When I was just a small boy the kids in my neighborhood used to get together to play hide-and-seek. We would gather at one friend's house or even outside on some little corner and discover the strange new world that was hiding places. Not to brag or anything, but I was quite good at it, quite possibly the best there was when it came to hiding. I was rather small for my age and could squeeze into places none of the others my age could. True, because of my size and my aptitude for hiding, I was sometimes forgotten until one or two rounds later when someone would finally have the brains to ask, "Where's Rodney?" but I didn't care. The more time I had before I was discovered, the more time I had to explore my hiding places. Many times there would be great finds, such as a penny or a marble, and sometimes there was nothing, but there was always the intrigue of looking. All my inhibitions vanished when I hid, and I was able to grope about unashamedly. I was a scavenger. I was a hunter. I was…a mess. But most of all, I was free. I liked that feeling of hiding, and I wanted to stay that way forever if I could…
Yes, hidden forever. It seems quite ironic now, doesn't it? I always wanted to stay hidden forever, but the minute I accomplish just that, I want to go back again. It seems I've become rather desperate really. I can't believe I was fool enough to believe that monster when he told me I could become visible again if I helped the British Empire. I guess I was just so ready to see myself again that I would do anything.
It must have been that picture. I blame it all on that family portrait I found stuffed among my things a little while ago. I had almost forgotten about it. I was right in the middle of it all, as always, but when you're the middle child of five, you get used to it. My older brother and sister were on my left, my younger sisters were to my right, and my dear Mum and Dad were standing there behind us all, one hand each on one of my shoulders. I was probably about thirteen, and I looked very unhappy compared to my siblings. It was a bad picture of me – absolutely horrid – but I still pinned it up on my mirror. I know, an invisible man with a mirror, what's the point? I guess it's to constantly remind me that I practically don't exist. And the picture? To remind me that I once did. But it was that damn picture on that damn mirror that urged me to join the League when I was approached and told I could be visible again. Now look at me; I'm not only stuck on an underwater boat with a vampire, an extreme schizophrenic, and a crazy American with serious emotional baggage, but I'm still bloody invisible!
Invisibility. At least it hides my scars. I discovered a new scar the other day; a burn scar. I was taking a shower and I felt it right on my chest. It was smooth and numb and rather large. How could I have missed it before? Maybe I didn't miss it, I just didn't take notice of it before. I have so many scars I can't even see, how am I supposed to know where all of them are? This is what I get for being a "good boy." I save Sawyer's arse and all I get is a load of invisible scars. I at least thought I'd be able to see my scars after it was all over.
I want to be seen again. I'm tired of hiding. But no one has even tried to find me so far. No one's even asked. Doesn't anyone care where Rodney is anymore?