《skeleton bones》


 01. Money Doesn鈥檛 Buy Happiness (But it Helps)

    Orion Zoan was the fourth in a generation of farmers. In 1872, the first of Zoan¡¯s Farms was founded by Chester Zoan, who was thirty two years old at the time. The farm and all of its land had been passed down from father to eldest son for many seasons, until it became the possession of Chester¡¯s great-grandson, Orion. He was a farmer, as was his father before him, and his grandfather before his father. The Zoans received animals from far and wide to raise for slaughter, and to sell ingredients for money.


    The farm was located on the outskirts of Clyde River, built on fifteen hundred acres of land, which was built by Chester Zoan in 1867, and passed down to the eldest son through the generations. It was made of brown wood, and had been rather rundown upon Orion¡¯s inheritance of it. As a child, Hannah had spent lots of time running around the open fields, lying under the stars with her siblings, and helping her mother prepare the root cellar for the crops. On the farm, there were cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, ducks - whatever Orion could get his hands on.


    Everybody knew of the Zoans. They were a family of great status and wealth, leaders in their neighbourhood, and preachers of the truth. Orion Zoan was a man of power in the community, admired by many outside of the home. It was true what they said, though. Nobody ever knew what happened behind closed doors. As it had been in the times of their great-great-grandparents, each of the children had responsibilities, and would be scolded badly for not completing them. The girls cooked, cleaned, fed the animals, tended to the gardens, child-minded, and stored food in wintertime. The boys plowed, fixed machines, produced cash crops, sold the food made by the women, and prepared the animals for slaughter.


    Hannah Zoan stood in the long, winding hallway of the farmhouse she grew up in, tightening the clasp of her gold cross necklace.  Across the hallway, her twin brother frowned into a mirror, not yet dressed in his Sunday clothes. It was always noisy, the home always filled with children of Orion. "You''d better get a move on," said Hannah to her twin, who was really nothing like her. "If we''re late for church again, Dad is gonna lose it."


    Asher grimaced, his forehead forming an ugly wrinkle. Of Orion''s twenty one children, twelve remained at home, either too young or too incapable to live on their own. "I don''t even want to go. I feel kind of anxious today." Asher spoke a lot about feeling anxious. Hannah¡¯s parents said anxiety came from the guilt of acting shamefully. "Can''t I stay home just this once?"


    Orion, who was known for his non-monogamous lifestyle, paraded down the hall dressed in his Sunday clothes, snapping his fingers at the children. "Time to go! Asher, why aren''t you dressed? Do you want us to be late again?"  Orion had a wife and two lovers, which helped him have so many children. It was frowned upon within society for a man to have multiple wives. Orion¡¯s father had been this way, too. Despite his controversial opinions and lifestyle, Orion was highly respected within his community, and never would have dared allow his children to tarnish this reputation.


    The two youngest children needed help with dressing. There were far too many children, and far too few rooms, though nobody would have said this out loud. Canaan, the youngest of the Zoans, was four years old and slept on a cot in the large living room. Like the other boys, he dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks, but always struggled to get dressed on his own.


    Asher shook his head, though it didn''t look convincing. Orion was the patriarch of the household, and his word was always final. Hannah glanced at the family photo her mother hung from the wall, a photo from years ago, when all of the children still lived at home. "Brother wants to stay home, Father. He just told me."


    You may not call me Dad, Orion loved to remind the children when they were young. You may call me Father, and you may never question my authority. It seemed strange to Hannah''s boyfriend, and to some of the Church community. Hannah was willing and ready to do whatever she was told to get to Heaven, and to live a peaceful life everlasting. She had never been to school. When a Zoan child turned five years old, they began homeschooling: forbidden from going out and making friends, and rarely even allowed to leave the home. This was the way it had always been. Hannah had friends she¡¯d made at church, but seldom spent time with otherwise.


    Orion turned on his son, who shot Hannah a very rude look. "The Sabbath is a day of worship for all that we''ve been given. Do you want to disappoint the Lord? Do you want to burn for all of eternity?" There was no saying no, in the childhood home. Hannah didn''t mind this. It was a shame, really, that so many young people went against the truth. But punishment would come, and Hannah would be rewarded.


    Asher grumbled, straightening his shoulders rather reluctantly. "Okay, okay, I''m going.  Just give me a minute." They were always late for Church. If it wasn''t Asher grumbling about having to attend, it was Saphira taking her sweet time to get ready, or Nazareth getting distracted by a toy. Hannah was always the first one ready. Next year, she would be free to leave. Next year, she would be eighteen. Most of the children had left on their eighteenth birthdays. Most of them had turned away from the truth when they moved out. Even Hannah''s own father strayed from the truth. How could he not, with so many lovers? Orion said he had been given permission by God himself to live such a life, and nobody questioned him.


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    The children always argued on the way to town. The family van was crowded, and all of the children had assigned seats. Lillian, Orion¡¯s wife and Hannah¡¯s mother, sat next to her husband in the front passenger seat. Samantha, whose children with Orion were all grown and moved out, sat beside Seraphim in the middle. Hannah always sat in the same spot: next to the back-left window, which she used as an excuse to opt out of family arguments.


    ¡°Did you milk the cows this morning?¡± Orion asked in his booming voice, glancing at his second-youngest son in the car¡¯s rearview mirror. This was the job of the boys, and always had been, whether they enjoyed it or not.


    Nazareth was seven years old, and listened to music through a pair of thin earbuds, crammed in the back seat between Canaan and Lazarus. ¡°Yes, Father.¡±


    Orion opened a window, letting the smells of cows and nature seep into the car. ¡°Did you separate it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father.¡±


    Hannah''s boyfriend, Aaron, was a member of her Church. This had been how they''d met. Children were not allowed to date until their sixteenth birthday, when, if they were ready to date, their parents would choose a partner for them from the congregation. This is how it was for all of Hannah¡¯s older siblings, and this is how it had been for her. Her twin half-sisters were displeased by this rule, and took it upon themselves to attempt a negotiation with their mother. These never ended in their favour.


    Ever since she was a little girl, Hannah wore a white dress every Sunday, as was customary for the girls and women in the family. Sariah often argued this, insisting on wearing a button up in place of a dress, but her parents wouldn''t have this. Sariah would have been an embarrassment to the community if they had. Years ago, when Hannah was a child, her older brother had told her that religion was a cult. She''d always looked up to him, and unlike many of her other siblings, he was nice to her. What he''d said about religion, though, had angered her. There was a reason her parents no longer spoke to the eldest children. There was a reason most of them moved out before the age of twenty. Hannah wouldn''t be like that. She had hopes and dreams: to become a prominent member of the congregation, to graduate high school, and maybe even to become a nun. Asher said this was a stupid dream. It was bold of him to say, as a boy without any dreams at all.


    Hannah''s father, Orion, met his wife, Lillian, when they were both teenagers. His eldest child, Delilah, was not born to Lillian, but to Bronwen, a woman Hannah never met. In addition to ruling the home, Orion was also responsible for the behaviour of his wife, Lillian, and his lovers, Mara and Samantha. Samantha was often cruel to her, and to the others to whom she hadn''t given birth, but nobody would have guessed this. As an upstanding part of her religious community, Samantha was an admirable woman.


    The Zoans lived in the countryside, thirty-five minutes out from the nearest town, which was inconvenient a lot of the time. Orion had been given the farmhouse in his thirties, as a place to marry and raise his children. Before Hannah was born, it had apparently had only six bedrooms. Not to be discouraged by a lack of space, Orion built a new bedroom every time a child was born, until he grew tired after reaching ten. Hannah''s room was in the basement, and she enjoyed it here. As a young girl, she''d been forced to share with Kezia, but both had outgrown this. As a result, Hannah was given a room all to herself, and Kezia took a much smaller and uglier room. Although the children shared rooms with one another, none would ever have been permitted to share a bedroom with the opposite sex.


    When the family arrived at the church, Hannah hissed at Saphira. "Don''t sit with me." Her sister hobbled over the uneven brick floor, her heels clicking loudly on the floor. Saphira always wore heels, desperate for attention in any shape, as most of the children were.


    Lillian nudged her. "Quit scuffing your feet, Saphira. People are looking at you." White and brunette, Lillian looked like the average neighbourhood mom, nothing really stand-out about her. She was bland and sort of harsh, blaming tough love on her authoritarian-style parenting. While Lillian and Hannah enjoyed socialising with fellow church-goers after the service concluded, Asher and Cyprus preferred to leave quickly, waiting in the van for everyone else to be finished inside. This, to them, always seemed to take much too long.


    "Mommy," Canaan tugged Lillian''s dress, speaking far too loudly for the setting. "I''m hungry. Do you have a snack?"


    Hannah disliked children, although it seemed to be expected of her to become a mother. It''s your duty as a woman, her mother had said, to be available to your husband at any time. And if he would like kids, so be it. Perhaps this mindset had been forced upon Lillian by her husband, who''d always expected her to be available to him. It was as if wives were nothing more than property: incubators for men, as easily disposable as a dead battery.


    Stifling a sigh, Lillian drew a hand into her purse, thrusting a small bag of Cheerios into the boy¡¯s small hand. Satisfied, Canaan sat back in the pew and nibbled.


    They say you''ll be forgiven for even the most heinous crimes if you only ask for forgiveness. Hannah knew better than the average person that some people didn''t deserve to be forgiven. Like anyone else, Hannah made her mistakes, but this was part of growing up, and she wasn''t very good at it. She''d been privy to many more secrets than a teenager should be entitled to: secrets about her parents, secrets that would put her father''s entire reputation at stake.


    Kezia played clarinet in the Church choir. At twenty two years old, she was far too old to still be living at home - but refused to move out, insisting the youngest children needed someone to look after them. Kezia attempted to be helpful, but she was passive and unconfident, and usually just got in the way instead. She wasn¡¯t an awful clarinet player. She¡¯d gotten the instrument as a gift from an elderly member of the choir, after expressing an interest in learning how to play. This had been years ago, and Kezia had taken time to practice every day since.

 02. Phantom Kids

    The worst part of being a teenager was that adults thought you knew nothing, and children thought you knew everything. Asking questions counted as being lippy; stating an opinion counted as arguing. Adults didn''t know everything, either. They sure thought they did. How was any child supposed to learn if questioning wasn''t allowed? Most days, it just felt wiser to say nothing at all.


    "Hey."


    Hannah sat at the kitchen table, poised, the way her father had always told her to be. There was a book open in front of her, which was strange: Hannah didn''t read. Crossing her arms on the table, she placed a bookmark on her page. "Yes?" Everything Anna said sounded exasperated. Asher had good memories with her, from childhood, before their father''s abuse took away her spirit. That was the saddest part of all of it. "Do you need something?"


    She used to be fun. As children, she and Asher would build forts out of blankets and sleep underneath them, telling scary stories and giggling at silly jokes. Hannah wasn''t that kid anymore. Asher wasn''t, either. "Mara said she¡¯d bake us a cake for our birthday. Do you want to help?¡±


    "With you?" It was a weekend. This meant a break from homework, even if only for a few hours. "Not really. I''m kind of busy right now." They said that twins had a sort of telepathy when it came to each other. This was certainly not true. Most days, Hannah didn¡¯t even feel like a sister, let alone a twin.


    He''d expected this. It still was disappointing. "But it''s eighteen. It''s kind of a big deal-" The adults rarely participated in activities with the children. Life was all about work and worship. It was no life for a teenager.


    "I don¡¯t care." Hannah shrugged, focusing her attention back on her book. "Go away."


    It was hard to figure out when things changed. When did Hannah stop being fun and playful? The truth was that nobody would believe a child over an adult, even if they really should have. There was still time for things to go back to the way they were, though. When Hannah moved out, when she realized the truth about what was going on, maybe she''d heal. Everybody probably needed to heal.


    "Okay. Well, happy birthday, Hannah."


    Spring was coming, which meant that Asher would be responsible for tilling the fields for harvesting season. He didn¡¯t love this, but it kept him busy when there was nothing else to do. Turning eighteen meant being an adult. Moving out was possible now, when the twins had the resources and the opportunity. Asher had been saving to move out, but there was a lot more to it than just making money. It was the same for all the family. Once a Zoan child turned eighteen, the adults were no longer responsible for them.


    The worst part about growing up in a big family was the constant comparison to elder siblings. There was never any need for individualism, when Asher was growing up. The eldest children looked after the youngest, and the youngest children were made to be clones. If you asked Lillian, she''d tell you that children aren''t entitled to privacy, that they have to earn it with good behaviour or doing what they were told. A child was to do what they were told without a question, without a single thought for themselves, without a single opportunity to learn absolutely anything on their own.


    In the winter months, Lillian left the fireplace on, so that the house was always warm. Asher had always enjoyed sitting in front of the flame, reading or watching a movie with Alma. This year, he hoped to leave the house and get a job.


    "There''s nothing wrong with kissing boys," said Salem, when Asher first confessed he might have been interested in it. "I kiss boys all the time." Asher hadn''t spoken to his brother much since he moved out, but Salem enjoyed helping out, and Asher wasn''t about to reject the support.


    This was only slightly comforting. "Mom said I''d go to Hell if I kissed a boy." Of course, Lillian said this about many things.


    Asher was speaking to Salem over the phone. He never came to visit, and Asher didn''t blame him. "Bro, I''ve told you a hundred times. There is no Hell. That''s just something Mom tells you to scare you into behaving."  There was no reason not to believe Salem. Ask anyone. They''d say he was the most honest person in the world.


    In the back of his dresser drawer, Asher had a small package of weed he¡¯d gotten from Salem. Some days, he needed something to take the edge off. At just eighteen, it was illegal for him to possess it, and Salem had known this. ¡°I promise not to tell anybody,¡± Asher had said, pleading, ¡°I promise nobody will ever find out.¡±


    There was a lot about Asher his parents didn''t know. He¡¯d met Rowan online a year ago, after being forbidden from leaving the house. Maybe that was a bit unfair. It wasn''t like Asher couldn''t leave the house at all. His parents were strict for good reason, by way of protection, to shield him from the evils of the world. Rowan saw the world differently. He was from a family that took psychedelics and smoked weed in the house, whose parents treated Asher as part of the family rather than a disgrace. It felt strange. It felt wrong.


    The tree in the front yard was bent over under the weight of the snow. As a kid, Asher loved burrowing underneath the snow, and having snowball fights with his siblings. Nothing was fun anymore. Nothing had been fun in years.


    Asher was allowed to date, but not the way he did it. When he was sixteen, his parents had chosen a girl from the church for him to date, and this relationship hadn¡¯t lasted long. It always began with a courtship: the most awkward part of any relationship. He was forbidden from attending unsupervised dates; his mother claimed this might lead to temptation or intimacy. Lillian was a hypocritical woman, setting rules for her children that she didn¡¯t follow herself, and treating her family badly after listening to scriptures saying to do otherwise.


    "Move in with me," said Rowan, beginning the drive to his house. "I''d like that a lot better than you staying here."


    It was hard to do anything without hearing Lillian''s voice in his ear: nagging, reminding him what a sinner he was, saying all the things a mother shouldn''t say to her child. This made it hard to leave the house, or to have any type of freedom. "I can''t."


    "Why not?" Rowan was a good driver, but Asher knew nothing about how to drive. "You''re eighteen now. You don''t have to stay at home."


    Rowan¡¯s phone was connected to the radio. Despite being only two months older than Asher, he seemed so grown up.  "Where are we going to go? I don''t have any money." Turning eighteen came with a lot of stressors Asher hadn''t really thought about before. No one ever taught him how to get a job, how to file taxes, how to pay bills. It wasn''t fair that a teenager should have to figure all of this out on their own.


    It was getting dark when Rowan parked in front of his house. It was an eclectic house, like the people inside it. Rowan smiled, putting a warm hand on top of Asher''s. "Come live with me. My parents would love to have you. They''ll help you find a job and everything." It didn''t feel wrong, to be sitting here like this with Rowan. It didn''t feel wrong to have feelings for another boy. But it was. Why did things that felt so good have to be wrong?


    He pulled his hand away. "I can''t."


    Rowan didn''t deserve this. He was a supportive, friendly boy, held back by Asher''s insecurities. Mary had suggested, once, he visit her long-time therapist to discuss his childhood traumas. People like Mary were sociable and willing, and speaking to people was hard even if you knew them well. "Well, will you think about it, at least?" Rowan took his hand, locking the car door with the press of a button. It must have been nice, to grow up in a normal family. It was something Asher always daydreamed about.


