DomLuka's The Other Side of Me

A little boy with newly cropped dark hair and wide, attentive hazel eyes looked across the table at the other six-year-old, who happened to be his mirror image. Only, the hair was a little messier, the eyes somewhat absent, and the biggest difference noticed by the little boy--the bowl of strawberry ice cream his doppleganger was eagerly lapping down. He felt particularly jealous over that last thing, but still, when the messy-haired boy suddenly looked up and smiled at him, he was inclined to return it.

“It’s real good, David,” the boy said. It wasn’t a taunt. David, even at his young age, understood this about his brother. But the words certainly did nothing to dull the jealousy.

With knots forming in his small stomach, David looked to his right, where his mother stirred her tea. Sensing him, she paused without looking up and a frown creased her brow.

“Mama?” David said, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He was pretty sure that everything he did or said annoyed her. So he tried. He tried not to be a bother.

His mom shifted her gaze towards him, but only for the briefest second. Sometimes, it was as if she was afraid to look at him. And more often than not, when she addressed him, her words were shorter than her glances. “Just, don’t.”

She dropped her head into her hand, obviously irritated with him, but it was the sound of a fist hitting the wooden table that made him silent as he looked across the table, where his father was sitting next to Oliver. “Will you just answer him, Mary?” he asked gruffly. “I’d like some peace around here.”

David lowered his eyes, no longer wanting to ask his question. But he could feel his father watching him, and something told him it would be worse if he didn’t. “Can I have ice cream?”

“But I did my chores today,” David insisted. “And I’ve been good, too... it’s not fair. Oliver...”

“You know why Oliver gets ice cream and you don’t,” Mary cut him off, actually seeming proud of her cruel tone. “Oliver’s been a good boy, but he needs our special attention. Ain’t that right, Brian.”

“Of course it is,” David’s dad responded, looking in his direction stonily. “And we all know whose fault that is, too--don’t we, David? You know, why don’t you go ahead and explain it to us, boy. I think you could use the reminder.”

David twisted his hands together beneath the table as his gaze moved over it, this time at his brother. Oliver was looking around, seeming confused by the exchange as he licked the strawberry mustache from his top lip. When Oliver looked at him, David felt something heavy welling in his chest drop as he said what was expected of him. “It’s my fault.”

Frank covered the bottom portion of his face with his hand, in part to keep his fingers from shaking at his side, and in part to smother the stench. He could hear the crickets somewhere above, making him feel small within the darkness of the hole.

“David?” he whispered. He stepped back towards the ladder, looked up to the sky and took a deep breath. Fresh air. Clean air. He couldn’t quite decide what exactly it was about this place that made him feel so... filthy.

“David?” he called again, louder this time. He could hear an edge of panic in his own voice, and realized that it was one he truly felt, but still he moved forward again, faster this time, a hand out in front of him as he headed towards the dim light coming from the ceiling. “David, please answer me. I know you’re here.” Frank didn’t realize that he really believed that until he’d said it out loud, and immediately it made him wonder just how much of David he was going to find. “David, please, just ans--”

Frank’s breath hitched as his fingers unexpectedly came up against the back wall, moisture touching his fingers with rough cement. But, any thought he might have had of cockroaches crawling along that same wall seemed to fade away as he grew more disturbed over what he felt at his feet. He knelt slowly, reaching down, and paused when his hands came against a shoe that wasn’t his. Swallowing hard, Frank slowly slid one hand upward, over a wet sock covering what was undoubtedly someone’s ankle.

The stars always seemed brighter sometime in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was the cool air, the silence--except for the sound of rustling leaves and crickets adding to a peaceful atmosphere; or maybe for David Martin, it was just that during those few hours when no one else was awake, he was actually able to take notice of the things capable of creating childish dreams and fantasies. Just like the stars. He was at peace beneath them, just like he’d been this night before returning home. But as he looked up past the shadows to the glowing night above, he knew that something had gone horribly wrong.

Nothing was working right. His movements felt sluggish, his body like dead weight that somehow managed to move. There was a familiar voice in his head, screaming at him to move, a dull force pushing him forward...

Where was he? It was dark, the world spinning. It took him too long to realize that he was at his home, behind the garage. His mother. She was there. She was the voice. It came to mind that he didn’t like her or her screaming, and in a desperate attempt to make the nightmare go away he raised up his arms and shoved... catching only air before she grabbed his wrists, spun him around, and forced him forward again.

Why was he so slow? David wished that someone would tell him as his body gave out and he collapsed to his knees in front of a dark shadow. She didn’t yell at him for that. Good. He needed a rest, a moment or two to collect his thoughts. “What’s happening?” he asked. The words made sense to him, but something was wrong with his tongue. The words weren’t right, nothing more than a strange slur.

Blinking rapidly, he stared straight ahead. His mother was up to something. He could see her moving around the shadow, looking frantic... uncovering it. The car. Yes, the car. He understood a little better now. The old Volvo she used to get to work on the days she couldn’t do it from home. Ran like crap. So mostly it just remained covered behind the garage. Maybe given the chance, David would have wondered why she was playing with it this late at night, but in the next moments, he was resisting her attempts to get him in the back seat of the car. It shouldn’t have been so hard, he thought numbly. He was bigger than her, end of subject. All he had to do was lie down and let her wear herself out trying to lift him up. And he did. But she didn’t play fair.

Grunting at the sharp kick to his ribs, David rolled over in a hopeless attempt to shield himself. What was wrong with him?

More screaming. He hated the screaming. He wanted it to stop so he could close his eyes. Peace. He wanted peace. But instead, someone found it fitting to give him more pain. More? Yes, more. Something wasn’t quite right, besides the way he felt like lead. There was pain, too. It was suspicious that he hadn’t noticed it before. He noticed it now, right along with the new pain. Horrible pain. His ear. She was doing something to his ear. Tearing it off? No. Not even she would be that vicious. Would she? Not liking the answer he came up with, David opted not to think about it as he turned what little attention he had to defending himself, lifting an arm, using every bit of his meager strength to lash out until he was certain that he’d hit at least some part of her with a painful amount of force. That was better, he decided when he was certain that she’d stopped. But, in the few seconds it took for the pain to fade away. David had reached to touch his abused ear, finding it wet and sticky. Frowning, he brought his fingers just in front of his eyes and squinted at the blurry image of them, shadowed by night.

Blood. David was certain of it. Well, shit on him! Maybe the bitch had torn off his ear... but there was more. Twisting his arm, he tried to recall when he’d managed to injure himself with the long scrapes that became more visible the longer he looked, or how he’d managed the rip in the knee of his jeans, which weren’t all that old. He didn’t have as much time as he would have liked to figure it out. The sharp pain in his ribs following his mother’s meager--but effective--blows to his ribs with what had to be her foot, brought his attention right back to her demanding voice, which was becoming clearer now--and not fortunately, as far as David was concerned.

He knew what she was saying, but he didn’t understand. Why the fuck would he get up? It hurt to sit. Standing was out of the question. But then she was pointing at the open car door, yelling some more... and then his ear! What the hell did she think she was doing to his ear? If David had been able to reach her throat, there was no doubting that he’d have his hands wrapped around it as he strangled the life from her. And maybe that’s what he actually thought to do when he did force himself up, but somewhere in the middle of all of it, attempting to reach for her, he’d forgotten. It seemed ridiculous a moment later when he remembered what his intentions had been--but he’d actually forgotten, and by then, he was in the back seat of the Volvo and she was closing the door, and he...

David took in a deep breath as his head fell back against the seat. He winced. That hurt. What was wrong with him? He would have wondered what was wrong with his mother, too, as she moved into the driver’s seat and the engine grunted to life, but he figured that the list would be too long to figure it all out in one night. So, he tried to focus on the last question that seemed important at the moment. Why on earth did she want him in the car? And where would she actually have the gall to take him in the middle of the night.

Where would they be going? His mom never did leave the house in the middle of the night. Maybe...he thought about an infinite amount of maybes. Counting the injuries he knew he had, and the ones he suspected that he had, it was possible that he’d gotten into a more violent than usual confrontation with his father. Maybe his mom had finally taken pity, and she was taking him into town to see a doctor. No. She’d do that for Oliver--maybe. If he were dying. But not for David... unless she’d somehow mistaken him for Oliver--not likely, despite his frightening ability to produce a convincing imitation of his brother. But maybe.

