May 7th, 2002.

“All around the neighborhood, children wait for ice-cream.” The tune, light and twinkly, drifting from the traveling Mr. Softee truck. Two five year olds. Hand-in-hand. Dimples on one, freckles on the other. Gappy smiles beaming up at the man who hands them their Jolly Rancher popsicles. Lips threaten to split, but their hands never part.

September 18th, 2004.

“Mrs. McDowell, I see no reason why Chloë and Sheldon need adjacent seating.”
Chloë’s mother crossed thin arms and faced the 2nd grade teacher. “Your job as a teacher, Ms. Hendricks, is to meet the individual needs of all of your students. If there is something you can do to enhance a student’s performance in school, it is your job do it.” She pursed red-lipsticked lips.
“Mrs. McDowell!” Elaine Hendricks leaned over her desk. Eraser residue gritted against her palms. “Chloë and Sheldon sit together at lunch. They play together at recess. They ride the bus home together. They are together five days out of a week. They need to be able to function separately.”
Fierce green eyes met determined brown ones. Seconds of staring. Jaws clenching. The teacher’s green eyes blinked first.
“Chloë and Sheldon do function separately.” Dorothy McDowell said, taking measured breaths. “Together, they thrive.”

December 22nd, 2000.

“I turned around, and she was gone!” Dorothy hysterically clutched the mall cop’s arm.
Across the food court, Kerry Lee shook violently between a sweating Santa Claus and a blue-shirted security guard. “Um...” She flapped her shaking fingers uselessly. “Red boots, Timberlands. Jeans. Yellow shirt and a blue North Face jacket.” She held up a wallet photo. “He’s only three- you have to find him!”
...
Two tear-stained mothers. Hands pressed against their hearts. Four uniformed mall officials. One sweaty Santa. A couple of vertically challenged elves. Three long, traumatic hours.
There. Hidden behind the Bring Christmas To a Child display and donation box. Curled up, arms around each other, blue and gray North Face jackets. Two toddlers, fast asleep.
Kerry and Dorothy fell into each other’s arms. Relief and gratitude making them no more strangers but united souls.
And their children.
Sheldon and Chloë. Chloë and Sheldon. Together ever since.

September 18th, 2004.

“Ms. Hendricks,” Kerry Lee smiled wanly at her son’s elementary school teacher. “This is my first time having a problem like this. I’d think, as a teacher, you would have things more pressing than seating arrangements to worry about.”
The young teacher drew her lips tightly together. Lines creased her pale forehead. She spoke. Faintly. “I care about all of my students. If a student is displaying a sign of unhealthy behavior, it’s my job to do what is best for that child. All of my decisions are in the best interests of the student.”
“Ms. Hendricks,” Kerry closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “I believe, as his mother, I know what is in Sheldon’s best interests.”
“And I believe,” the teacher’s nostrils flared, “as his mother, you’d want your child to be healthy.”
Mrs. Lee raised an eyebrow. She took one menacing step toward the 2nd grade teacher. “I didn’t know you were a doctor, Ms. Hendricks. Double major? Health and general education?” Once the younger woman began to stammer and flush, she continued. “How is Sheldon’s behavior unhealthy?”
The teacher took a sip from the Fiji Water bottle lounging on her desk. She removed the elastic from her hair. Then banded her hair again.
“Sheldon is too attached to Chloë, Mrs. Lee. What normal seven year old is interested in only one child his age? He won’t eat lunch with anyone else, unless Chloë comes along. He’d rather make daisy chains with Chloë than play freeze tag or dodge ball with the other boys his age. He shows an unnatural attraction to that girl!”
By then, Kerry’s eyes were inky slivers. “Are you implying that my son is abnormal, Ms. Hendricks?” She spoke slowly, very slowly. And clear enough that the other woman would not miss a word. “That girl is my son’s best friend.” A sigh. “I’ll see to it that Sheldon plays dodge ball with the boys on Monday.” A pause for effect. “And Chloë will be dodging right beside him.”
Ms. Hendricks swallowed. Seconds ticked across the clock.
“Seating arrangements, Ms. Hendricks?” Kerry hadn’t lost her inner high school bully yet. “A small matter to drag you into a meeting with the principal for, don’t you think?”

