Wednesday

Otto stood sweating in a new suit Ellsworth had bought for him that morning. He shifted his weight back and forth from his left to his right foot, and stared at his door waiting for it to open. He had cleaned his room for the occasion and strategically placed a very pleasant picture of himself with the Monets on the coffee table. He wasn't entirely sure if that was the smartest idea. But the picture seemed like a good indication that he had been well treated and brought up by his foster parents.

After a few minutes of standing in the living room area, the latch clicked, and the door opened slowly. Standing in the hallway were people that looked remarkably like him. Apart from the father who had brown, wavy hair, they each had sandy colored hair that fell flat like his. The mother's pale hazel eyes matched her skin and hair just like his did.

There were four of them—the woman was purple nosed, the father gray nosed, the daughter red nosed (a medic button), and the son a golden-yellow hue. Both siblings looked younger than Otto by a few years. If he had to guess, he'd say the girl was younger than the boy, but not by much. Not only was he now a brother, he was the oldest brother.

The mother was holding a box neatly wrapped in gold paper. For a moment no one spoke. Otto stood frozen in his spot and his family in theirs.

"Mr. and Mrs. Warhol, this is your son," Detective Koi ushered them inside. "He goes by Otto. Otto, this is Andrew Warhol and his wife, Julia; their son, Edvard; and daughter, Vicente." She stepped out of the way and quietly made her exit without anyone noticing.

The family was fully in the room now, weakly offering their hands to shake in a formal sort of greeting. They tried not to stare at his nose casing. They examined him up and down and gazed about the room. But their eyes couldn't help but wander back to the unnatural plastic covering over his anomaly white nose.

"Otto?" Mrs. Warhol repeated softly. "I had named you L'incompris. We were going to call you Pris for short."

Otto didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth and closed it again without a sound.

"Here," she continued, "This is for you." She smiled wistfully and held the box out as if afraid she'd scare him if she moved too fast. The box trembled in her hands. In fact, her whole body was trembling. In joy or pain, it was hard to tell.

Otto took the present absently. He was still turning the name L'incompris over in his head and wondering if he had ever really wanted to know his family. He had never thought about what to say to them. He had only imagined seeing them from a distance and being comforted by the fact that there were other potato sack people out there. But now he had to talk to them. They had a new name for him. They were giving him presents. What was he supposed to do with this? Did they want him to open it right then and there?

He found himself thinking of Mrs. Monet. Her uplifting smile always made him feel lighter. Her words of encouragement always helped him move forward in difficult times. Like the time he--

"Open it!" Mrs. Warhol urged gently.

Otto looked up at his family staring back and smiling small, hopeful smiles. He tried to return the smile, but his facial muscles were failing him and his smile slumped into an uneasy gape. He sat down on the couch and carefully undid the wrapping.

Inside the box was a card and a gold picture frame with a picture of the Warhols in it. Otto picked up the card gingerly. It had a colorful design on the front, but no words. The card was as speechless on the outside as everyone else. The inside of the card was filled with four separate notes scrawled in different corners and moving in different directions. Each one reiterated the same sentiment in different words. The sentiment of finally finding the the missing piece; of relief and joy and the end of grief. The family held their breath as Otto perused each note taking in the handwriting, the tone, and the word choice.

The mother's note was the longest and spread itself over most of the space in big, curvy letters. It was filled with words of longing and love.

Otto placed the card on the cushion beside him as if it was made of glass. Then he pulled out the picture frame. The picture looked like it had been taken recently. Underneath the picture, a tiny plastic band with Otto's name on it embellished the frame itself: L'incompris Warhol.

"It's your baby bracelet," Mrs. Warhol said as Otto ran his finger over it. "It was all that was left of you the night you were taken." Her eyes turned liquid as she spoke and she stepped back to hold onto her husband for support. "Turn it over," She said just above a whisper.

Otto turned it over. On the back of the frame was a newspaper clipping from the day after his abduction. It told the story of a newborn, L'incompris, disappearing from his hospital cradle shortly after he was born.