    It was challenging to see Rowan these days, with the rules of Asher''s father. Usually, he snuck out of the house after dark, when everyone had gone to sleep, and slipped quietly inside Rowan''s waiting vehicle. Once, he had been caught attempting to sneak out, and his father had beat him and shouted that he was a disgrace. According to Asher''s father, everything he did was a disgrace.


    Rowan¡¯s older brother, Crue, was twenty two years old and recently married, living with his wife in another part of the city. The family home was small and warm, filled with bohemian and tie dyed decors and furniture, welcoming to everyone who came through the door. Asher never stayed long, for fear that his absence at home would be noticed.


    For most people, turning eighteen meant going to college and learning to be successful. None of the Zoan children had ever learned how to do their taxes, or fill out a cheque, or get a job. It was a surprise that any of them had managed to accomplish anything on their own. For most people, turning eighteen meant finding independence and freedom. For Asher, it meant nothing more than crippling anxiety.


    The first time Asher met Rowan¡¯s parents, he was stunned. Both were women around fifty years old, who shared clothing and weed, and never seemed to argue.  It felt strange to be loved. Rowan¡¯s mother Brynn was an interior decorator. His mother Jane was a lawyer. Though he was supposed to, it was hard for Asher to feel uncomfortable around the women. From their very first meeting, Rowan¡¯s parents were kind to him, treating him as though he was their own son.


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    Jane and Brynn were children of the eighties, and had never seemed to outgrow the culture. Both women dressed mostly in bell bottom jeans and tie dye shirts; Brynn had purple hair, which suited her. ¡°Good to see you again, Asher. Rowan said it¡¯s your birthday today.¡±


    Rowan had never had to come out. He could simply bring a boy home, and his parents would treat them as just another son. ¡°It is.¡± Asher removed the arm Rowan had placed around him, unwilling to break a rule, and too anxious to stand up for himself. Rowan frowned, seeming hurt. His parents acted more as friends than parents: poking fun at him for his life choices, offering him joints during get-togethers. Still, despite their lax and carefree upbringing, Rowan and Crue were responsible adults.


    Jane smoked weed in the living room, smiling brightly at Asher. ¡°Happy birthday!¡± Nobody at home cared about this: not even Hannah. ¡°Brynn and I have something for you.¡±


    Over the course of his life, Asher had learned that birthdays meant nothing. As a little kid, he looked forward to celebrating with Hannah. These days, she barely spoke to him. He envied Rowan. He¡¯d spent a lot of nights lying awake, mourning a childhood he¡¯d never been given. It was uncomfortable to be given positive attention. Brynn and Jane were easy to speak to, and perhaps they knew this.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s your birthday,¡± Jane handed him an envelope, sitting next to her wife on the couch, ¡°and you deserve to feel special on your birthday.¡±


    None of the Zoan children had ever gotten a birthday present. Some of the youngest children didn¡¯t even know when their birthdays were. Asher didn¡¯t quite know how to react to receiving a gift; he¡¯d never received one before. The envelope contained a hand-written card and a fifty dollar bill - which may not have been a lot to some, but it was the first birthday gift Asher had ever received, and this was overwhelming.


    When Asher left Rowan¡¯s home, he always hugged his mothers goodbye. It had been strange at first, as there was little affection at his own home. Rowan¡¯s bedroom was messy and private; he sat noisily on the bed.


    ¡°There¡¯s no way out of here,¡± said Monty, after an argument with their father. ¡°We¡¯re all either going to run away, or kill ourselves.¡± The truth was, probably, that nobody would have cared about either of these things.


    When he was a child, Asher¡¯s father shouted at him for crying over a bird that flew into a window. ¡°Boys don¡¯t cry,¡± he said, tossing the bird aside as though it were trash, ¡°No girl wants a boy who acts like a baby.¡± Mary said there was nothing wrong with boys being emotional. Zeb said it was embarrassing to be known as a crybaby.


    Rowan was speaking, and Asher wasn¡¯t listening. Sometimes, he had daydreams so vivid that he seemed to live inside them: imagining new lives and families, creating characters he wished to become. Some days, he¡¯d spend hours inside his head, disappointed and depressed with the realization that daydreams weren¡¯t real. Sometimes, it felt as though he was watching his body from outside of it: like he was a puppet, being controlled by some invisible hand. Sometimes he looked in the mirror and felt as though he was looking at a stranger.  It was hard to explain to anybody else. It was hard to understand, himself. Sometimes, his chest hurt so much that it felt as though it would explode. Sometimes, in moments of overwhelming stress or anxiety, he felt as though he was looking at the world through a sheet of fog. He¡¯d asked his father once to be put on antidepressants, and he¡¯d been laughed off. ¡°All of that medication stuff is a scam. The big corporations just want your money.¡±


    "Look." Rowan sat back, his hands comfortably behind his head. "All I''m saying is your family is super toxic. I don''t know how you put up with it."


    Rowan''s bedroom was small, not unlike Asher''s. If they hadn''t been dating, Asher''s father probably would not have hit him as hard. Asher wasn''t gay. This time around, it was just Rowan who had caught his eye.


    "What do you mean?"


    Rowan was permitted to leave whenever he wanted, and didn''t have a curfew, and this was fascinating and horrifying to Asher. "I mean-" Rowan shrugged, pushing a grey shoebox off his bed, "you''re not even allowed to leave your house without permission from your dad. You and your brothers all have to dress the same and call your siblings Sister or Brother. "It sounds like a cult to me."


    Sex is for marriage. It¡¯s a sacred act, meant to be shared between a man and a woman who love one another. For a man to engage in such an act outside of marriage, or with another man, will send you to Hell. Asher remembered his father telling him this, when he was a young teenager. He remembered being scolded for thoughts of impurity, for exploring himself in the early days of puberty. It wasn¡¯t natural, any of these things. It wasn¡¯t natural for a boy to like a boy.


    When Rowan reached for him, Asher withdrew, stung. "Why would you say that?" He shouldn''t have snuck out that night. Home was lonely and noisy, and didn''t feel much like home at all. These days, nowhere really felt like home. "My dad just wants me to be a good Christian boy." Orion had told him this more times than once, mostly at times when he was attempting to make a good impression on the priest. Tomorrow, the priest was coming for dinner.


    "He wants you to be a brainwashed clone with no mind of your own." Rowan winced, realizing the harshness of his words. "Okay, I''m sorry, but it''s true." Rowan was often opinionated and brash, never taking a moment to think through his words before saying them. This had been one of the things Asher had liked most about him. He shrugged, looking away from Rowan, reaching for his sneakers to return home. He never should have left. "Ash, I''m sorry." He put a hand on Asher''s leg, who didn''t move it away. "I just hate that you live there."


    He''d made this abundantly clear, but it was unfair to judge a situation when you knew so little of it. In a couple of hours, the sun would come up, and Asher''s father would come downstairs to wake him. Feeling a pit in his stomach, he began to tie his shoes. "I should go home. Can you drive me?" Some nights, he rode his bicycle to Rowan''s house. Tonight, it was too cold. Sighing, Rowan stood.


    Twice a day, Asher was in charge of milking the cows. There were twenty of them: some to provide for the family, and some to provide for the community. As the oldest boy, he was meant to gather the milk and cream, plough the fields for harvest, fix finicky machines, and prepare the food for selling. Orion, who didn¡¯t trust his sons, never let them sell. None of them minded this much.


    Asher wasn''t allowed to have a cell phone. None of his siblings were, until they moved out on their own. Mary, who worried about him, had bought him one secretly, which he was grateful for. It felt lonely, living such an isolated life, but he was eighteen now, and nobody cared once you turned eighteen. His father rarely left the home, aside from church functions and short visitations with members of the community. Orion owned a popular retail store, but everyone knew he didn''t care one bit about its employees if he didn''t get anything from it. Asher''s mother, Lillian, worked as an accountant at the church, which he hated to mention. It was embarrassing, being from a family like his. Thoughts like this would get him into too much trouble.


    Rowan drove him home in silence, the city dark except for the streetlights. "I love you," he said, after stopping in front of the farmhouse, which was not as far away as one would think. Sometimes it was difficult to respond. Asher would try and speak, tricked by the words which caught in his throat and made his tongue feel heavy. Being a sinner brought a sense of shame on a person. Asher knew this better than anybody.


    "Bye," he said, and hurried inside.


    It was risky, returning home at such an hour. Some nights, Seraphim, who knew of his past escapes, would stay up and wait quietly for him, waiting for a chance to expose his misbehaviour to their father. She was always rewarded, in some way or another, when she did this.


    Asher was often told to be more like his elder brothers: most frequently, Zeb, whom he didn''t trust. To most, Zeb was a charismatic and intelligent man ¨C but he''d always hated Asher, and it was never exactly a secret. Despite his superficial charm, Zeb had a lot of secrets. Then again, so did everybody else, too.


    Seraphim sat on a step stool inside the door, staring at her half-brother the way his mother used to. She flicked on a light, scowling at him, tapping her fingers on her thigh. "I know where you were."


    "Okay." At eleven years old, she reminded Asher of her mother, in looks and in style. "Why are you staying up watching for me? Don''t you have anything better to do?" He was tired, slipping his shoes carefully into line with the others, shuffling down the hall. If the shoes weren''t perfectly in order, Orion would have something to say.


    Seraphim was a twin, too. Though she looked like Eve, the girls were nothing alike. Seraphim was insufferable and obedient, and reminded Asher of Hannah. Perhaps this was why they struggled to get along. Eve was quiet and never bothered to care about other people¡¯s business. Seraphim followed him, her bare feet slapping on the tile floor. "You should be ashamed of yourself. I know you and Rowan are still together." It seemed she had this strange obsession with involving herself in other people''s lives, as if hers lacked excitement or something. Seraphim was annoying. Seraphim was a younger version of Hannah.


    Asher spun around, in the hallway outside his bedroom. "What''s your problem, anyway? Why can''t you just mind your own business?¡±


    As kids, Asher and his siblings were made to kneel beside their beds and say their bedtime prayers. There was a photo of the Last Supper on the wall of the entryway, painted on canvas and framed in a handmade frame. Seraphim sighed, loudly. "You¡¯re supposed to do what you¡¯re told. If you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll get in trouble too.¡±


    Asher knew, like anyone, that what he was doing was wrong. Sometimes it was much too hard to do what was right, even when you knew you should. Though infuriating, Seraphim had much more self-control than he did, and she knew it. "What are you talking about?" He knew what she meant. It was easier to question than to argue.


    Their father was awake. Asher could hear him, shuffling around in the kitchen.


    "Sariah is trying to be a boy. You''re gay. Alma-¡±


    "I''m not gay."


    It shouldn''t have mattered. Things like this always mattered to his sisters. "I know you and Rowan didn''t break up. You can lie to Mother, but I''m not stupid."


    "I like girls, too."


    "So?" Across the hallway was Seraphim¡¯s room, decorated with purples and greys, looking oddly sophisticated. "You have a boyfriend, so you''re gay." Maybe she was right. He''d hate to admit this. When Orion began to make his way downstairs, the children scattered into their respective bedrooms.

 03. {syncophants}

    Monty Zoan was pretty certain he wasn''t a girl. Despite being raised as one, he''d always related much more to the idea of boyhood. He''d steal clothes from his older brothers and try them on, acting shocked when they showed up in his laundry weeks later. At sixteen, he was too young to begin medically transitioning without permission from his parents, and so he coped mostly by wearing baggy clothes and practising voice training.


    Growing up, Monty always greatly admired his older sister Zina. She was courageous and disciplined, standing up for her beliefs while her parents bullied her for them. When Monty began to suspect he might have been trans, Zina was the first person he confided in, and the only one he felt truly understood. He was nine when she moved out, and things weren''t ever quite the same after this.


    Monty''s father, arriving home from his trip to the store, slammed a bag of groceries down on the counter. "Finish your homework, Sariah."


    Being home-schooled was rather lonely, and very stressful. Mara, who was in charge of the schooling, was a nice enough woman, but she was temperamental and lost her patience quickly. When Lillian was home, Mara was bitter and took her resentment out on the children. When the family was out, they were your typical well-mannered family. But appearances could be deceiving, and Monty knew this better than anyone.


    Orion had far too many children, and gave them all outlandish names. All had appeared in the scriptures, which Monty knew from years of being forced to have religious stories read to him. He wasn¡¯t out as trans, and knew this wasn¡¯t possible as long as he lived under his parents¡¯ roof. Despite this, hearing his given name always felt like a punch to the gut.


    Monty sighed. "It''s finished."


    There wasn''t much he learned at school that would be helpful once he moved out. Monty had never been taught how to do his taxes, how to solve problems, how to make a budget. Instead, he was overly knowledgeable about religion and how to follow the rules, as if these were things that would allow him to be successful in the workplace. He didn''t care for school. If Monty could be anything, he would have been an advocate for transgender rights.


    His father was intimidating, a no-nonsense man whose idea of fun was to read scriptures or pray as a family. He walked with a confident gait, dark-haired, like most of his children, often blaming the children for his lack of relationship with them. It was impossible to have a friendship with a man like Orion. Monty had nothing in common with his father at all.


    "Show me, then."


    "Look."


    All of their homework was to be written in cursive, on unlined white paper, with no room for error. Lillian, who had many rules, had fastened a large list to the wall on a poster-board, which outlined strictly the daily responsibilities of the children. The women were to cook and clean and tend to the men, but to do this in a pleasant way was nearly inconceivable. Everyone saw Monty as a woman. Even Monty saw himself as a woman, most of the time. It was hard not to, when nobody would believe him. He shared a bedroom with his elder sister, Saphira, who rarely spoke to him. No one ever had a room to themselves; even Orion¡¯s lovers shared with one another. When Mary lived at home, Monty and Saphira¡¯s room was shared with her, too.


    Orion was a hard man to impress. The Zoans had gone through several housekeepers over the course of Monty''s life, and likely many more before his birth. The housekeeper visited on Saturdays, as there was to be no work on Sundays, and Orion was harsh to her, as he was to everybody. As he came up behind Monty, a wave of unease rose in the teenager''s chest. His father had never hit him. A few years ago, Monty would have argued that this meant the man couldn¡¯t be abusive.


    "Do it again. When you¡¯re finished, go and grab some beets from the root cellar.¡±


    The cellar had been constructed by Orion¡¯s father in 1945, after the farm was passed down to him. It was made of dirt and rocks, and contained a narrow staircase which led from the sidewalk. The cellar door, which was thin and made of tree bark, had to be shut tight at all times to prevent the vegetables from spoiling. Recently, Monty had been put in charge of the cellar - which wasn¡¯t a difficult task, but left him very cold in the wintertime.


    When the housekeeper was over, the children were to stay in their rooms quietly, tidying the floors and shelves so the rooms could be vacuumed. Monty never minded cleaning, though he wasn''t very good at it. It was as if cleaners were robots and not women with feelings, the way Hannah and Orion treated them. Monty frowned. "What''s wrong with my homework?¡±


    The children all got the same assignments, though they''d vary in difficulty through the years. This week, they''d been given the task of interpreting a passage from the Book of Ether, a discretionary passage which was assigned to each child by Lillian. Monty hated essays, and often did poorly on them. Canaan and Noah, who barely knew how to spell, sometimes got to colour scripture pictures instead.


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    Orion was displeased. "You missed the point. Rewrite it by Friday." He''d always been a rather difficult man. Monty had, of course, had no choice but to learn to please him.


    Esther, who learned things like reading and spelling on weekdays, shuffled haphazardly into the kitchen, already dressed in her pyjamas. A young child needed socialization, and Esther had never had this. Born in her mother''s bathroom, she''d spent her entire life confined within the walls of the country farm, leaving only at brief intervals for masses and grocery shops. It was as if Monty''s parents feared the children would be exposed to the worst kinds of people if they were allowed to leave the house. Life could be lonely, but it was never boring. From sunrise to dawn, they were to finish homework, attend lessons, and complete work on the farm.