September 21st, 2004.

7 + 5. 12. 10 - 6. 13. 3 x 5. The pencil hovers above the worksheet for a second, then doodles a heart.     3 x 5. A deformed unicorn. 3 x 5. Pink eraser enters mouth. Nibble, nibble. Dark hair falls back as she looks up and beside her. Spaghetti stain on his shirt. Freckled dancing across the horizon of his nose. That big, carefree smile. 3 x 5. The pencil presses down. 15.

March 3rd, 2007.

“I’m going to be your best friend forever, even when you have a girlfriend.” Chloë giggled behind her hand. The flashlight between her knees shook. She added another piece to the Old West puzzle they were working on.
Sheldon pretended to gag. “Girlfriend? Ew!” Their arms, stretched out over the 1,000 piece puzzle, created long, dark shadows on the walls of their outdoor tent. “I don’t like girls, so I’m going to be your friend for all of eternity.”
“I’m a girl.”
That she was. Complete with sparkly pink polish, polka dot headbands, and five Bratz dolls. She loved Dancing With The Stars and was already in her 2nd year of ballet. He was a karate-chopping boy. Transformers, Lego, and Power Rangers still kept his interest.
“You’re not a girl.” Sheldon wrinkled his nose. “You’re my best friend.”

January 11th, 2008.

Popcorn littered the chevron carpet. The TV sang on, but Chloë was almost sleeping. Two more woolly sheep and-
“What are you scared of?”
“Monsters, spiders, bumblebees,” Chloë muttered. She squeezed her eyes tighter, but the little lambs were already grazing in different patches. She’d lost count. “What are you afraid of?” She sat up and looked across to Sheldon’s thin frame and gangly legs. He was getting taller.
“I’m afraid that-“ His throat caught, and he swallowed. Whispered, “I’m afraid that after my parent’s divorce, I won’t see my dad anymore.”
Sadness darkened both their faces. Tears lurked behind Sheldon’s eyelids.
Purple mountain majesty painted nails. She reached for his hand. Held it. “We can share mine.”

August 31st, 2009.

Summer was quickly ending. Chloë slipped a pair of jean shorts over her orange swimsuit. Towel? Check. Sun shades? Check.
She found Sheldon on his front stoop, crafting a birdhouse from twigs and other such natural materials.
“Me, Stacey, Mia, and Liam are going to the pool. You coming?”
He gifted her with one of his ever, only, just-for-her smiles. “I’m obviously busy.”
“Yeah, whatever.” She grinned, kicked him playfully in the shin, and started off, lime green towel around her neck.
It was a perfect day for swimming. Rich blue sky, void of clouds. Tiny, white butterflies, dancing like wood fairies. Sun, beaming her up. Clear, cool water, gently lapping her back. The smell of chlorine permeating her nostrils. Heaven. Face lifted to the sun’s therapeutic rays. Floating...
A jolt and Chloë felt herself crash against one wall of the pool. Stone grazed her back, and, for a second, she couldn’t breathe. Something flat- and sharp- was being pressed into her arm. She gasped and searched for the source of her pain. Her left arms remained smooth and uninjured, yet she felt the throbbing in her veins. Her stomach churched, and his eyes- brimming with pain- confronted her.
Sheldon!
“Chloë, where are you going?”
“Are you okay, Chloë?”
“Chloë!”
Ignoring the concerned cries of her friends, not bothering to dry off or look back. She ran. Through the streets of New Hyde Park. Following the route Mr. Softee always took. Around the cul-de-sac they’d both lived in since 1st grade. To where she’d left him on his front stoop. He wasn’t there.
Chloë ran the next two blocks to the deserted beach they frequented often, in search of seashells and serenity. She climbed down the overgrown path to the sand below.
Sheldon.

August 31st, 2009.

