Page 28

E very breath is painful and sharp, thanks to my uncle’s fists from earlier tonight. But I don’t care how many times he hits me as long as he never touches Micah again.

“How about some ice cream, huh? I snuck a few bucks from my teacher’s purse.”

I pinch Micah’s cheek, and he gasps in shock at the confession of my crime.

“That’s not nice, Malik! It’s not yours,” my little brother says, looking up at me with big purple eyes.

“I’m just teasing. I found the bills lying on the sidewalk. It was an unlucky day for someone, but really lucky for us,” I lie, knowing he won’t enjoy the ice cream as much if he thinks I stole the money to pay for it.

“Can we go to SB Ice cream?” he asks, as if that’s not the one I take him to every time I have enough money to bring him.

I nod. “Nothing less than the best for you.” I rub his black hair, messing it up.

“Double chocolate swirl?” He beams.

“With chocolate sprinkles, of course,” I say, finishing his order for him as we tiptoe down the stairs toward the front door.

Our uncle passed out from his bottles an hour ago, giving us the only free time we ever have. And I’m capitalizing on it tenfold. I have to; it’s the only time I get to see Micah really smile.

Stepping over the piles of trash and bottles, I take his hand and lead us out of the front door.

“Malik, guess what,” he whispers excitedly.

“What?” I ask, looking down at him.

“I’m so excited,” he cheers as the front door closes behind us.

Messing up his hair with my hand, I chuckle as we turn down the sidewalk to head to SB’s.

It’s beautiful out tonight, just warm enough, but not too hot. It’s just perfect.

Skipping, hopping, and racing, we finally reach the ice cream parlor, and Micah orders his usual.

“And for you?” the guy asks.

“Just his. Thanks.” I slide the dollar bills across the counter.

Sometimes, I wish Micah weren’t as perceptive as he is. His gaze whips up to me, and he frowns.

“We can share mine!” he offers, and my chest warms.

Shaking my head and smiling, I assure him that it’s quite all right. “I don’t want any right now. Thanks though.”

“Okaaay.” He drags the word out.

The worker walks back with my change and his ice cream cone.

Micah takes it happily, and I leave the few pennies I have left in the tip jar.

“It’s so good. Here, take a bite.” He thrusts it up at me as we head back outside.

I laugh. “You eat it yourself, chocolate monster.”

“If you insist.” He grins evilly. “Mmm, it’s soooo good,” he mockingly groans.

I shove his shoulder lightly, and he takes the opportunity to stroll along the edge of the sidewalk, walking on his tiptoes like he’s on a tightrope.

“You little shit.”

“Do we have to go back home tonight?” His voice is soft as he looks up at me with a sorrowful gaze.

My heart constricts as pain slices into me. “I’m sorry, buddy. Soon enough, I’ll have my own place, and you can come live with me, okay? We’ll leave that house for good.”

“Promise?” he asks, lifting his pinkie in the air.

I hook it with mine. “I promise.”

Staring into his purple eyes, I believe my words. I owe it to him. I have to get us out of this shithole our mom dropped us into before walking away.

I was six years old, and Micah was one year old when our mom said we were going to visit our uncle. But then she never came back, and we never heard from her again. She was found in a hotel days later. She had overdosed on heroin.

I don’t remember much of her at all, the memories fuzzy more and more each day.

My uncle always says that Micah and I were her curse, that we were demons and that’s why our eyes are purple. But I know he’s wrong.

“I love you, buddy.” I smile down at him, and his eyes light up.

“I love you too—” His finger slips from mine.

And time slows to a halt as I fall to my knees.

My ears ring from metal scraping, and his scream echoes in the air. The wind picks up around me as if the earth were yelling with us.

For a brief second, I’m stuck in time, frozen as I teeter on the edge of reality.

If I can stay here—right here—then I don’t have to face what’s really happening.

But my heart starts to race, thumping so loudly in my chest and ears that it sounds like gunshots. My adrenaline spikes, and my eyes burn with agony.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

NO! NO! NO!

This can’t be real; this can’t be happening.

But the longer I stand still and deny it, the longer I’m away from him when he needs me most.

Everything around us shifts into chaos, and my world goes up in flames.

A scream tears through the sound barrier, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s coming from me. But the moment it clicks, reality snaps back into place.

Glass shards decorate the pavement as I push myself to my feet, my entire body numb. A roar of heat pulses to my right, and I turn my head to it, blinking rapidly to clear my vision.

When I squint my eyes, the orange blur shifts into hungry flames, lapping at the oxygen around the burning car.

What happened?

His purple eyes appear in my mind, and my heart drops. Micah.

A wail tears through me, his name a prayer howling through the air around me. “Micah!”

I’m running before I realize it, my legs carrying me to where Micah lies twenty feet away, face down on the pavement. My ragged voice and cries fill the street as I throw myself to the ground beside him.

“Micah! Micah! Micah! Hey, buddy, it’s okay!” I reassure him, gently grabbing his shoulders and rolling him over.

He winces, moaning in pain. “Malik …”

Tears blur my vision as I scoop his head into my lap, and his eyelashes flutter as he looks up at me with wide eyes.

“I’m right here. I’m right here, Micah. Just stay with me.”

