Sam sat in the chapel thinking.

He liked it there. The gorgeous and ornamented room was old and small, with space for only about twenty worshipers, and it was the one room in the former Catholic seminary they now inhabited near McCormick Place that he couldn't quite figure out what to do with. He'd thought about turning it into a small library, but that didn't seem right. He had plenty of room for books in some of the common areas. The building had nine small bedrooms, several common rooms, study rooms, and even a small gymnasium and a backyard enclosed by a high wall.

The purchase price for the spacious building, which they'd gotten for a song from the local archdiocese, had been wrangled by Tommy. The amount had been sufficient that Tommy, in his generosity, had used what was left to establish a trust for the building's maintenance, support for the girls, and even a few pennies for Sam and Christy Sue, who acted as trustees.

Sam got up, stretched, and, as he did, suppressed a smile. Tommy would be along soon. His ancient friend hadn't been to visit since closing on the building nearly a year before, and Sam wanted to show it off.

He flattered himself that he'd made enormous strides in renovating the place, which had been severely dilapidated when they took ownership. The building now had a new roof, freshly tucked walls, and new heating, plumbing, and wiring throughout, much of which Sam had done himself. He had even begun crafting the nine tiny bedrooms into five larger suites, a project that was nearly complete. What it lacked was finishing, which he intended to draft his old friend to help him complete.

Sam moved toward the back door, getting there just in time to see Tommy drop out of the darkness. As usual, his old friend was clad casually, in jeans, work boots, and a heavy leather jacket. On this trip, he had a shoulder bag much like those worn by bicycle messengers strapped tightly across his body.

"That was pretty good timing, old man" said Sam as he opened the door and spread his arms for his friend. Tommy stepped in and gave the Chicagoan a peck on the cheek and a warm embrace. "Come on," Sam continued, "I just heard your stomach growl."

"You truly are a brother," murmured Tommy.

As they began to move toward the kitchen, Sam paused. He wore one of his devilish grins. "No, wait. I want you to see something, first. Celia and Christy Sue are still asleep, but Lydia ... well, she's more like us, now. She only sleeps an hour or two a night."

He led Tommy down a short hallway, stepping around stacked buckets of paint and pallets of drywalling, and after a few moments, they reached a small lobby. Through a set of double-doors was a small gymnasium. Glancing in, it was a few moments before they saw a pair of feet glide by at a remarkable speed just above the top of the doorframe. High above was a tall, lean Lydia, flying hand over hand, from rafter to rafter. Though the rafters were situated nearly a dozen feet apart, her pace was rapid and smooth, and she flew back and forth across the roof of the gym, barely touching the solid metal beams as she did. Her speed, strength, and dexterity were astounding.

Sam moved closer and whispered, his face beaming with pride. "She's still fascinated with her strength and her developing Gifts. She does that for hours, sometimes all night. She can't seem to get enough of it. About a week ago, she missed a rafter ... only time that happened ... and face-planted from fifteen feet up. Celia started screaming on the other side of the building, but Lydia got up with a silly grin on her face, nose bloody, one of her front teeth missing. Even I was worried." Sam paused for effect. "It only took three days for the tooth to grow back."

If possible, Sam's grin grew even broader at Tommy's reaction.

"She's gotten stronger and tougher," Tommy muttered.

"Nah, I think she was always tough." He lowered his voice even more. "The first time I took her and Celia for a checkup after we got to Chicago, the doctor said she had a small scar on her shoulder and another on her lower back. Christy Sue and I looked at them later. It seems like she was shot twice when she was hiding in the woods in Montana." Sam paused briefly to allow Tommy to swallow his anger. "She was so dirty and bedraggled when I found her there, I never noticed any dried blood on her clothes. Her x-rays showed nothing, so the bullets either didn't penetrate all the way or festered out later," he concluded.

Tommy placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, and both men moved into the doorway and watched Lydia's acrobatics. As if feeling their eyes on her, the youngster abruptly came to a stop in the middle of the gym, and in one smooth motion flipped three times in the air before landing lightly on the balls of her feet. Looking at her small audience, she hesitated, not once but three times, and an uncertain smile played on her lips. Despite her still tender age, she was now much more woman than girl.

Suddenly, as if finally making up her mind, she jogged over and put her arms around Tommy in an affectionate embrace.

"You've grown," he said as she stepped away.

"I have," came a woman's voice. "You seem shorter."

Sam's laughter interrupted her.

"Puddin, go wake up Christy Sue and your sister. It's nearly six, and we need to get the day started."

Lydia dashed away like a young greyhound.

"She's faster, too," said Sam.

"How fast?"

"I took her up to a friend's farm in Wisconsin about a month ago and marked out a mile course through the woods," Sam said in a hush.

"How fast?"

"Thirty-eight seconds."

"You have got to be shitting me ... for a mile?"

"Cross country," reminded Sam. "She'll get faster ... she might already be."

"And what about Celia?"

"She's doing great," said the older-looking man. They saw a small blonde figure staggering, zombielike, down the hallway. "Let's talk about her later. Right now, my old friend, you need to cook us some breakfast."

***

Breakfast went over very well. Lydia ate like a starving steam shovel, Christy Sue was cheerful and, Tommy thought, nervous of his presence—that was a common reaction among the refugees, all of whom had seen his full strength—and he was even able to coax a few awkward smiles from Celia, whose language was still offbeat and a tad earthy but who didn't utter the word "fuck" once during the entire meal.

Tommy had decided to accept Sam's example and try to temper his own speech during the length of his visit, no matter how fresh the children's language might be.