No. That was stupid. Think. Think. Think! Ouch! David’s head fell back against the seat again, and again it hurt. He was fairly certain that that injury had come first. He had no idea why, just a gut feeling, and the dull, bruising pain of it bursting through his skull, but he was certain...

Frank. Not Frank, but the little Subaru that he’d gone to town in with Frank not so long ago... it was sitting in front of his house, the door ajar. His head turned as his mother drove right past it, and suddenly, he found clarity. It was horrible. He wondered if this was how Oliver felt when he woke up from his spells, but lacked the sympathy for it at the moment, or even a second thought.

Frank. That was it! Frank, Frank, Frank! He remembered calling Frank. That hadn’t been an easy decision to make, or rather, it had been a little harder to bring himself to dial the number than he’d thought it would be. He’d been considering calling all day. Ever since Frank had shown up all riled about the pictures he’d been taking. He’d said just enough to get to David... to push him towards the slow decision he’d been coming to about which family secrets shouldn’t remain a secret anymore.

But he hadn’t called. Not right away, at least. What he had done, was go for a very long walk to think about things. He’d known from the start that he’d catch hell from his parents if he didn’t make his outing brief, but he really hadn’t cared. They’d gone out with Oliver to a favorite fishing spot, and as usual, he hadn’t been invited. He didn’t much care about that, either. It was something he was used to. What bothered him about it, was that he knew that his parents did it to bother him. To hurt him. To punish him. What was worse, was that they knew that they were bothering him, and it ate at David that he’d never really gotten past that because he wasn’t supposed to crave their attention, or love for that matter. Not anymore. That was their only power over him and everyone knew it. The way they denied him... everything. But, somehow, somewhere, everything had changed. David wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, or how he’d even changed enough to do it from the weak, obedient boy he’d once been, but somewhere over the last years he’d made a decision. He’d done his best to make his parents as miserable as they wanted to make him. And it was wonderful. The scolding, the beatings, the punishments... all of it. Even his father’s twisted mind games no longer mattered because David was numb--he’d won. Maybe they’d crushed who he’d once been, but they were no match for who he’d become. Who they’d created, he thought ironically. But then, they had to bring his brother into it...and that was part of the reason why he’d finally called Frank. Well, that and what had been waiting for him once he’d finally gotten home, somewhere past two in the morning.

He remembered now. It shouldn’t have turned as ugly as it had gotten. His father was gone, likely out with one of the sluts who saw... well, David wasn’t sure what they saw in the man. It was all very disgusting to him, but beside the point. Brian Martin hadn’t been there, and therefore, he wouldn’t have to put up with the interrogation over where he’d been until morning. Or so he’d thought.

He hadn’t bothered being too quiet sneaking in through the window of the bedroom he shared with Oliver. On the nights that David was gone for one reason or another, his brother always made sure that it was unlocked before he went to sleep, and with his father out of the house, he expected no resistance. But then again, he hadn’t expected Mary Martin.

David knew that his mother often checked on Oliver, even after she’d gone to bed. He remembered lying awake in bed at night when he was young, watching her pull the covers up over Oliver’s sleeping body so he wouldn’t catch a chill, and the way she’d kiss his forehead at the same time she’d ruffle his hair. And then David would wait. He’d wait for her to turn around, and come to his bed. He’d wait for her to make certain that he hadn’t slipped off somewhere in the night, because he’d been pretty sure that that’s what mothers were supposed to do. But she never did, and as he grew older, David made a point to slip away into the night as often as possible. Most of the time--when his father wasn’t waiting to torment him--he never had any trouble slipping back in, either. He’d certainly never found any trouble when it came to his mother. Even if she’d caught him, and she had a few times, she’d leave it be if her husband wasn’t there to take care of any disciplinary action. Never had she been stupid enough to attempt tangling with David on her own. Until tonight.

It had happened fast. In fact, it was so fast that it was all a blur to David, and not just because of his current state. The only way he’d be able to explain it would be that his mother had quite obviously lost her mind. Not even halfway through the window, and she was all over him: her nails, her hands, her voice chirping in his ear about how he was disturbing Oliver. How everything was his fault. How he made her miserable. But none of it really bothered him. Only made him think some more as he shook her off. Made him think about calling Frank. How miserable she’d be then, if...

And then she’d slapped him. It was openhanded, right across his face. He’d hardly noticed the sting it had been so brief, but it was enough because suddenly he’d reached a boiling point of sorts, and while it wasn’t the first time, and hardly worth mentioning if someone had asked him, David Martin snapped. In the instant it had taken him to blink he’d drawn back his fist, and then he’d hit her, knocked her clear to the floor crying out in agony. And he smiled. Only because this was the part where his father usually intervened and made him pay for his violence. It wasn’t often that he got to watch, and for a moment it was... nice. Yes, nice to see her on the ground in obvious agony. He wanted to do more. Make her hurt more. He’d taken a step forward, ready to do his worst, ready to lash out in every single way he felt she’d provoked him to. And if Oliver hadn’t been awakened by the disturbance they’d created, he would have. David found it unfortunate that his brother’s interruption had managed to draw his anger in an unlikely direction instead. He’d never done physical harm to his brother before. Not intentionally. But then again, Oliver had never attacked him before.

“David! Stop that! Stop it, David!” Oliver screeched, jumping on his brother’s back in a way that reminded David that they were equally matched when it came down to sheer size. “Don’t hurt her!”

“Damn it, Oliver!” David snapped. He was quite simply, outraged. He knew that his brother had difficulty when it came to going against their parents, but Oliver sure as hell wasn’t supposed to go against him. And if he was going to go against him...

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” David demanded, rounding on his brother to grip the neck of his nightshirt, the fear crossing Oliver’s face not registering in his fury. “Idiot!” David shouted, and before he could think about it, or even think to stop himself, the back of his hand had made contact with Oliver’s face, the force snapping through the room before he shoved Oliver away hard enough to cause him to trip backwards. And David watched. He watched his brother’s arms flail as he tried and failed to catch his balance, and he watched his head snap forward as the back of it hit the windowsill before Oliver ultimately ended up on the ground, looking no less than shocked as he clutched his injuries. It had only taken moments for it all to happen, and even less time for David to regret it. Because that was one thing he didn’t do. He did not hurt Oliver. Not like that. Not when he’d spent a lifetime learning that hurting his brother was the very reason his existence had become something akin to torture. “Oliver, I’m...”

David barely had a foot forward before his mother was grabbing his arm, forcing him around. “You stay away from him!” she screamed. “Stay away! I won’t let you...”

“Shut up!” David shouted, effectively reminding her that she was in no position to control him, because she immediately removed her hand. But he found that it wasn’t enough. Not even close. He began to advance, forcing her out of their bedroom. “You stay away! Stay away from both of us! Why do you do it? Why do you act like I’m the one who hurts him when... when you know! You know it’s you!”

“David, your father could be home at any minute!” Mary Martin said urgently, still backpedaling down the hall. “Please, David, please; we don’t want to cause trouble now, do we?”

David took one more aggressive step towards his mother, forcing her to step backwards into her own bedroom. And then he smiled humorlessly; amused without finding anything funny whatsoever. “Actually, Mama,” he said quietly, “I think we do.”

And he did, just as soon as he’d slammed the bedroom door in his mother’s face. When he walked to the phone to call Frank, he’d felt unstoppable. It was strange really. He knew what he was doing, but at the same time, he wasn’t thinking about it. If he thought about it... he’d have to think about the consequences. Consequences that he knew his parents likely wouldn’t be alone in sharing. But for a few minutes, David just didn’t care. Until he’d heard Frank’s voice. Frank’s voice made it real. It scared the hell out of him. He was no longer doing this to hurt his parents. He was doing it to help himself, and it was shameful.