    "Sister," said Esther, climbing onto Monty''s lap, "will you play with me?" It was painful to be referred to this way, but this wasn''t Esther''s fault. At eight years old, she was the youngest of the girls, and she had no friends outside of her siblings. This is the way things had been for Monty too. For most of the Zoan children, the best part of growing up was the freedom to leave. Living under his parents'' roof, Monty''s life was uneventful. Most of the time, he was forbidden from leaving, and he certainly couldn''t have found the opportunity to visit elder siblings. As far as Orion was concerned, a child was no longer a child once they left the home.


    The home was always noisy, and seldom dirty. There was nowhere for Monty to have peace and quiet, or time to himself, and this made the farm feel more like a prison than a home.


    Esther looked just like her mother. Monty was uncomfortable from the tightness of his chest binder. "Okay."


    At the age of twelve years old, Monty learned what it meant to have gender dysphoria. Although he didn''t yet understand the meaning of the term, he knew that it felt strange and wrong to dress like a girl, and he knew that looking like one made him feel sick and trapped inside his body. When he had begun to experience puberty, the thought of developing into a woman made him feel disgusted. This was all he knew. According to his priest and the scriptures, it was a sin for a woman to dress as a man.


    It was very hard, sometimes, for Monty to pretend he enjoyed being feminine. Often, he was scolded by his mother for his lack of femininity, or refusal to put on makeup with his sisters. He participated, albeit reluctantly, when Esther insisted all the girls played dress-up. It was exceptionally hard to say no to a hopeful child.


    "Sister," said Esther, poking her head into Seraphim¡¯s bedroom. "Let''s play dress-up."


    Monty had been there when Esther was born. It was rather traumatizing to him, but she had been born in the bathtub, and he was curious. After this, Lillian forbade all of the children from hanging around when babies were born.


    It was hard not to pity Hannah, sometimes. Like most of Orion''s daughters, she had been subjected as a child to the types of things nobody spoke about. As a teenage girl, isolated inside a house that was filled with trauma, Hannah was conflicted. It was hard not to be.


    "You''re not a boy," Hannah had said, many times before. She would always say it in the same way, as though she was spitting poison out of her mouth. "You''ll never be a boy. Find some other way to get attention."


    Father Roy was a senior in the church, who held the position of High Priest and frequented Zoan farm for dinner. He was generally fond of Hannah, as most adults were; she was such a two-faced fraud. Hannah was cunning and tailored specific personalities for specific people, acting as though this was a trait worth being proud of. Monty spent little time with Hannah, and both preferred it this way.


    The priest always wore his temple garments when he visited. Outwardly, he was a nice enough man. It had been years since Monty trusted a man in uniform.


    To prepare for guests, the women and girls prepared the house. Once in a while, Lillian or Samantha caught one of their sons tidying or organizing, and made one of the girls take over the task, saying it was improper for a man to clean. This made sense to most. Monty wasn¡¯t opposed to gender roles, but he was bothered by his womanly responsibilities.


    ¡°I expect all of you to act properly,¡± said Orion, adjusting his tie in a mirror on the wall, ¡°you all know the rules.¡±


    As everything was, the rules of the home were determined by sex. The girls were not to speak unless spoken to, be pleasant and obedient, and to clear the tables after meals. The boys were to gather and prepare the ingredients for cooking, engage in polite conversations with visitors, and ensure their sisters didn¡¯t speak out of turn. It seemed unfair to Monty that he was forced to be subordinate to his brothers just because of the way he was born - but no one ever questioned this, and Monty knew better than to bring it up.


    He remembered an argument that had occurred between Mosiah and Orion, shortly before his brother left home. ¡°It¡¯s not the 1900s anymore,¡± Mosiah had said, already in a foul mood, ¡°girls don¡¯t have to be our servants.¡±


    Nobody ever won an argument with Orion. Most were too intimidated to attempt.


    The priest sat across from Monty at the table, conversing with his parents and brothers. He liked to preach about sin, and how it affected relationships, and how to sin was to betray the Lord. A lot of people claimed to be perfect. Monty hated being told what to do.


    The children always sat in order of age, which sandwiched Monty between Hannah and Saphira. He sat quietly at mealtimes and listened to conversation, far more comfortable observing than taking part. This is how he was meant to behave, anyway. The kitchen window was open, letting in a cool breeze. When Monty stood to close it, the two youngest children began to argue loudly.

 04. RIPPLES!

    The biggest problem with stupid people was that, most of the time, they had no idea they were stupid. Nobody batted an eye, but followed foolishly along after those who claimed to know the difference between truth and rumour. The biggest killer was naivety; people fell victim to this every day, too foolish to make up their own mind, to do their own research. It was difficult to feel pity for people who were stupid, knowing it was something they had brought upon themselves. It was foolish to believe things without questioning, to take the word of others before discovering for yourself.


    As a boy growing up in a religious family, it was hard to take anything seriously. Rules and sins were spoken by those in power, pressed on the vulnerable as a way to elicit fear and control. If one refused that which they were told blindly, it was unlikely that one would fall victim to manipulation. This was something it had taken years for Mosiah to learn, and he was still quite young, but he was never stupid. The way of life was to keep oneself well-informed, refuting so-called facts until they were proven. For some, it was easy to be manipulated. Maybe as a very young boy, this was a sin of Mosiah''s.


    At sixteen years old, Mosiah ran away from home, terrified of the prospect of remaining under his parents'' roof for a single day more. Running from the farm meant wandering a big highway with nowhere to go, until you either hitched a ride with a stranger or starved to death. Mosiah had chosen the former, hitchhiking with a teenage girl and her mother down the highway into the city. In the backseat, he¡¯d made awkward conversation with the woman, who looked older than his mother. When he got into the car, she¡¯d looked him in the mirror and asked what he was doing out by the highway all alone.


    That was the thing about adults. They were nosy, and they gossipped. Mosiah knew telling the woman the truth would probably result in her turning back around and driving him home. It was as if a teenager couldn¡¯t have a mind of their own at all: and this was infuriating. Even Mosiah¡¯s two year old daughter had a mind of her own.


    He grumbled. ¡°I have nowhere to go. I¡¯m an orphan.¡±


    She¡¯d pitied him. She had to, in order to do what he wanted. She¡¯d taken him to the home of his oldest brother, with whom he''d always been close. Nobody had come to look for Mosiah. After a short time, it became evident that nobody really cared about his departure at all.


    At first glance, Mosiah didn''t seem much like a boy people would want to hang around. He wore mostly mesh and fishnets, frightening strangers with his occult jewellery and red contact lenses. Mosiah knew for a fact his in-laws loathed him, as they made no secret of this, and it wasn''t worth caring about. The kitchen of his duplex was scattered with occult items and large wall hangings picked out by his wife. A former Catholic, Valentina had brought distance between herself and her family upon her marriage. She remained mostly apathetic about this fact.


    "Why do you dress like that? You look like you''re going to go home and set things on fire."


    At work, there was a dress code Mosiah never really cared to follow. He worked during the days, returning home early enough to put his daughter to bed, and often gathered with his coven late at night.


    Zipping his jacket, Mosiah glanced at his coworker, who always arrived as he was leaving. "Hail Satan." He wasn''t somebody to be feared, despite the way he dressed or spoke. It was ugly to conform, and Mosiah had never had any interest in following society like a sheep. "See you tomorrow." As a Satanist, Mosiah was often misjudged. This never surprised him, although it got tiresome to educate the uneducated. Satan was a symbol of the self, not an actual deity to be worshipped. Mosiah didn''t really worship anything at all.


    On the way home from work, Mosiah always stopped to pick up his daughter from her daycare. It was on the other end of the city, but he''d never minded. After all Valentina did at home, the least Mosiah could do was be his daughter''s transportation.


    Maia looked just like her mother, but she had her father''s eyes. Mosiah recently learned how to braid the toddler''s hair, which was thick and curly, and got in the way if it was left down. When Mosiah arrived, Maia scrambled over on her chubby legs, as she did every day, chattering away. "Hi, Daddy!"


    "You know, I''m starting to think God doesn''t even exist at all!"


    Mosiah''s brother, Salem, was seven years older than him. When both brothers lived at home, most of their free time was spent together, secretly discussing their scepticism about religion and the family dynamic. Salem left the home when Mosiah was twelve, and he never returned. Nobody ever did.


    "He doesn''t." Salem had shrugged his shoulders, which were covered in a thick black cloak, the one he still wore every Halloween. "Not in the Christian sense of the word, anyway." He was always a skeptic when it came to religion. Salem''s biggest arguments with his parents were always about the way they raised their children. It''s funny; for a guy who claimed to know more about parenting than his mother and father, he''d never even had kids.


    Mosiah had begun to feel isolated from the rest of his family by the time he''d hit puberty. It was easy to sneak out of the house, to learn and to question. It was easy to return early in the morning before anyone suspected he''d been gone. Sometimes, as a young boy, he''d have bitter thoughts of his father dropping dead of a mysterious cause, and this would bring him a sick sense of comfort when his father was unbearable. Of course, despite the way he looked, Mosiah was not a criminal.


    He''d questioned Salem, eager for more information. "What do you mean?" He''d never considered, at twelve years old, the misinformation he might have been getting from the religious community. Salem had a fresh perspective, and this was just what Mosiah needed. "I don''t want to go to Hell."


    "You won''t." Salem was preparing to move out, at the time, to a town a couple of hours away. As the second-eldest child, he was always more of a babysitter than a sibling. "Hell isn''t real. It''s just a place people made up to scare us into listening." Lillian had always told the children they would go to Hell. When Mosiah was outed as bisexual, Lillian had screamed at him, insisting that he was an abomination, that he would burn in Hell. This had scared him, for a while. It had never scared Salem.


    A year ago, Mosiah eloped with Valentina. He''d met her at work, and didn''t care much for her at first. Something about being ignored was exciting to Valentina, he''d later learned, as she was always drawn to the man who showed no interest in her. Perhaps this was due to her father''s neglectful behaviour of her in the past. When Mosiah began dating Valentina, men at work were envious ¨C she was hot, and certainly more than a little objectified in public. At the time of Maia''s birth, Valentina was seventeen years old, and not on speaking terms with her family. Things were slightly different, now.


    In the backseat, Maia played with her stuffed bear. Like many biracial children, she was regularly exposed to two languages. She didn''t speak well in either. "Daddy, where going?" As a teenager, Mosiah would have cut off his legs if it meant he''d never be a father. If he''d never met his wife, he probably would have stuck to this idea.


    "We''re stopping by the flower store." As a father, it was very important Mosiah exposed his daughter to healthy behaviours. It was very important he show her first-hand the proper ways to be treated by other people. Mosiah didn''t believe in the golden rule. It was pointless to treat unkind people with kindness. It was foolish to treat anyone with kindness who didn''t deserve it at all. "I''m picking up something for your mother."


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    "I''m ashamed to be your mother," Lillian had said, her head ducked to the ground, as if looking at him hurt her eyes. "You are not a child of God!"


    At the time, Mosiah had to have been around fifteen years old. Though he hadn''t seen Salem in years, their conversations lived loudly inside his head. "Good. I don''t want to be a child of God, anyway."


    "You should know what a cult is by now," Salem said, the day he moved out. "You''re living in one."


    The second-last time Mosiah spoke to his father, they argued badly. This was not uncommon. Orion had scolded him for refusing to attend mass, and Mosiah had insisted on staying home that morning, unbothered by the slap Orion had sent screaming over his cheek. It was cowardly to hit a child. It was cowardly to treat a child badly at all.


    Mosiah¡¯s sister Esther was his favourite of his siblings, and the only one he missed since leaving home. The last time he saw her, she was three years old. Esther would follow him around the house, begging to play with him, longing to participate in whatever he was doing. Some days, he felt bad for leaving her. Esther likely didn¡¯t even remember him at all.


    "Hi, amor," said Mosiah, stopping in the kitchen to kiss his wife. "These are for you."


    Valentina made money from social media, where she was well-liked. Naturally, it wasn''t hard to like a woman like her. The bouquet of flowers in Mosiah''s hand was filled with dahlias and daisies, and boasted beautiful colours. After bounding inside the door, Maia ran off, shouting, to play in her little bedroom.


    Despite having lived in the country for more than a decade, Valentina spoke with a thick accent. She''d spoken before of her desire to return to Colombia. Maybe when Maia got a bit older, it could be their first family trip. "Thank you, papi." Valentina was cooking, as she did every day for supper, usually something native to her home country. "I have some news for you." Taking a break from her preparation, Valentina poked her head inside Maia''s bedroom. "Should I tell you now or later?"


    Mosiah was twenty years old. This would be, according to his mother, far too young to be a responsible father. He would disagree. There was really no age limit on responsibility, after all. He became a father at the age of eighteen, months before moving out of Prince Edward Island. It wasn''t hard to leave. There was nothing, really, he would miss. "Tell me now."


    Finishing up, Valentina shut off the stove. She was a good cook, and a good mother. She pulled back her curly hair, calling for Maia to come to dinner. Like many toddlers, Maia was a picky eater. Creeping up in front of Mosiah, Valentina rubbed a hand against his butt. "I''m pregnant."


    When Mosiah first met his wife, he thought she was obnoxious. While men at work were stupidly desperately trying to get her attention, Mosiah could not have cared less. He was sixteen at the time, staying with Salem and working part-time at an electronics store. On the days when he and Valentina worked the same shift, he''d do his best to avoid her, but Valentina was loud and bubbly, and for some reason determined to get on his good side.


    "Why do you hate me?" she asked once, after confronting him during their lunch break. "What did I ever do to you?" It was hard to ignore a hot girl standing so close. Valentina knew she was attractive. She was a confident woman, who''d always gotten what she wanted, especially when it came to men.


    She always wore her hair in a ponytail. She was short and curvy, and men were shallow creatures who thought with their dicks. "Never said I hated you." There were often misconceptions that Mosiah was a hateful person, based off of nothing more than the way he dressed. "We''re just not really friends." No one really wanted to be friends with Valentina. Girls were jealous of her, and boys wanted to fuck her. This, she said, was why she was initially into him. He was a refreshing change, she said. The next week, he''d hooked up with Valentina in the parking lot after their late-night shift.


    There was still an ultrasound photo of Maia on the freezer. When Valentina got pregnant for the first time, her parents shouted at her. She was an unmarried teenager: a sinner, in the eyes of God. Back then, she may have still believed that God existed.


    "Thanks for dinner, amor," said Mosiah, helping clean the kitchen after their meal. "I''ll go get Maia ready for her bath."


    He was a tidy, organized man, and cleaned the home often. All of Mosiah''s things had a place, set off somewhere neatly, easy to find at a later time. People were taken aback by this, as though a boy of Mosiah''s age couldn''t possibly be tidy, meticulous, as if it were Valentina who made him keep things tidy. If you asked Mosiah''s wife, she''d say she couldn''t care less about a messy house.


    "You''re a disgraceful son," Orion would say, whenever Mosiah did something with which he didn''t agree. "You''re a disgrace to your family and to God. On the day of the Second Coming, you won''t be spared."


    It was all more sad than anything, really. Everybody knew the church was a cult.


    After putting his toddler to bed, Mosiah met his wife in the living room. Most of her days were consumed with vlogging and editing videos for social media, or scheduling posts that would help pay the bills. She was gorgeous, and assertive. A lot of the time, men called her names for this.


    Valentina laid her head on his lap, yawning. "Hey. She go to bed alright?"


    He kissed her. "Yes." Maia always did. With her coloured nightlight and her meditation music, she was usually asleep before Mosiah left the room.


    It was snowing. It was exciting and surreal to know that he was going to be a father again. Contrary to what most people thought, Maia wasn''t an accident. Valentina knew from a young age that she wanted kids. Her fingers swept over his crotch, kneading, playful, knowing she was irresistible. Valentina wouldn''t call herself a nymphomaniac. It would have sufficed to say her personal life was never lacking.


    Mosiah was horny. Valentina was out of his league. "You''re so hot," he said, kissing her again.


    In the evening. Valentina often wore camisoles and sports bras. Sometimes she wore nothing at all. She kissed with just the right amount of tongue, her teeth tugging at Mosiah''s lips like a tease, one hand rubbing over the thin fabric of his linen pants. Women were easy to please. Valentina wasn''t shy about saying what she felt.


