DomLuka's The Other Side of Me

He had a dream that something heavy, violent, was trying to climb its way out of his chest, and awoke to his own violent coughing. Poison. It’s how he thought of the filthy water covering his prison floor, and even while he’d managed to get a lot of it to drain, he’d also managed to inhale more than he wanted to think about in his restless sleep. Twice now. And his skin itched. He’d clawed at his own arms, his neck, his face, trying to make it stop. Completely saturated, he felt infested. Crawling... but crawling with what?

Gasping, David sat upright, his hand moving roughly along the wall as he desperately searched for the lighter, swatted at his own face with his free hand in an attempt to relieve himself from some unseen, unbearable pest. And then it was there, cool in his hand; he closed his eyes tightly, hoping it wasn’t too wet. Flick. He opened his eyes to a warm flame, and sighed. It seemed somehow bigger, hotter each time he used the lighter. And as he looked down over his body, he felt relief. He was damp, and filthy, sore and scratched up, but there was nothing he could see that was crawling. And the light made him feel better, but there was no excuse to keep using it. No need to waste. It was day again. He could tell from the small amount of light coming through the vent. It wasn’t as good as the lighter, but after all the nights he’d spent in the basement--in the dark--even a little light was something. And David hated the dark. He hated how it isolated him until he disappeared, how it had sometimes taken a full day to see clearly again after being allowed out. Even all the times that Oliver had insisted on staying with him, if only for short periods before their parents would fish him out and leave David alone had never soothed his fear of it. But now he had some light, so he let the lighter flicker out.

And a moment later he was holding the flame out in front of him again, moving to his feet as if startled.

David winced. His ankle was still tender, and his head swam from the motion, but he was up, and too distracted to care about discomfort as he stared across the room, somewhere below the steel plate that served as a locked door. He blinked a few times, as if the red and white lunch box--the hard kind that served as a mini cooler--was a figment of his imagination that could disappear if he didn’t act with caution. He took a step. And then another. It was still there. He smiled like a fool for a brief moment, like he’d won some sort of game. But, the happy face was soon replaced by one of suspicion as he eyed the lunch box, and moved closer. He didn’t see it as a relief for his growling stomach for several long moments, but as an intruder instead, the kind that showed up while he was sleeping. Not paying attention. Holding the lighter lower to the ground, he took a quick look around, wondering if there was anything else he missed. By the time his eyes reached the tall bottle of water his light only lasted long enough to remember where it was before the flame went out and he was on the ground, reaching, lifting... drinking.

He didn’t realize that water could actually taste good. It had always been just water, and it wasn’t as if it were the first time he’d been deprived of such a basic necessity, but this... it was perfect, soothing, and cold against his dry throat, washing away the foul taste he’d been unable to wash from his mouth from his earlier vomiting. But, as soon as he thought of pouring some over his head to wash away the grime he stopped, catching the error in his actions. Coughing, catching his breath, he weighed the bottle in his hand, cursing himself when he’d decided that he’d already drunk down nearly half without knowing that there’d be more coming. But still, he was tempted enough to give in and take one more sip before sealing the bottle and tucking it under his arm.

David reached for the lunch box next, intending to take it back to his corner, which he’d decided was the warmest part of the room. But, he didn’t make it that far before that, too, was open and he was reaching in, finding what felt like two plastic-wrapped sandwiches, which he found no interest in once he felt the small thermos. And it was warm. He lifted it in both hands, held it to his chest... to his neck, his face, and he closed his eyes, imagining for a brief moment that the small amount of heat he felt was everywhere, warming him, like being in his own bed covered in the electric blankets that Oliver was so fond of in the winter. And for a moment, he imagined that he was comfortable. Comfort would have meant everything to him just then, which was why he made a point to not waste too much time wishing for it as he opened the thermos and sniffed at the contents. Soup. He couldn’t quite tell if it was chicken broth or some kind of beef stew, but either sounded good, and he sipped without caution, oblivious to the way that the hot liquid scalded his tongue before slipping down his throat. He chewed a soft potato between his teeth, and lifted the mug higher in search of more.

And then he heard something. Something that he imagined he wasn’t supposed to hear from in there. David closed his mug and placed it carefully back into the cooler before he stood and moved closer to the vent where he strained to hear. His right ear sounded muffled, waterlogged, and so he turned his head to listen with the left. One. Two... One. Two. Three. Four. Footsteps in the grass.

“Hey!” His voice cracked, his throat ached, but he made it work again, anyway. “Hey! Who’s out there?”

David took in a breath, let it out slowly, and closed his eyes. He almost cried, but didn’t, of course, because David Martin just didn’t do things like that. “Oliver!”

“I hear you, David!” Oliver repeated, louder this time, feeling laced in his voice. “But...but...”

Oliver’s words trailed off, and David struggled to be patient. “I can hear you, too, Oliver,” he called up. “But only when you talk loud... and you’ve gotta hold still, alright? It’s easier to hear when you’re not movin’ around.”

Apart from the sound of his own breathing, David heard silence for several moments, and began to feel uncertain.

David sighed. “Good, so listen, okay?” He found himself leaning against the wall, suddenly feeling exhausted, and eyed the lunch box. He’d eat more, he decided. Regain his strength... talk to his brother. “Right... I need you to find out how long they plan on keeping me down here...It’s different this time, I don’t know if I can...”

“But, David, I’m not supposed to,” Oliver interrupted, his voice sounding absent in a way that seemed familiar to David. “I’m not supposed to hear you anymore. And I’m not supposed to see you. I don’t, David. I don’t see you, so I’m good, right? Right, David?”

David found himself slowly looking up, picturing his brother sitting somewhere above, not noticing the wet grass seeping through his clothing... and he went numb inside. He didn’t become frustrated or confused, or even angry that Oliver didn’t seem to grasp the severity of his predicament, because David knew better. He knew Oliver.

“Oliver... why aren’t you supposed to hear me anymore?” he asked, and when he found no response from his brother, he shouted the question. “Why aren’t you supposed to hear me, Oliver?”

“But I know the truth,” Oliver continued. “So I told her... I told her it’s a lie. You’re my brother, David. I told her you’re my brother.”

David could have asked many questions just then, but he found himself staring straight ahead, darkness swarming his vision as he swallowed against his sore throat. “What did she say?” he finally asked.

“What she said is a secret?” David asked, perplexed. Oliver didn’t keep secrets from him.

“No, David... it’s a secret. Dad’ll get mad... he can’t know you’re real... and Frank got mad. He left, David.”

“What do you mean, he left?” David demanded, once again thinking of his call to Frank Seaberg, remembering his car in front of the house.

“He won’t talk to me anymore, David,” Oliver said, sounding strained. “He won’t come see me if I talk about you, David.”

“Because I’m not real?” David mumbled, unsure of whether or not his brother even heard him this time. Not real. Didn’t exist. It was the same thing, wasn’t it? But what did it mean? His father couldn’t know. Frank couldn’t know... They didn’t know. But his mother knew.

David started to pace, thinking harder. What had she done? If his dad didn’t know where he was... something was wrong. If he didn’t know where David was, he couldn’t hurt him... but something was wrong. What had she told his father?

David wished that he could remember that night. How long had it been since she’d trapped him here? A few days maybe, he didn’t know. It felt longer. And what had she said to him?

“Oliver!” he suddenly shouted. “You have to get me out of here! Hurry!” It wasn’t a demand he would have made minutes ago. He’d thought of it, but never would he have asked, not if it would get Oliver in trouble. But the game had suddenly changed, and now he knew. He wasn’t supposed to get out. His mother had lied to his father, and while David didn’t know exactly what she’d said, he knew well enough that she’d have to keep her secret now. Because it wasn’t safe. None of them were safe if caught in a lie to Brian Martin. But, unfortunately for Mary Martin, David couldn’t have cared less if she was caught.

