your temperature was quite high when Samson found you, nearly 104... you're on vitamins, and enhancements to get you where you need to be to be considered healthy Faith, but if you aren't going along with those requirements, you're making yourself ill. Do you understand that?" my achy muscles tense and that makes me wince, but I bite on the inside of my cheek.

"Your immune system, is so low, the medications you are on for your burns to prevent infections, they're supposed to help you but if your body isn't getting what it needs it begins to work double time in one area to compensate for whatever you're depriving it of." I kept my eyes away from my hidden stash of powdered food, my mind immediately going there because the way Kalenah speaks, while there is no anger, I'm not quite used to this tone.

I tried searching my memories, something had changed, I could feel it almost like when I would see the seasons change from winter to summer, to fall, and something had changed here. Kalenah's words seemed different, her mood and softness remained but there was something... too tired I laid my head back down.

"You mind if I continue reading poems aloud?" I lifted a brow. Really? She as asking me if she could read in her house, in her room. Scoffing she chuckles, but even that sounds wonderful to me right now like music.

Light.

"Let me guess... you think that I should be able to do whatever I want since this is my house and you're only a guest here," not a bit of smugness on her face or tone. "Faith, unless you're sick, ill or we need to speak to you, this is your space, right now – I'm here to wake you every once in a while, but normally I would let you sleep in peace. So..." she leaned forward. "Would you like it if I read aloud, or silently to myself?" I closed my eyes for a minute, when I think back trying to decide if I would like it, my mind automatically recalls the last time someone had read to me,

"I won't likely forget, I've never had such a nice thing offered to me before. I don't know what makes you so nice to us boys," Dmitri had read the book 'My Antonia,' to me and I was nearly thirteen years old. "It's so sad that people in the world aren't kind like Jim Burden anymore," the thought - Dmitri's voice in my head - brings tears to my eyes and my skin breaks out in goose bumps.

When I open my eyes, Kalenah is smirking, waiting for my response even though, I'm fairly certain that I had taken more than a minute to answer her question, and when she looks at my eyes, the pain I'm sure that is reflected there, she starts reading.

"If you come as softly

As the wind within the trees

You may hear what I hear

See what sorrow sees."

"If you come as lightly

As threading dew

I will take you gladly

Nor ask more of you."

Kalenah's voice is low and the words are softly spoken; tone loving and gentle and she caresses the words. I close my eyes; the pain of keeping them open feels like a budding headache, but one extra glance I notice that Kalenah is rested back, the picture of ease, the book held against her belly but she continues.

"You may sit beside me

Silent as a breath

Only those who stay dead

Shall remember death."

Though it pains to keep my eyes open, I do, watching the emotions fleeting across Kalenah's face, the sweet smile, that shows little to no crinkles on her face, how joyful she is as her voice cuts the silence like a butter knife. As she rocks herself, her hands crossed in her front, her eyes closed, in a position that would normally be considered closed off, I don't think I had seen anyone appear as open as Kalenah right in that moment.

"And if you come I will be silent

Nor speak harsh words to you.

I will not ask you why now.

Or how, or what you do."

It looked so easy, but to me, being that open – vulnerable – felt like I was chasing a train on foot and had a car speeding, chasing me down as well. Yet another thing that felt impossible and frightening to even consider much less accomplish.

"We shall sit her, softly

Beneath two different years

And the rich between us

Shall drink our tears."

The voice thick, cutting Kalenah off comes from near the bedroom door, where Samson holds two large mugs, one in each hand and a large reddish brown book, was tucked underneath his arms. "Mom has read that to us – well all her favorite poems when we were sick ourselves – so many times, I know it by heart myself," even in the low light I see his cheek flush up to the tips of his ears. Slightly distracted, I was just as stunned, Kalenah was doing things with me that she did when her own children were sick?

"I – I made you tea – your favorite, and one for me too," I blinked glancing at Kalenah who didn't move from her spot in the corner, "Did you make me a cup?" she asked him and the redness on his face seemed to deepen.

"I don't think Faith-"

"I didn't do anything to it, Fatima," Samson says head on and I swallow wincing when it feels like I swallowed the bristles on a brush, "Samson-"

"I made them both, they're both peppermint tea, your favorite. But you can pick which cup you want and I will take the first sip," as if my stomach knew a good deal when it presented itself, I point to the left hand, and watch as Samson brings it forth slow, letting me see how much was in there and taking a sip before handing me the cup. Looking proud of himself he leans forward to move from the bed, but my hand darts out to stop him.