“I don’t know what it is, Chloë.”
The two preteens stared with curiosity and fear at the green glow coming from Sheldon’s left arm. Always the daring one, Chloë slowly stretched fingers out to touch the eerie light.
“No!” Sheldon yanked his arm away. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I felt it in my gut, Sheldon,” she whispered. “As if someone pushed me and squeezed my stomach.” She chafed the skin on her left arm. “I felt it pushing into my arm. Right there.”
“He came out of nowhere and pushed me down. I couldn’t breathe for a second.” Sheldon scooped wet sand into his palms. “Then, I felt something sharp in my arm. Something flat.” His voice plunged to a whisper again. “I don’t know what it is.”
Sitting Indian style across from each other. Staring, wide-eyed, at identically fearful expressions. Momentous silence all around them.
“Sheldon.” Chloë’s jaw slacked. “It’s gone.”
There was no green glow coming from his freckled arm. In fact, his arm looked exactly as it had an hour ago. Sheldon grazed his skin with shaking fingers, and then there was a tangle of preteen limbs as Chloë knelt upward and hugged him. Sand and chlorine water tickled their skin.
“Chloë,” he whispered. “You can’t tell anyone.”

August 31st, 2009.

The man in white entered his password into the big computer. ZRs1ci3ten3egZR. The log was already twenty-seven pages long. He squinted his eyes and moved the mouse. Found the home row with his fingers. Typed. Specimen #429.

October 2nd, 2009.

“Eclectic.”
“E-C-L-E-“
Chloë shot him her ‘shut up’ face. “Not spelling words, Sheldon. Costumes! I want my look to be eclectic.” She braided another ribbon into her raven strands.
“Halloween is four weeks away.” He spoke slowly and calmly in the way he knew drove Chloë bonkers. Didn’t look up at her. Turned a page in his English notebook. “This spelling test,” pretended to make a notation, “is tomorrow. “
A roll of eyes. “Uh!” She kicked the dresser and threw herself onto the bed. “I hope you konw I can’t stand you.”
He merely smiled.
“Remember in 2nd grade?” Chloë grinned and poked Sheldon in the ribs. “We were Mickey and Minnie Mouse. How completely stupid, lame, and unoriginal was that?”
“Very.” Sheldon answered. He paused in turning the page in  his book. “Remember Ms. Hendricks?”
“That little, skinny, annoying teacher who wouldn’t let us sit together in the beginning? Ms. Fiji Water? I hated her.” Chloë pursed her lips. She finished the last plait in her hair with a purple ribbon. “’Chloë, why don’t you sit with Madeleine for lunch?’ She should have been Minnie for Halloween!” She giggled, then frowned. “I hated her. She always smelled like cabbage.”
“Chloë, are you trying to look like a rainbow?” Sheldon finally looked up. He reached over and tugged at a yellow-ribboned braid.
“Why, it’s ugly?” She turned worried eyes to her best friend.
“No.” Sheldon grinned. “I’m just messing with you. It looks nice. You look pretty.”
“Thanks.” Chloë stood and crossed to the dresser’s mirror. She frowned. Smoothed out the indentations in her cheeks, but they came right back. A gust of sigh escaped her. “It’s just that all the girls get to wear makeup. And Mom  won’t let me. It isn’t fair. I want to be really pretty, too. You know?” When he didn’t respond, Chloë trailed on. “Maybe not, cuz you’re a guy, but I want to be popular.” She turned to put at him and immediately blanched.
“Sheldon!”
He lay there, eyes wide open, mouth slack, arm glowing.
“Sheldon, wake up!” Chloë shook him. No response, and tears welled up in her eyes. She grabbed his arm. “If you’re some sort of demon or extraterrestrial being, just leave him alone, okay?” She pressed down on the green. “There are billions of people in the world. Leave Sheldon alone, okay? He’s the best. He’s one in a million.” Tears tracked down her face. “He’s my best friend.”

October 2nd, 2009.