    The duplex was warm and dim. A statue of Baphomet sat on the floor across from the couch. Sliding a hand down her chest and stomach, Mosiah slipped his fingers quickly into Valentina''s sleeping shorts. She was already wet. When Mosiah softly swirled his fingers over her pussy, she muttered, breathing loudly into his face. ¡°I love you." Her eyes were dark, perusing his face without a word. Before Valentina, he''d never been in love. After her, nothing was the same.


    Mosiah was always careful to look at a woman when making her cum. He loved to see the curves of her mouth, the flutters of her eyes. He loved to hear the catching of her breath as she unravelled, trying her best not to be heard by the neighbours. Her pussy seemed to tighten around his fingers, tempting. She could tempt her husband by doing next to nothing at all.


    She was still. Moving his face closer to hers, Mosiah kissed her, and then lingered inches from her face, so that he could feel her breathing. Her eyes closed, fluttering with each of his touches.


    Growing up, Mosiah fought a lot with his siblings. It was easy to get away with things, when so many children were in the house. He could have snuck out for hours and nobody would have noticed. He was home schooled from the age of five, always forbidden from using things like cell phones or technology, never permitted to leave the home without a parent present. It all seemed so extreme, as if there was something to be hidden from the children. There certainly was. At sixteen, Mosiah and all of his siblings were made to sign a purity pledge, promising themselves to nobody but the woman or man they would marry. While some, like Hannah, were more than happy to partake in such a disgusting action, Mosiah had refused, erupting an explosive fight between him and his father, and leading to his escape from the home. It was as though adults believed sex and love went together, but they didn''t. Mosiah had fucked people he didn''t love at all. Orion used sex to piece together relationships that were never meant to happen.


    Maia was crying. After quickly kissing his wife, Mosiah stood to tend to her.

 05. The Pursuit of [Un]Happiness

    It was easy to be hateful. Most people were quite good at it. It was far easier to be hateful than to put effort into being kind. It was far easier to be left alone than to be abandoned. A parent would say it was dastardly to abandon their own flesh and blood, for whom they lived and breathed. But it happened all the time, in ways nobody would think to acknowledge.


    It was snowing. When it snowed, everyone seemed to forget how to drive.


    Growing up, it was embarrassingly easy to break the rules. Orion had a lot of rules, but he also had a lot of children. As a child, it might have been believable: all the stories he told. Perhaps some of the more gullible children still believed them. Zeb was never that gullible. He pitied those who were. It wasn''t hard to expose secrets, and Zeb was good at it. The week he moved out of the farm, he wrote an article about the secrets of living in a cult. Nobody trusted journalists. Zeb couldn''t care less about this.


    His phone was ringing. Expecting it to be his ex-girlfriend, he grunted. Chanel was a bitch, but she was hot. This was the only reason Zeb had dated her to begin with. When the phone stopped ringing, it began again, the same unknown number flashing on the screen. Chanel had begun to use fake numbers, knowing Zeb wouldn''t answer her otherwise, and he was never fooled.


    There was a jagged scar on Zeb''s arm, from an incident with Lillian. One day, angry about his disobedient behaviour, she''d stabbed him with a kitchen knife, and he''d bled badly.


    He had a voicemail. There was no introduction, but Zeb had no trouble recognizing the voice of his younger brother. Jacob had always been troubled, and seemed to be getting worse with age. He was twenty four years old, the ex-husband of a woman he never really cared for at all. Jacob was charming and personable, but Zeb didn''t trust him.


    "It''d be so easy to kill Orion," Jacob said, back in his teenage years. Like many others, his relationship with the man was strained, closer to that of a boss and employee than father and son. Jacob wasn¡¯t the first of the children to wish death upon his father, and he certainly wouldn¡¯t be the last. "Don''t you think?" He always spoke calmly, even when he was angry. This made it difficult to figure out how he was truly feeling.


    Jacob left the police station with a grumble, flinging his leather jacket over his shoulder. He''d been arrested before, twice, for getting into fights. He''d always promise not to do it again. "They called me a pussy."


    In his late teens, Jacob fought often with his father. Orion was a controlling man, and Jacob was stubborn. Don¡¯t be a coward, Orion would tell his sons, you¡¯re a man.  It was shameful to be a woman. Zeb learned this from his father, who learned it from his own.


    Zeb began to drive. "Well, serves them right."


    "You need to spend time with Armani," Chanel would demand, her hands on her curvy hips. "She wants to meet her father." Zeb hadn''t seen his daughter since the night she was born three years ago. He never wanted kids. It was pathetic: a woman could decide she wasn''t ready to be a mother, but the instant a man did the same, he was branded the enemy.


    Jacob scoffed. "I ain''t a pussy.¡±


    Zeb hadn¡¯t believed in God for years. As his mother would say, there were many ways to be a sinner, and this was the worst of all. "I know."


    The brothers lived together, in a large apartment overlooking a hill. They had moved out of their parents'' house together, six years prior, opting to move out of the province for a fresh start. This had been Jacob''s idea: partially because of the memories he had from home, and partially because of the trouble he''d gotten into. Most of it was justified. Jacob stood up for himself.


    When Zeb was eleven, his father shaved his head. Boys don''t have long hair, he said, and I won''t have my son looking like a girl.


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    After starting the car, Zeb lit a cigarette.


    Jacob''s ex wife was named Hattie, and had been a member of his church in his younger years. He was nineteen at the time of his first marriage, cheered on by his parents and their friends. Jacob hadn''t attended church since his preteen years, and Hattie had dreams of becoming an actress. She was a terrible actress.


    As a child, it was easy to be taken advantage of. Samantha had often told him he was a good, obedient boy, and that he''d be rewarded if he continued to be this way. As a child, it was rewarding to be praised by someone you admired, and so he was almost laughably easy to manipulate. As he got older, Samantha became more invested in how he looked, often complimenting the shape of his body or the curves of his face. It was always obvious to everybody that Zeb was his stepmother¡¯s favourite, though no one ever really knew why.  He wasn¡¯t the oldest or the smartest, but Samantha fawned over him, and he could do no wrong.


    "Come on," Zeb said to Kezia, "jump. You don''t want people to think you''re a baby, do you?" She''d hated this. The thing about people is that they all had a weak spot. Once you found it, it was almost too easy to get what you wanted.


    Kezia was a child at the time, eight or nine years old. Zeb wasn''t much older. They stood on the roof of the barn, which wasn''t hard to climb to, but always landed him in trouble. Kezia, who had been fat since childhood, peered over the edge of the roof, her hands behind her back. "It''s too high. I''m just going to go down the way I came."


    Zeb snorted. "Pussy." As a child, he''d jumped from the roof many times and never gotten injured. Looking back on it, he''d be surprised if it were more than five feet off the ground. Kezia had turned, prepared to go back down the way she came, and he shoved her, harshly, so that she fell from the roof. It wasn''t a big jump. A toddler could have done it.


    Jacob wasn''t Zeb''s full brother. This never mattered. Samantha treated her own son as a stranger, disappointed that he wasn''t as handsome or obedient as Zeb. This had caused a rift between the boys, in their teenage years. When Zeb was about fourteen or fifteen, he and Jacob had a fist fight in the backyard of the farmland, which had accumulated in a badly bleeding nose. Samantha, who had scolded Jacob severely, had taken Zeb inside to wipe his nose and to make him feel comforted.


    He''d always thought Samantha was hot. She was younger than his mother by several years, ivory-skinned, black-haired, never much of a mother figure to Zeb. Once, when she was getting ready for church, Zeb watched her dress through the crack in her bedroom door, knowing his father would scold him if he was caught. Orion had always acted as though he owned his women, and his sons had learned that it was normal to be controlling. Perhaps this was why Jacob''s marriage had ended so sourly.


    Jacob stood at the balcony window, frowning. "Your ex is here." He shut the blinds, wandered down the hallway, and shut his bedroom door with a click. Jacob worked as a welder, and rarely left the home outside of this. For a man deemed charismatic by many, Jacob had minimal friends, and his familial relationships were superficial at best. Zeb''s half-sisters were terrified of him, and everybody knew this. The truth was that Jacob acted in his own best interests at all times, and often this undermined the interests of his siblings. But in a world where everyone had their own best interest at heart, the only way to survive was to put yourself first.


    Chanel, regrettably, knew the code to enter Zeb''s apartment.  Once every couple of months, she''d storm over demanding he spend time with his daughter, though Zeb couldn''t have been more clear about his feelings for the girl.


    "I''ve told you a million times," Zeb said, flinging open the door, "I''m not going to hang out with her. You know I never wanted kids."


    Zeb''s ex-girlfriend was twenty years old, and had been in high school when Armani was born. Zeb had been a college student, hated by Chanel''s parents from the moment they met him. When she''d gotten pregnant, Zeb had reiterated his disinterest in becoming a father, and Chanel had insisted on keeping the baby. This, ultimately, is what led to the end of their relationship.


    Chanel scowled. "Zeb, I''m going to file for child support. I can''t provide for Armani all on my own. You know my parents won''t talk to me anymore."


    She was much shorter than him, and easily intimidated. "Not my problem." Chanel was irrational and irresponsible, and this wasn''t Zeb''s issue. "If you weren''t ready to be a mother, you should have aborted like I told you to."


    It was true. Chanel stepped back, looking as though she''d been slapped in the face. "I was seventeen. You were a whole adult." Arguing with her was pointless. She never listened.


    Zeb sighed, leaning against the door-frame. "Look, Chanel, I told you if you kept it I''d leave. Don''t act like you didn''t know what would happen." Sliding his feet into the black loafers by the shoe closet, Zeb shoved past the girl. "I have to go to work."


    She was silent. She was always silent when Zeb was right. He was right most of the time. Chanel still stood in the hallway, stupidly, her mouth gaping open like a fish, watching Zeb leave.

 06. You Know What They Say (Kids Should Be Seen And Not Heard)

    Joseph Zoan was nineteen years old, and in school to become a sign language interpreter. He lived in a small apartment with his best friend, Icarus. It hadn''t been that long, really, since Joseph left the family home. After a while, living in a traumatic environment became almost second nature. The problem was that Orion Zoan was entirely too concerned about what other people thought of him. Joseph was this way as well. He rode home from his therapy session on a red city bus, which was crowded.  It helped, having someone to talk to about his trauma. Friends were alright, but after a while, a guy needed someone who understood.


    There was a time, ten years ago or so, when Joseph accompanied his parents to spread the word of God. They''d bring all the younger siblings, as the older ones often refused to tag along, and for good reason. As a child, Joseph really didn''t have a mind of his own. He did what he was told, believed what was said, the way most children did. It wasn''t until he was much older that things began to seem suspicious. Salem, who was older and wiser than Joseph, was never shy about voicing his distaste for the way of their family.


    "What on Earth is that?" Lillian shrieked one day, after discovering a small sigil tattoo on Salem''s arm. "What did you do to yourself?"


    At Lillian''s outburst, Salem shrugged, pulling the hood of his black cloak over his head. "It''s just a tattoo, Mom. Everybody has one."


    He wasn''t too far off. Joseph was sixteen when he ran away, and the first thing he¡¯d done was get a tattoo. It felt like some sort of rite of passage, like a long-awaited rebellion. Lillian didn''t agree. At Salem''s suggestion, her white face scrunched, appalled by the very thought. "I certainly don''t! A true child of God would never dare take part in such a dirty act. You''ve destined yourself to a life of sin." She was always a dramatic woman. Perhaps she had been different once, before marrying Orion. Perhaps she had been kind and easygoing. She''d snatched Salem''s arm, examining it before throwing it back down. "You''re going to Hell."


    At some point, each of the children was afraid of this: even Mosiah, even Jacob. It never worked on Salem, who was a skeptic from a young age. This infuriated Lillian. When she went on these long, threatening rants, Salem would just smile and say, "Save me a seat."


    Joseph attended the same college as his sister, Mary. She was a year younger, and spent her free time picking up shifts at the campus restaurant.  Mary had become a mother at the age of seventeen and been tossed out of the home, forced to find a way to provide for herself and her son. She wasn''t good at it. Mary claimed the pregnancy hadn''t been her fault, but you know what they say. It takes two to tango.


    As a child, Easter had been Joseph¡¯s favourite holiday. Though he¡¯d grown tired of Good Friday mass, it was always exciting to wake up on Easter Sunday and join his siblings in the egg hunt. It seemed holidays were the only time of year the family acted like anybody else. Holidays were the only time Joseph¡¯s parents were kind and dutiful, and this gave him something to look forward to. When he was about twelve or thirteen years old, he¡¯d been woken on the morning of Easter by Monty, who insisted it was time to come upstairs.


    During the summer, Joseph worked part-time as a lifeguard. He''d had this job for two years, which was likely longer than anyone would have expected ¨C but Joseph had a keen eye for observation and was good at his job. It certainly wasn''t something he saw himself doing for the rest of his life, but it paid the rent for the time being, and he enjoyed doing it.


    On the farm, when a boy turned six, he learned to milk a cow. Joseph had spent hours sitting in the sun, gathering the milk for his sisters to cook with, getting up long before sunrise to be finished in time for school. He¡¯d learned to plow the fields before he was ten years old, though it was never his responsibility until all his older brothers moved out. He always hated it, farm work. Perhaps if he¡¯d have had the chance to do it of his own accord, it would have been less of a chore.


    Hannah was always Orion¡¯s favourite. This might have contributed to her goody-two-shoes attitude, and her obsession with following the rules. Being Orion¡¯s favourite meant less punishments and more attention - though it was nearly impossible to make your way into this position. In the end, all a child wanted was to be validated and noticed, and many of them would have done anything for this to happen. Joseph remembered a day from late childhood, when he¡¯d been fighting with his sisters over homework. Orion had shouted at them, distracted by a conversation with his wife, and forced the children to sit alone in separate rooms until they smartened up.


    Joseph dodged a group of noisy friends conversing. "Hey, Ike."


    Ike was a lanky white man, rather nerdy, who enjoyed role play games and thriller novels, and who was studying to become a physician. He and Joseph had become friends in first year college, after being assigned to the same biology project. He was much more self-assured than Joseph, but most people were. "Party tonight. Gonna be tons of hot girls there. Wanna come?" Ike, who had just got a retainer, spoke with a slight lisp. Ike was a sociable person. Joseph was not.


    Joseph''s oldest sister was ten years older than him, and moved out when he was eight years old. When Delilah still lived at the farm, Joseph used to wake her for church by putting a pillow over her face and sitting atop it. He regretted this now. In childhood, he found a strange thrill in tormenting his eldest siblings. Delilah was married now, living in Iceland with her wife and teaching English, rarely contacting home. Joseph didn''t blame her. When he tortured Delilah, she''d punch his arm or his stomach, and that girl packed a surprisingly painful punch.


    "When you move out, I won''t miss you!" Joseph said once, slapping his sister with a pillow. If you asked Delilah, she''d probably say Joseph was an asshole. "I''m going to take your room!"


    She''d sighed, squinting at him. "Good for you." Joseph knew she was bitter about her upbringing, forced to look after her siblings instead of being a teenager, but this wasn''t his fault. If anything, this gave her practice for getting along with her step-kids.


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    Joseph watched Ike pull a notebook out of his locker. "Sure. I guess I could stop by for a bit." It was hard to explain how freedom felt, after spending a lifetime all but locked inside. Some days, Joseph went places just because he could. "Can I catch a ride with you?" When the weather was nice, Joseph drove a Vespa. This was hard to manage when the snow hit.


    As a teenager, Joseph was never allowed girlfriends or much of a social life at all, which was something every teenager needed. He was never one to argue much, or to sneak out of the house. Once, a few months after moving out, Salem came by the farm in the middle of the night, knocking on Joseph''s bedroom window. "Come on," he said, "let''s go for a drive."


    Mary was working. When she was in a depressive mood, she paid extra attention to her tasks at the restaurant. When she was calm, work was just another mundane responsibility. On a bench outside the restaurant, Joseph waited for his sister, having agreed to get lunch with her. She¡¯d been struggling lately with the responsibilities of work and motherhood. Mostly she¡¯d been struggling with her mental health. Joseph wasn¡¯t a doting older brother. He did feel for Mary.