David didn’t ask for help. Not ever. He was strong enough, he had to be. But there he was, on the phone with someone who didn’t even like him--reaching out for... what? Help. He’d wanted help. He didn’t know what kind of help exactly, but in that moment he knew that he didn’t want to wake up for the rest of his life knowing...he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life being. Not what he was. Because he wasn’t anything at all. Just the bad one. Nothing more. They’d made sure of that.

David had tried to tell Frank. Tried to reach out. He’d never done that before, so there’d been concern that he wasn’t getting his point across... or didn’t get it across at all when he was interrupted by his mother, who’d apparently deemed it necessary to strike him in the head with an excruciatingly heavy object... right before she dragged him out to the garage.

He remembered now. Narrowing his eyes at his mother’s shadow in the rearview mirror, he remembered. She had to have cracked his head. Knocked him out. It explained the way he could feel his entire skull pounding every time she hit a bump in the road, but the rest...

She’d dragged him to the barn, across the gravel. Not alone. He remembered Oliver’s voice now, asking her not to take him--but he’d helped. The realization sparked a moment of resentment for David towards his brother, but it was quick to fade. Oliver was just doing what he was told. He always did what he was told. But why? Not Oliver. Why was his mother doing this? Why was she taking him? Something still didn’t make sense.

“Why do I feel like this?” he asked. His words were slurred, but he recognized that they at least made sense this time. Something about that made him feel... safer. For a whole second before his mother answered.

“I can’t do it anymore,” she said, making a strange, sniffling sound. Crying? Probably. She cried a lot. “I have to make it better, don’t you see? Have’ta fix it all...I’ll make it better. You’ll see.”

Frank nearly choked on his own bitter laughter. “It’s.. too.. late..” he said sluggishly. “Too late.”

And suddenly, the hair on the nape of David’s neck prickled in alarm as he reached for the door handle, knowing that nothing was more important at the moment than getting out of that car. But as the Volvo took another bump in the road and his head was forced against the cool glass window, all he found the capability to do was hold onto his injuries as the dull agony pulled him deeper into the darkness fogging his mind.

David Martin would have done anything for a more sensitive gag reflex. The thick pill his mother had managed to force halfway down his throat was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, and as she pinched his nostrils shut he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. Closing his watering eyes, he reluctantly swallowed.

And instantly regretted it. But it explained so much--the way he was feeling. Slow. Tired. Sluggish. Drugged. It wasn’t the first time. But this time, he knew that he wasn’t going to sleep it off in a dark basement, and that made it all the more terrifying, especially since as his mother grabbed his arm with both hands and pulled him from the car, he knew where they were.

The wind had picked up along the narrow dirt path which they were parked on which was just wide enough to pass for a road. But even with the cool air fanning his face, David felt as if he couldn’t breathe. His mother’s small hands clamped around his wrists, pulling him forward, keeping him moving, one foot in front of the other--it was constricting. He tried to pull away from her, but found that he didn’t have the strength as she led him right off the road and into the trees, and when he couldn’t pull away from her, he stopped moving his feet, as if he’d just remembered that he could do that.

Mary spun around, the shadows cast over her face masking desperation and creating a ghostly appearance that had David once again attempting to pull away. “No, we have to keep moving!” she insisted. “David, walk! David. David!”

But, he wasn’t hearing her now. He’d already dropped to his knees, uncooperative as she tried to pull him up. He was unaware of the slap to his face this time, oblivious to his mother’s tears as she went from acting out furiously to trying to reason with him because she knew he had to move before his second dose of sedatives for the evening took effect. If that happened, she wouldn’t have a chance. Maybe if David had known what she was thinking he would have laughed at her, and outright laid down. But he couldn’t know, because he was already somewhere else. In the same place... just a different time, where it was light, and the air was warm, thick with humidity. Nearly three years ago, when his brother accidentally found...

Oliver Martin shielded his eyes as he looked up at the tree his brother was perched in, expertly holding a muzzle loader. The sun was behind him, making him seem nothing more than a shadow within the bright lights shining through the leaves, but Oliver could make out his posture, which was all business as he took aim at something in front of them. Oliver quickly turned his head to see what it was, and frowned when he discovered that David’s target happened to be their father, who wasn’t that far ahead of them with his favorite rifle.

“David!” Oliver started to scold, quickly turning back to his brother, but by the time he met David’s eyes, David was already out of the tree, lazily leaning on the trunk and smirking at him.

“Relax, Oliver. I ain’t gonna shoot him with his back turned... I’d wait ‘till he was lookin’ at me.”

Oliver cocked his head, obviously unsure of whether or not his brother was teasing him. But, when David smiled, he smiled, even as David turned serious a moment later.

“Come on,” David insisted. “We can’t fall too far behind or he’s gonna get mad.”

At this, Oliver sighed. “Can we go home now, David? I don’t want to shoot anything. I don’t like it, David.”

“Well, people gotta do stuff they don’t like all the time, Oliver, now come on.”

David turned away, lifting his feet high as he trudged through the high, damp grass at his feet to catch up with his father. But he’d made it less than ten feet before he stopped, and let out a breath. Oliver wasn’t following. David didn’t have to turn around to know that. He could feel the distance of each step he’d taken between them. It had always been like that for him. Strange, perhaps, but he always knew when it was Oliver walking down a hallway towards him instead of his parents, and sometimes, when they weren’t even in the same room; he didn’t have to get up and look to know which one Oliver was in. Neither of them had ever really had much fun playing hide-and-seek for this very reason.

“Oliver,” David said quietly. “You don’t have to look. I’ll tell you when to close your eyes.”

“I don’t want to close my eyes, David,” Oliver insisted. “I want to go home.” David turned slowly, and Oliver could see the muscles in his brother’s jaw flex as he clenched his teeth. It was always a sure sign that David was becoming irritated, but Oliver persisted, anyway. “Closing my eyes doesn’t work, David. It just makes it dark, and I can still hear it. I don’t like it, David.”

David closed his eyes, as if it would hide what he was feeling from his brother. Frustration. Exhaustion. But mostly, trepidation. He felt guilty for it, too. He knew that if Oliver told their dad he wanted to go home, it wouldn’t be a problem. Oliver knew his way back to the house, and their dad would tell him they’d be home in time for dinner... Oliver would leave. He wouldn’t have to see anything that he didn’t like. Simple. Except, when he left, David knew...

“Oliver, he’s been drinkin’,” David said. “I promise I won’t let you see nothing you don’t like, let’s just...”

“Hurry up, boys! Your mom’s looking forward to fresh meat tonight!” Brian Martin suddenly shouted, and David raised questioning eyebrows towards his brother.

“Please don’t make it harder,” David whispered. “Just for a little while longer, Oliver... then we’ll go home. I promise.”

Oliver sighed. It was obvious that he didn’t understand why he had to be there at all. His dad liked hunting. David liked hunting. He didn’t. But, ultimately he shrugged, and started to move forward. “Only for a little while longer,” he agreed.

David allowed himself a small sigh; a moment of relief. Back then, he liked to think that he would protect his brother when he could, but it was moments like these that reminded him that in a way, Oliver protected him, too. Just by being there.

“I don’t know,” David said honestly, looking back at their father again, who was beginning to look impatient. “We’ll try. Come on.”

David turned, satisfied that Oliver was following him again. But he’d only taken a few steps before he heard his brother make a strange sound beside him--a surprised burst of air rushing from his lungs--and the hair at the nape of David’s neck prickled as he spun around, and froze to find that Oliver wasn’t behind him at all.

“Oliver?” he demanded, his eyes darting towards the trees in search of his missing twin as panic rose in his chest. “Oliver!”

Feeling relieved, and a little amused, David put down his gun and knelt down towards the ground as he proceeded forward, following the direction of his brother’s voice. “Keep talking to me...I can’t see you.”

David’s head snapped to his left, and he moved towards the thick trunk of a tree where a hole in the ground was barely visible through the tall grass. Kneeling, he looked down, expecting to see Oliver, but... the warm spring air suddenly felt cold against David’s skin and a peculiar ache stirred his gut as all he saw was darkness below him. Day turned into night, the sky sparkling with stars that had grown faint in the last half hour, and looking over his shoulder, his father had also vanished.