“The lab results are back, Dr. Z.”
“I know, I know. I’m in his system now.” The man in white furiously typed on his computer. The glare from the light edged off of his glasses. The up and down zigzags were meaningful to the research, but everything was fuzzy. It had been clear just a minute ago. “Why is everything blurry?!” He hit the desk and furiously turned on his assistant, who held a sterilized needle. The sight of it antagonized him. “Why are you still here?!”
His assistant scuttled out like a ladybug.
“Why,” he muttered, “does that woman always smell like cabbage?”

October 2nd, 2009.

“Why are you crying?”
His voice like that of an angel. She stared in his eyes for several seconds, scared, speechless. Lifted his left arm, traced his veins with feathery soft fingers. She said, “Don’t do that ever again.” Then dropped her head onto his abdomen and sobbed.

June 15th, 2011.

“Didn’t I ask you to put the dog out, Chloë?” Dorothy ladled gravy over her rice and peas.
“Yes...” The dark-haired teen flashed both her parents a superfluous smile.”You did, but I forgot. I’ll put him out right after dinner, I promise.” She grimaced when her father set down the magazine he was reading.
“You know, Chloë, you’re going to have to be more responsible.” He shot her a look, then said, “Sheldon, I hope some of your maturity eventually rubs off on Chloë.”
Silence.
Chloë turned, quickly choked down her bite of barbecue chicken, and hacked. Once her parents’ eyes rested on her, she pulled off her t-shirt and stuffed it underneath the table, pressing down on Sheldon’s arm. Green does reflect off of clear tablecloths.
“I just got really, really hot,” she giggled loudly. “I mean, sometimes, I just get really, really hot.”
“Is Sheldon okay?” Dorothy touched her husband’s hand. “Sheldon...”
“He’s fine.” Chloë laughed nervously. Licked her lips, pushed a lock of ebony behind her ear. “He just does that sometimes. In his own world, you know? Just blanks out...”

June 15th, 2011.

The man in white clutched his limp, stringy hair and howled. Gray tufts and strands littered the desk around his elbows. The pus oozing out of his yellowing neck pleaded for ointment. “Hendricks!” He roared.
The assistant came running. “More Ibuprofen, Mr. Z?”
“No, I don’t need more Ibuprofen!” He sputtered and whacked the computer’s side. “What is wrong with his system?!” He screamed.
“His system?”
“Number 13, clear as a pane of glass. Number 273, clear as a pretty lake. Number 429, hazy! So hazy!” He roared again and threw his cell phone across the room. “It starts out clear, then everything just gets foggy! Why?!”
The assistant, trembling, pulled the elastic from her auburn hair. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, find out!” The man’s angry eyes burned into her. “He’s one of your snot-nosed 2nd graders. Find out what’s messing with the chip or I’ll take you down, inject you with a needle, and stick a chip in you!”
But that would never work. Obviously.
“Dr...” The assistant said timidly, only after he seemed to calm. “None of the children will be harmed...?”
The man in white raised bloodshot eyes to his pallid assistant. She showed no signs of sickness... yet. When she felt the way he did, she wouldn’t care one bit about who was injured. “My specimens,” he answered, “will not suffer.” Not in the way he had.
“Maybe,” the nervous woman bound her hair with elastic. “Maybe we should consult the doctors again. Surely... Surely there must be a cure!”
The man in white smiled. Then, laughed loudly. A mirthless sound, for sure. “Are you a doctor, Hendricks?”
The assistant’s face turned a deep, Type A blood red. She opened her lips, but much could not be done with a stammering tongue.
The man held up a hand to silence her stutters. “An unknown disease. Without name, unheard of, without cure.” And only one farfetched hope for healing. He clutched his abdomen and moaned. “I lost my father.”
“We...” The assistant dabbed tears from her green eyes. “We lost our father.”
Oh, yes. The man in white appraised her silently. An accident, this half-sister. He still considered her an imposter, greedy for a portion of his father’s estate. The money that had made all this research possible. They would both benefit. They both were at risk.

June 15th, 2011.