Otto didn't know what to do next. He didn't want to see his mother cry, but there was no way to stop it from coming. He thought he should be more emotional, too. In fact, he was surprised that he wasn't. But between the shock and the strangeness of the whole event, he couldn't manage to do much more than stare. Without lifting his head to anyone, he peeked from under his brow at his new siblings to see how they were handling the whole thing. The two stared back at him with the same kind of awkward stillness that he felt. Neither of them looked weepy or happy or sad or much of anything except frozen in uncertainty.

Otto took a deep breath in, then stood up with the picture frame still in his hand and went to hug his mother in an effort to show his gratitude. She took him in both her arms and began to weep over his head. He looked at his father with a sort of smile. His father smiled back at him. Once his mother finally let him go, the rest of the family had their turn with hugging Otto.

The family sat down around the coffee table. Mrs. Warhol started off with questions. She had a lot of them. She wanted to know everything about his life up to this point, and then some. "Have you had enough to eat? You look a little thin. How do you do in school?"

"Julia," her husband tried to slow her down, "they said he's been well taken care of, and he looks healthy to me. Don't overwhelm him."

"Is that your other family?" Edvard said, noticing the picture on the table.

Otto nodded.

There was a moment of silence while the Warhols looked over the picture and tried to come up with a response. Mr. Warhol tried to nod, but it turned into a sad kind of shake. A few silent tears streamed down Mrs. Warhol's face, and Otto knew it was a bad move to put the picture out. How did he expect them to react to seeing the people who had stolen him?

"They look nice," Edvard said at the danger of upsetting his parents further.

"They took good care of me," Otto said.

"When did you find out you weren't really their kid?" Vicente asked.

"Vicente!" Mrs. Warhol chocked on all the emotions in her throat. "That is not an appropriate question right now!"

"Sorry," Vicente said. "I was just trying to make conversation."

"I was in fourth grade," Otto said. "Had just turned ten and they thought I was old enough to know."

"And you stayed with them after that?" Edvard asked.

"Well, yeah. They were doing what they thought was right."

"Stealing a child from his family is never the right thing to do," Mr. Warhol said.

"Well...it's not like they were trying to steal me away from you guys. They were just trying to keep me out of this place. They wanted me to have a chance at a normal life."

Mr. and Mrs. Warhol shook their heads in disbelief.

"You could have had that chance with us," Edvard said.

"No," Otto said, "I don't think I could've."

"Why not?"

Otto looked at each member of the family. It was clear by the expressions on their faces that they had no idea what his nose-button did.

"Um...my nose-button...well, see, it's not useful as a weaponized button, but it's not really something that they can trust to just be running around on the streets."

"Is that what they told you?" Mr. Warhol asked.

"Huh? Well, no. It's—there's this other guy in here, see, who's nose-button is kind of like mine. Well, it's not, really, but—anyway, he's been here his whole life. He's not allowed out and he can't join the weaponized buttons or anything. So he just stays here. Forever." Otto grew sad just saying it. "And that's how I'm going to be now." He added.

"I don't understand," Mr. Warhol said. "What does your nose-button do?"

"Am I allowed to tell?" Otto asked.

"Of course! We're family!"

"Well, sure, but... It's just that not even the people here know."

"The doctors don't know what your nose-button does?" Mrs. Warhol asked.

"The tests have been sent off to some specialist or something. I don't know."

"So you really think you're going to get stuck here forever?" Edvard asked.

"Maybe. I really don't know. But it's possible."

"That would suck," Vicente said, "We were just going to get your room ready for you—repainted and everything! It used to be my room, but now I'll have what used to be the storage room."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I mean, I don't mind or anything. I'm just saying..."

"Vicente, stop." Edvard gave her a glare.

"We will talk to the people in charge here," Mr. Warhol said, clearly unsure of who that would be. "We will make sure it gets worked out so that you can come home. This place is not going to be where you will live."

"Thank you," Otto said. But he had his doubts.

There was a soft knock at the door and Ellsworth entered before anyone could say "Come in."

"Pardon me," Ellsworth said. "I wish I didn't have to interrupt this moment, but Dr. Dalle insists that Otto come now to meet Dr. Piero. Dr. Piero flew overnight from Italy just to meet you, Otto."

"Ah! This must be Otto!" Dr. Piero smiled at Otto as he entered Dr. Dalle's office.