No. This wasn’t how it had happened three years ago. Now...the place hidden in the woods, not very far from their house was littered with debris, and the plate his father had secured over the opening of the hole his brother had fallen into was open.

For several long moments, David stared into the entrance, sorting the past from the present, jumping when he felt a cool hand on the back of his neck.

“I loved you once, you know,” his mother’s voice said quietly, and David turned his stiff neck to look over her shadow behind him. “My perfect little boy... both of you were perfect.”

He closed his eyes, unsure if it was her words causing his nausea, or the earlier blow to his head. But, even with the way his tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth, and the weakness he felt every time he used a muscle, he found it in himself to respond. “I hate you...bitch.”

Mary Martin sighed behind it as her hand on his neck became a little tighter, not enough to hurt, just enough to make him nervous.

“You’ve just made it so hard, David...” She paused to laugh to herself, although it was void of all humor. “And to think, you used to be the good one. Everyone noticed, too... around the time you started walking. I remember you were just the sweetest little thing, so...sensitive to others. You never cried, did you know that? And when someone else did, you’d just sit with them... like just being there could make all of their troubles go away. That’s what you were... my perfect little boy.”

Mary’s fingers moved further up David’s neck, sending a cold chill through him as he involuntarily convulsed. “Whatever I am now, you made me,” he whispered, dropping his hands to the ground in an effort to keep himself up. He felt like the world around him was spinning, like balance never existed. Heavy. He felt heavy.

“But you were a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Mary continued, as if she’d never heard him at all. “After what you did... after... no little angel could have been capable of hurting his own brother the way that you...”

“Liar!” David suddenly cut her off. He closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall forward. He was tired. Ready to stop, but not before he said it. “I know the truth. I remember it. You can’t lie to me anymore, because I know.” He paused, working hard to turn his head and look at his mother, who was suddenly frozen in the dark, her expression barely visible, but readable. It looked like shock, stuck there on her face. “And I’ll tell everyone.”

Mary gasped as if she’d been slapped, her eyes snapping to her son’s face. It was a strange variety of things that David found in her expression then. Shock. Anger... but mostly sadness. “Oh, David... things don’t have to be like this anymore.” She suddenly smiled, unnerving him as she knelt at his side. He wondered if she had even heard anything he said. “I’m gonna make it better again.”

“Again?” he repeated, frustrated when he found that he was slurring again. “It was never...”

“But that means you can’t come home with me,” she said thoughtfully as she knelt at his side, and David watched in horror as she reached for one of his ankles, dragging it towards the drop. “But don’t worry... it’ll be better for you this way... and maybe soon, you can come back. When you’re ready. When we’re all ready.”

A strange whine sounded in the air, and it was full moments before David realized that it had come from his own throat when he couldn’t find the strength to push his mother--such a little woman--away. And he felt himself falling, his body leaning forward, and as his eyes widened on the open space in front of him, all he could see was darkness. He hated the dark. But as he continued to stare, a shadow formed below him, a face looking up, hands reaching...

“Oliver?” David opened his eyes... or maybe he’d closed them. But his brother was waiting for him again. Down there. And as David clearly recalled, Oliver had been a rather impatient fourteen-year-old.

David resisted the way his lip wanted to curl up into a crooked smile as he stretched his arm out, down towards his brother. “Are you hurt?” he asked when Oliver grabbed his wrist. “I mean, nothing broken, right?”

David tried once, let out a frustrated breath, and then let go of Oliver. “I can’t pull you up that way,” he explained as he threw his legs over the edge of the opening. “Here, look out.”

Oliver stepped back, and David lowered himself down. The drop was higher than it had initially looked, and he landed hard on his feet, catching himself against what felt like a filthy cement wall. Groaning, he wiped his hand off on his pants before retrieving a lighter out of his pocket. Flicking it, he held the flame up to better view their surroundings.

“Don’t know,” David replied as he held the flame up towards the ceiling where a long piece of drainpipe ran, torn in places to reveal some metal and copper piping within it. “Looks like a cistern... or maybe it was a cellar. I think there used to be a house around here. This was probably part of it.”

David looked at his brother as he lowered the lighter and allowed the flame to go out, leaving them only with the light shining down from above. “Sure,” he said, lacing his hands together and lowering them for Oliver. “Come on, I’ll boost you out first.”

Oliver stepped up onto David’s hands and used his brother as a ladder to climb out before looking back down the hole, still seeming concerned. “Are you sure you’re coming out, David? Do you want me to get Dad, he’ll get you out, and...”

David looked up as he waited for Oliver to step back, and once the opening was clear he jumped, catching the ground above to hoist himself out. But, as his head came through the opening, he came face to face with the last thing he expected.

“Boo!” his father bellowed so close to his face that David was treated to spit hitting his eye, and startled, he let go, falling firmly on his backside before he topped over, the moist bottom of the old cellar soaking through his pants and shirt.

Cursing, David righted himself and stood up, frowning as his father laughed down at him. “Get out of there, boy!” Brian shouted. “We’ve still got supper to catch.”

David only shook his head as he watched through the space above as his dad clasped Oliver on the back and led him away, but he remembered the moment clearly, just as he remembered the rest of the day. They’d spent another two hours in the woods before they found a deer. David was almost sorry when it happened. Oliver really didn’t like hunting, especially this part.

“Hurry up and take your shot,” Brian hissed over David’s shoulder as he took aim at the doe sipping from a puddle not more than twenty feet ahead of them. And he had a shot. He just wondered if he should miss this time as he glanced at Oliver, who had his back turned and his eyes covered. Brian must have seen David’s concern, because he was quick to take advantage. “What’s wrong? You aren’t getting scared on me, are you? Huh, little coward? Take the shot. You know you like to kill things.”

David felt a heavy frown crease his brow as he looked ahead again. “No I don’t,” he whispered.

“What was that?” Brian demanded, raising his voice as much as he dared, not wanting to frighten their prey. “You listen to me, if you don’t shoot that animal we’re having chicken for dinner! You’ve already done enough to your brother, do you really want him to find out if a chicken really does run around with its head...”

It was the sickening kind of pain that starts in one place; in this instance, it was at the ankle, setting his nerves on fire as it shot up his leg and eventually reached his gut. And David hadn’t even broken anything. At least, he hadn’t heard a disturbing snap, and when he reached for the ankle he’d managed to roll in the fall, he was fairly certain that everything was where it was supposed to be... if he didn’t count himself.

Looking up, he felt uncomfortably shocked as he stared at the night sky visible behind his mother’s shadow looming other the hole above, and in that moment--only in that moment--as he lifted his hand, as if to reach for her, he wished. He wished that for the slightest second she would just be his mother. A real mother. One who’d climb down into the vile space that was to be his prison and just... do whatever it was that mothers were supposed to do.

He sensed her sealing the metal plate over the opening before she’d even reached for it, and he tried to call out, but nothing more than a startled gasp escaped his lips even as he struggled to say his words. “Don’t leave me here!” he choked out, even as it became too late, and as he struggled to his feet, wincing as his weight reached his ankle, he was left in darkness. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he whispered, reaching out to hold himself against the nearest wall, and fighting off the revulsion he felt as his hand came into contact with the slimy surface. He closed his eyes, as if it would help him adjust to the dark faster, but even with the mild glow coming from the vent, it seemed impossible... just like the basement at home. In the dark. He hated the dark.

David forced himself to be careful as he reached into his pocket, his entire body, inside and out finding a certain calm as he felt his lighter. His thumb felt sweaty, his actions unstable, and it took him several times to ignite the small flame, but the light was a welcome intrusion, even as it revealed exactly what he was facing.

The area was tall enough for him to stand in, as he knew it was, but so...closed. It felt crushing. Fungus. Mold. He didn’t have to see it to know it was there. The stench was overpowering. But, he didn’t dwell on these things. Couldn’t. He could feel his eyes growing as heavy as his body felt, and as he looked around for a dry place on the floor he became frustrated to see the shine of moisture all the way to the back wall. So, his focus came to the spot where the mulch at his feet looked the deepest. Kneeling in it, he held his lighter safely out of the way and moved his free hand into the puddle, searching the stone floor with his fingertips until he felt a grated surface and began to clear whatever mud and other obstacles there were away from it until he heard the drain swallow.