    She emerged from the restaurant, looking dishevelled and worn out. Joseph wondered where her son went when she was at school or work. She¡¯d never asked him to babysit. If she had, he would have declined. ¡°Wow,¡± said Mary, flopping down on the bench next to him, ¡°you actually came.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Trust me, I¡¯m surprised too.¡±


    Around the hall from the campus restaurant, Joseph often attended lunch in the meal wing. Mary smiled, gesturing for him to follow. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you did.¡± She carried a small purple purse, and a jacket which contained that day¡¯s tips. ¡°I want to spend more time with you. We haven¡¯t had the best relationship, but we¡¯re getting older now, and I don¡¯t want us to hate each other forever.¡±


    She was a sentimental girl. But everybody always had an ulterior motive. ¡°You just want me for free babysitting.¡±


    Mary sighed. ¡°Joe, for once, can you not be a total dick?¡±


    Old habits die hard. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    The halls were long and winding, and Mary led the way. After checking her phone, she ducked into the meal wing, weaving through a noisy crowd of students. Joseph and Mary looked very similar, but everyone was surprised to find out they were related. ¡°Have you eaten yet? I wanted to get dinner with you.¡±


    ¡°Why? Are you too embarrassed to admit you don¡¯t have any friends?¡±


    Joseph was an asshole to his sisters. He knew this - and when Mary invited him to spend time together, she had to have known what she was getting into. Mary led him to a table, pulling her curly hair into a ponytail. ¡°Actually, I felt bad for you because no one likes you.¡± Joseph was hungry, and unprepared for class. That morning, he¡¯d argued with Ike before leaving for school.


    Mary¡¯s phone rang. Sighing, she sat at a table to answer it.


    Joseph hadn¡¯t spoken to his father since leaving the farm. When he was fifteen, he¡¯d taken off very early in the morning after a fight with Lillian became physical. Like Mosiah, he¡¯d wandered until growing weary, and then took a nap in some bushes in whatever neighbourhood he¡¯d ended up in. Joseph had no plan, of course, and briefly assumed he¡¯d end up homeless. Even this would have been better than remaining at home. When he woke, it was raining, and he was wearing thin clothing. Joseph wasn¡¯t a resourceful person, but he needed a plan - and so, wandering to a dollar store, he spent the last of his pocket change on posterboard and pencils, and got to work.


    Even at fifteen, Joseph knew hitch-hiking was dangerous. He hated being reckless, and hated the thought of getting in a vehicle with a complete stranger. For a boy who¡¯d been stuck inside all of his life, the world was huge and petrifying. He stood at the corner of a highway with a neon yellow sign, on which he¡¯d scribbled Stratford in sloppy print. It had taken a while. When the rain turned into snow, and the sun went down, an elderly woman took pity on him.


    Four years ago, Salem was still renting, and Joseph had struggled to find his apartment. He¡¯d make sure, each time he moved, to mail home a letter containing his new address, in case any of the children ever needed somewhere to go. Orion and Lillian, unsurprisingly, never cared enough to look inside the envelopes. Joseph was soaked and freezing when he arrived at the apartment, and couldn¡¯t get inside. There¡¯d been a risk, also, that Salem wasn¡¯t even home that time of night - but Joseph was desperate not to spend another moment out in the cold. ¡°Excuse me,¡± he said to a tenant on her way inside. ¡°I forgot my key inside. Could I come in with you?¡±


    He¡¯d needed a change of clothes, but hadn¡¯t thought ahead. At the time, all Joseph had in his possession were the clothes on his back. It could have been midnight, or two thirty. When he banged on the door to Salem¡¯s apartment, he¡¯d waited quite a long time for it to open.


    ¡°Hi, Salem.¡± He was tired and sore from wandering, and his hair dripped water down his face. ¡°Can I stay with you?¡±


    He remembered there being a girl in the apartment, and feeling awkward about intruding. Salem never minded an unannounced visit from a sibling. ¡°Why is there a bruise on your face?¡±


    Joseph peeled off his jacket, which clung to him. ¡°Lillian threw a book at me.¡±


    It was a small apartment. Salem hated it there. Joseph knew he didn¡¯t mind the surprise visit. It meant company, and Salem hated being alone. ¡°Come get some dry clothes,¡± he said, and stepped back in the doorway to let Joseph stumble inside.


    ¡°I have to go.¡± After finishing her phone call, Mary sat back at the table and heaved a sigh. ¡°I need to pick up Malachi. Apparently he has a fever.¡± Joseph didn¡¯t know much about Malachi¡¯s father, except that he was quite a few years older than Mary and refused to be in the toddler¡¯s life. Joseph had mixed feelings about this. A man should have just as much right to walk away as a woman, he believed. If it had been Mary who hadn¡¯t wanted to keep Malachi, and Kian who had, the reactions to her pregnancy would have been vastly different.


    ¡°I have class anyway.¡± The week was nearly over, and Joseph had very few weekend plans. He¡¯d play video games, like he usually did, with Ike and whomever else was around. ¡°Later, shitstain.¡±


    Mary rolled her eyes, gathering up her things hastily. ¡°Asshole.¡±


    Something Joseph had learned about children in his brief trips to therapy was that they needed to be paid attention to - and would beg for this attention in all kinds of different ways. When Joseph acted up as a child, he didn¡¯t do it to be spiteful or purposely annoying. Children acted out for attention, Joseph had learned. This made more sense the more he thought about it.  Joseph never planned on having kids. This is what Mary had said too.

 07. Sleep In The Shade

    Eve longed to leave the house. Aside from religious functions, she¡¯d never gone further than her front yard. She was too young for a job, and probably wouldn¡¯t have been allowed to work anyway, but the thought of turning eighteen and moving out was one of the only thoughts that brought her comfort. This was still years away. Time always passed much too slowly. Home didn¡¯t feel like home. It never had, really. Home should be welcoming and friendly, not hostile and intimidating. Eve was intimidated by many things, and many would have seemed foolish to anybody else. She feared freedom and isolation, and leaving the house on her own. Nobody cared what Eve feared.


    Eve shared a room with her twin sister, Seraphim, with whom she was always confused. If you really got to know someone, it should have been easy to recognize them. The girls looked similar, of course, but even identical twins have things that make them different. Eve was slightly shorter than her twin, and had a small purple birthmark between her eyebrows. When she was younger, her mother insisted on dressing her and Seraphim in matching clothing, and doing their hair the same way. Both girls outgrew this relatively quickly. From the time she was born, Eve had never had a sense of individuality. She wanted to experiment with style and fashion. Her father always said immodesty was sinful, and no one wanted to be a sinner


    ¡°Do we have any cocoa? I want to bake cupcakes.¡±


    Soon, Adam would turn fourteen years old. He didn¡¯t care much for birthdays. Even on birthdays, Orion forbade his children from leaving the house. Eve understood why things were the way they were. The outside was a dangerous place filled with cruel people, and sometimes, the only way to protect yourself was to never venture into the outside world at all. When Eve¡¯s older siblings moved out, she never saw them again.


    Eve¡¯s thoughts were often unconnected from one another. She was the peacekeeper of the family: comforting her siblings in times of distress, breaking up arguments between others. Seraphim made fun of her for this. Seraphim thought Eve was boring and timid.


    Saphira sat on a stump near the fence, watching the younger kids play. ¡°For what?¡±


    Saphira¡¯s priorities were different from hers. Eve wasn¡¯t particularly close with her siblings, but she cared deeply for all of them, and wished them to know this. ¡°For Adam¡¯s birthday. It¡¯s coming up soon.¡±


    You know that makes no sense, right?


    Adam was outspoken and opinionated. It got him in trouble a lot, but Eve admired this about him. When Eve¡¯s father went on tangents about why leaving the farm was too dangerous, Adam always shot back almost immediately.


    We¡¯re not allowed to leave the house because it¡¯s too dangerous, but you want us to leave as soon as we turn eighteen. Do you really think it¡¯s responsible parenting to just set your kids loose without teaching them absolutely anything about how to survive?


    Adam was two years older than his twin sisters. He claimed not to fear his father, but cowered when the man came near. Orion did not put up with disrespect or arguments. He punished his children by spanking or threatening them, which seemed harsh to some, but Eve knew that sometimes, the only way to teach a child manners was to make them feel intimidated. If she was too nervous about the consequences of her disobedience, Eve would do anything she was told.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like winter,¡± said Emily, sitting on a wooden chair in Eve¡¯s backyard. It was locked and fenced, which most people found strange, but Eve¡¯s parents claimed it kept the cows from running off. ¡°I only like Christmas, but I hate the snow.¡± Emily was the red-haired daughter of the neighbours: the youngest of three, a seven year old girl who had no idea what adult responsibilities were like. Eve should have been the same way.


    Sometimes, Eve wondered what would happen to her if her parents suddenly died. They had no will, and Eve had no relatives outside of her immediate family. Like her siblings, Eve¡¯s relationship with Orion was complicated. She loved her father just as much as she hated him, daydreaming about his sudden death in the same breath she promised to obey him. Eve was foolish and childish, and needed the guidance of her father to learn to become a proper adult. If he died suddenly, she¡¯d feel relief and sadness at the same time, and nobody would understand this.


    Emily¡¯s oldest brother was named Sebastian. He was seventeen years old and more of a brother to Eve than any of her own. The family attended church functions with the Zoans - it would be forbidden to spend time with them otherwise. Lillian seemed to worry that exposing the children to outsiders would taint their minds, somehow. Maybe this was true. According to Emily, many strangers were untrustworthy and dangerous, and many wanted to harm children. Still, Eve wondered sometimes what the world was like. When she turned eighteen, she¡¯d be able to find out.


    Once a week, the children were permitted to play in the backyard. Once a month, the neighbours were invited to join. Canaan and Noah made a snowman, crunching through the snow noisily, keeping to themselves. Sebastian didn¡¯t care much for Eve¡¯s parents, but he was polite and helpful, and Orion thought fondly of him. Some people were so good at making adults like them, even if the whole thing was an act.


    Canaan poked her in the back, a hard jab to the spine. He took advantage of his allotted playtime, and enjoyed the snow. ¡°Sister? Will you help me make a snowman?¡±


    Years from now, when Eve was finally old enough to move out, she¡¯d miss Canaan. He was only four years old, but he was a victim of trauma like everyone else. He was young enough still to grow up mostly unaffected, if he managed to escape. Eve felt protective of her youngest brother. She longed for Canaan to be a child: unhindered by trauma or secrets, growing up confident and happy. Zoan children never grew up this way.


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    It wasn¡¯t fair. A child was so naive, so pure. A child deserved nothing but the best. Childhood was short and fleeting, and never as it seemed. Eve was cold, not used to the outside weather. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, Canaan. I don¡¯t really like the snow.¡±


    Lillian was nearly twenty years older than Samantha. When she became too old to have any more children, Orion sought out a younger lover. When Samantha became too old, he sought out a younger one.


    ¡°Children,¡± said Lillian, appearing in the doorway of the home, ¡°it¡¯s time to come inside. The kitchen needs to be prepared for dinner.¡±


    Eve¡¯s brothers were always treated better than the rest. Boys were dealt a better hand in life just for being boys, and there was nothing that could be done about it. While her brothers worked with the farm equipment, Eve and her sisters took turns helping the women prepare meals and clean dishes. Once, she was badly scolded after asking her father to help with plowing the fields, and became too afraid to ever ask anything again.


    ¡°Here,¡± said Lillian, thrusting a pile of plates at Eve. It was a heavy pile, and she nearly dropped it. ¡°Get the table ready while Hannah finishes preparing dinner.¡± No one appreciated Eve. She did what she was told without complaining, and nobody ever thanked her. You don¡¯t need recognition just for doing your job, Lillian would say, whenever she brought it up. This may have been true, but it still would have been nice.


    Saphira had a crush on Sebastian. She refused to admit it, but blushed furiously when he spoke to her, and became overly interested in her hands when his name was said. Eve once had a crush on a boy at her church. She knew the humiliation that came with attention.


    Eve¡¯s father conversed cheerfully with Sebastian. Eve suspected Orion considered Sebastian more of a son than his actual sons, and he wasn¡¯t shy about hiding it. There was something about Sebastian that Eve didn¡¯t trust. He was friendly in a fake way, but most of her siblings didn¡¯t understand what Eve meant when she pointed this out. I don¡¯t trust him, she¡¯d said to Seraphim, but I don¡¯t know why. There¡¯s just something about him that makes me uncomfortable.


    Part of being a girl was never being taken seriously. Nobody took her seriously, not even her twin sister. There came a point when she stopped voicing her opinions at all.


    You know what they say, said Hannah, sarcastically, kids should be seen and not heard.


    Emily¡¯s parents were younger than Eve¡¯s. Her mother taught Sunday School, and her father was a deacon. Some of Eve¡¯s older brothers had been deacons too, and most of them had hated it.


    Each Monday after dinner, Eve participated in family night: an evening she dedicated to spending time with her family at home. She always looked forward to this, as it was the only time her parents acted like proper parents. Children were meant to learn from their parents how to become good, accomplished citizens. Children were meant to be paid attention to: loved and cared for, made to feel like a valued part of a family. Eve rarely felt valued. Perhaps if there had been less children vying for Orion¡¯s attention, there would be more time for Eve. When the kitchen had been tidied and the dishes put away, she sat between Enos and Seraphim on the living room floor, eager to take part in that evening¡¯s activities. Usually, family evenings were cut short by children fighting. Eve was always the first one to try and break up arguments.


    ¡°Is it okay if I sit here, Saphira?¡±


    Some weeks, the neighbours stayed for family night. Though they weren¡¯t relatives, Orion said he considered them part of the family, and so they were always welcome. Some of his children liked this idea more than others.


    A shy girl, Emily sat between her parents. Out of all the children, she seemed to get along best with Esther. Maybe this was because the girls were the same age. Sebastian was humorous and friendly, and well-liked within the church. He smiled brightly at Saphira, who turned scarlet before staring at the floor. She was no good at pretending. Everyone knew about Saphira¡¯s crush, and this embarrassed her. She mumbled something to the floor, and Sebastian got comfortable beside her.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just tell him the truth?¡±


    Like Eve, Saphira preferred to keep to herself. She was less obedient than Eve, and less bothered by arguments and disagreements. After a day in which Sebastian had taken Emily and the children for rides in Orion¡¯s wood wagon, Eve made herself comfortable in her sister¡¯s bedroom. They spent little time together, as Saphira was four years older, and thought Eve to be rather babyish.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Saphira drove Eve crazy. She always played dumb, even though everyone knew the truth. Sometimes, feelings were embarrassing and inconvenient. Sometimes Eve tried to ignore them, and this only ever made them stronger.


    She sighed. ¡°Sebastian. Just tell him you like him. He probably already knows, anyway.¡± In Eve¡¯s family, it was impossible to have a secret. Some of the children kept secrets better than others, but the farm was so noisy and crowded that nothing ever stayed a secret long. Eve never cared about this. She wasn¡¯t the type of girl to rebel.


    At her suggestion, Saphira scowled. ¡°Gross. That¡¯d be like liking one of my brothers.¡± Her nose crinkled, trying far too hard to sound convincing. ¡°You¡¯re just a kid, anyway. You don¡¯t understand adult relationships.¡± Saphira was nearly old enough to date. Some of Eve¡¯s older siblings had been in relationships before they were sixteen, and Eve didn¡¯t know how they pulled it off without getting caught.


    There was nothing Eve hated more than being talked down to. Everyone assumed kids to be idiotic, and spoke to them as such. ¡°Just because I¡¯m young doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m stupid, you know.¡± The most annoying thing about older siblings was that most thought they were too important for you. Even Seraphim, who had been born nearly thirty minutes earlier than her twin, seemed to have some sort of weird superiority complex.


    Canaan and Noah were fighting. The younger kids fought a lot. Discipline was never kind or gentle. Eve had been slapped for questioning her parents¡¯ authority or refusing to do what she was told. She had no idea how to properly raise children. Kids were meant to listen to their parents, and sometimes the only way to get them to do this was to scare them.

 08. aquarius moon

    It was snowing, and the roads were icy. Working in the service industry was unrewarding and tiring, but the bills needed to be paid. Late at night was always when the troublesome customers arrived, and tonight was no different. It wasn''t regularly that Mary worked the night shift, thankfully. Today, there was nobody to cover her shift, and she needed the money anyway. When Mary was away from Malachi, she worried about him. The toddler had been attending the same babysitter since his birth a year ago, and Mary trusted the caregiver, but it was a mother''s nature to worry.