Sheldon snapped slowly back to the world. Color crept in and filled his vision. Pink. Pink ruffles and little, clear buttons. Red collar. He blinked. He looked down. Chloë’s shirt. On his arms. A ceramic plate. Food. Chicken, mashed potatoes. Dinner. At Chloë’s house. He jerked his head back up.
“Thanks for the dinner, Dorothy,” he gave her a winning smile. “It’s delicious.”
“I’m glad someone thinks so.” Dorothy grinned and jabbed her husband in the ribs.
Chloë’s father speared another piece of meat. “We lost you for a minute there, buddy. Deep thinking, eh?” He turned to his wife. “Your dinner is always delicious.
Relief wheezed out of Chloë’s lungs. She found Sheldon’s hand beneath the table. They both knew things were getting more dangerous.

July 9th, 2011.

“You went for a checkup in December, right?” Chloë asked.  She kicked at a few rocks, turned worried eyes to Sheldon.
“Yeah.”
Maybe it was just her imagination, but he seemed so much quieter. It made Chloë either chatter nonstop or stay silent, too.
“So what did the doctor say?” She bit her lip. Harder than intended, drawing blood.
“Nothing.” Sheldon jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m healthy. I’m fine. Chloë, maybe we have nothing to worry about.”
“Well, maybe we do,” she shot back. “Green glowing from your arm and occasional blank-outs are not normal, Sheldon. What do you feel when you go into those things, anyway?”
“Nothing.” He kicked his rock much farther than Chloë could kick hers. “I don’t get any warning; I don’t even know it’s happening! But when I’m coming out of it, I see white, and then everything changes back to color. I don’t even know how long I’ve been absent.”
Chloë wanted to cry. This, for her, was terrifying. What must it be like for him? “Maybe we should tell your mom,” she whispered.
“No.” He growled. “She has enough to worry about.”
“Okay.” Chloë swiped at her eyes. “Well, if we want to keep this thing a secret, you’ve got to stop checking out in front of people.”
Sheldon smiled. Shadowed by pain but still real. “I’ll do my best,” he said.
“I’m sorry if I worry too much or I freak out about stuff, but...” Chloë deep breathed. “Sometimes I feel you so far away. You can’t zone out on me, Shel. I don’t want to lose my best friend.”
He looked down into her dark eyes. She searched his for a sign of uncertainty, but nothing wavered. He remained steady. And tipped her chin with an index finger.
“You’re not.”

July 17th, 2011.

It was getting dark out. The first few stars sprawled in the denim blue sky, looking quite out of place with the clouds that remained visible. Neither Chloë nor Sheldon were ready to head for home. They sat on the library steps, quietness tickling their ears.
“Shel, look...” Chloë nudged his knee. “Over there. My worst nightmare.”
“The Tooth Fairy?” He squinted in the dim. “Somebody from Goosebumps?”
Chloë rolled her eyes. “Well, one of my worst nightmares. Obviously, I have a few.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Ms. Hendricks!”
“Is she-“ Sheldon rubbed his eyes. “Why is she hiding behind a car?”
“I guess she doesn’t want to see us either.”

April 4th, 2012.

“It’s the girl.”
“Girl, what girl?” The man in white sputtered and wheeled to face the assistant. His spindly legs had stopped working months ago.
“Sheldon-“
“Number 429, Hendricks.” The man growled. “We do not refer to specimens by name, but by log number.”
The assistant sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Number 429,” she corrected herself, “has a strong emotional connection to a girl. They’ve always been together, and I don’t know how or why, but I believe she’s the reason you experience problems with Number 429’s system.”
The man in white huffed. “I don’t need this.” He closed his eyes, and, for a second, he appeared so transparent. Then, they opened. Fire burned in those irises. “I’m going to get that DNA.”

June 27th, 2012.

It was a quiet meal. Sheldon cleared the sink of dishes and left a plate- casserole, again- in the oven for his mom. She was working late. Again. He climbed the stairs. Sank onto his mattress. Alone.

June 27th, 2012.

The alarm shocked the man in white out of fitful, horror-filled dreams. The laboratory was dark. He booted up the computer. Logged in. ZRs1ci2ten3egZR. Sunken eye sockets and saggy skin stretched up- he smiled. All clear today. #429. System clear.