“But I can’t, David!” Oliver suddenly said. “Mama says it’s not safe! It’s not safe, David. She said it’ll be alright if we just wait... if we just...”

“Damn it, can’t you see she’s lyin’ to you?” David screamed. “D’you think I’ll live down here? I won’t! I won’t Oliver! She’ll die before I do! Do you hear me? I’ll make her stop breathing! Get me out of here! Get me out of here!” David’s voice rose to a screech in his panic, his blood rushing to his head so quickly that he barely heard a thing as his brother fled, leaving him alone once again before he deeply inhaled the stale air, and then collapsed.

He felt betrayed. David told himself that it wasn’t Oliver’s fault. His brother was just afraid. Oliver had been manipulated by their parents, and if David knew anything, it was that Oliver was easily taken advantage of. He’d do what he thought was best for anyone; in this case, he’d leave David down there based on the belief that everyone would be safe, and perhaps ultimately happy that way. And David had played right into his mother’s hands when he’d threatened her to Oliver. But he still told himself that it wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He knew Oliver, and his brother wouldn’t have walked away if he hadn’t believed that doing so would be good for David, too. But then, telling himself this was true, and believing it, were two very different matters for David Martin because... he felt betrayed.

He was in a damn hole! Hurt, tired, and for all he knew, dying. And his brother had left him there. Even more distressing was that he didn’t know if Oliver was even going to remember it... and if anyone had the right to forget the last days, David strongly felt it that should be him.

And while he might have had many things to be jealous of regarding his brother, this was the one thing he felt strongly about. Oliver lived in a world where he got to pick and choose the moments he lived in. Perhaps he didn’t have the control over it that David was imagining at the moment... but Oliver still got to forget, and often did. It had always been difficult for David to hear Oliver tell him how much he wished he could remember the moments that he blacked out, but it had never been because David sympathized with him, but because more often than not, David knew what Oliver had forgotten, and found his brother’s talent for wiping unpleasant things from his memory something to be envious of indeed. And when he wasn’t jealous of it, David had been grateful for it, for Oliver’s sake, and his own. He’d never abandoned his brother. He’d never betrayed him. He’d failed him, though. But Oliver couldn’t remember. Oliver didn’t remember, so why the hell did it feel like he was trying to get even now?

He’s not trying to hurt you, David told himself. That’s not what’s happening. Oliver just needs time. He’ll think. He’ll come back. He’ll save you.

Because David was quickly doubting his ability to save himself. After Oliver had left, David had quickly come to the conclusion that his mother would be back again. Perhaps with more food, or words that didn’t make sense. He didn’t understand what her plan was just yet, but he knew that she hadn’t left him there to die, and if she was going to come back, this time he intended to be ready. He forgot about rationing what little food and water he did have, and ate until he was full, and while he felt as if there wasn’t enough water in the whole town to quench his thirst, he used what he had, even sparing a small amount to clean the wound at the back of his head, which had swelled beneath his hair, the broken skin becoming increasingly irritated by the filth he found himself in. He’d even removed his wet shirt, and while it didn’t make him feel any warmer, his skin started to dry, and that was a comfort in itself.

All of this was supposed to help him get stronger, be ready. But as the first few hours passed, David developed a strong sense that something was wrong. Because he didn’t feel stronger at all. If anything, he felt even more drained than he had when he’d awoken to the lunch box. And it felt like more than just the bitterness that his brother’s abandonment had left with him. His feet. They’d been numb before, cold. But now his toes felt strange, as if they were falling asleep, and the same sensation was in his gut... but admittedly, that could have been the knots, the anxiety he felt over being alone. Without Oliver. That seemed to bother David more than anything because Oliver had always been everything he had. And maybe Oliver didn’t know it, but David was all that he had.

David closed his eyes, deciding that he should rest for a few minutes before he had to be alert, waiting for his mother to come back. Just a small rest wouldn’t hurt anything, he decided. He needed to calm down, anyway, before his stomach decided there wasn’t enough room for the food he’d consumed alongside all of his grief. He tried to think of things that were good, things that gave him comfort. Unfortunately, when David closed his eyes, the only place he ever found himself was back in the dark.

He remembered when he first started spending most of his nights in the basement. Before he’d killed the fawn, it had always been hours at a time, mostly during family meals when his father said he couldn’t stand to look at him. But after the day that David had found himself crawling out of that hole with the blood on his hands, things had changed.

He’d rebelled against his father, and he’d been punished for it. He knew that was the reason when they’d locked him in the basement. But it hadn’t been the one his father had given him when he’d unlocked the door and allowed bright, blinding light in for a few moments as he inflicted one of his long-winded speeches upon David’s poor ears. The words hadn’t had any effect. David had heard about what a terrible burden he was so many times that words like that had lost all effect. But when his father had mentioned that David was being punished for being evil, a cruel boy who’d slaughtered one of God’s helpless creatures, as if he’d made the decision to do so on his own, David had known that his days spent in the dark would likely be increasing. And he was right. He just hadn’t realized that his brother would be sharing the experience with him, even when he didn’t volunteer to do so.

Cats. In the year since David had sent the fawn to somewhere better, there had been many cats. Sometimes, when he was out hunting with his father they’d come upon one of the scraggly creatures, particularly when they were close to the old shack across the lake. And the woman who had lived there then had given David something in common with his father. Neither of them liked her.

The first time it was supposed to be a joke. They’d taken one of her cats and hung it in a bag on her front porch--after they’d gotten it riled up, of course. The point was to make sure the witch-lady got scratched up real good when she went to the trouble of getting it down. But that hadn’t been the way that it had happened.

It was a Sunday morning, and while Odetta Grover never went to church, it was the morning she went into town for her supplies. Oliver had been with them as they watched, waited, and for the first time David could remember, it had been Oliver angering their father as he whined about what was happening to the cat. David remembered the spark of protective fury towards his father that had arisen in his chest when their dad had told Oliver that he was stupid, a baby, that he should just shut up.

But he’d kept quiet... and Oliver didn’t. It was when Oliver suffered a strong hand to the back of his head that David had had enough. Instead of attacking his father, though, he’d walked right out into the open and up to the front porch. The cat’s claws had come right through the cloth sack to scratch up his hands as he took it down, but looking over at Oliver, he’d known that he was doing the right thing. Which is exactly what made his next decision one that likely would have been difficult for any normal person to understand.

Odetta Grover was a large woman. The kind that easily had the old floorboards in her house screeching, or her old little car sinking an inch closer to the ground when she sat in it. So inside the house, when she’d moved towards the door, David had heard her, and made a quick retreat, taking the cat with him.

But, he couldn’t go back to his own family. They were practically hiding right in front of the door, and as soon as it opened, she’d see him, so he’d moved behind her car instead, hoping to duck away once she got in. In the bag, the feline started growling, hissing. He dropped his hand over its head and squeezed hard. It struggled, but the sound was muffled suitably enough. He could hear Odetta Grover getting closer... and then she stopped. Turned back.

David’s head popped up and he saw her looking in her purse as she headed back towards the house. She’d forgotten something. It didn’t matter what. She was headed back towards her house, which meant that David could get himself into a more suitable location. He stood, stepped away from the vehicle, and then froze when he saw the faces of his brother and father watching him. Oliver looked frightened, and along with a familiar, soft look in his eyes there was something else. Anxiety. He watched his brother’s eyes shift from his face to the bag the squirming cat was trapped in. The cat. That’s what Oliver had been nervous about. He didn’t think the animal was safe yet. And, David realized, it wasn’t.

