To right a life

XVIII

Although Henry had only attended school until twelve, his training had been comprehensive.

   That, at least, he owes to Brenner, who, after discarding him as a test subject, decided to train him to fulfill his new role as an orderly in the care of the new test subjects. Brenner hadn't wanted to get rid of him—or was not able to, as his stupid moral considerations about human life were quite the deterrent to him killing, even if the dignity of said human lives had never interested him too much.

   However, if something had been emphasized by the formal instruction provided in the laboratory, it was the psychological facet of the human being. Specifically, the psychology behind the developing human mind, that is, the child's mind.

   And Henry, always sharp, hasn't taken long to notice the signs of Eleven's obvious trauma: while she's always been a rather quiet child, her ability to communicate has been severely affected since leaving the lab.

   It was partly my fault, he tells himself, remembering the day they fled. But he had really had no other choice but to eliminate any trace that might lead to them, whether in the form of files or witnesses who could give them away. Not if he wanted true freedom.

   For himself and for Eleven.

   However, he's not interested in dwelling on the past: his real concern is to give Eleven the help she needs. And while everything points to her needing therapy to process her trauma, Henry knows that this in particular is not something he can provide for her—the past they share must remain secret.

   In any case, he does his best to support her using his own knowledge of psychology.

   He hopes that, in time, Eleven will improve.

#

Much to Henry's relief, Eleven does, in fact, get better.

   Logically, there are words that still prove difficult for her to use—understandable, considering she's barely eight years old—but the pauses she makes when speaking are becoming fewer and fewer and Henry has also seen her wear an occasional smile on her lips. Thus, although her communication skills are still far from being considered normal, he notices clear progress.

   Finally, in April, they move into the house that had once belonged to the Creel family. Henry opens the door and gestures for Eleven to go first.

   She, who previously would have hesitated to the point of freezing in front of the door, enters with a certain confidence that Henry notes with pleasure; it is by far a better reaction than he hoped for.

   "Your house looks very nice..." Eleven murmurs as she examines the hall.

   Now, there's no dust, no broken wooden boards, no damp spots in sight...

   It is a real home.

   "I'm glad you like it," he says as he crosses the threshold, closing the door behind him. "But I must correct you, Eleven." She turns to look at him. "This is your house, too."

   Eleven nods, a habit that has stuck with her after so many months of struggling to speak. Henry doesn't mind, though.

   Not when she smiles at him like that.