    "Good evening," she said, smiling at the two older men seated in front of her. "My name is Mary. Can I get you started with some drinks?"


    A year and a half ago, Mary was kicked out of the house after telling her mother she was pregnant. It made no sense, really, that a mother would refuse to teach her children about safe sex, and then become irate when one became pregnant. Zina, who lived in a bigger city, took Mary in temporarily until she found a place to stay. If it weren''t for Zina, there was really no telling what state Mary would be in now.


    The worst types of customers were the entitled ones. Mary had met a lot. A family would come in, insisting on a discount for their uncle''s neighbour''s dog''s birthday, threatening to sue the company if they had to pay full price. It was hard to make money, and even harder to save it, but a girl had bills to pay. These days, a month''s pay cheque didn''t go all that far.


    The restaurant was busy tonight. By the time Mary got off work, it would be nearly morning.


    "Thank you, sweetheart," said one of the men when Mary set down the drinks. She''d only just been given permission to serve alcohol after turning eighteen several months ago. Serving alcohol, though, meant dealing with unruly customers.


    Mary was tired. Ever since her son had been born, she was always tired. "Are you gentlemen ready to order, or did you need a bit more time?" At work, everything she said was rehearsed. By the end of a shift, she was always exhausted and sore. Toddlers didn''t care. Being a mother was a full-time job, and nobody ever even got paid for it.


    The man on the opposite end of the table was more sophisticated looking than the other. Setting his menu down on the table in front of him, he smiled fondly at Mary. "What do you recommend, honey?" It wasn''t uncommon for an older man to refer to Mary in terms of endearment, but it always made her uncomfortable. She supposed it was just inevitable for a woman in the service industry.


    Some days, being friendly was too hard. And truthfully, Mary didn''t much like eating at restaurants. Since becoming a mother, she''d been focused on preparing filling, nutritious meals. After giving the men some generic choices, they glanced at one another, giving Mary an easy order. At work, she always carried a small notepad. Though her memory was good, she''d hate to forget something in the flustering environment.


    When she discovered she was pregnant, Kezia was the first of Mary''s siblings who knew. Kezia was always the most honest and genuine, which made Mary feel comforted. The thing about Kezia, though, was that she couldn''t keep a secret like others could, and so the truth always eventually came out. The truth was: if people found out the kind of secrets Mary''s father had, he would lose his reputation in a heartbeat.


    The restaurant was noisy, filled with families chattering and kicking off their weekend. Even on her days off, Mary never really got time to herself. She paid her best friend to babysit Malachi, but the cost of child care added up, and rent wasn''t cheap.


    "Here you are, sir." Mary set the first man''s plate down on the table in front of him. "Be careful, it''s hot." This would have been common knowledge, for most. She was required to warn customers anyway. "Is there anything else I can get for you?" Having balanced the second dish on her arm, she served it to the second man. Her feet hurt. It felt like they''d give out at any moment.


    One of the men smiled, giving Mary an appreciative once-over. He was her father''s age, maybe, and was well-dressed. She was used to being looked at this way by men at work, and even outside of work. Last week, she''d been followed down the street after finishing her shift. "Well, you''re a pretty young lady. I don''t suppose I could get your phone number." He was right. Mary didn''t give away her personal information to people she didn''t know, especially men her father''s age. He was polite enough. This didn''t matter.


    Mary smiled grimly. "No, sorry." Most days, it seemed like saying no wasn''t enough as a woman. She didn''t have to say it a lot. Nobody wanted to date a single mother with poor mental health.


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    There were more tables to tend to. The rejected man, solemn, watched her go.


    Mary gave birth to her son alone, very early in the morning. Zina had promised to be there, but got called into work at the last moment. Mary wasn''t bitter about it. The duty of a firefighter is much more important than watching your sister give birth. It would have been nice to have a mother who was gentle and kind like the mothers of Mary''s friends. It would have been nice to feel genuinely cared for growing up, but what''s done is done, after all. There was only a matter, now, of trying to be a better mother than her own.


    When the men at her table left, Mary went to clean. It seemed that the most well-off of people left the littlest tips, leaving the generosity to those who were struggling to get by. The poor knew what it was like to struggle, Mary thought, and so they were more willing to help. It figured. The five dollar bill on the table was a small portion of the order, but it was better than nothing. As someone who never graduated high school, Mary found it hard to get a job, even in a minimum wage position. Everybody claimed to pity single moms, but no one did anything to make their lives easier.


    Tabitha-Grace Adams was a friend of Mary''s from a prenatal class. It was hard to make friends, unless you were social, or attractive. Mary looked like her father, which she regretted. Orion Zoan was a big name in the Christian community. Ask any churchgoer, and they''d say they knew of him. Mary was uncomfortable by this. Knowing the man on a personal level meant she was privy to secrets, and any one of them would horrify his community.


    Tabitha lived in the same neighbourhood as Mary, which made pick up easy after a long shift. "Thank you!" Mary owed the woman most of her pay cheque. Tabitha gave her a discount, but everyone had bills to pay. "Did he behave?" Malachi, sleeping in his car-seat, had a streak of milk on his cheek. Mary wasn''t ready to take him back. That was the job of a mother.


    Tabitha had two children of her own, and was a much better mother than Mary. She smiled, moving Malachi''s diaper bag closer to the door. "Mostly." Everyone talked about falling in love with their baby at first sight. Mary never experienced this. Her baby felt like somebody else''s, and it was strange. It was strange not to feel a connection to your own child. "He fell asleep about an hour ago, so I just put him in the seat to wait for you. We had carrots and potatoes for dinner."


    Mary always paid in cash. It was dark, and way past the toddler''s bedtime. It wasn''t like he slept much at night, anyway. Mary didn''t remember the last time she got a full night''s sleep.


    When Malachi was three months old, Mary moved out of Zina''s house and back to the city she grew up in. Before getting a job as a waitress, she worked as a cashier at a clothing store, which wasn''t much better. She preferred walking to standing in one spot all day. Work is work. It was hard and uncommon to find a job you actually enjoyed.


    In her first weeks of pregnancy, Mary planned on terminating. She was young, alone, fooled by an older man she thought she could trust. Maybe motherhood would give Mary purpose, maybe it would give her something to live for after all those years. This was not a good reason to keep a baby. Mary couldn''t think of anything better.


    Malachi cried. It was a loud shriek that echoed through the van, giving Mary a splitting headache. She slowed. "Please stop, Malachi." He was tired, or wet, or hungry. It was hard to tell. Outside of town, the roads were icy.


    She hadn''t visited the farm since moving out. Returning to the place made her chest hurt.


    "Stop it, Malachi!" Her voice was a shriek, competing with his. "Why do you always cry?" Mary should have never become a mother. It was too late now.


    At the far end of the house, Asher''s window was covered with dusty blinds. His room was always dusty. Yanking the car-seat out of the back of her car, Mary hammered on her brother''s window.


    He might have been asleep. She hammered again, louder. The pine tree in the yard was bare and snow-covered, a hole still carved in the bark where the kids made a fort. Inside the house, a light flicked on. Afraid of waking someone else, Mary shoved a hand over Malachi''s mouth, muffling the sound of his shrieks.


    "Wha-?" Asher yawned, his speckled face staring at Mary through the window screen. "What are you doing?" She''d woken him. It wouldn''t be the last time.


    The car-seat shook. The toddler wailed, and then fell fast asleep. "I need you to take him."


    Outside, the wind began to howl. Asher frowned, glancing at the small boy, and then glancing at Mary. "It''s the middle of the night." Asher was a pushover. Everybody knew this about him. The boy was far too timid to risk hurting anybody''s feelings. "What am I supposed to do with him?"


    "I don''t know." There were toys in the bag, clothes, milk. There was everything a toddler could want. "Just give him some milk and put on a movie. He''ll go to sleep. I just really need a break." Asher''s glasses were foggy from the cold. "Thanks." Without waiting for a reply, Mary lifted the toddler through the window, dropping him into Asher''s hands. "Here''s his bag. I''ll be back before Dad comes downstairs. Text me if you need anything!"


    Malachi cried again. Asher scrunched his face. "Mary!"


    She was gone, trudging through the snow back to her waiting car.

 9. A Child of Earth And Water

    In the bathroom of the bar, ten minutes before his shift was due to start, Salem was getting blown. It was crowded in the stall, and needed to be cleaned ¨C something David certainly didn''t mind. He knelt in front of Salem, sucking loudly and quickly, knowing time was precious. David was a man Salem had hooked up with casually several times: tattooed and bearded, and excellent in bed. Decisive, he looked at Salem, who enjoyed the attention. There was someone else in the bathroom, pissing in the next stall over, saying nothing. David moaned, quiet, his hands tightly gripping Salem''s ass. It was always risky to fool around in public. It was so much more fun than fooling around at home.


    David always swallowed. He said he enjoyed it, too. It was easy to cum quietly. After wiping his mouth, he chuckled and stood, straightening his hat. "I''ll text you. Have a good day at work, bitch.¡±


    He was older, by four or so years, and certainly experienced. Casual sex was enjoyable, but it only ever lasted until somebody caught feelings. Sometimes, it was also nice to come home to somebody.


    "Bye, slut."


    If you asked all of the Zoan children, most would have agreed that Salem was the easiest to get along with. He worked sixty hour weeks as a bar manager at a cocktail pub, offering free foods and drinks to homeless customers, and breaking up fights regularly. The thing about Salem was that he was very hard to anger, but became hostile when others were taken advantage of. Managing a bar meant being a problem solver and working proactively, which was easy if you knew what you were doing. Six months ago, Salem was promoted from senior bartender, taking on much more responsibilities and hours. It wasn''t for the timid. It wasn''t for the indecisive, either.


    Salem lived in a townhouse, alone, which wasn''t always preferable. Living alone had its perks, but it also could be extremely boring.


    There was a young man coming in for an interview. With his promotion, Salem became responsible for interviewing potential new hires: a task he didn''t take lightly. It was always busiest, obviously, on weekend nights and holidays. He''d been working at Sleeping Tulip for seven years, and only recently moved up in the ranks. All new hires started, of course, at the bottom. Inventory was the most boring part of Salem''s job, but somebody had to do it. Usually, he did this biweekly using computer software, which made the task a lot faster. Around dinnertime, the place always started to fill up. Salem had been here since early afternoon, and expected to work all night.


    He''d hired Katie five months ago. She was efficient, with the same type of blunt honesty as Alma. This was something he''d grown used to. Sneaking into the room, Katie cleared her throat. "Salem?"


    He suspected the night would be unruly. Already, the patrons were noisy. "Sup, Katie."


    She always seemed surprised by his casual demeanour. Maybe, technically, he was in charge of her, but there was no reason to be uptight about it. "Can I book off the seventeenth? My friends really want to go to a concert."


    At work, there was never a moment of sitting still. Outside of work, life was all about pleasure.


    "Write it down."


    Tonight, Salem had a lot of people to interview. It was easy to tell right away if an interviewee was suitable for the job. It took a certain personality to manage in an environment like this. After finishing with inventory, he stood to clean stations. "Hey, Katie?"


    She looked up from the notebook. "Yeah?"


    "Fix your collar."


    Escaping from a cult was easy, once you figured out you were living in one. The younger a person is, the more vulnerable they are to manipulation and brainwashing. Even Salem, at one point, was afraid to misbehave for fear of punishment. Maybe as a small child, he believed in Hell. That was too long ago to remember, now. It was Delilah who''d told him what a cult was. It must have been difficult for her to figure it out on her own. The truth was, in Salem''s opinion, there was no type of Hell at all. No Hell, no Heaven ¨C not in the Christian sense of the word. It was a waste of time and energy to worry too much about an afterlife. A Christian''s Hell was a place of eternal torment. A Heathen''s Helheim was a place of eternal rest.


    The music was too quiet. When evening came, Salem always turned it up.


    "Hi, Mark," he said to the man, the first interviewee of the night. "I''m Salem. Come on back." It was stressful most of the time, working a job with so many responsibilities, but he made a lot of money and had fun doing it. "How are you?" He felt for the guy, who tried his best to be calm despite how nervous he looked. Some people were just more nervous than others. Anxiety wouldn''t get a person far in a place like this. Interviews were all the same. Repetitive, even boring after a while. It never took long to determine if somebody was a good fit.


    Sitting across from him, Mark adjusted his collar. "I''m good, how are you?" He sat up straight, although Salem didn''t care much about posture. Here, it was all about personality.


    At eighteen years old, Salem changed his name. If you asked his parents, they''d likely say they didn''t even know it.


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    Mark was prepared, though soft-spoken, answering each question in what was nearly a mumble. After hours of meeting potential new employees, there was the task of deciding who was most suitable. Tonight, there''d be a beverage shipment and a restocking of the bar. This happened, on average, every couple of weeks. It was important to know which drinks were the most popular, and which were most profitable. The job had certainly made Salem more responsible than he''d been in his life, which maybe he needed, but there was so much more to life than being responsible.


    In his back pocket, he carried two Epipens. There was a risk at work of accidentally consuming something dangerous, and it had happened before. Most of the staff knew of Salem''s allergies. But Sleeping Tulip was a busy place, and it was never without risk.


    "Hey, Sammy," said Salem to an older woman behind the bar, "can you please go give the bathrooms a quick clean before the bar picks up?" All of the restrooms at Sleeping Tulip were gender neutral. People had complained about this, but it wasn''t likely to change anytime soon.


    When the sun went down, the partiers came out. With partiers came belligerence. Sometimes, Salem caught a man sneaking a drug into a woman''s drink, and warned her discreetly each time. Sometimes, a patron became so belligerent, he had no choice but to kick them out. At least once a week, he''d break up a fight that erupted. More than once, he''d gotten punched or shoved. Under one eye, he had a jagged scar from a bar fight that got out of hand.


    There was a disturbance at the front of the bar. After finishing up the sixth interview of the day, Salem wandered out to investigate.


    There were regulars here, sitting at their regular tables, drinking or snacking on appetizers. Rowdy, two men shouted at a group of women. Men did this a lot. The problem was that Salem couldn''t be everywhere at once, and neither could the bartenders. He didn''t often bartend anymore. Sometimes, when it got too busy, he was happy to lend a hand.


    One of the young women shouted back, shaking her head over the music and the lights. Delilah had once tried to explain what it was like as a woman in a place like a pub or a gym. Men were clueless most of the time, and thought with their dicks the rest of it.


    Salem was close enough to get involved. It was late. After working nights for so many months, he rarely went home tired anymore. "Hey! She said no. Keep moving."


    The guys were taller than him. This was impressive, because he was six foot three. "What did you say, asshole?" The most obnoxious of the men, his arms above his head in frustration, wasn''t intimidating. Nobody really was. "I asked her to dance with me!"


    This was how fights always broke out. Salem wasn''t much of a fighter. You couldn''t solve anything by throwing fists. "Yeah, and she said no. Leave her alone."


    He scoffed. "Or what?"


    Peacekeeping was exhausting. As a teenager, Salem was angry too. There was a lot to be angry about. Coming to terms with everything he''d missed in life was hard. So was catching up with the rest of the people his age. After a while, you grow tired of being angry. It becomes too tiring to be bitter and scared, but it takes a lot of work to get past it. Like a lot of his siblings, Salem had been to therapy. These days, he didn''t much have the time or the interest to go back.


    "Look, dude, just quit harassing women. We''re all just trying to have a good time without being bothered."


    It wasn''t uncommon for combatant, drunk people to throw a punch at Salem. He didn''t fight back. Removing these types of people from the pub was the most effective way to make everybody else feel safer.


    A shift always ended with running through the checklist. There were things that needed to be done regularly to ensure the cleanliness of the place. Salem was responsible for making sure everything was finished properly before he clocked out. In the twelve hours of his absences, there''d be another pub manager on shift, with whom Salem needed to communicate regularly.


    "I''m moving away."


    Delilah had a suitcase on her bed, placing things into it carefully. She was nineteen, fresh out of high school, a woman of ambition and intelligence. He never doubted she''d make a name for herself.


    "Where?"


    "Iceland."


    It wasn''t surprising. All her life, Delilah had talked about moving to Iceland and teaching English, which is exactly what she did. Salem would have gone to visit her more often if he weren''t afraid of planes. Driving was fine. Putting your life in the hands of somebody else was oddly disorienting. She sat, reaching for his arm, possibly trying to ascertain that he was still there. "You''ll come visit someday, right?"