Looking at his father just then might have been a mistake, but that’s where David’s eyes wandered next, and with one look, he received a promise. Not just one that threatened something worse if David continued his present course of action. Sure, there were plenty of other ways that his father could play the “David’s evil” game if David let this one cat go for his brother, but that didn’t bother him so much. Not anymore. It was the way that their father was looking at Oliver that happened to be a bother, and David had a feeling that if he made the wrong decision now, Oliver would be the one suffering later.

David heard something in the direction of the house, and a quick look told him that Odetta was on her way back, if the way his father and brother hadn’t lurched back hadn’t already told him. But, David didn’t move. He looked down at the sack hanging from his hand, and then back at his father, smiling when the old man’s head looked ready to explode as he wondered if David was purposely going to get caught. And David thought of doing just that, too. If anything, to watch his father try to explain when he pointed out exactly where he was to Odetta.

But, David decided, that kind of fun was just going to have to wait. Oliver looked as if he’d reached his maximum stress intake as it was, and unfortunately, David was going to have to cause just a little more for him before this was over. He waited until the last possible second before Odetta might have seen him, and walked away from the car, towards the side of the house. But, he didn’t do that before dropping the sack that the cat was trapped in. Right behind the rear tire of Odetta’s vehicle.

By the time the engine roared to life, David was out of sight. But he saw it all. He made sure of that, watching with wide eyes. The bag moved. He heard the cat, and then he didn’t anymore. Just the engine as the car backed up, the cloth sack disappearing under the first tire, and then the second. And then it didn’t move anymore.

He cocked his head, looked harder at the sack, the little lump in it, and stomped down the urge to go peek inside. But his attention was turned when the vehicle came to an abrupt halt, the front bumper facing the cloth sack, the motionless lump within. He moved stealthily alongside the house, closer. Probably closer than he should have come. But he was watching Odetta, feeling interested in the curiosity he saw on her face as she left her car and approached the thing that didn’t have a place on her drive. And then as she knelt down, he saw it on her face before she even opened the bag. Realization.

David somehow knew that there was no doubt in her mind when it came to what was in that bag, and he couldn’t understand why she was reaching out, acting as if she needed to see it, anyway. She cared. About every one of those strays that he saw as nothing more than an infestation that kept breeding, populating the woods. She cared about the dead cat, like he’d cared about his fawn, and he was troubled by this. He didn’t want to believe that it was the same thing because then, he’d done to Odetta Grover what his father had done to him, and he wasn’t sorry for that because he sympathized with the witch-lady, but because that made him something that he couldn’t be. It made him like his father.

It was Odetta Grover’s sudden sobs that pulled David from his startling thoughts, and for what felt like impossibly long minutes he watched her with a growing curiosity, trying to understand what he was feeling as it occurred to him that other than his mother, he’d never heard a woman cry before. And when it came to his mother, her tears had given him a sense of accomplishment. That’s why he was confused when he couldn’t determine how he felt about Odetta’s.

“Why’d you do that?” Nothing could have surprised David more than his own brother at the moment, because he couldn’t have been anything but surprised when he found Oliver suddenly grabbing him from behind, gripping his shoulders, pulling, shoving until he was on his back and looking up at a face not unlike his own. Only, Oliver’s face was undeniably furious at the moment, more so than David had ever seen it. “Why’d you do that, David? You didn’t have to!”

David started to sit up, his frustration current outweighing his shock. This wasn’t supposed to be his fault. “Oliver, I had...”

“No!” Oliver was suddenly over him, attempting to hit, scratch. It wasn’t very threatening, David was quick to decide, and opted to shield his face rather than risk harming his brother. “You don’t have to be bad, David! You don’t have to hurt things! Why did you have to hurt it? Why, David?”

“Oliver, you’ve got to be quiet!” David hissed. “It was just a stupid cat! And I did have to, didn’t you see the way he was looking at me, can’t you get it, Oliver, it’s always been...”

“Who’s there? Who’s over there?” Odetta’s voice suddenly shouted. “You bunch of murderers, y’are! I know you!”

David’s eyes widened, and he was quick to stop Oliver’s nonsense as he grabbed his brother and hauled him to his feet, seemingly undeterred when Oliver continued to fight him. But ultimately, it was Brian Martin who put an end to the scuffle when he grabbed the back of both of the boys’ shirts and hauled them back through the woods before they were discovered.

That morning Brian Martin had led his boys home without dinner, but a hidden smile at the corner of his mouth; Odetta Grover buried her cat before getting rid of her car for good; David was sent to the basement to pay for his crimes, believing that Oliver hated him; and Oliver...Oliver did what he always did when his heart was hurting.

David remembered that later that night, when the basement door opened, he wanted to stay trapped in the dark for the first time in his life. It seemed far less threatening than having to face Oliver, because while he was stuck in the basement, he’d done something that he’d always tried to put as little effort in as possible. He thought about what he was supposed to be being punished for.

Not just hurting his brother. Making Oliver that way. David had long since come to accept that there wasn’t anything he could have done, or could do, to change that. But today, when his brother had begged him to let that cat go with one little look... David could have done something about that. Or at least, he considered the possibility. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to just let the cat go. It would have made Oliver happy. He certainly would have found himself punished for it later, but he could take it, and besides, as it was, he was being punished for doing exactly what his father had wanted him to do... But it could have been worse. He was sure of that, and unfortunately, the fact that Oliver shut down whenever he felt traumatized wasn’t helping at all. It meant that their father was being less careful with Oliver, and David was growing concerned that if things continued as they had been, Oliver would end up suffering much more than mental tragedies. And that wasn’t something that he was willing to let happen. It was better if he kept his father’s negative focus on himself. He could take it.

And in the end, he had to believe that his brother wouldn’t hate him. He had to believe that they had each other, because without Oliver, David didn’t have anyone else.

He left the basement that night, considering how he wanted to convince Oliver that he wasn’t a monster--how he could make the day’s deeds somehow right. Or at the very least, right for his brother.

That night after leaving the basement, David wandered through the kitchen, feeling disoriented, as he often did while reacquainting himself with the light, and half heard his mother tell him that he’d missed dinner. He’d also missed lunch, and he was hungry, but food hardly mattered. He’d always taken what he wanted from the kitchen on nights like this. He’d killed most of it, after all. But that could wait until later. Now, he wanted to see Oliver, even if part of him hoped that his brother was already asleep. He couldn’t hate him while he was sleeping. Or at least, David hoped that was the case.

But, as David silently entered their room, cracking an ache from his neck in the process, he found the light on, his brother half tucked into bed with a children’s story book in his hands. But, Oliver didn’t seem to be very focused on the pages as he blinked his red, puffy eyes and scratched at the scars hidden beneath his hair.

“You were crying,” David heard himself say, feeling bad about it in the process. But instead of responding affirmatively, Oliver surprised David with a smile.

“I was waiting for you, David. I saved some dinner for you, see?” He nodded towards the small stand between their beds, where there was in fact a plate of food. It wasn’t steaming hot, but at the moment, it looked perfect to David’s stomach, which growled in protest when he didn’t make it over soon enough.

“Thanks,” David replied, although he felt cautious even as he lifted a long green bean from the plate and brought it towards his mouth. “So... I guess you’re not mad at me no more?” The way that Oliver’s brow knitted as he put his book down and looked up was all David needed to know that Oliver being upset with him was currently the last thing he needed to worry about. “You don’t remember, do you?” Oliver’s frown deepened, his expression becoming something mixed between guilt and shame, and David was quick to sit at the edge of his brother’s bed and force a smile. “Hey, it’s okay. Probably better that...”

“Mom was hugging me, David. And I was crying, but I don’t know why. I’m not a baby, David.”

“And if anyone says otherwise, send ‘em to me,” David responded loyally, but it didn’t provoke the smile from Oliver that he’d hoped for.

