“What’s your name, little boy?” The policewoman crouching in front of Caelan was smiling at him, but it was a fake smile. Caelan was good at reading faces.
“I’m Caelan.” He said, shortly, expression utterly calm.
“Well, Caelan. You don’t have to worry about a thing. We’re going to take good care of you and your brother, okay?”
The eight-year-old wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be worried about, but he said, “Okay,” anyways, and left it at that. Mother had never liked it when he’d asked too many questions. Mother was dead, but who knew, maybe this lady would be just like her. He held the hand of his twin tightly. James was sitting there next to him on the side walk as people rushed in and out of their house, lights blaring, their landlady’s hysterical voice explaining loudly how she’d come home to find the body of her second-floor tenant lying in the living room with a broken bottle and the kitchen knife by her side, and several shards of glass sticking out of her back. No one had seen the confrontation. There were no leads as to who could have done it, as the only prints found on the bottle were that of the woman and her two sons. The police assumed the perpetrator had been a guest wearing gloves, since there were two cups on the table, and no signs of forced entry. Besides, the neighbors suddenly seemed to remember that the lady often entertained unsavory people, and signs of shouting weren’t unusual from the household. The poor woman’s two kids were such quiet children. It was a relief nothing had happened to them.
Caelan didn’t know any of this, nor did he care. All he cared about was that he and James would be sent off to a nice person’s home now. That was what they all said happened when you became an orphan. Besides, she’d almost killed James today for accidentally breaking that bottle. He had done a good thing, and he and James were going to be together and be happy.
He didn’t let go of his brother’s hand all through the ride to the police station, nor when they sat together with a nice lady and a tired looking police man and got asked a lot of questions. The man asked them both a lot about what had happened, though nobody asked directly who had killed their mother. “Do you remember a man coming by your house that day?” Neither of them were sure. “Did your mother get into an argument with someone.” Probably. She usually did. “Did your mother seem afraid of anybody?” Mother was afraid of everybody and nobody. “Where is your father?” Up in the sky somewhere. “Who is your father? Can he come pick you up?” Well, maybe he could. His name was Cupid. Caelan wasn’t sure what the word “drug dealer” was supposed to be, but it was a weird name, and their father was supposed to be a weird guy, so perhaps it wasn’t odd that the title passed from adults’ lips with a shared glance when they heard the identity of his father.
But nobody asked how their mother had gotten hurt. Nobody asked if either of them was responsible, so Caelan never told them that he was. He would have, but nobody ever asked. James said nothing at all, just went on holding his hand through it all. That was alright by Cae. His brother needed him. That was the way things were supposed to be.
And then, after what felt like hours, the nice lady came to crouch down in front of him again, telling him that everything was going to be fine, and they were going to stay with a nice family for a while. That was good. That was according to plan.
For a while, they stayed with the nice family. But the nice family had a lot of other kids, and Caelan heard that they couldn’t keep the boys forever. He, in fact, heard a lot of things, sitting at the top of the stairs, above the kitchen at 6 in the morning, when their new parents thought they were all asleep. And there was one thing he heard that he did not like at all.
“Well, yes, I’ve looked around and it seems like other foster homes will be able to take them. I think one is even willing to adopt one of them.” Said the lady who had sat with them in the police room, who still stopped by here and there. “But not together. Please, these boys just lost their mother. They’re twins, too. Surely, you can house them a little longer while I look for a place so they can stay together.”
“We would love to, Ms. Waters, but we just can’t. There just isn’t enough room. If you’ve found a better place for them, it’s better to have them go. We’ve got too many as it is. We can’t care for them properly here.”
There was more arguing, but Caelan heard the gist of it. They were going to split them up. They were going to take his brother away. They weren’t allowed to do that. His brother needed him. He would have to prove that to them.
James came to join him on the stairs, not long after, taking his hand as if it were natural and starting down the stairs for breakfast. Caelan paused, looking down at the stairs. It was a long way down. There was a granny who had lived next door to them who had fallen down her stairs, and her daughter and grandchildren had had to come live with her to take care of her. Maybe the same thing would happen. Maybe they would have to stay together.
Cael yanked his hand out of his brother’s grasp, and pushed.
Hours later, James woke up in a hospital bed. He had a bandage around his head from where he’d cut it, and one of his wrists was sprained slightly, but the doctors said it seemed like he’d recover without too bad of a concussion. He looked at the doctor explaining this to him, and said, “I can’t tell what you’re saying.” In fact, it turned out, he couldn’t tell what anyone was saying. People kept talking to him, but the words sounded wrong, pieces of sounds missing, nothing anyone said made any sense. So he burst into tears and asked for the one person who always made sense for him. “Where’s Caelan? I want Caelan.” His twin had been waiting for him to wake up, but had fallen asleep and been taken back home.
When their foster parents gently shook him awake and told him that his brother wanted him, and they were going to the hospital, he nodded as if it was the only right thing in the world. Right before they walked into the hospital room, the boy looked up at the two, a sort of imperiousness in his gaze, and told them, “My brother needs me.” And with a strange sort of self-satisfaction, he waltzed into the hospital room. He listened to the doctor carefully, and his only response to the dumbed-down version of his brother’s condition was that phrase again, “My brother needs me.” And if it was up to Cael, he always would.