June 27th, 2012.

White. Bright white. Fading fast, dulling, then brightening again with the honeydew melon of his bedroom walls. He rested his head in his hands. 2:48 AM. The wall clock glared red. He didn’t know how long he had been gone.

June 27th, 2012.

She jolted upright. Heart beating fast. All around, everything was still. The flower-shaped clock on her dresser glowed. 2:48 AM. Everything seemed in place. Yet, something was not right.
Sheldon.
Chloë reached for her pink Blackberry and hit number 1 on her speed dial. She held the phone to her ear.
“Hey.”
He was awake. She clutched the phone tighter. “Are you okay? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Sheldon paused. “Just... blacked out again. For... I don’t know how long.”
“Are you okay?” She grabbed a pair of jeans from the turquoise carpet, ready to run if he needed her.
“I’m okay.” She could hear him smiling through the receiver. “Go back to sleep, Chloë.”

January 1st, 2013.

“Dr. Z.”
His gnarled hands shook on the computer mouse. Pus sizzled and popped from several boils on his prematurely aged skin. Fissures cracked his lips. He no longer smiled, but if he did, rotting teeth would peek out from their shifting roots. His shriveled legs could snap in two. Alas, disease did not pause or slow down. It was a vicious, terrible monster. And the man in white was the epitome of hideous.
“I did not call for you,” he muttered.
“Dr. Z.” The assistant stayed persistent. “How many specimens do you have?”
He was too weak to scream at her. Even the simple act of turning to face her made his head throb. “504,” he said. “504 specimens and 15 pairs of identical twins to use as models.”
“That’s a lot.” She pulled the hair tie from her auburn tresses. She pretended not to notice that strands were constantly falling out. She could not- did not want to- imagine herself becoming a replica of the man before her or their father before him.
“Did you come here to make small talk, Hendricks? To chat?” The man in white was miserable.
The assistant tightened her jaw and resolve. “No, I did not.” She said, “I want you to release Number 429. You have enough specimens without him.”
He turned eyes as watery daggers on her. “I do not have enough without him. I need 504 specimens.”
“Why?!” The assistant cried.
“One opportunity to get this right,” he croaked. “Luck. 12, 7, 3. The luckiest numbers. Multiplied- 252. Luck doubled- 504.”
Luck? The assistant did not believe in such foolishness. But, apparently, the man in white did. She sighed. She had been wrong to subject Sheldon to these tests. Of all students, Sheldon especially. He had been so happy. “I’ll find you another specimen.” One she did not know. At all.
“Too late, Hendricks.” His eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life. “I don’t have much time left.”

February 14th, 2013.

“Candy holidays.”
They sat on the roof outside Chloë’s window. Between them, bags of candy hearts, chocolate, and a jug of hot cocoa.
“More like cavity holidays,” Sheldon replied.
“It’s not my fault it was on sale!” Chloë grinned, unwrapping a dark chocolate kiss. She was a cacao addict. Christmas and Valentine’s pimpled her face more than Halloween or Easter ever could.
“Be Mine,” Sheldon read off of a purple candy heart. “These things are so cheesy, man. They should say stuff like ‘Awaken My Force’ or something.”
Chloë rolled her eyes. She had a small collection of wrappers growing in the triangle of her legs. “Not every girl finds Star Wars romantic, Shel.” She stuffed a wrapper down his throat. “You know...” Unwrapped another chocolate, “People be like, if a girl and a guy are best friends, when they grow up-“
“They’re gonna date each other or fight because they’re dating other people.” Sheldon touched his knee to Chloë’s . “And if they date each other, when they break up, they won’t be best friends anymore. If they date other people, there are going to be so many problems. Either way, they lose that friendship.”
“Yeah.” She looked up into his face, searching his eyes again, afraid for the future. He stared back. She licked her lips, throat suddenly dry. She was only sixteen, but she already knew. “I’m not dating anyone. Ever.” She shook her head. “I’m not letting anyone come between us.”
“Me either.” He took her hand in his. He’d been holding that hand for most of his life. “Our friendship is special. It’s important to me. And I’m not giving that up.”
Chloë beamed and batted her eyelashes. “That means you can’t date me either.”
“Sorry, honey,” he said jokingly. “Dimples? So not my type.”
“Hey!” She squealed, launching herself at him, pelting him with colorful candy hearts.
They sat out there long enough to watch the sun set. Happiness brimmed and peace overflowed. Two friends- best friends- knees up, hands clasped, hearts smiling. A shared history, a promising future. Sheldon and Chloë. Chloë and Sheldon.