“Oliver, it’s alright... I think... I think sometimes it’s better that way. I know it doesn’t feel like that, but believe me, there are some things you’re just not supposed to see.”

Oliver fell silent as he studied his brother, weighing the meaning before he finally said, “But you see it, David. You’ll tell me...”

“I tell you the good things,” David said. “All the good things you miss.” Which, David would admit wasn’t very much. In fact, he doubted it was anything at all. But still, he conjured a reassuring smile as he reached out to pat his brother’s ankle beneath the bedsheets. “I won’t let you forget nothing important...it’s you and me, okay? You and me. I’ll remember for you. Like I always have, haven’t I? It’ll be okay... I know you hate it, but I think one day, you’ll stop forgetting.”

David actually smiled. “Because they’re not, Oliver. Not now.... not then. It’s you and me, and some day it’s gonna be better for us, you’ll see. I’ll get us there, Oliver. I will.”

But over a year later as he closed his arms around himself and breathed in the stale air of the cistern, David wondered how that was even possible now....how was he supposed to get them anywhere better when he was stuck in a hole, and Oliver was too afraid to let him out?

It was the food. Maybe the water, too. There was no other explanation for why David felt so... heavy. Sleepy. It was more than just the obvious exhaustion. His eyes felt heavy, his chest warm, and the shaking had stopped, not because he wasn’t cold, but because his body seemed too relaxed to shake. And most noticeable, was that the aches and pains over his body had become nothing more than a dull throbbing ache. And it had all started happening after he’d eaten the damn food. That bitch had drugged him again, and he’d fallen for it. But, as David discovered upon opening his eyes from a far-away dream, that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst of it was how she’d gotten right by him, and any opportunity he’d hoped for to take her by surprise had snuck by him, too. Now his mother was there. There. There! And much too close.

It was night, fresh humid air coming down from above, where his doorway was open, and mingling with the stale air he’d been forced to breathe. It was enough temptation to ignore the woman kneeling beside him as he reached for it, his eyes catching the gleam of the ladder. If his body would have been cooperating, he would have been up the ladder by now, but even trying to sit up sent an awful rush of blood to his head, which wasn’t smoothed when his mother shined the flashlight in her left hand directly into his eyes, forcing him to groan in agony as he covered his face.

“Shh, shh,” Mary hushed, reaching out to touch his shoulder, a gesture that he was quick to shrug off. He was looking poor, this son of hers, and her slight frown suggested that she didn’t like that, even if David couldn’t currently see it.

“Don’t touch me,” David said when she reached for him again, and this time he managed to shove his hand out, hitting his mark when the flashlight went tumbling from his mother’s hand and hit the damp ground.

“Don’t be like this, David,” Mary insisted as she calmly watched him struggle to get up, when ultimately, he only managed to turn away. “I’m trying to help you.”

David’s shoulder’s stiffened, and slowly he looked over his shoulder. The flashlight brightened the lower half of his face, his eyes seeming masked in darkness, but there was no mistaking the glare that was in them as his lips parted and he sucked in a steady breath. “Help me?” he repeated, incredulous. “Help me? You’re tryin’ to kill me... slowly, too you bitch, and when I... when I...” His chest suddenly heaved, a burst of air escaping his lungs before a bout of sharp coughs attacked him.

“No,” Mary said firmly, taking advantage of a time when he was physically incapable of arguing with her, “no, I’m gonna make things right, David... me and you, we’ll do it together. I’m here to help you, but I haven’t got a lot of time, so I want you to listen good... you’ve gotta stop fighting me, you understand? You’ve gotta listen now...”

“You don’t have time,” David repeated, grasping onto the only words that currently served as relevant for him. “Because he’ll wanna know where you are, won’t he? I’ll bet he’s wondering where I am... whad’you do? Tell him I was dead?” David turned slowly, watching as his mother’s face became grim, and for a moment, he found himself laughing at the fear on her face before the sound erupting from his throat suddenly came to a halt, and he bolted to his feet.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden burst of energy came from, but he was grateful for the small rush. He intended to use it, and he did his best as he forced himself towards the ladder. But then, his best didn’t prove to be quite good enough.

His mother was right behind him, ready to stop him, but it seemed she hardly needed to when he practically plowed into the ladder, which had come a step earlier than expected. He’d gotten one foot up, but found the ankle he’d rolled was still weak, and a sharp pain shot up his calf before the weight of his body collapsed, and he fell back. Getting back up was on his mind. He was ready to try--desperate to try, which is why he didn’t understand how his mother was capable of restraining him with one arm while her free hand moved to smooth his matted hair.

“You poisoned me,” he whispered, wiggling his toes in his wet shoes, testing to see if he could still feel them at all.

“Let me out,” David said, feeling an odd calm rise within him that said he should try to reason with her. “Let me out. You know what’ll happen if Dad finds out you lied to him... let me out, and I’ll tell him I ran away... I will run away... just...”

“Oh, I believe you, David,” she replied. “But we both know you wouldn’t go without Oliver, and I just can’t let that happen. That’s why we’re gonna do it my way. It’ll work. You’ll see. I’m gonna be a good mother to you.” She slid an arm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, cradling him in a strange way that David found dismaying as she began to rock back and forth, humming to herself. It seemed unnatural that his mother’s touch provided more of a skin-crawling sensation than the hole was capable of, but still, David remained still, his foggy brain attempting to read her, wondering how to jerk her from the world of strange fantasy she obviously found herself in, because she’d lost her mind. That had to be it, because while David knew his mother pretended to love him sometimes, she never really wanted to. She didn’t want him, not like she wanted Oliver.

And then he understood. It was the only reason she hadn’t gone to lengths to let him die down there. Oliver. It was the reason why she’d told him that David wasn’t real. She wanted Oliver to forget his brother. Forget him. For David, it was a sickening idea, but strangely enough, he didn’t feel threatened by it. Because he believed--he knew--that despite his brother’s history, the one thing that Oliver would never forget was him.

And now his mother had probably made promises. To Oliver. If anything happened to David, Oliver would blame her. That’s why she was doing this.

But why had she started it at all? That’s what David didn’t understand. Why lie to his father, when she could have locked him in the basement and allow life to go on as normal? And then he remembered Frank. David had made Frank curious that night, so much so, that Frank had actually shown up at the house. David had been ready to tell his secrets, and his mother had heard. She’d been threatened, and she must have known that a change was in order if she wanted to see Oliver stay with her, because really, like David, Oliver was the only one of them that she really cared about.

“You’re planning to leave Dad,” David realized aloud. “You know about those other women...”

The rocking suddenly stopped, and Mary’s head turned as she looked down at him... and she smiled.

“Oh, I’ve always known about them. And really, David, it’s pointless to care about little indiscretions like that.”

“Then why... why now?” It was impossible to count how many times he’d wished for this conversation to happen when he was a little boy. Before it had all shattered in front of his face, it had been his greatest fantasy, for his mother do decide that she loved him as much as Oliver... for her to take them both away. But now, it was wrong. That wasn’t what was happening. And he had to ask. “You knew... you knew I never hurt Oliver. But you let Dad think... why are you doing this now?”

“Because he’s going to destroy everything!” she suddenly snapped, dropping his head. The back of his skull hit the concrete, his previous injury throbbing in pain as he reached for it, groaning while she continued to yell. “And you! You just couldn’t keep quiet! I’m doing you a favor, David! What do you think he’d do to you if you started talking? Your father’s made enough mistakes with this family... with you. I know about what he’s made you do. I see what you’ve become, and I won’t let it continue because sooner or later, it’ll be Oliver...”

“If you knew, why didn’t you stop it?” David demanded, scooting back against the wall to keep his aching head out of the water. “Is it so no one would know the truth about what happened to Oliver? So no one would know it was you?”