I can’t tear my gaze from his. I can’t call out for help. I’m useless. Weak. All I can do is hold him.

Sobs bubble out of me as he lifts his hand and cups my cheek. I mirror his movement, lifting my hand from his chest and resting it on his small jaw.

What is that? Ice cream?

A dribble of something dark falls from the corner of his mouth, and I wipe it with my thumb. It smears across his soft skin, and I gasp as tears stream down my face.

It’s blood.

“Malik?” Micah’s soft voice is somehow even quieter.

“Yeah, buddy?” I ask, sniffling and hyperventilating.

“I’m cold …” His voice shakes as his bottom lip quivers.

Wrapping him up in my arms, I pull him against me, resting his face on my chest, hugging him tightly. “Is this better?”

He nods against me, and I cradle the back of his head with my hand, feeling wetness squish between my fingers.

Rocking back and forth, I soothe him like I used to when he was a baby. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” My voice is raw and jagged.

Tilting my head back, I look up at the sky, my face wretched and twisted. “Please, if there’s a god or someone out there …” I heave. “Please don’t take him from me. Please.” Rocking back and forth, I cradle him tighter. “He’s all I have. Please don’t take him. I can’t surive without him.”

Cupping his face, I lean down and press my forehead against his, and my tears fall to his face.

Slamming my eyes closed, I sob. “I love you, Micah. I love you so much. I’m so sorry … I’m so sorry!”

Something’s changed—something I can’t describe—and as I open my eyes, I realize it’s because I can’t feel him breathing anymore. His eyes are open, but he’s not blinking.

My voice is a ghost of a whisper. “Micah?” I rock him gently. “Micah?”

He doesn’t move.

“Micah?” I shake him harder.

Sirens ring in my ears.

“Micah! Wake up! Wake up, buddy!” I sob. “Please …”

His body is limp in my arms, and his eyes … his eyes are empty. The recognition of that mere thought makes me want to die.

A high-pitched cry slashes through my lungs. Pulling him back against me, I cling to him like my life depends on it.

Someone touches my shoulder, but I don’t react. I just want to stay here with him. I don’t want anyone to touch him or look at him. He’s mine. He’s my little brother.

“Micah …” My voice cracks into a thousand pieces. “Please don’t do this.”

An EMT grabs my face and forces me to look at him. “Let me take a look at him, okay? I need to help.”

No. He’s fine. He’s just fine. He’s just resting right now. That’s all.

“Can you step away, just for a moment, sir?” someone else asks me, but I can’t even respond. “We’re going to move you, okay? We need to evaluate him.”

A thousand hands are on me, pulling me off of Micah as I scream and thrash.

“Stop! Stop! No!”

They pull me further away.

“Stop! He’s fine! He’s okay!”

“They have to check him out,” one of the people holding me back says, but I don’t care.

I need to get to him.

The EMT glances over at me—no, to someone else, but it doesn’t matter. I can read the look in their eyes because I already know the truth. I just don’t want to admit it yet.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no …” I whimper. “No!” I scream at the guy. “You’re wrong! He’s just fine!”

“Take a deep breath for me, son, okay?”

He’s fine. He’s fine.

A gurney suddenly appears, and they load his limp body onto it. I suddenly can’t hide from the truth any longer. They wheel it away as I’m held in place by at least three or—I don’t know—four people.

“P-please,” I sob. “Please.”

Someone’s voice cracks as my back is rubbed. “I’m sorry.”

I lose sight of him as he disappears around the corner of the ambulance. I don’t know where to look, how to breathe. I don’t know how to exist in a world that he’s not in.

A man in a suit stumbles out of an SUV, and it’s like my mind starts replaying the accident from the beginning.

He’s the one who was driving. He’s the one who hit Micah.

Shaking out of their hold on me, I take off running straight toward him.

“Hey! Stop!” they call out for me, but I’m already cocking my arm back and plunging it as hard into his face as I possibly can.

I deliver blow after blow, and his face becomes covered in blood. I can’t even form a word; all I can do is swing at him, hitting him with as much force as I can muster.

But just like before, I’m pulled away, ripped upward by those damn strong hands.

Staring down at the man, I commit everything about him to memory. I will make him pay for what he did to my brother if it’s the last thing I ever do.

But I didn’t need to memorize his face or his license plate because the next day, he shows up at my front door and talks to my uncle.

The day after that, two brand-new cars arrived on our doorstep. I don’t want to take the car, but I know it’s my only way to get away from my uncle, from the haunted house he’s raised me in.

I pack everything I’ve ever cared about into two plastic bags—most of which are Micah’s butterflies and a few odds and ends.

A week later, that house is empty. My uncle moves to a much nicer place, a place he doesn’t belong, a place that was paid for with my brother’s blood.

A month later, no service has been held, no memorial. It’s as if Micah never existed in this town.

I threaten to tell the truth about that night, but my uncle says the moment I open my mouth, the police will put a bullet in my head. It isn’t just the EMTs who are on Congressman Briarwood’s payroll and helped cover it up; it’s the cops too. The corruption runs deeper than I can probably imagine.

I wish I could fight for justice for Micah, but my uncle has one last thing to use against me. The only part I have left of my brother—his ashes.