September 29th, 2013.

“I’m bringing all specimens in.”
The assistant wrung her hands, brow furrowing. This was sudden. The man in white had been agitated for days, but this was sudden. She stood, knocking over a bottle of Fiji Water. “Um,” she began, “Have they all agreed to aid in your experiments? They are coming of their own choice?”
Poor Hendricks. So, so naïve. His weak naïf of a half-sister had much to learn about the world. Thanks to him, she could live as long as she desired. “Of course,” he said pleasantly. “I made hundreds of calls this morning. My specimens are eager.”
They would take part in one of the greatest science experiments of all time. Changing the genetics of matured humans? Unheard of. His name would be known all over the globe! But, first, they had to save his life.

September 30th, 2013.

Chloë jerked up, mouth agape and panting. She clutched her wrists, eyes widened in horror. Sheldon! But it was just a dream. A nightmare. She fought to control her breathing again. Inhale, exhale, in- what was that sound?
The doorbell.
She crept to the top of the carpeted stairs in Cheetah Girls pajamas. Her turquoise toenails looked navy in the shadows. Peering over the banister, she watched her robe-clad parents open the door to four badged officers.
“Come down, Chloë.” Her father always knew when she was peeking.
Brushing down flyaways, she joined the sextuplet. Her heart hammered. Her mother’s face was ashen, a heart-shaped tombstone. Something was terribly wrong.
“Ms. McDowell,” the officer addressed her. “When was the last time you spoke to Sheldon Lee?”
Her throat constricted- contracted and released. “Yesterday.” Hot tears burned the backs of her eyelids. They knew something. Something was wrong with Sheldon. “What happened to Sheldon?”
“Yesterday when?” The husky-voiced cop persisted.
He couldn’t be dead. She would know. She would feel it. Wouldn’t she?” “Um...” Her father took her hand. She licked suddenly dry lips. “We did homework together after school. At his house. I came home around 7, and that was the last time that I talked to Sheld-“ she lost her breath.
“Ms. McDowell,” another officer, this one with burning sun hair, stepped forward. “Hundreds of people have been reported missing in this county, in the past 24 hours alone. Sheldon disappeared from his house sometime last night. A neighbor claims to have seen him bound and gagged and thrown into a white van.”
“No!” She shook her head. “Not Sheldon.”
“You are his best friend, Ms. McDowell.” The officer looked deep into her dark eyes. “Do you know anyone who would want to harm Sheldon?”
Harm Sheldon? A black belt with the sweetest soul, a soccer champion with the gentlest spirit, an avid reader with a compassionate heart.
“No...” she whispered. “Not Sheldon.”
Something niggled her mind. Her arm twitched.
“Ms. McDowell,” the growly officer again. “Can you think of anything at all?”
The green light...
She opened her mouth, but... sticky, sticky like expired chunky peanut butter.
And she was falling, falling back, back, back. Arms were there, but she couldn’t see anybody. Nothing was registering. Just bright, white... light.

September 30th, 2013.

He lands on his tailbone against the cold marble. Sharp pain shoots up his spine. Glass walls enclose him. It’s a box. To the left, another boy in another glass box, bewildered just like him.

September 30th, 2013.

The girl’s dark hair spread out like thick living room curtains, draping over her father’s strong arms. Mouth open, eyes open.

Unmoving. Her dark irises stared out, but they were dead. Looking at nothing. Nobody was home. She wasn’t there.

