The Other Side of Me - 12. Chapter 12

Thanks to Jim for editing!

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.”

David opened his mouth again. “Mom...”

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.”

“Fine,” Mary snapped. “What is it?”

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?”

“No,” his dad answered, despite his demand that his mother do it.

“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.”

Chapter 12 - Part One

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.

But he’d shower later, he swore. Later.

“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.

Someone who wasn’t moving.

Someone who felt cold.

“David? David.”

 

9 days earlier....

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.

“Up!” she shouted. “Up! Get up now!”

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.

It was the middle of the night, wasn’t it?

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.”

“Not if you go away.”

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.

.............................................

“Swallow it!”

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.

“Good. Come on... maybe later you can help me take some pictures.”

Oliver smiled at that. “Can we go in the boat?”

“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!”

“Ouch. David?” Oliver’s voice was muffled, but definitely there.

“Where are you?” David asked, moving forward cautiously.

“I’m right here,” Oliver said, sounding put out. “I hurt my butt.”

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.”

“I’m down here, David. I can’t get up. It’s too high.”

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...

“Get me out, David! It’s too dark down here, and it smells funny!”

“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.

“And my pants got all wet, David! It’s wet down here!”

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?”

“Don’t think so. Pull me up, David, please.”

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.

“Where are we?” Oliver asked as he followed Frank around the small space.

“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.”

“Can we go now, David?”

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 looked uncertain. “I don’t know, David. How will you get out?”

This time, David did smile. “I’ll get out. Now come on.”

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...”

“I’m fine, Oliver, I’m comin’ out right now... stand back, alright?”

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...”

David pulled the trigger, and moved in to claim his kill.

.........................................................

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.

“Did you have to kill it?” Oliver’s voice whispered in his ear.

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.

“She was so pretty, David,” Oliver said.

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...”

“I said I wanted to go home, David,” Oliver reminded him.

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

“You’re turning red, David.”

“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.

“No!”

“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.

Day One

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?”

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t wanna take a nap.”

“Well, then come eat something then; how ‘bout...”

“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.”

“Yes he will,” Oliver replied, just as quickly.

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.”

Oliver balked. “Why?” he demanded.

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.

“Come inside and eat something, baby. You’ll feel better.”

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...

Why wasn’t David there?

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.

“David’s not here, Oliver,” Brian answered.

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...”

“He’s not in the basement,” Brian interrupted.

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.

“I didn’t do it.”

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.

“I was just...I’m sorry, David.”

“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.

“Go camping?”

“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?”

“But David...”

“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.

“I’m gonna ask Mom if we can camp tonight,” Oliver said determinedly.

“You do that.”

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.”

“I’ve got it covered,” David insisted. “But thanks, anyway.”

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.

He blamed a lot of the damage on his mother’s screaming.

“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.

“Put ‘er in the truck. We’re doing this together.”

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.

“I don’t want to.”

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.

“No guns.”

“What was that?” Brian demanded.

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.

“Are you sad, David?”

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.

“No,” he replied, after thinking the question over.

“But you have to...”

“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.”

“Will you tell me about it when you get back?”

“Yeah. Sure I will.”

...................................

“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.

“You didn’t have to hurt her! She wasn’t bothering no one! I...I...”

“You what?” Brian demanded as David went back to staring into the hole.

“I love her.”

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.

“You feel better now, don’t you boy?” Brian asked.

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.

Chapter Twelve: Part two

Day Two

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?”

“I hear you, David.”

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.

“Oliver?”

“I’m not moving now, David... and I can still hear you.”

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?”

“Because you’re not real, David.”

“What?”

“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.

“It’s a secret.”

“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?

I’ll make it better. You’ll see.

If you go away.

David froze, his fists clenching at his sides.

“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.”

“I know you’re not,” David said quickly.

“I’m not stupid, either, 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.

“When I forget... when I forget...”

“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.”

“When, David?”

“When it’s safe to. When things are right... just you and me.”

Oliver suddenly frowned. “You’re doing it again, David.”

“What?”

“Pretending, David. Like they’re not going to be there. Mom and dad.”

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.

“David, no!”

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.

“I just wanted you to be comfortable,” she replied calmly.

“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.

“I would never hurt my baby,” she stated.

“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...”

“Shut up!” Mary snapped. “You shut up, boy!”

“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?”

“Something?” David hissed. “Wasn’t I your boy, too?”

“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.”

“I know your father’s caused you to do a lot...”

“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?”

“David, we don’t talk about her.”

“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.

Day Four

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.

“Are you there, David?”

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.

“Oliver... where’s Mom?”

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.

“I don’t know, David. I think she went back home.”

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

“I see it, David.”

“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...”

“I want to, David, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Oliver mumbled something that David didn’t catch.

“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!”

“Then please, please help me. Oliver... help me.”

“She said it’s not time yet, David. She said...”

“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...”

“Don’t do that, David. You shouldn’t say bad things about them.”

“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.”

David closed his eyes, and cursed his mother. Repeatedly.

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 have to go now, David. I’m not supposed to be outside right now.”

“Oliver!”

“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!”

Day Seven

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.

We can’t have that, Mary had said.

Oliver agreed.

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.

“When’s David coming back, Mama?”

“Shh! Your father’s in the other room... I already told you...”

“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.

“What do I do?”

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.

“You were right about them. You were right, David.”

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

“You have to tell me what to do. David, I don’t know what to do!”

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.

“Are you hurt?”

“David, is that you?”

“What do you think? Fuck. Are you or not?”

“No, David. No.”

David sighed. “Then what do you want?”

Oliver’s surprise at the question accounted for his silence.

“I don’t know what to do, David,” he finally said. “Mom lied to me.”

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...”

“Bad?” David asked blandly.

“No, David, I’m not... I’m not smart. 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.

“Mama said that Dad’ll hurt you if you come home,” Oliver finally said.

“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.

“But what if he does, David... he’s been so angry lately...”

“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.

“I don’t want that, David,” Oliver insisted. “I just...”

“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.

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

“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.”

“Are you?”

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.”

Day Nine

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.

“David.”

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.

“Don’t count on it, Frank.”