    "I''ll try."


    Salem hadn''t seen his sister in person in five years. They both lived busy lives, but took the time to communicate nearly daily. This meant a lot to both of them.


    When he called, Delilah usually answered right away. She worked long hours and went to bed early, but always somehow made time for him. Salem drove an electric vehicle, using Bluetooth to speak on the phone while driving. Delilah, who was just getting ready for her second class of the day, had begun to pick up the accent after a decade of living in Iceland. "Hey, Shadow. How was work?"


    Salem didn''t love this nickname ¨C but like a dutiful big sister, Delilah stuck to it. "It was work. How are you?¡±


    Delilah didn''t drive. Blind from teenagehood, she''d found alternate ways of getting around. Most of the time, this involved her wife, Frigg. "I''m getting essays back today. All that marking is going to take hours." He imagined she was a good teacher. Enjoying your job was really all that mattered.


    After work, Salem had plans with his ex-girlfriend, Kioni. After breaking up six months ago, Kioni was the one who suggested casual hook-ups. For the time being, this was good enough. Changing into something comfortable, he filled the bowl of a sleek yellow pipe and lit it.


    The townhouse was scattered with random knick-knacks: runes, cards, magic items, articles of clothing. It wasn''t a huge space, but it was more than enough for one person. Kioni, who lived here briefly during their relationship, hated the mess. Salem''s basement housed three lizards and a theremin, which he''d learned to play by watching tutorial videos. The reptiles, who were used to being handled, sometimes sat around his neck while he played.


    Kioni always let herself in. She was a Kenyan dancer, slim and leggy, who went after what she wanted. It wasn''t that they didn''t like each other. Kioni and Salem were never compatible, and argued a lot. In the end, it was agreed they were much better friends than lovers.

 10. The Earth Laughs In Flowers

    Marsha P. Johnson was quoted as saying, "If you think you know everything, you''re not listening." This quote, among others, had a big impact on Zina during her self-discovery stages. She attended her first pride parade with a small group of friends at the age of twenty-three, several months before beginning her transition. Things were very different back then.


    In two months, Zina was getting married. Her wedding plans had been a flurry of chaos; she and her fiance had such differing visions for the day. It certainly didn''t help that her brother, River, was unruly, coming home at all hours of the night, drunk. It had been like this, mostly, since he moved in with her eight months ago. Before this, Zina had no idea where he lived.


    Across the street, there was a cloud of smoke surrounding a large home. Zina, along with several other firefighters, had arrived on scene only moments ago to survey the damage. Zina worked long hours and rarely slept, and this was rewarding to her. She''d always dreamed of spending her life helping those in need. Between working and wedding planning, Zina had very little free time. She was fine with this.


    There were small children and animals trapped inside the home. Adjusting her helmet, Zina ran toward the entrance.


    She''d met her fiance, Atticus, on social media, and spoke to him for many months before agreeing to a date. The hardest part of dating as a trans woman was the consistent fear of being stalked or killed. Atticus was not a man who was threatened by many things.


    The large home had smoke up to the ceiling. A young girl cowered, coughing, over a dog in the room''s corner.  Zina remembered being a child. If only there had been someone to save her then, too.


    The girl was very weak. She''d gotten one leg stuck between the wall and the arm of the couch, and her frantic parents had been unable to free her. Outside, there were several paramedics on scene. "Hi, sweetheart." Zina approached the girl cautiously. She''d been crying, which was to be expected. "You''re going to be okay." In most cases, the main cause of death in a home fire was smoke inhalation. Smoke was thick, so thick that Zina couldn''t see further than her outstretched arm. The most important part of any rescue was to block the airway from breathing in hot smoke. She''d lost people in a rescue before. Sometimes, no matter how efficiently you got things done, time just ran out. "Take my hands." Freeing the child was difficult, but adrenaline could make a person accomplish incredible things.


    On the scene of a fire, people were everywhere. Police officers, ambulances, onlookers ¨C it became necessary to block off the scene at times. The dog, who refused to leave the girl''s side, panted. It wasn''t uncommon for an animal to become trapped in a house fire.  It followed close behind, bounding out the door as soon as Zina opened it. After a while, crying became too exhausting for a child. Most became woozy and disoriented on their way to the ambulance on scene.


    Zina spent seven years studying to become a firefighter. At twenty-six, she was the youngest of the city''s fire crew, and often felt a need to prove herself. The young girl''s parents had both already been seen by paramedics, and sobbed when their daughter was pulled from the wreckage. It was an exhausting and dangerous job, but this made it rewarding.


    Her fiance, Atticus, worked as a mechanic and often came home covered in grease and dirt. She had to admit this made him quite attractive.


    Two days ago, Mary turned nineteen, and all she wanted was a quiet afternoon alone. Zina hated to admit it, but Mary was a rather neglectful mother. The issue was: it was difficult to take care of another person without the ability to take care of yourself.


    Last spring, Zina received an orchiectomy. This fall, she was lined up for a vaginoplasty. It wasn''t mandatory, with these types of surgeries, for a transgender woman to receive. It wasn''t mandatory for her to transition at all. Zina had spent her childhood trying to appease others at the risk of her mental health, and she was tired. Monty, who came out to her when he was seven, took her place as peacekeeper when she moved out.  This wasn''t fair. For years, Zina had wanted to take him in. For years, he''d been fighting with Orion about leaving the house.


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    Zina got home from work late, hot and exhausted. The Main Event of the day hadn''t been by far the only rescue she''d been sent to, though it had been the most draining. Zina wasn''t sure she wanted to be a mother. As a kid, her mother had said it was her duty to get a good job and support a wife and children. Maybe that was the duty of a man. It wasn''t Zina.


    It was rare for the home to be quiet. River was a flurry of chaos: erratic and insecure, channelling his instability into video games and abstract art. Zina pitied him a lot of the time. River was a couch surfer who never stayed in one place for long, but who worried people when he took off (which was often). His room was at the bottom of the stairs, always strewn with art supplies and bottles. When River was in a Mood, he wouldn''t leave his room.


    "Hey," said Zina, locking the front door. It wasn''t often her fiance was home before her. When he was, dinner was always prepared by the time she got home. "Is River home?"


    The men didn''t like each other, but managed to be civil for the sake of ZIna''s happiness. Atticus was taller than her, which was impressive. "Yeah." He sat at the table, sorting through the mail, letting each envelope fall to the table. "I wanted to talk to you about that."


    There was music coming from the basement. Atticus was a man who liked his peace. "Did something happen?" Her jacket was heavy and hot; she removed it. "You know River''s unstable." Each of the siblings had a close friend within the family. For the younger kids, it was always an older sibling. The problem with being River''s favourite person was that it was very dangerous to make him upset.


    When Zina met Atticus, she''d been living at the farm, speaking to him in private on a phone Salem had snuck in to her. They lived in a large home, quite different from the rest in its neighbourhood, and kept spotless.  The master bedroom was River''s now, and it was never clean.


    Atticus stood for a glass of water, brushing Zina''s arm. "He can''t live here anymore. You have to tell him to find somewhere else."


    Atticus, truthfully, had been patient with River''s outbursts over the past few months. Even the most patient of men had their limits. He watched Zina''s face, knowing he would have upset her. The difficulty was that it didn''t just affect River anymore. It hadn''t for a long time. When he was here, Zina knew he was safe.


    "You know I can''t do that. He''ll have a breakdown."


    This was true. But what was more true was that at some point, a person had to look out for themselves first.


    It was hard to be mean, but tough love was the only choice sometimes. Zina''s mother seemed to know this better than anyone. Atticus sighed, placed his hands onto Zina''s shoulders. They were heavy. "I know you love him, Zina. You know as well as I do that it isn''t good for him here. You baby him." She''d never admit this. It was hard to admit your own shortcomings. Atticus had golden skin, and thick black hair that spilled over his shoulders. Zina had always been weak for a chiselled man. "Think about how nice it''d be to have all the space all to ourselves. We want to make a home for ourselves, right?¡±


    River ran away from home for the first time at twelve years old. If Zina hadn''t gone after him, he probably wouldn''t have made it back home.


    She frowned. "Fine. I''ll talk to him. But it is not going to go over well."


    If you asked Zina''s friends, they''d say she was always in a hurry. Even on the most laid-back of days, she always acted as though she was late for an important meeting. This frustrated Atticus to the core, but Zina never could seem to get herself to slow down and take a moment.


    "River?"


    His door was always closed. Perhaps this was where he felt safest. When Zina rapped on the door, the music stopped.


    In the far corner, there was a four foot easel. This was one of the few things River had had in his possession when moving in. He was very thin and rarely came upstairs to eat ¨C but the room was scattered with snack wrappers and plastic water bottles. He grinned. "Hey, Z. What''s up?"


    It was true what they said about artists. They had the most tortured souls.


    She sat, shutting the door behind her. "We need to talk."

 11. We Tell Ourselves We鈥檙e Floating

    Being the family fuck-up was hard work, but somebody had to do it. When this was all people came to expect of you, after all, there was no reason to let them down. When Zina shut the door, the room was quiet. When River woke up that morning, he was already on high alert.


    She always tried to be gentle. It never mattered.


    "You have to look for your own place," Zina said, twisting her necklace around and around her fingers. "It''s not good for you here. I can''t give you the support you need."


    "I''ll never abandon you," said ZIna, when they were children. Lying in the grassy field behind the farm, she smiled warmly. "Even if everyone leaves, you''ll always have me.¡±


    His mind was loud, in the sort of way that was impossible to explain. When things hurt, they always felt excruciating ¨C molten lava bubbling over the skin, burning you alive. Zina could speak, but everything was muffled, as though River was listening to the world through a plastic bubble. She''d learned long ago not to touch him, even when he banged on the walls with all the force of his fists, or lay on the floor and screamed. Sometimes, it felt like all River could do was scream.


    More times than once, he''d woken up in the back of a police car, or the cell of the station. None of these nights were memorable. This was the scariest part.


    "You''ll never be successful," said Zina, snickering through her fingers. "We all know you''re just the family fuck-up."


    It wasn''t all bad. River could love deeper than most people, and feel happiness more wholly than his friends. Everything happened so quickly, always. River drank a lot, on these nights. He drank a lot most of the time. When he''d drunk enough to feel numb, he ran ¨C nowhere in particular, and perhaps nowhere at all. But it seemed like anywhere was better than here.


    Each time River ran off, Zina went after him.


    "You''re not my real sister, anyway! You''re just like your mother!¡±


    This morning, like many mornings in the past, River woke up in a jail cell. He felt raw, exposed, like an open wound that had been poked and prodded at for hours. His throat hurt, from screaming, or maybe from drinking, it didn''t matter. The police station wasn''t one he recognized. These days, River''s reflection wasn''t even one he recognized. There was blood on his knuckles; it was dry now.


    Moving was tedious. Each step swayed the floor; the bright lights above River''s head pounded behind his eyes. Zina was the enemy, now. It was funny. A day ago, he''d have done anything for her.


    "Get up, River."


    A rough voice echoed in his ear. Everything hurt. The clunky boots of a police officer came into view outside River''s cell, jingling a set of keys. "You''re free to go. Your brother''s here to pick you up." That morning, it was snowy: so early that the sun wasn''t yet up. River''s throat was dry, scorched, as though he''d swallowed fire. Outside the cell, when the bright lights of the hallway hit his face, all the poison he''d drank exploded out of him, burning the whole way up.


    Friends came and went, at times when you needed them most. After a while, being betrayed by those you loved the most felt inevitable. Everybody said they''d support their friends through mental health episodes. But when it came time to experience this firsthand, everybody changed their minds.


    River had had jobs before. None of them had ever lasted more than six months.


    He was far from home, drenched in sweat and still in the same clothes from the night before. Inside the door of the police station, Salem clinked his keys. "How much did you drink, River?"


    River didn''t drive. The only benefit that came from this was never having driven drunk. It was raining, pounding in his ears, so noisy that the ground spun underneath his feet. "I don''t know." The town was unfamiliar, and cold. Salem drove an electric SUV, which was boxy and one of the only few of its kind. Salem always seemed to get new gadgets before they came out. Shutting his eyes, River leaned his head against the headrest of his seat. "I''m not in Summerside anymore, am I?"


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    His knuckles hurt, beginning to bleed again. Many times before, he''d punched something in the midst of an episode, leaving his hands bloodied and sore. Once or twice, he''d broken a finger or two. Salem was a calm driver, even when the traffic around him forgot how to follow the rules. The signal blinked, the screen lighting up at every interaction. "I have no idea how you got here, dude. Got a call from the police at three in the morning saying you were here. Said you wouldn''t talk to anyone but me." It was a smooth ride, fast, the type of vehicle River would probably drive if he could. Salem wasn''t the most affectionate person, but he cared a lot for other people.


    "Zina kicked me out." Reliving the moment brought the pit back to River''s stomach. Even the most loyal of people could leave him abandoned in the blink of an eye. Even the most loyal of friends could leave him questioning their allegiance.  "Can I stay with you for a bit?" He was nauseous. Unrolling the window, he stuck his head outside.


    River was hard to love sometimes, he knew that. Getting out of bed was hard, holding a job was hard. Some days, it felt like all he could do was just survive. Zina said surviving was more than enough. If this was true, it made River wonder why he felt such guilt about not doing more. Growing up, he''d been very mean to Zeb, and felt bad about it now. These days, River barely spoke to most of his siblings, and for terrible reasons.


    Salem glanced over. "I have people over a lot."


    It was very hard to keep relationships intact. River had ruined many over the years. "Yeah, you¡¯re a slut. I know that already.¡±


    Years ago, River had a big fight with his father, which ended in the two screaming at each other. River was never afraid to get into fights. Some people deserved it. He''d shouted at his father, throwing a fist at the window behind the man. "You''re a terrible father. I wouldn''t even care if you died!" This hadn''t changed. If it weren''t for Orion, River would be successful and stable. It was interesting, though, that a group of children raised in the same environment could grow up to be so different.


    At the age of fifteen, River''s mother sent him to an institution. She claimed he was difficult, which was true ¨C but a parent''s job was to support their children through their difficulties, not make them somebody else''s problem. It wasn''t hard to tell, growing up, who Lillian favoured most.  It was always the most brainwashed of the children, the most obedient, as if the only job of a child was to be a puppet. It wasn''t worth it. River would have rather been treated like shit than act as a clone.


    Something about music was calming. On the days when River found it most difficult to get out of bed, he was calmed by music and art. In elementary school, River became interested in abstract paintings. In middle school, he got an easel from Salem to make his own art. Maybe when River was dead, people would care about him.


    River couch surfed a lot, when he was younger, but never stayed in the same place for more than a few months. Before moving in with ZIna, he bounced around between the homes of friends and acquaintances. He lived on his own, briefly, but couldn''t hold a job long enough to keep up with rent. The hardest part of this was being branded a lazy person, or a freeloader. It wasn''t as if he enjoyed being a fuck-up. But every family had one, and the duty had fallen on him.


    Salem''s place had two bedrooms, and two large living rooms. With the amount of parties he had, it''d have to. The townhouse was spacious, but smaller than Zina''s place. On the main level, Salem held a lizard on his shoulders, stroking its head. "You can take the extra bedroom upstairs.¡± He was high. When he wasn¡¯t at work, he was almost always high.


    When River lived with ZIna, her fiance had insisted he pay rent. This had meant that all of the meagre income he received from the government went to Atticus, and River was left to barely fend for himself. Zina hadn¡¯t agreed with this - but it wasn¡¯t her home. River touched the head of the lizard, which was very brightly coloured. ¡°You¡¯re not going to make me pay rent, are you? I don¡¯t have any money.¡±


    A fully-grown frilled dragon could get up to three feet long. Magni was three years old, and was orange and green in colour. He hadn¡¯t warmed up to River, but often climbed onto Salem¡¯s arms and shoulders. ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    River shrugged. ¡°You have a mortgage to pay.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but I also hate landlords.¡± Picking up the lizard, Salem placed him back in his enclosure. ¡°I¡¯ll be in the yard if you need me.¡±


    The most impressive thing about Salem was the fact that he was self-taught in two instruments. The theremin was invented in 1928 by a Russian man named Leon Theremin. It had an eerie, hollow sound, reminding River of a thriller movie, but it brought him odd contentment to listen to its music. When Salem disappeared into the backyard, River fiddled with the instrument.