Ellsworth nodded a greeting to Dr. Dalle. "I'll be in the rec room if you need me."

"Let me see your nose-button!" Dr. Piero continued. "Ah! Such a good looking nose-button. Now sit down. Please. Tell me, have you ever pushed your nose-button before? Even a little? By accident perhaps!"

"No, sir."

"Of course not. And no one else has touched it, yes?"

"No."

"Fascinating! Do you know what my nose-button does?"

"No, sir."

"Neither do I. Would you like to see?"

"Wha-- uh. I guess."

"Let me show you." Dr. Piero pushed his nose-button. A strange device made of shining bronze appeared beside him, nearly touching Dr. Dalle's face. It was as tall and skinny as he was, but looked a bit like a stork with very short wings unfurled on either side. Gears stuck out of various places—unmoving, but obviously made to be moved.

"What is that?" Otto asked.

"I don't know!" Dr. Piero answered. "I have been studying it my entire life and I don't know what it is or what it does. But it is amazing!"

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Because you are an unknown! Like me! Or like Pieter! Now, there are some ideas of what your nose-button may do, but we cannot know for sure unless we press it—and even then! That might only get us as far as Pieter—which is nowhere. Sad case, that one. But I don't give up hope for him. One day, we will know what his nose-button does.

Imagine! Two splendidly unknown buttons in one facility! What are the odds? You know I worked with that one for quite a while. I hypothesized that his button was distance-based.

I once worked with a button that could break things—mostly glass—but it would only break an item that was approximately 20.336 meters to the girl's right hand side, more or less, rounded to the closest thing to that distance. At first, we thought the button could only break glass, so you know what I did? I took the girl 50 meters into the woods and pushed her nose-button. And you know what happened? A tree snapped in half 20.5 meters away. It was incredible! Of course, she was just a frivolous. But even frivolous buttons can be dangerous under the right circumstances. Imagine if she had pushed her button while visiting the shark tank in an aquarium, yes?

But I digress, with poor Pieter's button, the distance must be much further. The only way I can figure finding out what his nose-button does is to create an investigative radius. Of course, if his effected distance truly is as far-reaching as I surmise, then it'd require more man power and precision in time calculation than is reasonable within our limited resources. And then, of course, there's always the chance that his button could do something terrible, like your friend, Mr. Detroy. I could never ask anyone to push such an awful button just to find out what it does."

"Mr. Detroy?" Otto asked. "So, wait. Are you saying there's no hope for Pieter? He's stuck here forever?"

"Not at all! Like I said, I think we will find out what his nose-button does one day. But first science must catch up to the mystery of the magic. The more we learn about nose-buttons the better chance we have of diagnosing them correctly. And you will help us to do that, young man!" Dr. Piero gave Otto a confident slap on the knee and pulled his chair in closer to examine Otto's button. "Now, let's have a look at you."

Otto instinctively jerked his head away from Dr. Piero's reaching hand.

"Don't you worry. I was not going to push it. I was simply going to look."

"Look at what?"

"Well, we start with the outside, and then we work our way in."

"What?"

"We have ways of seeing inside your head—seeing how it's all connected. That may help us understand a little. And then we go from there."

Otto gave an uneasy look at Dr. Dalle, who nodded in affirmation. "Okay," Otto said.

"Fantastic!" Dr. Piero said. "Please, remove your nose casing."

This is going to be a long exam, Otto thought as he grabbed his casing and pulled it off.

It was a long exam. If nothing else, Dr. Piero was thorough. Otto watched the minutes tick by on the wall as he examined Otto nose-to-nose, turning Otto's head this way and that, squinting through his spectacles, scribbling meticulous notes on a pad of paper, and asking Dr. Dalle to confirm his observations. Together they measured everything about Otto's nose-button—diameter, height, space between nostrils, length of nostrils, even his breathing pattern was measured and documented.

When Otto was finally allowed to leave the office, his family was waiting in the hallway, speaking to one of the workers.

"Oh Pris, there you are!" Mrs. Warhol said. "Why don't the three of you go play a game or something in the room. Get to know each other better. Your father and I are going to talk to the doctors for a bit."

