Freak

Because the sun had succeeded in breaking the April rain, recess was held outside rather than inside today. The boys played football or raced on the jungle gym; the girls played hopscotch or with skipping ropes in their own little groups. But the six-year-old daughter of the world's only consulting detective and his pathologist had separated herself from the masses, which was what she, like her parents, usually did.

Anybody who even looked at her would know she was Sherlock's daughter on sight. She had inherited her father's black curls (which fell just below her shoulders), alabaster skin, long-fingered hands and Cupid's Bow lips. On top of that, she had inherited her father's genius brain, even if it was only six years old and still developing, and his unquenchable curiosity, fascination, and thirst for knowledge.

But equally present in her were the traits of her mother. She had Molly's petite build, heart-shaped face, rosy cheeks, button nose, and sparkling brown eyes. On top of that, she had inherited her mother's big heart, even if it was only six years old and developing, and her great capacity for compassion, patience, understanding and empathy.

Yet, even with both of her parents so prominent in her, she was undeniably her own person, as evidenced by what she was doing.

Though the children at St. Benedict Elementary School played on an asphalt playground, there was also a nice-sized garden, where flowers and vegetables grew. This was her favorite place on the playground, because everything else was just dull compared to it. Here there was life, movement, and energy everywhere; always something interesting to find, observe and learn. That is what fascinated her the most. While her parents dealt with crime and death, day in day out, her passion for life and nature were all her own.

Yes, indeed…Alethea Johanna Holmes was an extraordinary child who would change the world someday.

Though she was not playing with the other children, she was having the time of her life. She was focused on what was hanging from the low leaf of the tallest sunflower: a cocoon. She had spotted it two weeks ago, and had checked on it every day since. And now, the butterfly inside was coming out. The six-year-old didn't dare breathe as she watched the butterfly work its way out.

Unfortunately, since all of her focus was on the transformation happening before her, she never saw what happened coming.

Suddenly, her concentration was broken as dirt hit her square in the face, as if someone had kicked it. Alethea screamed in reaction, the dirt stinging her cheeks and eyes. After wiping as much as she could away, she turned to see where the attack had come from. She was not surprised to see a nine-year-old boy with nutmeg skin, a rat face, and brown hair even curlier than her own sneering down at her as he laughed in amusement.

"Got you, freak!" taunted Davey Anderson, looking proud of his work. "Look at you, crouching in the dirt. Trying to be a worm?"

"Leave me alone!" said Alethea, trying to imitate the tone her father used when he ordered someone around.

"Or what?" said Davey, crossing his arms. "What could a freaky little pipsqueak like you do?"

"Just go away!" was all the little girl could say, because she truly was no match for the older boy.

"Say please, freak!" On the last work, Davey lifted his foot, and used it to shove Alethea so she landed amongst the sunflowers. Alethea cried as her face and hands got scraped, and spit out the dirt that got into her mouth.

"Leave her alone!" she heard a familiar voice cry, followed by the sound of a childish scuffle. Still lying on the dirt, she managed to turn her head to see her best friend, seven-year-old Hamish Watson, engaging in a fight with older boy. Her teacher, Miss Kern, who had been supervising recess today, was rushing towards them.

As Miss Kern broke up the fight and ordered the three of them to come with her, Alethea saw something that was just too much in that moment: she had squashed the new butterfly when she'd been shoved, before it ever had the chance to fly.

Then she felt small, gentle hands helping her sit up. "Thea, are you ok?" asked Hamish, using his nickname for her only the Watsons used.

Alethea could only shake her head as a tear poured down each cheek. Hamish helped her up, and wrapped a protective arm around her as the walked behind the teacher, who was holding Davey by the collar and scolding him.

But neither that nor Hamish's protective comfort made Alethea feel any less miserable. All she could see in her mind's eye was the poor, crushed butterfly.