Mary gasped as if struck, her eyes grew sharp, and when the palm of her hand collided with the side of David’s face the slap echoed around them before all went silent except for Mary Martin’s heavy breathing.

“But you did,” David whispered, an awkward little smile curling one corner of his mouth. It seemed important somehow, to hurt her right now. “I remember it... we were outside on the deck, and you picked him up...”

“And you held him up in the air. Do you remember the way he was crying, you bitch? It was because he wanted you to put him down... and then you dropped him. Tell me something, Mama, was that when you found out Dad was cheating... ‘cause, I know you always said it was a family trip to Grandma’s, you wanted to see her before she keeled over, right? But the thing is... I don’t remember Dad being there at all.” Mary took in a deep breath as her shaking fingers quickly worked to wipe away a few stray tears, and a strange little moan rose up in her throat, but still, David didn’t stop. “Was I supposed to be next?” he whispered. “Why didn’t you drop me, too? Was it because you saw Oliver was still alive? Huh? You couldn’t do it then, could you? So you told him it was me...”

“He wasn’t supposed to hate you for it,” she said quietly. “You were just a baby.”

“But he did, and you played along... until you weren’t playing anymore. Why?”

“Because after a while, David, I really did hate you. You have no idea what your father had put me through, and when he thought you hurt your brother... it was all you. He hated you. So I did, too... It was easier that way, don’t you see? I couldn’t love you. What mother would love something that hurt her little boy?”

“You stopped being that a long time ago... But David, we can make this right now. We have a chance.”

“How? You want me to help you leave the monster before he gets to Oliver, too?”

“You know he will... and that Seaberg boy, your father’s been lookin’ at him and Oliver lately like he thinks something’s funny... He’s been getting bored with you, David... and listen to me, now that he thinks you’re gone he’s been getting to Oliver... The things he says to him--he can’t take it, David, not like you could.”

“Then it’s your fault,” David responded. “For letting things get like this.”

Mary looked taken aback. “David! I know you care about what happens to your brother!”

David considered that as he thought of how his brother couldn’t even help him open a damned door.

“So what do you expect me to do?” he asked. “Pretend we’re a happy family after we leave him? You want me to be as forgetful as Oliver? I won’t forget... I can’t.”

“My fawn,” David whispered. “Do you remember her? When we left that day, did you know what was gonna happen to her?”

“David,” Mary said desperately, but fell silent when David’s eyes suddenly cut up to hers.

“You don’t know anything. There was a lot I cared about... you wanna know how much I cared about my brother? What about the morning Odetta Grover got dragged outta that lake?”

“We were only supposed to scare her, you know,” David said, a tired note entering his voice. “She was all hellbent on getting to Dad, so she was making her threats. But when we got out there, he got out of control. Was stupid enough to slap her around a little and she saw all of us. She said she was gonna get the law, but I guess that was okay with him because we just left... and then I found out why he was okay with it. Told me he’d say it was all me. No one was gonna believe a crazy old woman, and he’d finally found a way to get rid of me... And then he said that maybe when he was talkin’ to the sheriff, he’d make a mistake. What if it was Oliver? he said. What if the retard did it, cause he didn’t know any better? They’d take him away.”

“You’re lying,” Mary said quickly, shaking her head. “He’d never hurt Oliver, he wouldn’t...”

“But isn’t that why you wanna get out now?” David retorted. “’Cause he’ll hurt Oliver? He doesn’t care about Oliver! It’s all a game to him because he thinks he’ll get away with it... but I cared. That’s why I went back. Old lady made it easy, too, down by the water, waiting for help to come along. She screamed when she saw me... and she should’ve.” David paused, eyed his mother, and outright laughed at the look on her face. “D’you know what I told her, mama?” he asked before his voice dropped down to a whisper. “I told her not to be afraid, ‘cause I was gonna help her go somewhere better, where she didn’t ‘ave to deal with pricks like Dad. Old lady scratched worse than her cats, but she got real still when I held her under the water...until she couldn’t talk no more, about no one. Like Oliver.”

Mary shook her head. “Your father said it was an accident... she was on her boat in the rain. He said Oliver saw it, that’s why he was so shaken up...”

“Oliver was freaked out ‘cause he’s the one who helped me put her in the boat. Dad didn’t want to get his hands dirty... but I did. You want me to help you get away from him, huh? Cause you should know, mama, he’s the monster, but I’m the demon, just like you all wanted.”

“Don’t say that! Don’t say anything else, David! Why are you doing this?” she demanded, leaning over him, attempting to ignore the deranged, crooked grin spreading over his face. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you? Why are you telling me this? I’m trying to help you!”

“I thought you should know, is all,” he said quietly. “Because when I get out of here... I’m gonna do the same thing to you.”

Mary’s eyes went wide when she failed to move fast enough, and only a short gasp escaped her before David’s arm flew up, his hand wrapping tightly around her neck. His grip was strong enough, but he was still struggling to get up, and Mary Martin used this to her advantage. Fighting her way to her feet, she kicked, hit and scratched at her son before she managed to knock his head hard enough against the wall to cause enough damage to jolt him, and by the time David did reach his feet, infuriated and ready to pick up where he’d left off killing her slowly, the ladder was gone, and he was once again locked away. And once again, not so sure if she’d be back.

Nine seconds from the time David could hear her opening the lock. Three seconds removing it, four seconds to drop in the food, which now came in plastic bags, and two seconds to slam the cap shut. She’d come twice now since their last visit, and David had been paying attention, always careful to keep quiet when he heard her. Best to let her think he was asleep, he figured. Drugged.

But he wasn’t, not anymore. And it was agony when the food came. He rid himself of the water first, using it to clean the open wound at the back of his head, which seemed to be swelling more every day. At least that way some use came from it, because he couldn’t, he told himself, under any circumstances, drink it. He’d hoped to find a way to eat, but even that proved difficult when there was no way of knowing what was drugged since nothing she brought him was dry. Peanut butter and jelly, tuna salad, and even slices of banana were promptly dumped and smashed in with the filth on the floor. Without the food and water, his stomach ached and his throat burned every time he coughed, and without the drugs, he was beginning to feel the ache in his body more vividly, down to every festering scrape or scratch. But, it was a good thing, he decided. A good sign. Just like the fact that he was able to walk the length of his confinement now without feeling like five steps was reason enough to take a nap.

David figured he’d wait one more day. Being hungry, he could deal with. It was more important to be ready, because after what he’d pulled with his mother, he knew that there was only one way out now. It was in the nine seconds it took her to drop food down to him, and he wasn’t fool enough to think it would be easy. He’d have to jump, take her by surprise before she slammed the door shut. He’d most certainly be at a disadvantage, and as of yet, there seemed to be no pattern of when she’d be coming. Since he had no idea what day it was, let alone how long he’d been down there, he couldn’t even make a guess. So he’d have to be alert, make sure to rest after she came. Which, is what he intended to do now with his empty stomach as he held one hand over the flame of his lighter, and then the other, taking what warmth he could from it before leaning back against the back wall and closing his tired eyes. Which, were about to snap right back open.

David was quick to his feet as he opened his mouth to respond to his brother, but suddenly stopped and thought it over for a moment. His mother had just been there, and if she was still around, he’d have to watch what he said. He thought it was more likely that Oliver had just followed her there, but he needed to use caution.

It was a safe question. Oliver wouldn’t have lied to him, even if Mary Martin were standing right next to him insisting on it.

“Good. Do you see the door--the lid dad welded to the cellar last year? It’s locked.”