It wouldn’t be long until it backed up again. He knew that. And while the situation was hardly what he’d describe as good enough, he also knew that he’d have to make do, and do it in a hurry. Forcing himself up, to move towards the back wall where the moisture wasn’t quite ankle deep, he propped himself up in a corner as he looked around groggily, and then taking a deep breath, he allowed the lighter to go out as his hand searched the surface of the wall until his thumb came up against a crack that was just big enough for what he needed. He forced the lighter in, hoping that when he woke it would still be there before he crossed his arms over his chest, closed his eyes and wondered how bad the pain would be when the numbness wore off. Rest it away, he told himself. Rest it away, and then... get out. Get out before he began to look around the dark walls... before he remembered what had happened the last time he was trapped between them.

David jumped as his eyes snapped open, and he looked to his right. David was kneeling next to him, running a finger over the dead doe’s long ear.

It was either her or that damn chicken of yours! David hardly prevented himself from snapping. He took a deep breath as he roughly ran his hand over his face. “If you didn’t want to look, you could have gone with Dad to bring the truck closer,” he pointed out.

“We shouldn’t have to kill things, David,” Oliver said quietly. “We could get stuff at the grocery store...”

“Dad’s cheap!” David snapped, deciding not to add, and he likes to kill things. He hated conversations like this. Especially, the way that Oliver looked at him during conversations like this. He’d never really understood how he and his brother could have practically the same face when Oliver could make his look so... vulnerable. “I’m sorry, okay? But you knew what was going to happen when you came out here, and I can’t take...”

David stood up, grinding his teeth. “Just... shut up, Oliver,” he snapped. “Don’t make me...I don’t...”

“That’s because I don’t want to argue with you!” David responded, genuinely ready to tear his own hair out. It was times like these that he found it entirely too difficult not to voice his frustrations with his family--especially with his father. But back then, he’d made a point not to say too much to Oliver. It was a fear, really. Oliver loved their parents. And why not? They loved him back, David thought. If he started saying bad things about the two people who Oliver called Mom and Dad... well, he couldn’t help but wonder if something like that would cause his brother to turn his back on him... and that, David wouldn’t handle well. Sometimes--more often than not, actually--he felt like Oliver was all he had in the world. “Listen, let’s just go figure out where he’s parking the truck so we can...”

David felt his voice drop down to nothing as he stared straight ahead, his body becoming frigid as the muscles became almost afraid to move... afraid to startle the big brown eyes no more than eight feet ahead of him. The fawn was so young that its spots hadn’t even begun to fade away, and it seemed almost too small to David to be out there in the woods. Too innocent. And while he waited for it to dart off at any given moment, something in his instincts told him that it wouldn’t. It was there, in the way it was looking at him--there was caution, but not that expected fear. And it was cute. If David were to move at all during that moment, it would be to scratch his head because the notion of finding something--anything--completely adorable was just... weird to him. Kittens and puppies and even the family of raccoons that had frequently come by their house the spring before--he’d seen it all. They were just animals. Not cute. Not cuddly. Just individual lives passing him by; but the fawn--it was cute. The smile, the pleased one tugging at the corner of his mouth felt abnormal to him, causing the muscles in his face to quiver, but he liked it. For a moment, he liked the feeling of being...

It didn’t really matter. The moment passed as soon as he heard his brother gasp behind him, and then Oliver whispered, “You killed its mother, David.”

Dropping his eyes towards the ground, David found that he really didn’t want to look at the fawn anymore.

“But you didn’t know it had a baby, David,” Oliver quickly added, as if he sensed the darkening of his brother’s mood as he moved to his feet. “I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry, David.”

“It’s fine, Oliver,” David replied quietly. “It’s not like you’re wrong, anyway.” He reached down slowly as he glanced at the deer again, lifting a stick.

Oliver watched, his eyes steadily widening as his brother began to move towards the fawn. “What are you doing, David?” he demanded, quickly running forward to grab for the hand in which David was holding the thin, fallen branch. “Don’t.”

“Oliver, we’ve gotta scare it away,” David responded, as if it was supposed to be common knowledge.

“Yes!” David snapped. “Look, we’ve gotta scare it away before he comes...” David groaned. It was the way that Oliver was looking at him. Again. “Oliver... it should be afraid of people, anyway!”

Oliver looked at the fawn, and then frowned at David. “But it doesn’t have a mother anymore,” he said. “What’ll happen to it if it’s out here all by itself?”

David didn’t answer that question. Truth be told, he didn’t want to think about the answer. “So what do you want me to do about it?” he grumbled, knowing what his brother would say before Oliver said anything at all.

David could remember the rest of that day clearly: the way he helped his brother approach the fawn until they’d caught it; the way that the small animal didn’t seem to mind being handled at all... and he remembered Oliver begging their father to let them take it home. It hadn’t taken much convincing. And then there was dragging the fawn’s mother to the truck, which Brian had parked on a road closer to them than he’d originally stopped on. But that’s where things became strange for David, because Brian hadn’t told him to help carry the carcass, he’d had Oliver do it, leaving David to carry the fawn.

Something had changed. David had been unable to explain it at the time, but as he watched his father moving ahead with Oliver, joking with his brother as if they were old friends--because they were friends, in a way that David had never been invited to understand--David simply knew. It was what exactly he knew, that seemed to be in question. But it was there in his father’s face, every time the old man looked over his shoulder and met David’s eyes with his own deceptively friendly ones. There was something there that told David that things were going to change. He didn’t know how, and if he cared to take the time to think about it, he likely would have concluded that life could get no worse, therefore it didn’t matter. But it was still there--the silent warning he remembered creeping into the back of his mind that day. And while he didn’t know if life would change, something told him that he would. He held the fawn a little closer, as if the innocence of the creature could shield him from something that decidedly, was not.

Oliver Martin sat on the front steps in front of his house, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he looked across the lake. He couldn’t see Frank’s house with the trees in his way, but that didn’t stop him from staring in the direction. Waiting.

Oliver knew that there were a lot of things that he didn’t understand. Like, why his head hurt, or why there was an uneasy feeling in his gut--a feeling that told him something was wrong. Not necessarily physically, either. And he knew that he’d forgotten something important, too. It happened like that sometimes. David always told him that it was because he didn’t want to remember, but Oliver didn’t understand that, either, and this time he wished that he did, because exactly three hours ago, Frank Seaberg had left without saying goodbye to him, and he didn’t know why. And Frank had told him... down there in the dark, he’d told him that everything would be alright.

Maybe Frank was confused, too, though, Oliver thought. He remembered waking up in the basement, finding Frank there with him. Frank had said some things that... Well, as much as Oliver wished that he could remember what had happened before he’d woken up in the basement, he didn’t want to think about the things that Frank had said down there. Bad things about his parents, and Oliver did not want to think bad things about his parents. But the way Frank had left...

“Oliver...” His mother’s voice was gentle, but it still made him jump when she took a seat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Why not come inside now... you must be hungry, and you’ll feel so much better if you take a little nap. Don’t you think so?”

“I don’t want to eat,” Oliver cut her off in a startlingly firm tone. “I wanna sit here, so when Frank comes back he knows I waited for him.”

Mary fell silent next to him. For a moment, even her breathing ceased to exist as she looked at her son as if he’d said something particularly peculiar. “But Oliver, you don’t need to...”

“Why did Frank leave, Mama?” Oliver suddenly asked. “Why did he go like that?”

Mary pursed her lips for a moment, and then looked at Oliver, even while he turned away from her. “He’s not coming back, Oliver.”

Mary felt her frown deepening. There was something in his posture, his voice... it wasn’t right. Not right for this son. And she found it frightening, and maybe a little surprisingly infuriating as she suddenly grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “He’s not coming back, do you hear me, Oliver? He’s not!” Mary released him when she saw his eyes widen, that familiar uncertainty in them that she often saw cross Oliver’s face, and she forced herself to calm down as she smoothed the reddened spot on the side of his face that she’d created with her tight grip. “I’m sorry, Oliver, but it’s true... Frank’s not going to come back. He told us.”