He also soon discovered the girls had a strict regimen hammered out by Sam and Christy Sue, who had opted to homeschool them. The girls simply had fallen too far behind their peers, and of course there was a matter of school records, of which they had none. Sam taught literature, history, and social studies, Christy Sue taught the sciences, and they brought in tutors for those few subjects to which they didn't feel equal.

Sam, Christy Sue, and the girls were up early every morning, usually around 6:00. School started at 8:00 sharp. Schooling extended every day until 2:00 pm, when it shifted over to training in the girls' respective Gifts. Such training usually lasted until late afternoon or early evening.

Monday was a science day, so Christy Sue and the girls repaired to the classroom, and Sam and Tommy got busy hanging drywall in the building's many bedrooms. It was an operation that would have taken Sam several days. The two men finished the project within three hours. Sam was surprised, bordering on shocked.

"Why are you amazed? I've worked construction before, ya know," said Tommy.

Sam just smiled and looked around at their work. "Everyone has been living in spare rooms since this began. They'll be ecstatic to be back in their bedrooms."

"Let's not piss around then, my friend," replied Tommy, cringing at his reflexive use of the petty vulgarity. "We have an hour before lunch. Let's get started on the spackling."

They'd worked at a breakneck pace on the drywall, but though their hands moved rapidly while they finished the walls, they began chatting about events. Most of Sam's wards were doing well. Like Tommy, Sam had seen each of them regularly in the first months after their liberation from Utah, but over the past year, the frequency of his interaction with them had fallen off as they'd adapted to their new city and settled into new lives.

"Up until about three months ago, we had ten people living here," said Sam. "They've moved out and got their own digs now, thanks to you and to the new identities Philly provided them ... and to the help Polly has given ... and continues to give."

Polly Iain, a retired psychiatrist from Toronto, was the sister of a Gifted friend of Tommy from years gone by, someone who already knew such folk existed. She made weekly trips to New York and Chicago, and even the occasional journey to San Francisco, volunteering her time to sit patiently with any of the refugees who needed her help and kindness. Most didn't avail themselves, but many did. A number continued to struggle because of their experiences.

"I think she's helped the girls a lot," said Sam, coming closer and lowering his voice. His hands continued to work at the same rate. "Christy Sue has decided to reapply too med school in the Spring. It'll take some doing and hard work, but I think Polly had a lot to do with her decision." He continued working and then slowed a bit. "The girls saw things ... things a child should never see ... and, well, I think they feel like they can tell Polly things they can't tell me."

Tommy sensed the faintest hint of upset in Sam's final statement. He'd never seen this side of his friend before. Sam is a father now, he thought. He was barely able to resist a smile.

"She's afraid of you, you know," Sam said, regaining his work tempo. "Celia," he said, looking over a second time.

Both men smiled.

"Because she can't read my mind," stated Tommy.

"No," said Sam, "not just that." He paused for another few seconds and then continued to work. "Even before she could do that, she had that Gift that let her to sense the presence of others. It's actually pretty high-tuned. If it's someone she already knows, she can tell who's there even without looking."

He scooped some more compound onto his trowel and continued. "The first time she saw a dead body was at The Farm in Utah. She didn't know what it was at first, but when she realized, it near scared her to death." Sam was serious now. "She saw a lot of those at the Farm."

The two men shifted to the next wall before Sam continued.

"Anyway, she began to associate 'dead' with someone she couldn't sense ...."

"And when she first saw me, she saw a walking corpse," said Tommy, finishing his friend's thoughts.

Sam slowed his pace yet again. "She knows it's not true but can't help herself. Seeing you still scares the living hell out of her. She's afraid to even be alone in a room with you ... and, good Lord, don't ever sneak up on her."

"I get that," said Tommy.

"And Lydia knows it's not true, too. But she's so fiercely loyal to her sister, she doesn't know whether to come or go. I think they're both very fond of you in their way."

"Hey, did those two ever settle on a family name?"

"Oh, yeah. That was months ago. They wanted Babington, but I put the kibosh on that ... way, way too much baggage in that one," he said gravely. "They're now Celia and Lydia Taylor, from Bloomington, Indiana."

"Taylor, your middle name!"

"Yep," said Sam, smiling deeply. "Philly wrangled everything, birth certificates, social security numbers, the works. Christy Sue decided not to keep her family name after all. She's Christy Irons, now ... after some great aunt she used to be fond of."

They nearly were finished with their third room and were preparing to quit for lunch when, very much to his surprise, Tommy found himself channeling Rhonda.

"Do you believe in God?"

"I believe there is a God in heaven," said Sam matter-of-factly.

"Do you take the girls to church?"

"Ohhh...," said Sam, tossing a glance over either shoulder. When he continued, it was just above a whisper. "That is a very sensitive topic, here. You know how Christy Sue was raised, in that crazy, bible-banging church that exploited her in tent revivals. The subject of church is a horse we have beaten any number of times."

"And?" asked Tommy.

"And ... a man has to pick his battles. I'll tell the girls all about the Lord when they ask. Speaking of which," said Sam as he laid on the last bit of compound, "why do you ask?"

Tommy hesitated. "I don't think Rhonda believes anymore."

"Of course, she does," said Sam as if talking to a complete idiot. "She's a black woman. They all believe."

"Sam, I think you know that isn't true."

"It may not be true, but it's a fact." Sam had adopted his most stubborn tone. "All us black folk believe in the Lord."

"Sam ...."

"Old man," Sam interjected, raising his hand in silence, "you need to brush up on your ethnic stereotypes."

Tommy was flat-footed and didn't know what to say. "I guess I need to learn to pick my battles ...."

"Aha!" growled Sam, putting away the last tool. "Christy Sue ordered pizza for lunch, and I just heard the doorbell. We better get there before Lydia, or we'll starve."

With that, Sam rolled out the door and finally broke into a full laugh.