Chapter 2 - The Muddy Puddle
The rain fell in sheets, blurring the world into shades of slate and green. Jonathan ran through the rear gate of his estate, his leather shoes slipping against the slick grass. Panic tore through his chest—a feeling he had spent a lifetime avoiding.
“Oliver!” he roared into the wind.
He reached the boundary line where his property ended and the unpaved public access road began. Beyond the tall wooden fences of the affluent residential zone lay a sprawling, unpolished neighborhood of modest homes and overgrown gardens.
At the bottom of a steep incline, right where the gravel path met a sunken patch of dirt, a giant muddy puddle had formed.
Jonathan stopped dead in his tracks. His breathing froze in his throat.
There, sitting directly in the deep, brown, gooey center of the puddle, was Oliver.
His custom-tailored orthopedic clothes were completely drenched, caked in thick dark mud. His expensive splints were partially submerged in water. But Oliver wasn't crying. He wasn't in distress.
Beside him sat another boy, perhaps a year or two older, wearing a faded yellow raincoat missing half its buttons and worn-out canvas sneakers. The boy—wild-haired, mud-splattered, and grinning from ear to ear—was actively scooping handfuls of muddy water and pouring them into a battered plastic bucket.
“Look! It’s a moat!” the boy cheered, his voice ringing loud over the thunder. “Now we build the castle!”
Oliver let out a sound.
It was a sound Jonathan had not heard in over two years. It was a high-pitched, breathless, uninhibited giggle.
Oliver lifted his small, weak hand, plunged it into the thick slush, and slapped the water. Mud splattered across his cheeks, his forehead, and his hair.
“Oliver! Stop!” Jonathan shouted, plunging down the slope in horror. He practically tackled the space between the two children, scooping Oliver up into his arms. “What are you doing?! Get away from him!”
The boy in the yellow raincoat flinched, jumping back into the slush, his wide blue eyes staring up at Jonathan in confusion.
“Daddy! Mud!” Oliver babbled, his face lit up with a wild, golden delight that Jonathan had never seen before. Oliver reached out toward the puddle, squirming against his father's tight grip. “More mud!”
“Are you insane?” Jonathan yelled at the older boy, his voice shaking with fury and fear. “He can’t walk! He’s sick! What did you do to him?”
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Before the boy could answer, the wet grass swished behind them.
“He didn’t do anything to him except let him play!” a sharp, clear voice called out.