Mary swallowed, straightened her shoulders, and looked him in the eyes. “You know why,” she said quietly. “David... he’s misbehaved again, and Frank...”

“Frank said David wasn’t bad!” Oliver responded, his voice beginning to shake. “Frank said... he said...”

Oliver stopped, staring at his mother as if he expected everything she’d just told him to go away, and she continued to watch, waiting to see if he was going to continue. When he didn’t, she simply smiled in such a way that had the hair on Oliver’s neck prickling in a way he didn’t understand.

But Oliver didn’t move, not even as his mother stood and left him there. He heard the squeak of the screen door open and close, her footsteps fading away inside--quiet voices as she encountered his father somewhere in the house.

David wasn’t bad. Frank had told him that. David wasn’t the reason why Frank had left like that. He couldn’t have been, because David wasn’t even there. But still, Frank had left... but he’d come back. He had to come back, because they were friends. Frank cared. Frank liked him. He’d come back.

But why had he left at all? Why had looked at Oliver like... like his mother was right. Oliver didn’t understand. He hated it when he didn’t understand! And he hated that he was sitting there alone, that Frank had left, that David wasn’t there to tell him why... David would know. If it really was his fault, like his mom said, David would know, and he could tell Oliver how to make Frank come back, and...

Oliver swallowed hard as a thick knot rose in his throat, and an eerie feeling took over every nerve from his head to toes as his muscles froze up, like he was experiencing the feeling of a disturbing nightmare that had woken him in the night... just without any of the frightening details, except perhaps an image or two, promptly pushed from his mind.

When Oliver stood, his movements were slow, but he felt as if he’d moved into his house in an instant, where he followed his parents’ whispers to the kitchen.

“We can tell him something else--anything else,” his mother was saying, although he was too focused on the question running through his mind to completely absorb her words. “Just think about it, Brian, it’s madness! And people around here, they’ll start to talk as soon as they hear...”

“They never paid enough attention to talk,” Brian replied. “It’ll work... and you’re gonna help me make it work, unless you want the truth to come out.”

Mary was silent for a long moment. “I can’t do this to Oliver, he’s fragile enough; if we...”

“He’s a complete moron, Mary,” Brian cut her off. “That what he is, it’s what he’s always been. No one’s gonna pay any attention if he starts talking like a crazy person; besides...”

“Oliver!” Mary said, sounding startled as she suddenly looked up to find her son staring at them, bewilderment in his expression. “Oliver...”

“Mom,” Oliver said, as if he hadn’t heard a single word either his mother or father had just said. “Where’s David?”

Mary’s jaw dropped as she looked at her husband, an old habit she’d acquired from years of not knowing what to say. Not knowing what lies to tell. And if ever there was a time she wished she would have broken it, it would have been now. But then, it was too late before she knew it.

Oliver frowned. “But I wanna talk to him, Dad. Was he bad? If he’s in the basement I’ll stay in there with him... and...”

Oliver fidgeted with his hands as he diverted his eyes to the old tile covering the kitchen floor where they wandered until he finally focused on his father’s thick, black boots. “Where is David?” he asked again, this time sounding, and feeling, much too uncertain.

“Son,” Brian replied. “You know better than to ask such silly questions. There is no David.”

He wouldn’t disappear. He’d get out of this, and whether or not they liked it, he existed. He’d show them. He wasn’t just going to disappear.

But god, it hurt. His eyes snapping open, David Martin pushed the upper half of his body from the moist, hard floor he’d been lying on for... well, he wasn’t certain how long. Less than a day, he imagined. The light still hadn’t faded from the drain opening, unless it had and he’d managed to sleep through it... but time didn’t seem to matter as he felt the painful tightening in his gut right before he retched.

It wasn’t the first time, and now he was almost used to the foul stench of his prison mingling with his own vomit. He was used to the pain, inside and out, and he had decided six times that his mother hadn’t simply subdued him with drugs--she’d poisoned him. But also six times, he’d also decided that she couldn’t have. Of that, he was certain. He supposed that if Mary Martin were to purposely kill anyone it would likely be by poison. Less confrontation that way, and she hated confrontation. But still, he doubted that this was the case. If he was going to die now, his parents being responsible, David came to the conclusion that it would be there. This hole. This place, and with no aid from poison.

But, he reminded himself as he moved slowly, and painfully to a sitting position, propping himself against a corner further away from his most recent mess--he wouldn’t die. Not yet, anyway.

David couldn’t remember the exact moment when he’d realized that his parents hated him. Hated him. Because they didn’t simply disapprove of him, or dislike him. They hated him, and he was pretty sure that they liked it that way. And while the matter of why had run in and out of his mind for as long as he could remember, something about this place made him wonder how. How did things ever become... this way?

Whatever it was, it was their fault. He’d made his peace with that years ago, no longer willing to carry around whatever guilt he thought he was expected to feel. Because really, as far as David was concerned, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. It had taken him some time to get there, though. Because really, when you were hardly out of diapers and your parents insisted that there was something wrong about you--something bad--then you believed it. And this was how David Martin was introduced to himself, how he’d learned to think of himself. For a very long time. It hadn’t mattered that he remembered. Remembered and knew that the things they told him weren’t true. It hadn’t mattered until later, when he’d become angry. When he’d had enough.

Looking around the darkness, attempting to avoid the foul visual that the meager amount of light that the drain offered him, David tightly closed his eyes. He’d definitely had enough. And how? Maybe the why still didn’t matter so much, but he supposed that it was a damn good question, too. But the problem was, there were no answers for it. No reasonable answers, because his parents always gave him the same answer. He was evil, you see. Cruel. A wicked child, who not even God would have the sense to forgive. And it was because he’d taken his brother’s life. Or rather, he’d taken the life that Oliver might have had.

Oliver had been intelligent, strong. Born a full three minutes and eleven seconds ahead of David, there was a time when Oliver had done everything first. He’d been the first able to roll over, to crawl, and to stand. He’d even started to talk a whole year before David moved past the only word he ever managed to say: his brother’s name. But, it hadn’t mattered back then. They were happy, or so David was told. He and Oliver were the best of friends, and everyone was happy.

Until he ruined it. His grandmother’s house. David didn’t remember her now, but he remembered the house. There’d been a window in the room he and Oliver shared while they were visiting, and he remembered looking out it. Not very clearly, but he remembered some things. Like, the park across the street. He and Oliver would wake up after their naps and just watch the other kids, wishing that they could go play, too. He was positive that he remembered looking out that window. He even remembered it being opened a crack, the cool air hitting his face, refreshing him every morning as the sun warmed the sky. But what he did not remember was the one thing that his parents talked about every time that window came up in conversation. What he absolutely couldn’t remember, was pushing his brother out that window.

Because it hadn’t happened. And if it had, David was damn sure that he would have remembered it. He would have remembered it, and it would have been an accident, because, Christ--he’d been three. Not that that even mattered, because it hadn’t happened.

The sound of David’s own whispered, coarse voice startled him into opening his eyes as he wrapped his arms more tightly around his chest and drew in his knees, fighting off a cold chill.

“You’re the ones who’re fucked up,” he continued, taking in the darkness in front of him, allowing his mind to conjure shadows that weren’t there.

David knew that there was no one there to hear him. He wasn’t so far gone that he thought otherwise. But nonetheless, in his mind he was very pointedly saying these things to two very particular faces, as if they were actually listening. Saying it out loud was just a way to make himself feel better. Or, at least he hoped that it would make him feel better. Calm. After all, talking to one’s self always seemed to work for Oliver. Why not him, too?

“You can’t keep talking to Mom like that, David. Dad’s not gonna like it, and you’ll be in trouble. I don’t like it when you get in trouble. I think we should hide for a while. Like when we go camping. No one ever sees us. Can we go, David?”

David remembered the day he’d walked in on that conversation. Walked in on, because he hadn’t exactly been a part of it. Oliver had been around the back of the house, raking up what was left of the leaves littering the ground. They’d seemed out of place there on the ground, like Christmas lights that had never been taken down; they were what was left over from winter, now overshadowed by green trees and warm, humid air that smelled like the raspberry pies their mother had been baking all morning. He’d moved right up behind his brother, smiling as he lifted a finger to tap Oliver’s shoulder.