September 30th, 2013.

They tied his wrists when they took him. They gagged him so he couldn’t make a sound. Red, chafed wrists, yes, but he had memorized every left and right turn the white van took. She was there. He could feel her. Now, he just had to show her how to find him.

September 30th, 2013.

“He’s in a laboratory.” Chloë blinked and stood, strength regained. “It’s like a glass box with white floors. There are machines everywhere. There’s an office with a huge computer. Lots of needles. A man in a wheelchair.” She wrinkled her nose. “And, for some reason, it smells like cabbage there.”
The officers stared at each other, shocked. The red-haired one, the deep-throated, the short cop, and the spindly one. They looked at her parents.
“I can find him,” Chloë said confidently.

September 30th, 2013.

In Sheldon’s #7 Jersey, jeans, neon sneakers, and her dad’s lucky Dodgers cap, she rode down the blacktop on her pastel pink bicycle. The wind blew through her hair. The walkie talkie was hooked onto her magenta belt.
Once she found the well-hidden laboratory, she would tell Officer Garrett (or Officer Carrot, as she had begun to call him in her mind). The police would swarm in no time. She clenched her teeth. They were counting on her. Sheldon was counting on her.

September 30th, 2013.

“Did I tell you to keep an eye on the girl?” The man in white croaked. He could no longer raise his voice. But, soon, he would scream and storm again. He would be healthy and whole again.
“No, but I did,” the other man’s voice crackled through the phone. “And it’s good for you that I did because she’s on her way to you.”
“How does she know where to find us?” He whispered. The girl’s connection to #429 was unnatural. Once he was well again, he would study their systems, their cells.
“What would you like me to do, sir?” His employee was still on the line.
“For God’s sake, get the girl!” He squealed, sounding like an adolescent going through puberty. “Tie her up, knock her down, drag her by her hair! By any means, just get the girl!”
The assistant stared  through haunted eyes. The man in white had lied. No one was supposed to get hurt.

September 30th, 2013.

A sharp pain in her back. A hissing sound. The tire was losing air, and she was falling again. Before she hit the street, she was yanked out of the air. Her head snapped back. A white van. No air in her lungs to call for help. The doors closed.

September 30th, 2013.

Her stringy red hair made her look like a scarecrow. The assistant ducked down and tapped on the police vehicle. Her face, white like bleached linen. The window opened. Shaking fingers, she passed the officer an index card. Instructions on finding the laboratory. Password to get in. ZRs1ci2ten3egZR.
“Reginald Zorgus, my half-brother,” she breathed.
“Elaine, what?” Officer Garrett said, recognizing his daughter’s 2nd grade teacher.
She looked at him, eyes crossing, swimming in tears. “We have the children.”

December 22nd, 2000 (together ever since)
September 30th, 2013 (connected forever, for always).

Sheldon and Chloë. Chloë and Sheldon. Never separate. Pudgy fingers scooping up sand. Hand-in-hand at the zoo. Dark hair framing her dimpled cheeks. A dusting of freckles on his nose. A million scrapes, a million falls. A million secrets. Her hands gesturing excitedly. His whisper in her ear. Both smiling from ear to ear. A boy and a girl, different in so many ways. A boy and a girl, so alike.  A boy and a girl, connected. Her laugh echoes everywhere, and the world laughs, too. His silence speaks, and the world stops to listen. “You are my very best friend.”

September 30th, 2013.

She falls against the marble, glass closing in around her. She can’t hear a thing. Dark hair flying into her face. Heart at rest. He is there. Eyes look up. A glass wall. He is there. She stands, sneakers silent on the marble.
He stands, feet cold on the marble. She is there. Dimples and all. He can’t hear a thing. Quiet. Body alert with her energy. A step forward. Heart still. She is there.
Another step forward. Dimpled and dark-haired. Freckled and tan. Two more steps. Eyes intent, smiles intact, tears invisible. One more step. Hands outstretch. Two hands against the glass, pressed together. Touching, feeling, knowing...

The glass breaks.