“Then let me out!” David’s request, which admittedly, had sounded more like a demand, was met with silence. And while David wanted to curse over it, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, determined to avoid losing his temper with his brother again. “Oliver... please. Please.” More silence, and David began to pace before stopping directly below the vent and looking up. “Okay... then tell me why you don’t want to let me out, because I swear, I’m beginning to regret everything I’ve ever done for your sorry...”

“You remember that conversation we had last time, about speaking up? Oliver...”

“Frank’s gonna come back soon, David. I know he will,” Oliver replied. “He’s my friend. He promised he was my friend.”

“Frank? That’s all you care about?” David demanded. “You’re going to pretend I don’t exist for Frank?”

“No, David!” Oliver said quickly. “I know the truth... I know the truth! You’re my brother!”

“I don’t care what she said!” David shouted. “Oliver, listen to me, you’ve got to stop listening to Mom! When are you going to get that our parents...”

“Look where I am! Oliver, they’re killing me! She’s trying to fucking kill me! Don’t you remember anything? I’m your brother... it was always you and me--you and me! You know I’d do anything for you... don’t let this happen. You can’t let this happen!”

“You have to wait, David!” Oliver suddenly raised his voice, and his tone suggested that he was stomping his foot, too. “She told me what you’re gonna do, and you can’t tell, David, or we won’t be together anymore. I don’t want you to get in trouble anymore, David. You are my brother... and I don’t want you to get in trouble, David.”

Oliver, you don’t know what you’re talking about... let me out. Let me out, and I promise nothing will happen to you and me. I know what to do. But you have to let me...”

“Just wait, David. Please... do what she says. Do what she says, David, and then we’ll be together.”

“Oliver, you’re wrong. She’s planning to leave Dad, that’s why she doesn’t want you talking to him about me... Oliver, she’s crazy, if you listen to her...”

“I love you, David. Please don’t be mad at me... I just don’t want you to be in trouble!”

“Oliver!” David waited a moment, listening to the sound of his brother’s footsteps fading away. “Oliver! You can’t listen, Oliver! Not to them! Do you hear me? They’re wrong, Oliver! Remember that! They’re always wrong!”

Without Oliver’s assistance, David was forced to conclude that he’d have to stick to his original plan to escape on his own. And he’d waited for an opportunity. He’d waited as he tried to sort through renewed feelings of betrayal towards his brother, and as he thought about how to deal with it when he did get out. And he thought about it through restless nights, through the shaking, the coughing, and the constant itching he was beginning to experience from the filthy water that had seeped into his wounds. And, he thought, he’d waited pretty damned patiently, so it was understandable that he was upset when three days later, his opportunity hadn’t arrived.

At first he’d been concerned that his mother had been making her visits during the sporadic minutes he’d dozed off here or there. But then, the fact that no new food or water had made an appearance within the small space was an indicator that he was worrying about the wrong thing.

What he needed to be worried about, was that there was a possibility that she wasn’t coming anymore, and he’d missed his chance. David didn’t necessarily like that train of thought. Mostly, because it meant any option he might have had had completely vanished. But then, there was something even worse to think about.

Oliver. He hadn’t heard from Oliver, either. There could have been any number of reasons for this, but his main concern was the one where something had happened to his brother. Maybe his father had discovered his mom’s plan, and neither she nor Oliver could get to him. But then, he told himself, if Oliver was spending his time in the basement these days, then maybe he’d finally realize that their parents weren’t the protectors that he thought they were and he’d come to help David at the first available opportunity. Or at least, David could hope.

Oliver was no stranger to being afraid. He hadn’t escaped childhood without his fair share of nightmares, perhaps more. And he’d grown up knowing that the world he lived in during his waking hours could be equally frightening. But he’d never felt so hopelessly alone with it before. But that was because before today, he’d never really seen himself as alone. He’d had someone to watch over him, and while he’d never admitted it to his brother, Oliver got through most of his nightmares, waking or otherwise, by labeling David the thing that his nightmares were afraid of.

But now David wasn’t there, and something was wrong. Very wrong, Oliver determined as he stood in the middle of a half-empty room, fingering what used to be the lens of David’s camera. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. His mother had promised. Promised. David had to hide for a while, she’d said. David had done some bad things, she’d said. And if Frank found out, she’d said, then Frank would go away and never come back. If Frank found out, she’d said, he’d tell someone and Oliver wouldn’t have a family anymore. Of course, she’d made a point to also say that Frank wouldn’t have done that because he was a bad person, but because like many people, he could get a little confused about what was right and what was wrong. To Oliver, not losing anyone who mattered to him was what was right. But now Frank was gone, and David was gone, and everything was wrong.

David should have been back by now. Frank should have been back by now. By now, his mother should have made things right and Oliver should have been telling Frank the truth about David. But Frank was still angry with him, and David was most certainly angry with him, and Oliver was beginning to wonder if he should stop listening to his mother as David had told him to do. She’d promised, after all. And she’d broken it.

It was a strange feeling for Oliver, this broken promise. Familiar, although he couldn’t recall very many times that his mother had fallen through like this. But maybe she had, and he didn’t remember. That was unsettling to Oliver, mostly, because David had always told him that the things he couldn’t remember were things that he wanted to forget. David had never forgotten David making a promise. Then again, Oliver had never forgotten David breaking one either, but he was pretty certain that that was because David never had.

And all of this obviously meant... that Oliver was currently a very confused individual.

Listen to your parents. Don’t get into trouble. This was supposed to make him happy. As far back as he could remember, until recently, his family had been all he had, and he’d always done his best to please all members, despite constantly realizing that this was a goal he’d never quite achieve. But, the past week had proved to be more difficult than anything Oliver could remember happening in the past. His mother had asked him to do something unspeakable: lie to his father. The way she talked had frightened Oliver, made him afraid of his father. Most of all, Oliver was afraid of what his dad would do if he found out David had been bad again.

And asking Oliver to lie to his dad wasn’t the only thing Oliver had found strange regarding his mother. She’d seemed different lately. He was sure it had something to do with the vodka she’d been adding to her coffee every morning, but it was more than that, too. She’d yelled at him, twelve times. He’d counted, and only twice it had been about David. The other times had been for leaving the house before she woke up, or for even smaller things, like stirring his tea for too long, or taking breadcrumbs to mix in with his chicken’s feed. And he felt like she was always watching.

It had been so hard to go see David. The first time, he’d followed his mother. That’s how he knew where David was. When Oliver had gone on his own, his mother had interrogated him as soon as he got home. He’d told her where he’d been, and that’s when she’d made her promises. Promises she hadn’t kept. But she’d also told Oliver not to go back; that he couldn’t talk to David. He’d gone again, though. He’d followed her there, tried to speak to his brother while his mother was on the way back to the house. He figured that if he didn’t stay long, if he got there ahead of her, then she’d never know. He’d just wanted to hear David’s voice. He wanted to know what he was okay. What Oliver hadn’t wanted, was to hear the things that David had to say. He didn’t want his brother’s anger, but that was exactly what he’d walked away with three days ago. And now, after seeing his father take away David’s things, after watching his mother allow it to happen, Oliver was beginning to wonder if he was looking to please the wrong people.

“Oliver, put that away,” Mary Martin’s voice hissed, and he jumped slightly as her hand came over his, over the glass lens. She tried to take it. Oliver frowned, held tight. “Oliver, let go!”

And he did, and she took it. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she slid it into her pocket before sighing, touching his shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak, but Oliver decided to beat her to it.

“Why’d you let Dad take all his things? They’re his. You promised--you promised--he’d come back so we can be a family. Tell Dad to bring back David’s things! Tell him David’s real!”

Oliver hadn’t expected the sting he felt across his left cheek any more than he’d expected his mother to be the cause of it, but there it was, and then for a very long moment he felt... nothing. When he met his mother’s eyes again, she was smiling at him, looking as if she’d been doing nothing more than standing there the whole time, as if she had expected him to... to not know it happened.

