Patreon May Exclusive - "Conditioned" - Part 1

Steve wakes up to the sound of interference. Like an old-timey radio crackling between stations. He lies there for a few seconds, eyes closed, wondering about his ears.

He sits up, and the sound fades. He frowns, looks around his bedroom. There’s his Legos, most of them tidied away in a box, but the fire rescue and police chase kit is on the ground.

It was completed last night, with Daddy’s help. Daddy pulled up the instructions on his phone, and they had worked on the truck together during that perfect time between bath and bed. Steve loves playing Lego with Daddy.

Doesn’t he? He peers down at the pieces. There’s something childish…babyish about Lego. But what’s worse, when he pushes back the comforter, is Steve’s nightwear. His jammies. He tugs self-consciously at the green onesie decorated with dinosaurs.

He frowns more deeply. Are dinosaurs bad? Are they wrong? He doesn’t think so. On the contrary, Steve is pretty sure that he loves dinosaurs (because dinosaurs are awesome) just like he loves looking cute for Mommy (because Steve is a good boy).

Yes, that’s better. His mind tingles with pleasure at the thought of pleasing his parents. Of being good. And of giant creatures that look fierce but can’t hurt him because they don’t really exist.

He nods with growing confidence. Yes, to the onesie, and yes to the cute. Because that’s his job, isn’t it? To be a good boy? A good boy for Mommy and Daddy, a good big brother for Brooke?

Steve can hear music – no crackle this time, a familiar tune, faint but recognizable, coming from another room in the house.

Probably the kitchen. Because after waking up, comes breakfast.

More sounds – a child’s laughter, a little girl’s bright chattering – that’s Brooke. And then Steve hears Mommy respond.

“There’s my happy girl! Did you have rainbow dreams in your rainbow jammies?”

Yes, Mommy has to help Brooke because Brooke is only four, she’s not big like Steve. Mommy will wake up Brooke, remind her to use the potty, remind her to wash her hands, and then it’s time for breakfast.

Steve doesn’t need help with any of that. He’s a big kid, in second grade. He can take care of himself.

To prove the point, he goes through to the bathroom, pulls at his zipper and then pees, careful with his aim, because big boys don’t splash. He zips back up and then washes his hands at the sink, runs damp fingers through his hair.

There’s a stranger in the mirror. His face is wrong. He’s all wrong.

Is he sick? He closes his eyes tight, holds on to the edge of the sink, gripping with anxious fingers, because he is about to throw up, even though his belly is empty.

No. He breathes, he calms down, and the nausea passes. But there definitely is something wrong. He listens for the music, for anything, but the bathroom door is shut, and he can’t hear the melody, he can’t hear Brooke or Mommy.

And there’s something alarming about the silence, even more than the crackling sound he heard when he woke up. Something dangerous, that feels like an imminent explosion. He opens his eyes, and he could burst into tears. He has the wrong appearance, the wrong everything.

Still, Mommy can help. Mommy always knows how to make him feel better. Steve can tell her that he doesn’t feel right, he can ask her about the crackling noise he heard.

He goes through to the kitchen, and sure enough, Mommy’s cuddle makes him feel better.

“Good morning, sunshine! Ready for breakfast?”

But there’s still a problem, a gnawing anxiety that threatens to bubble and boil into panic when Steve sees Brooke, sitting at the table with a bib around her neck – but she’s wrong, just as wrong as Steve.

Still in her favorite rainbow-colored nightgown, the one with the flutter sleeves, Brooke stops spooning oatmeal into her mouth to grin and chatter at Steve, spilling oatmeal down her chin.

And she is ridiculous. She is a terrible mistake.

But then it’s okay again. Because Brooke is only four years old, little more than a baby really. And so, she should wear a bib, she should make a bit of a mess as she tries to feed herself. And isn’t she always making messes? Isn’t that just like Brooke?

Steve laughs indulgently at his sister, takes his own seat, and thanks Mommy for the oatmeal. And the breakfast scene – just Mommy, Steve and Brooke, because Daddy left for work earlier, he’s a very hard worker – is normal, it is every single day.

Steve is reassured. He hums along to the music, the melody he knows so well, he eats his oatmeal, and he forgets all about feeling or looking wrong, and he forgets to tell Mommy about his crackling noises.

To be continued...