Otto gave a weak smile and looked at his siblings who mirrored his sentiment. Together the three of them walked back to his room to 'play a game.' What game? Otto didn't have any games. All of his games had been taken away from him. Otto went straight for his couch and sat down heavily.

"I don't have any games here," Otto said. "They took them all away from me."

"Why would they do that?" Edvard asked.

"I don't know. Something about electricity in this place. I don't even have a TV."

"Oh. Well, what about card games? Or board games, maybe?"

"I don't have any. There are a few in the rec room, I guess."

"It's okay," Vicente said. "I brought a deck of cards. Do you play?" she asked as she pulled the deck out of her back pocket.

"A little, I guess," Otto said. "Some of the other residents here are teaching me some games."

Vicente started shuffling the cards. "I'll teach you a new game I just learned. One of my friends just showed me." She dealt out the cards and explained the rules. Edvard kept quiet while Vicente explained the rules of the game along with a strategy she thought was helpful and a few tidbits about her friends whom she played with.

"So, what does your nose-button do?" Otto asked Vicente after her stories trailed off.

Vicente smiled mischievously, "Wanna find out?"

Otto shrugged, "I guess."

"Press it," Vicente said as she put her cards down.

Otto laid his cards down as well, but hesitated to push her nose-button. "Am I going to regret this?"

"No," she said, but her smile dug deeper into her cheeks.

He looked at Edvard for input. Edvard didn't even look at them. He shrugged the whole conversation off and stared at his cards.

Curiosity pushed Otto on and he decided to take his chance with Vicente's button. Medic buttons couldn't be harmful, right? He reached across the table. "It isn't going to make me throw up or something awful like that, is it?"

"Eww. No!" Vicente pulled back a little in disgust. "Why would I want you to throw up. It'd probably get all over me!"

"I guess..." Otto still didn't trust her. But he trusted that she wouldn't want anything gross to happen.

Impatient with his hesitation, she moved closer for him to push her button. He took a deep breath and pressed her nose-button in. Vicente grabbed his hand as he did, so that he could not pull it away. "You have to hold it in. Otherwise, it won't work." She said, smiling broader than ever. She was starting to look like the Cheshire cat.

Her smile was off-putting enough, but then Otto saw what her nose-button was doing to his hand. It started at his finger tip. The skin around his nail began to roll back, like it was being peeled off of his muscle. He couldn't feel it, but seeing it gave him vertigo. The skin continued to peel off his hand, even underneath Vicente's grip, as the effect made its way up his arm. He saw pieces of his bone in his wrist. His veins were pulsating as they branched down his arm.

A part of Otto was stunned in amazement. He wanted to examine his arm more closely and see all the threads that were holding him together under his skin. But the other part of him wanted to scream and pull away wildly.

There was no pain. It was as if the effect was only in his eyes. Perhaps her nose-button was only changing what he saw, and not what was happening to his body.

He looked up at her with wide eyes, then back down at his arm. The skin was coming off his shoulder now, with a tight roll of it disappearing under his clothes. Gingerly, he reached out his other hand to touch the muscle in his forearm. It was real.

"Vicente, let him go. He's getting pale!" Edvard sounded upset at the whole ordeal.

Vicente let go of Otto's hand. He let go of her button, which popped back into place. Then he watched the skin on his arm roll back over the muscle tissue, much faster than it had come off.

"If you'd held on longer, you'd get to see the muscle tissue roll back too! My science teacher thinks it's the greatest thing in the world!"

Otto managed a weak smile as the last of his skin fell into place at the tip of his index finger. He examined it closely for a seam, but there was none. Only his fingerprints, which looked surreal in light of what he had just seen. "Nice trick."

"Trick? What Edvard does is a trick. My nose-button can save lives! That's no trick."

"Save lives?"

"Yeah! If you were shot or something, I can peel back your skin and pull the bullet out without having to cut you open! I could even repair what's broken underneath without causing extra bleeding or anything! Well, I couldn't—not yet anyway—but maybe one day, when I'm the greatest surgeon in the world, I could!"

"That's very interesting," Otto said. He glanced over at Edvard who was still staring hard at his cards.

"What does your nose-button do, Edvard?" Otto asked.

"Can we just play the game?" Edvard said.