But Oliver did know, and he felt hurt, and confused, and something else, too. He felt guilty, because he was angry--furious even--with his mother. But he didn’t feel guilty for feeling that way. Oliver Martin felt guilty because as he thought of his brother, trapped and alone, he realized that maybe he should have felt that way sooner.

“Sweetheart, you look tired,” Mary told him. “Why don’t you take a short nap. I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

Oliver stared at her for a moment, swallowed hard, and then very slowly nodded before his mother kissed his cheek and left the room, closing the door behind her. She left him not knowing how he’d turned towards the window, eyeing it the same way David often did when he was trying to determine the quietest way to sneak out of the house, just as Oliver didn’t know what she’d stopped outside the door to nervously wring her hands together.

Mary Martin had a problem; it was a choice she had to make, one she thought she already had. She couldn’t live like this anymore, not knowing that the sky could come falling down over her head at any moment. She’d known that it would come sooner or later, but knew for sure the moment that her son began seeing Frank Seaberg. She’d been unable to tell Oliver to stay away. He’d been too happy to have a friend, and Mary--she did love him, she did care, and she couldn’t take that from him. And David had used it, and the moment Frank started asking questions, well, she knew that her husband wouldn’t stand for it. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at the Seabergs. They were a problem, and there was only one way her husband knew how to deal with a problem. She’d suspected that he saw Odetta Grover as a problem, but that had been different. The Seabergs weren’t like Odetta Grover because if something happened to the new family in town, there’d be questions. Mary couldn’t have that.

So she’d rid herself of the problem. She made David disappear. It was the only way. But then Oliver hadn’t stopped talking about him, and the lie her husband told, she’d known it wouldn’t last. She wanted to protect herself. She wanted to protect Oliver, and she’d known that she only had one choice left. She’d have to leave Brian. They’d be safe if they got away from him and anything he might be planning to hide the truth. Unfortunately, it had become rather clear that she couldn’t do it alone. Oliver wouldn’t allow that. He’d been looking at her oddly lately, with the same suspicion that had always been present in his brother’s face. Mary hated that. But she’d told herself that she could fix it. She could fix it if David helped her. Oliver would be willing to leave quietly, if only David would help her. She hadn’t thought it would be easy, but then again, she’d never expected David to be so stubborn. After all, she was giving him a way out. So it was a shame, she thought, that he hated her so much.

But she’d have to try again. She’d try one more time. Perhaps a few days left on his own had given David a new perspective. Or perhaps, it had made things worse. She wasn’t so sure. But what she was sure of, was that sooner or later, Frank Seaberg would be back. He wasn’t the type to leave things alone, and when he came back, he’d bring trouble with him. She had to get away from it. She had to get Oliver away from it, and if David wouldn’t help her, then maybe... maybe she could convince Brian. She could leave him later, with Oliver. She just needed to give Oliver more time to forget about David. Something had to work, she told herself. Something.

He couldn’t keep his head up anymore, and while he couldn’t recall it raining during his stay in his humble little prison, David was certain that there was more water coating the ground now than there’d been when he’d first arrived. In his last few attempts to sleep, he’d awoken with his ears clogged with it in his efforts to find a comfortable spot.

He was too tired to keep himself moving. Too hungry to stand without his stomach cramping or his head spinning. He was simply experiencing... too much. And he’d had enough. All he wanted to do was close his eyes. He felt warmer somehow when he closed his eyes. Perhaps it was because he was dreaming more, and for the first time in a long time, he found peace in his dreams, because there, he wasn’t trapped. And he was so tired, willing to slip away somewhere warmer, that when David actually got one of the things he’d been wishing for only hours before, he almost didn’t care.

David hadn’t been completely certain that it was his brother’s voice he was hearing at first, mostly, because he’d been asking himself the same question for what seemed like ages now. Although, even in the situation he found himself in he couldn’t quite imagine himself sounding even that desperate. No, the voice narrating his own thoughts definitely sounded more angry than desperate.

David opened his eyes slowly, trying to gather the energy to do more than that as he whispered, “I know I’m right.”

David opened his mouth once more, this time intending to speak up, but for several moments nothing escaped him but a series of rough coughs before he sucked in a deep breath, and then chose to respond with the one thing he felt mattered at the moment.

David couldn’t help it when he forced a gasp to feign surprise. “You’re kidding!”

“I’m not kidding, David! Something’s happening. Something’s wrong. They took all your things away. And broke your camera, David.”

As if he had no other problems, David actually pouted. He’d liked that camera.

“And Mom let him do it,” Oliver continued. “She said you were coming back, David, and she said that Frank would come back, but I think... I think she lied. David, it has to get fixed. Tell me how to fix it. I can’t do it by myself. I’m not like you. I’m not...”

David wasn’t sure where he found it, but suddenly he was on his feet, looking up at the dim light seeping through the vent.

“Don’t say that Oliver. Just... don’t. You came here, didn’t you? Oliver, let me out.”

David caught himself holding his breath, and when Oliver took to long to respond, he couldn’t help thinking that he had good reason to.

“And Mama lies, Oliver!” David was quick to remind his brother. He could feel his heart sinking, fear rising despite his calm demeanor. If his mom had given up on keeping him alive, Oliver was his last chance.

“I won’t go home,” David said quickly. “Let me out, and... we can go see Frank, Oliver. Show him the truth, huh? Come on, he can’t be mad at you then, can he? We can tell him the truth about everything.”

“No,” Oliver suddenly said, sounding uncharacteristically firm. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, David.”

David fell silent as he tried to determine just how much credit he should give his mother for this. Obviously, she’d covered all bases when it came to convincing Oliver that he shouldn’t be set free. She’d done such a good job, in fact, that Oliver seemed reluctant to help even with his doubts about her.

“I won’t,” David insisted. He tried to sound convincing, but being unable to concentrate on anything but whether or not Oliver would ultimately let him out, he failed.

“You’re lying, David. You’ll be in trouble... and you said you’d hurt Mama...”

“And maybe I should!” David shouted, his voice once again going hoarse. He’d had enough. “Damn it, Oliver, I’m not gonna argue with you! If you let me out of here, it’ll be me and you--just like it should be. We’ll get away from here. We have to, it’s the only way!”

“Dad, and Mom...” Oliver started, but David didn’t give him half a chance to finish.

“Why are you even here? It’s because you don’t trust them and you know it! That’s why, Oliver! And you can’t trust them, neither of ‘em! You might not remember what things have been like, but I do... and I know that if you don’t let me the fuck out I’ll die down here... is that what you want? Because if it is... just say it. Will it make things easier for you if I disappear? Just say it, Oliver. If it’ll be easier for you to stop worrying... to have a normal life...”

David grew tired as his own words hit him, and he slid back down the wall, his sight consumed with darkness again.

“Promise me something,” David interrupted. “When you walk away, don’t go home. You’re right, you know. Something’s not right there, and it won’t be until someone does something about it... Go see Frank, Oliver. Bring him here... then he’ll know the truth. Everyone will, and you’ll be alright... I care about that, you know. Nothing more than that. I love you... that’s why I need to know. Just tell me, Oliver... do you care what happens to me? Because if you don’t, no one will.” David took in a deep breath, just before his voice dropped down to a whisper that he barely heard himself. “And then I really am nothing.”

David closed his eyes, not surprised by Oliver’s lack of response. What surprised him, was how numb he seemed to it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. When it came to Oliver, he did very much. But he was tired, and even knowing that his brother meant well didn’t manage to dull the hurt when it came to the realization that he couldn’t rely on him. He was on his own, and while this had been a constant theme throughout his life, it was the first time it had actually frightened him.

David wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his hands under them as he felt a chill creep down his spine. He wanted to reach for his lighter, to take a moment of comfort in the warm flame, even as small as it was. But even for that, he couldn’t find the energy.

“Oliver?” he called. “Before you go, stay and talk to me for a while. I just want you to tell me... anything. Don’t leave me alone. Just talk, okay? Just...”

And then he heard it. The footsteps over the steel plate, the shifting of the lock. David crawled forward, his eyes focused on blackness as if he needed to see something there, something to tell him that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. It was when he heard the grinding sound that always accompanied the plate as it lifted, he knew, and for one split second, the betrayal and subdued anger he felt towards his brother was replaced with too much relief to dwell on Oliver’s faulted reasoning.

He shielded his eyes against the light, his nostrils flaring against fresh air, cooling the burn that seemed to be scratched into his damp, swollen skin, and he found himself reaching up, his hand expecting to feel the ladder. But it didn’t come, and the smile that had been slowly growing over his face disappeared as he made out the shadow standing over him, which was not his brother’s.

For a second, Mary Martin looked as surprised to see David looking up at her as he was to see her looking down at him. She recovered first, but still presented weariness when she tossed the bottle of water and the cold can of soup she’d been carrying towards David’s head, rather than at his feet in a move that forced him to step back.

“I hope you’ve used all the time you’ve had to cool down, David,” she suddenly said. “I was disappointed with our last visit.”

David didn’t reply, not right away. He was too busy staring at the bottle of water, half submerged in the muck at his feet. He’d been waiting for this. But somehow, the shock of seeing his mother and not his brother, had managed to throw him. She was standing above him. The plate was open. His thoughts were having difficulty coming together. He was supposed to be moving now, helping himself. But where was Oliver? Why wasn’t he helping? It would be so easy... so easy from up there. If he’d just grab their mother, hold her back so David could escape... so easy. It’s what David would do. So where the hell was Oliver?

“What exactly do you want from me?” David’s words were slow, his voice barely an echo in his head. Hell, he’d hardly understood his own question. He was stalling. He just needed to stall. Needed more time. Needed more energy. He needed help.

“You want me to help you get out,” David said blankly. “Away from Dad... okay, I’ll do it.”

He’d spoken too quickly. He’d known it even before his mother’s expression turned suspicious. He needed to be more convincing, and he knew it. He also knew that he’d have to be convincing fast.

“You and Oliver... and me, right? I’ll take care of Dad.” David stepped forward as carefully as possible, placing himself closer to the opening above his head. “What do you want me to do? Make it so he can’t chase us? I’ll get rid of him... if you let me out. I’m...” David swallowed as he felt himself choke on his next words, but managed to move another step closer to where he needed to be as he forced himself to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry... I’m ready to be a family.”

David quickly nodded, succeeding another step. He was in position now, but suddenly the distance between himself and the exit seemed a lot higher than it used to. Impossibly high. “You were right about Dad,” he said. “We’ll be better off without him... If you let me out now, I won’t let him hurt Oliver. Or you.”

Mary blinked, seemingly unaware of the frown marking her brow as she looked down at her son. She’d come here wanting to hear exactly what he was telling her, although she hadn’t realized it until that very moment. I’ll get rid of him. And looking down at David, Mary Martin believed that he truly would.

Her thoughts were frightening as they spiraled around the fact that her son was offering to rid her of her husband... and worse, it was because she’d asked him to. What a horrible person she was for having even thought of it, and yet the prospect was tempting. She’d thought that she only wanted to get away from him, but to be sure--to never have to worry for herself or Oliver becoming victims of his twisted mind was indeed worth considering. Horrible. Wrong. But worth consideration.

But as she continued to watch David, something seemed off. Something in his posture as he waited at the bottom of the hole. It was the calculating look in his tired eyes, his rigid posture, and most of all, the way his gaze seemed to be taking her apart bit by bit. And then Mary knew. Whatever fate David was concocting for the father who’d tortured him for his whole life, it would be an equally unappealing one for the mother who’d trapped him where he was now.

For a moment, Mary Martin felt a margin of well-deserved guilt, because as a mother, specifically this boy’s mother, she’d done her fair share to bring things to this. And she truly did wish things were different. She wished she could love him, because maybe then things could really change for the better. But then she told herself she couldn’t, because while this boy had the same face as her own loved son, he could be no child of hers. David might have shared the Martin name, but in that moment Mary knew that he was no one’s child.

Like being slapped in the face she felt the air rush from her lungs as a strange, instinctual panic seized her and she dropped the steel plate, and not a moment too soon as David decided to jump up. Mary had no way of knowing that he didn’t even have the strength to make it to the metal plate, but as her hands fumbled with the lock she could hear him cursing her below, his threats ringing in her ears as she swore she’d never remove the lock again, struggling to pull nearby debris over her son’s grave in hopes that no one else would, either.

And below, as the light went away, David could hear movement muffled behind his own screams, knowing that she wouldn’t be back even though she hadn’t said. She hadn’t needed to say it. But, oddly enough, it wasn’t his mother who he found himself cursing as he worked himself into exhaustion and finally collapsed against the back wall. It was the one person in the world who he’d needed to count on; the one person in the world who he should have been able to. Oliver would have know way of knowing that as David slipped away into darkness until it became a comfortable place, his thoughts had turned to betrayal and fury towards the only person he’d ever cared about. Just as David had no way of knowing that the brother he wished he no longer had didn’t realize his mother’s decision because he hadn’t been there.

David had no way of knowing that Oliver would have broken the lock if his mother hadn’t arrived, and he couldn’t know that Oliver had been spooked away, or even that later that day he had run from home in his little boat to Frank Seaberg, who hadn’t believed him when he said that David was real. And David never heard his brother two days later when Oliver had returned to explain this to him... or when he’d said, “I won’t leave you alone, David. I won’t.”

Frank Seaberg had never felt sicker. It wasn’t the kind of sickness that came with the nauseating scent of what he found himself standing in, or the cool walls prickling his skin but the kind of sick that chilled his reflexes and made his heart feel as if had stopped in his chest. His instincts told him to flee, but even then he couldn’t seem to lift his hand from the body. It hadn’t been enough to just find it.

Frank released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and reached further, pausing when his fingers came against cool, wet ones as he did what he could to accept what he was dealing with.

He should cry. The thought struck him with an odd intensity as he wondered how many others would be willing to shed a tear for David Martin. But even while he thought he should give Oliver’s brother at least that, he seemed too stunned to spare any other emotions. And Oliver, he thought. What was he going to tell Oliver? Frank had thought he was as crazy as he was led to believe, and if he’d just listened, if he’d taken a moment to just listen to what Oliver was saying, maybe things would be different.

He lifted David’s hands, holding it tightly in both of his, half wishing that if he could make it warm everything would be made right. But it was so cold. Too cold, and as Frank held tighter, he felt a cool strip of metal come against his palm. Taking the object carefully, he ran his fingers over it until it was properly identified, and bracing himself, he held up the lighter. With a flick of his thumb, a shallow flame lit the area in front of him and he shook as he took in the sight of a boy he knew.

It was difficult, not seeing the face as Oliver’s. Only, the one he was staring at was bruised and filthy, scratched, and... not as peaceful as it should have seemed. David Martin’s lips were parted, his nose red, and his eyes open, looking right back at him. He seemed almost… surprised, and Frank couldn’t help wondering what the cause of it had been during the last moments of his life.

“It’s over, David...Your brother’s safe now. I’ll make sure it stays that way,” Frank promised quietly, feeling that he needed to say something, even if David Martin was no longer around to hear it.

So Frank was understandably surprised when hazel eyes shifted to his, and David Martin’s lips moved.

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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