“You know I can’t agree to that if you’re not even talking to me, don’t you?” David remarked.

Oliver turned, frowning, and it caused David to sober. “You know you were talking to me a second ago, don’t you?” David asked, just because sometimes Oliver really didn’t know. But, Oliver’s sheepish shrug told him that this was not the case... this time.

“That’s okay, Oliver,” David replied, and then he left it at that, mostly because he didn’t want to be involved in that conversation anywhere outside of what Oliver considered reality.

David had suspected that Oliver was becoming uneasy with the way he and his mother had been getting along lately, and walking in on the one-sided conversation had confirmed it. David imagined that Oliver would have liked to say those things to his face--ask him to stop being so argumentative. So difficult every time their mom told him to do something. But, the thing was, David didn’t want to. In fact, lately he rather enjoyed being difficult. Of course, Oliver didn’t need to know this, so there was no need to talk about it, as far as David was concerned.

Oliver was of a different opinion. “David? Can we?” he asked, dropping his rake to follow his brother past the house, towards the back of the garage.

“I want to go before Dad gets home, David,” Oliver said. “Maybe Mom’ll forget if we’re gone.”

Forget he told her fuck herself when she ordered him to finish cleaning up the yard on his own so Oliver could have pie? David doubted it.

“Maybe another time, Oliver,” David replied, and then smiled as he added, “Don’t worry about me getting in trouble, alright?”

“There’s pie--go have some,” David cut him off. “I’ll see you inside after I feed the deer.” And finish cleaning up the yard, he silently added. Maybe David had recently discovered that annoying his mother amused him, but he wasn’t a fool. He was already in trouble, and if his chores weren’t finished before his dad got home, it would definitely be worse than it already was.

David heard Oliver sigh heavily behind him, the kind of annoyed sigh that told him Oliver didn’t like being patronized, so he stopped walking and turned to face his brother. “Camping sounds like fun,” David said sincerely. “Go ahead and ask.”

Oliver smiled. “Do you want me to help you feed the deer, David? I already fed my chicken.”

Oliver seemed to accept the answer, and David felt grateful when they parted. It wasn’t that he wasn’t in the mood for his brother’s company. That was rarely the case. But, feeding the orphaned deer they’d been keeping in a pen behind the garage was something that he found he liked doing on his own. In fact, while David would have never admitted it to anyone, he was rather fond of the animal.

When they’d first brought it home, months ago, Oliver had been more interested in the fawn than he’d been in his chicken, so his parents had allowed it to stay, treating it as the newest family pet, even allowing it to stay in the house on colder nights. Of course, it was David who’d been responsible for caring for and cleaning up after the animal. Maybe he should have resented that. Maybe he was expected to... but it hadn’t happened that way. As it turned out, David had liked getting up like clockwork every night to bring the fawn its meals of goat’s milk and feed. He liked holding the bottle, watching those trusting brown eyes always so focused on him when the creature fed. He liked that when they let it out of the pen he was the first the little deer sought out, and it would follow him around as if it were actually interested in what he was doing.

Now, the white spots covering its coat were gone, and it was a little bigger, but the eyes were the same, and as David approached the pen he watched the deer nudge at the inside of the gate, impatient for him to open it. He did, and knelt down to greet the animal, which seemed more interested in his hands than anything else. Hands meant food, whether or David actually had anything in them.

He knew that he’d eventually have to teach the animal that it should be less friendly when it came to people. In fact, he knew he should be doing that more sooner than later. His parents had always made it clear that they’d have to let it go in the forest one day, and David knew that it wasn’t going to change the first time his father had caught him hugging the animal. The old man had seemed pleased... pleased that he’d get to take away something that David cared about.

But for David, it hadn’t really mattered. He knew he’d miss the deer when it did go, but at the same time, he was looking forward to releasing it. Because David had decided that they were alike, he and this little deer. Perhaps not in any way that was obvious, but as far as David was concerned, they were both trapped. The fawn in the raggedly little pen behind the garage, and he in his life. Neither of them really knowing what they were missing, but still knowing that there was supposed to be... more. And they were both alone. Maybe David had Oliver, and the fawn had David. Maybe it should have been enough, but it wasn’t. David thought that they both should have a mother that looked at them like… like… they mattered. David’s didn’t do that by choice, and the fawn... well, he figured the fawn’s mother should have kept her offspring closer. After all, if David had seen them together he never would have shot her, and there was nothing his father could have said about it, especially with Oliver there.

David couldn’t change the past, but he could look forward to the future, especially where the fawn was concerned, and that gave him something. He had plans to take his little friend away from its prison, back to where it was free, and preferably back to somewhere where his father didn’t like to hunt. When this deer left his family, he was certain that no matter where its life took it, it would be better than what it had there. And when he wasn’t insanely jealous over the prospect, he was looking forward to the day when it happened. And it would happen soon, he thought sadly as he made sure the animal had enough food and water before he continued to pet it. Soon, but maybe not too soon. He’d wait. At least until he was a little more ready to say goodbye.

Unfortunately, what David didn’t know back then was that he’d be saying goodbye a bit sooner than that. It was fated the moment Oliver called him from the house. He’d scratched the fawn behind its long ears one more time, and then made one of the worst mistakes of his life when he forgot to latch the gate.

It seemed that deer startled easily, and it didn’t matter if they were wild or domesticated. At least it was true of this deer. But, common or not, David doubted that it usually happened after an animal wandered right through your front door and managed to break everything breakable--and some things that weren’t supposed to be--on its way out.

“She was just scared; it’s not her fault, it’s mine,” David had told his father, and the she he was referring to was definitely not his mother. “I forgot to lock the pen.”

The look on Brian Martin’s face told him that his poor attempt at an apology wasn’t good enough. Maybe he would have tried harder if he thought it would have done any good. But he already knew that it wouldn’t, and it didn’t matter that between Oliver and their mother the house was almost cleaner than it had been before it was invaded by a pet deer, and it didn’t matter that the fawn was safely back in its pen, currently looking up at him as innocently as ever, and it really didn’t matter, perhaps to anyone but David, that he knew that the next words out of his father’s mouth were going to break his heart... and please the old man to no end.

“It’s time for it to go,” Brian said. “It can’t stay here anymore. Your mother’s had enough. Figure out how to get it in the truck and we’ll take it now.”

David thought about arguing, but then decided to skip it. “I’ll take her myself, you don’t gotta get the truck.”

David tried moving past his father, hoping that there wouldn’t be a response to that, but when Brian dropped a hand on his shoulder, his entire body tensed with dread.

The look on Brian Martin’s face was one that David was accustomed to. It was the kind of look he knew how to obey, and part of him even knew that he would obey, because that’s what he did when his father looked at him like that. Because if he didn’t, things got worse. And most of the time, making things worse with his father was something David avoided at all costs. That’s why this time, he didn’t fully understand why he was still standing there, narrowing his eyes when he should have been trying to figure out how to get a deer--a small deer, but still a deer capable of kicking--into the bed of a yellow pickup truck.

Brian Martin looked surprised, and then amused as he cocked his head and spat, his saliva landing inches from David’s feet. “Boy, when have I ever asked what you wanted?” he replied, and then he laughed. Laughed. Perhaps David shouldn’t have expected anything more than that, but for once, he wasn’t simply disappointed with his father, or even frightened. He felt something else... he felt like... he was small. And for the first time, he was angry about it. Not because his father had the ability to make him feel this way, but because he allowed it. He felt similar whenever his mother made a point to tell, or even show him that he didn’t matter as much as Oliver. As much as anyone. But with her, he’d learned to play along. She was hurtful, so he was hurtful. Sometimes he felt like she wanted to hate him, so he’d made it an objective to make it easier for her, because it was so much easier than wanting her to love him. It was bad enough when she did say it--out of nowhere, like it was supposed to mean something to him, because they sure as hell didn’t mean anything to her, the way she could say them so freely to anyone but him.

But with Brian Martin, David didn’t know how to fight back. Then again, he’d never really wanted to before now. He’d never felt like he really needed to before now. And, it was because he cared, he realized.