Then I pull away even quicker as though the single touch burned the tips of my fingers, stunned I wait for something – obviously bad – to happen.

"What want me to stay just in case that one sip makes me ill," my lips pursed I'm fighting the smile that wants to erupt on my face. Because well, I hadn't really thought of that, but taking to Samson, well listening to him talk seemed to keep my mind clear for tiny moments.

I needed that right now.

Slowly, though, I rest back against the bed as Samson, sips on his tea, mine remains on my lap. No one speaks, and in my head I start debating who will break the silence first, Samson or Kalenah?

In the end, I go with Samson, because he seemed to like to talk, while Kalenah was an observer, I was right.

He turns to me, "You know I was thinking that you know that stringy wire girls use to make jewelry or for fish line, we can use that for our string instead, that way while we're spacing out the boards we won't have to worry too much about how tight or loose each piece needs to be placed, the elasticity will work in our favor..." I nodded dizzy and glanced at the clock.

"I couldn't sleep, thought I'd sit outside for a while, then made tea and saw the light was on in your room so I made you a cup-"

"Yet I don't have a cup..." Kalenah repeats again and not wanting to cause problems, I lift my untouched tea with weak shaky hands to hold it out towards her. The smirk she wore dropped and she turned to me, "I don't mind taking it, but only if you don't want it, I see you shivering over there," and her words set off an internal battle.

Why didn't she want to drink it? Did she want me to drink it because the small sip that Samson took wouldn't hurt him, but the full cup would hurt me?

I was trapped in a game that wasn't fun and pleasant at all. Sighing, my heart racing, I started wondering what would've happened had I chosen his other cup?

It was pure chance, I mean he made two, drank from both? I could have gotten the one he had now and he could've had this one... right?

The longer my mind went into overdrive, overwhelming me with question after question, the shakier my hand got until I felt warm, yet cooler than my scorching skin take the mug from my hands.

With my shoulders deflated, I didn't bother to look in her direction but could hear her quietly start sipping on the tea.

"I – well I have school tomorrow, so – I'm going to go to bed... night Fatima," Samson said his voice thick, but he still hadn't moved from my bed. Looking up, intense blue eyes, with a gray rim around his pupil were focused on me.

"Sweet dreams," he mumbled just as Kalenah took a loud sip from the mug and sadly a part of me was disappointed that I hadn't drunk the tea my self when my stomach cramped. Not that I would actually voice that regret.

When Samson leaves the room, a wave of tiredness rushes over me, and I crouch down, bringing the blanket up to my neck, wanting to cover my head, but with as hard a time as I was having to breathe, that didn't seem like such a good idea. "It is nice that you and Samson seem to get along," Kalenah says and I only open one eye as she continues to drink what would have been my peppermint tea.

Even in my tired state, I still wonder... was this just a game in the long run?

"He's so-" Kalenah continues but the one eye I had open shuts tightly, as the pains come back, and my breathing grows difficult.

Just barely asleep, too tired to open my eyes again when the door lets a creaking sound out, "I thought you said you were going to bed Sam," Kalenah admonishes. My breathing is like nothing I've heard or felt from myself before, I can make out a crackling sound inside my own chest, louder than the words spoken around me. "I went and got the humidifier for her," a tiny whisper.

I take in a ragged breath, "care about her?"

"Figure her out."

"She's a person, not a puzzle Samson."

"I know, mom," I hear, though it's muddled. My eyes despite being closed, still sting as I pull away from sentience. 

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© 2016 roxann_season All Rights Reserved

So there you have it... what did you guys think?

Don't forget to vote, comment and share if you liked it :)

So I was reading previous comments and I wanted to take a moment to defend Faith as this person right now. I know that many will read and just feel like I'm making her sound weak and helpless and trying to gain readers by making a girl a 'marysue' character. 

I'm not doing that. 

Though I write in a supernatural genre, let's be real. Faith was locked away, so that means her immune system isn't quite strong she's never had to live around germs and such, so the first few months with Walsh and Patricia were basically her building up her immune system. Now that she's had some months out in the real world, she had her burn and then dropped the glass and walked on it. Now she's sick, but really... it's her own doing. She's not where she should be health wise and instead of eating healthily, she's in this paranoid web where she's taking one step forward, then two back. 

It won't always be like this, but I just do not want to write something where one minute she's this helpless bunny, then the next she's all adapted to the world and there are no signs of her captivity there.