He’d learned not to. Care. Not about his toys as a child, or the kind of food he ate, the television programs he liked, or the books he read. He didn’t even care about the pictures he took past the moment he took them, because all of it... these were all things that could be taken away. Things that would be taken away, the moment anyone suspected that they meant something to him. So he’d learned from a very young age, to simply not care. Not care about anything except for the one thing they couldn’t take away from him. Oliver. They couldn’t take his brother. And not for lack of trying, either. David couldn’t even count how many times they’d tried to turn Oliver against him, but it had never worked. Oliver loved him, shared things with him, and even needed him. Just like the fawn. And, while David suspected that the fawn didn’t do any of this intentionally, he wanted to believe that the creature cared about him in a way. It liked him. And he didn’t want to part with it. Not this way, at least. His terms. He needed it to be on his terms, because his father was about to take something he loved, and while David couldn’t stop it, he knew that he couldn’t tolerate being... helpless. Not this time. Not small.

David swallowed, realizing that he had, in fact, spoken aloud. And then he did it again. “No guns. I don’t wanna take no guns with us... or I’m not putting her in the truck,” David added, deciding that his voice was just firm enough. And then, as if something had possessed him, he took a step forward and straightened his posture in a way that hardly made him notice the whole foot that separated his eyes from his father’s. “No guns. We’re not gonna hurt her...you’re not.”

Brian’s eyes widened. Good, he was surprised, David thought. A small victory, because Brian Martin was rarely surprised. But Brian was also amused again, and it worried more than offended David. “Whatever gave you the idea we were gonna shoot it, huh? Alright, boy. No guns.” And slapping David hard on the back, Brian left his son there to feed his pet the last meal it would receive at the Martin house.

David leaned against the pen, sighing before he opened it up to approach the fawn slowly. She still seemed spooked by her ordeal, but she didn’t seem to have any trouble accepting food, and when she lowered her head into her bucket David knelt down to rub her neck, resisting what he considered a very silly urge, to wrap his arms around it to hug her.

David didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. He’d only see his brother there, looking on with sympathy, and he wasn’t in the mood for sympathy.

“It’s okay, Oliver. She won’t be here anymore and it’s okay... cause she’ll be somewhere better.” Because anywhere was better than here. “It’ll be better for her.”

“Liar!” David shouted as he charged forward, and at the time, even if he would have known that going after his father would only get him a hard fist in the face and a bruised ass, he likely wouldn’t have changed a thing. But still, when he fell to the ground he never attempted to get back up and fight. Instead he held his cheek, believing that it had to be shattered. But that’s not what mattered. He rolled, crawled. Ignored his father’s footsteps getting closer, the way the sun burned the top of his head, assaulted his eyes even when he wasn’t looking up. He crawled until his fingers wrapped over the edge of where the earth below him seemed to drop off, and he stared down into the dark hole that his brother had fallen into months before. And below it was a struggle he saw. Struggle to stand for the little fawn who’d broken its legs in the fall.

Covering his mouth with a shaking hand, David released a small, anguished sound that he couldn’t quite believe came from him, and he closed his eyes tightly, as if not seeing what was happening could actually change it. He should have known. Should have been ready. Should have figured out that something was wrong when his father had taken the road less than a mile from their house before he stopped. And the fawn, with the thin rope around her neck, she’d been pulling, wanting to run. David hadn’t let her go right away, though, not like he should have. He wanted her further away from the road. He wanted more time to say goodbye, whether or not his dad had insisted upon following, and when he’d grabbed her... when his father had grabbed her, she’d startled, kicked. But she was so small, and he’d been determined, and David hadn’t seen that he was dragging her towards the cistern until it was too late, and now...

“Why?” The word felt ripped from David’s lips. Such a useless question, why. The kind that always led to more questions.

“Stop whining, boy,” Brian said gruffly. “It’s what has to be done. It’s what’s best.”

David turned his head, looked over his shoulder and up into his father’s face. And he felt dumbstruck. Brian Martin was staring straight ahead, his dark eyes having a beady effect as they drifted to a far-off place, perhaps somewhere where what ran through his mind actually made sense. And there, things were frightening because the man truly believed in what he was doing. And, as if he could sense that his son was attempting to figure him out, his eyes snapped down to the boy on the ground, and it sent David reeling.

And Brian laughed. And David closed his eyes, hating everything. It was his fault. His confession made him vulnerable to his father, and to himself.

“You don’t love anyone,” Brian replied. “Not anything. You aren’t capable of it! I know... I know you, and you’re not gonna fool me. Been like this since you were born. Ya really think God woulda wasted a soul on you, boy? No. You’re nothin’, and while you’re still in this world, I’m gonna help you remember, and when you leave it, you’ll burn. Mark my words, there’s no better place for you out there. Now get up, and...”

David opened his eyes, the rest of his father’s words lost as he sat up, and in one quick motion, he lowered himself into the hole, prepared for the drop this time, his feet catching him at the bottom. There, he could see the fawn, its small shadow struggling in the dim light provided from above, and he stood, his eyes moving to his feet at the sound of a small thud where something had fallen after him. Reaching for the silver gleam, he wrapped his hand around the handle of the knife he himself had butchered and skinned many animals with in the past.

“Go ahead and finish it,” he heard his father say. “Then go on and tell me how much you think you love that thing.”

David didn’t look up, or otherwise acknowledge his father’s words as he moved slowly towards the frightened animal towards the back of the dark trap. He could hear the sound of the fawn’s hooves, struggling against the concrete as it continued its struggle to stand, and for a long moment he stood over it with the knife of his hand before finally sinking to his knees, reaching out with a gentle hand. It was no surprise when she lurched away from him, but David was persistent and calm as he cornered her against the wall until he was able to get an arm around her neck. He hugged her close, drawing her head against his chest as he sank down to the floor, and rubbed her ears the way she liked until he felt the tension begin to leave her body.

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s okay. There is somewhere better... maybe I’ll be there someday... but I gotta send you first.” He released a deep breath, placed a kiss over the top of the fawn’s head, and then did just that.

She didn’t go peacefully, but David expected nothing less. He hoped that when his own time came he’d be the same way. And it was strange for him, because while he’d killed before, nothing had ever made him feel more mortal. Mortals had souls, didn’t they? No matter. There were always things that he couldn’t have, and he’d learned to get by without, and when he couldn’t, he relied on Oliver. He was the only one left now, just like before. The only one who loved him. David had always wondered if that was the reason why he hadn’t followed his fawn to that better place he so desperately wanted to believe was there, because he sure wanted to.

But he climbed out of that hole. He did, his clothes bloodied, particularly his shirt, where he’d tucked the fawn’s heart into his pocket. He’d come back for the rest of her later, but something about leaving her heart in that place...

David had been surprised how much he needed to catch his breath when he reached ground level and took the time to do so on his knees. After all, he was feeling otherwise calm. Almost too calm, as if there was something in him waiting... just waiting. He could feel his eyes lifting more than he was aware of lifting them, watching as his father knelt down in front of him, wearing a friendly smile on his face that wasn’t actually friendly at all. Proud, David decided. It was a proud smile, but there was no sense in trying to figure out which part of this tragedy the man was actually proud of.

David cocked his head, looking at his father strangely for a long moment as he tried not to think about the way the blood was causing his shirt to stick to his skin. He drew back his head, as if to think about the question, but only for a moment before he brought it swinging back down, and when his father’s nose collided with his forehead, he smiled through his dad’s cursing as he slowly stood and walked away. And then, when he was ordered to come back, he kept walking. Later that night, when he went home, he’d receive the beating of his life followed by two days in the basement without so much as a drop of water touching his tongue, but it didn’t matter. Not when he remembered that day, crawling out of that hole. He’d felt different then, changed.

He wondered if he’d change again when he got out this time. He thought of his better place. Maybe he’d go there. Maybe after he sent a few select people there first.

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Chapter 1	Chapter 2	Chapter 3	Chapter 4	Chapter 5	Chapter 6	Chapter 7	Chapter 8
Chapter 9	Chapter 10	Chapter 11	Chapter 12a Chapter 12b	Chapter 13	Chapter 14	Chapter 15: Epilogue