    It was really unusual to play an instrument without touching it. River didn''t have a musical bone in his body, but he''d tried. In fifth grade, he played the recorder briefly in the school band, but gave up after losing interest in it. This happened a lot. River could like something passionately, intensely, and then give up on it after a moment of failure. He was like this with people too. All of River''s ex-girlfriends would say he was emotional, dramatic, impossible to get along with. All of this was probably true, but he never tried to be this way, and he loathed himself to know what he had become.

 12. Aligxu Al Ni!

    Maia was born in February, in the middle of the night, when Valentina was seventeen years old. At the time, she was staying with Mosiah, attempting to reconcile her relationship with her sister. He was woken in the middle of the night by Valentina, who stood at the side of the bed looking frantically unprepared. They were both unprepared, that night. She spoke in Spanish, pacing the small bedroom and rubbing her stomach. ¡°Uh, either I just pissed myself, or we need to go to the hospital.¡±


    She didn¡¯t have a midwife - though Mosiah had accompanied her to prenatal classes during her pregnancy. Scurrying out of bed, he¡¯d quickly gathered a hospital bag, sleepy and slightly nervous. It wasn¡¯t fair for a man to be nervous, unless he was the one giving birth. Valentina was a powerful woman, and she knew it.


    According to Valentina, around six percent of expectant mothers experienced prolonged labour. Mosiah wasn¡¯t sure where she¡¯d gotten her information, or the accuracy of it, but he knew better than to argue. During Maia¡¯s birth, after Valentina had been in labour for nearly a full day, she was taken to the operating room for a Caesarean section. It was frightening for Valentina, of course, but it was frightening for Mosiah as well.


    The ultrasound tech, who was friendly, pointed to the screen. ¡°Look, Maia, that¡¯s your little sister or brother!¡± Valentina was eight weeks pregnant, and almost always nauseous. With Maia, she¡¯d rarely been nauseous at all. ¡°Are you excited to be a big sister?¡±  Maia was small for her age, though no one was all too worried about it. She was in a troublemaking phase: throwing tantrums and insisting she do things herself. She climbed her father as though he were a jungle gym, sitting atop his shoulders to watch the ultrasound.


    Years ago, when Mosiah and Hannah were about ten and eight years old, they played together in the backyard hammock. It was Sunday, probably; Mosiah remembered they¡¯d done Bible study that day. Swinging wildly back and forth atop the hammock, he looked seriously at Hannah. ¡°Did you know that God isn¡¯t actually real?¡±


    She was always serious about Bible study. Hannah¡¯s room, last time he saw it, was filled with rosaries, cross necklaces, and religious statues. As a child, she was bossy and proper - though this hadn¡¯t much changed. ¡°Says who?¡±


    He jumped from a tall post, nearly landing on Hannah, who swatted at him. ¡°Jeremiah.¡±


    Hannah thought she knew everything. Maybe, pretending to be superior could make you forget you were insecure. ¡°He¡¯s stupid.¡± Hannah thought this, probably. Salem bullied her mercilessly when she was a kid, and she never quite forgave him. ¡°And you shouldn¡¯t say that, you know. You¡¯re going to get in trouble.¡±


    As a child, Mosiah was, briefly, afraid of getting in trouble. Most kids are afraid of this, he assumed. Sometime in elementary school, his mother had scrubbed his mouth with soap for taking the name of the Lord in vain. Sometime in middle school, he stopped caring about upsetting people.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± said Valentina, on their way out of the clinic. Even nauseous and bloated, she dressed to impress. If you¡¯d told Mosiah even five years ago that he¡¯d marry the world¡¯s sexiest woman, he¡¯d have probably told you to fuck off. Their first month of working together, they¡¯d gotten in trouble for making out in the staff room while on the clock. All the boys at work seemed jealous of him after this, and they¡¯d do whatever he wanted.


    Buckling Maia into her carseat, Mosiah checked the time. ¡°Lie down for a bit when we get home. I¡¯ll take Maia to the park and make dinner.¡±


    He was eighteen when they got engaged, and they¡¯d known each other less than a year. Ask anybody, and they¡¯d say it was a stupid decision, bound to end in divorce and crippling debt - but Valentina was that wife who disgusted bystanders every time she clung off of her husband in public. On the day of their engagement, Mosiah¡¯s mother-in-law scolded her daughter very loudly over the phone. On the day of their elopement, Paloma insisted he liked Valentina for her body, not her brains, and that he¡¯d be tired of her within the year.


    Maia whimpered: a hungry whimper; Mosiah had learned to decipher by now. Starting his boxy red truck, he tossed a container of Cheerios into the back seat.


    It was amusing, truthfully, the reactions of strangers to Mosiah¡¯s outfit choices. There were days he purposely outdid himself to get under the skin of strangers. Most of the time, children were afraid of him, and parents steered away as if Satanism was catching. He¡¯d learned how to do makeup by helping Valentina with tutorials, and by experimenting. Sometimes, people were more angry about the makeup itself.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± said a middle-aged woman, on the path to the park. ¡°Is this your daughter?¡±


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    These days, people still didn¡¯t understand biracial kids. Children and adults were confused by Mosiah¡¯s relationship to Maia: he had to have been brother, or babysitter. It seemed to make no sense to the stupid, how a brown girl could belong to a white boy.


    Maia¡¯s hands were sticky. ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡±


    Aren¡¯t you a little young to have a kid? You¡¯re, like, seventeen.


    Aren¡¯t you a little old to judge complete strangers? You¡¯re, like, fifty.


    Growing up, Orion had insisted his children learn to respect their elders. The funny thing was that being old didn¡¯t entitle a person to respect. Mosiah had been punished time and time again for speaking back, after being spoken to badly, or retorting back after being insulted. But he was a child, and a child¡¯s job was to do as they were told. Some people would sit back and let others take advantage of them. Mosiah was not one of these people.


    ¡°Go play, Maia.¡±


    She was a friendly little girl, but hadn¡¯t quite learned how to share with other kids. Sometimes, she wasn¡¯t obligated to. Squealing, she clapped her sticky hands together, running on her chubby legs toward the small playground.


    It was snowy, chilly. Valentina, who hated the cold, often refused to leave the house in the winter unless she had no choice.


    Every night, Maia¡¯s routine was the same. Valentina insisted it was good for a child to have a routine, that it would help them sleep better. After helping her father make dinner, she ate, and then bathed, and then practiced using the potty before storytime. The house was usually calm - a stark contrast to Mosiah¡¯s childhood home - and kind, a stark contrast to Valentina¡¯s.


    On the wall in Mosiah¡¯s bedroom, there was a hanging print which contained the eleven Satanic rules. It was something people were afraid of without knowing much about, without being willing to gather knowledge. It was a shame, really, that the stupid had no problem being stupid - and no knowledge of being this way. Mosiah would rather have been deaf than stupid.


    When Valentina finished in the shower, she returned to the bedroom in only a fuzzy towel, hardly long enough to touch her thighs. Watching her rummage through a dresser, Mosiah laid back on the bed. ¡°Jesus, my wife¡¯s the world¡¯s hottest woman.¡±


    She grinned, falling onto the sheets next to him. ¡°Keep it up and you might just get a handjob.¡± She was good at these, though hadn¡¯t always been.


    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡± Life really had changed, despite doubting at one point that it ever would. He wasn¡¯t an insecure man - but something about him had impressed Valentina. ¡°You¡¯re a freaking goddess, and I¡¯m just a lowly boy who bows down in your presence.¡± Keep your hands to yourself, Lillian would say. Valentina preferred when he didn¡¯t.


    Rolling over, Valentina let her towel fall. Six months ago, she¡¯d pierced her nipples: and claimed it made things better in the bedroom. Water dripping from her hair, she crawled on top of Mosiah. ¡°You really know how to make a girl feel special, you know that?¡± She always dirty talked in Spanish, and he couldn¡¯t complain. ¡°Take your pants off, papi.¡±


    Not a single man would argue with Valentina. She¡¯d spent her life making boys sweat, and enjoyed doing it. Perhaps, as a girl constantly sexualized by the men around her, she¡¯d learned to just go along with it.


    ¡°Anything for you, my queen.¡±


    Bro, when did you become such a simp? Six months ago, you hated this bitch.


    Hey, I¡¯d rather be a simp than a virgin.


    She was good at giving head. When they first began dating, she had no idea what to do.


    Many of Valentina¡¯s friends or followers had demanded to know what she saw in Mosiah. Many had messaged him to poke fun at his clothing, or makeup, or skin. He¡¯d never given a shit. Jealousy wasn¡¯t a pretty look on anybody.


    She blew him quickly and deeply, making him weak in the knees. Her tits were warm and already looking plumper. ¡°You¡¯re a good girl, Valentina.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t opposed to being watched. Actually, she seemed to get off on it. Sometimes, she set up her camera to record herself getting fucked or sucking cock, to post online or to watch back later. Mosiah, of course, had no problem with this. They were hot, and it was exciting to know that others got off on them.


    In bed, Maia grumbled awake. Valentina sighed, getting up to tend to her.


    ¡°Valentina, will you marry me?¡±


    It was a sunny day, and Maia was six months old. Though Valentina had mentioned, in the past, her desire to someday get married, they¡¯d never spoken of it. Mosiah wasn¡¯t worried. She¡¯d accepted instantly, jumping off the ground onto him. After getting engaged, Salem was the first person Mosiah told. After hearing the news of Mosiah¡¯s plan to get married, he just paused for a long while before saying, ¡°Why would you do that?¡± He was staying with Salem when he made the plan to move to the prairies. For a seventeen-year-old, the prospect of moving all alone to a new province was intimidating - but Mosiah needed a fresh start. It was a four hour flight from Prince Edward Island, and he had no plans to ever return.


    Hannah was calling from her home phone. When someone from the farm called Mosiah, it was always Hannah. If it was important, she¡¯d leave a voicemail.


    Returning from the toddler¡¯s room, Valentina shut the door. ¡°Where were we?¡± It was warm in the house. Pulling her damp hair back into a ponytail, Valentina continued where she¡¯d left off.


    He had a voicemail from Hannah. Like everything she said, it was straight-forward and to the point. ¡°Mosiah, pick up your phone! Dad''s dead!"

 13. Zoan鈥檚 Game

    There was tape surrounding the cellar, and police officers speaking to Lillian. It had been a flurry of phone calls, questions, and avoiding invasive questions from fellow churchgoers. It had been branded a suicide, with a note to prove it. Orion Zoan, the man who told his children it was a sin to end one¡¯s own life: ironic, wasn¡¯t it? Only maybe it wasn¡¯t. Maybe he finally got on someone¡¯s bad side.


    Dearest family, began the note, written in thick block letters, a trademark of Orion¡¯s, I regret to inform you that I can no longer struggle.


    It was all suspicious from the very start. Orion would never call his family dear.


    Esther stood at Lillian¡¯s side, curious about the sudden excitement at the house. For a little girl trapped between four walls, it was the biggest event of her life. ¡°Mother, what¡¯s happening?¡±


    It would have been easy to get away with murder. It wouldn¡¯t have been a surprise if Orion¡¯s death wasn¡¯t accidental. Over the years, he¡¯d made many enemies - many were within his own family. Over the years, most of his children had wished harm upon him. He¡¯d assumed himself to be omniscient and powerful, like the god he claimed watched over them. But he was a careless man, and took to violence when he was outsmarted. Saphira outsmarted her father a lot.


    They say the most evil of people are the ones who seem the most humane. The most evil of men could charm whomever they wanted whenever they desired to, and then return home and commit the most atrocious of crimes. The most personable of people could also hold the most secrets, and you¡¯d never know it. Saphira saw humanity in others, and believed in the good of other people. She¡¯d been called many things for this: foolish, naive, stupid. She would have rather been blindly trusting than unnecessarily hateful.


    When Saphira was seven years old, her father put his hands on her for the first time. She¡¯d shouted at him, attempting to wriggle out from underneath her father¡¯s grip - but Orion was a tall man, and he wasn¡¯t often gentle. ¡°Stop! I¡¯ll tell Lillian!¡±


    He¡¯d always chuckled at her threats. ¡°Who do you think she¡¯ll believe: her husband, or a stupid little girl? Now shut up.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t the only one. She¡¯d heard several of her sisters crying at night. She¡¯d seen Seraphim tugging her sleeves down quickly, and putting on a little more makeup than usual. No one ever spoke about it. No one ever suspected a thing.


    For a woman who¡¯d just lost her husband, Lillian was calm and apathetic. She waved a hand dismissively, deep in conversation with an officer. ¡°I¡¯m busy, Esther. Go bother someone else.¡±


    The girl frowned, tugging on Saphira¡¯s sleeve, nearly knocking her over. ¡°Sister, play with me. I¡¯m bored.¡± She was both to be pitied and envied: pitied for her upbringing, for being born into the family she was, envied for her naivety and youth. Esther still had life in her eyes. Esther still had hopes and dreams.


    ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s leave Lillian to talk to the police.¡±


    ¡°There was a bit of an incident last night,¡± Lillian said, when all of the children were gathered around the table for breakfast. ¡°Your father passed away.¡± You¡¯d expect a woman in her predicament to be inconsolable. There were tears on LIllian¡¯s face, but it was very hard to tell if they were genuine. She never spoke much about it after this, and never really seemed to mourn her husband - at least, not in the way you¡¯d expect.


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    It could always be counted on for Canaan to break the silence. ¡°What does passed away mean?¡± His relationship with Orion and Lillian had been very hard for Saphira to understand. He was a little girl who wanted acceptance, and Orion was an egoistic man. Saphira wasn¡¯t a girl who was quick to anger, but there was one thing that always got under her skin. Canaan was an inquisitive and innocent child. Her family acted as though he were annoying them on purpose.


    ¡°It means he¡¯s dead, Canaan.¡± Hannah sat up straight in her chair, always her father¡¯s pet. ¡°I saw the note. Who do you think did it?¡±


    Samantha, who rarely involved herself in the affairs of Orion and his wife, sat at Asher¡¯s side, and spoke up softly. ¡°Your father had been struggling with his problems with the family and the neighbourhood. Unfortunately, it came to a point he just couldn¡¯t bear it anymore.¡±


    Hannah had rolled her eyes, shooting Samantha a look which could be described only as disgust. ¡°Please. You¡¯re stupid if you believe that. It¡¯s obvious somebody killed him. Maybe it was you three. We all know you¡¯ve been wanting to split the life insurance.¡±


    Inside the house, the twins sat on opposite sides of the kitchen, working on that week¡¯s homework. Samantha was a slim and quasi-motherly woman, known to feud with Lillian behind closed doors. Standing in between the teenagers, she jabbed a pencil at Eve¡¯s paper. ¡°Are you stupid? Redo this.¡±


    Orion had met Samantha at a bar, three months after his marriage to Lillian, when she was still pregnant with her first child. This was the story she told, anyway. Lillian was never happy about Orion¡¯s relationships with other women - though she¡¯d been forced to accept them, as he was a selfish man.


    Seraphim chuckled, not sadistically. In a dysfunctional family, filled with children fighting for attention, everyone just wanted to be praised.


    Esther''s current favourite toys were her Barbie dolls, though it was a limited collection. As a child, Saphira and her siblings were forced into boxes, playing with toys that matched their genders, forbidden from playing with the opposite sex. Once, she asked her father to buy her a remote control car. The scolding that came with this left her traumatized.


    ¡°I miss Sister. Will she ever come back?¡±


    Esther hadn¡¯t learned to read until she was five years old. She could spell her name, and count to one hundred, and not much past this. The bedroom she shared with Alma was at the end of the hall. It was separated into two halves, as all the rooms had been, and it was messy, even though the girls were often scolded for being untidy. Esther sat on the floor, tugging a doll out of her toy box, which was falling apart. None of the children had ever gotten toys of their own. They were handed down from siblings: nearly trashed by the time they were given to the youngest. Lillian said too many material things would spoil a child, so that they were no longer able to focus on what was important in life. Lillian couldn¡¯t decide what was important. She was as inconsistent as the winter was cold.


    Saphira took the doll Esther held out to her. ¡°Which sister?¡±


    Sometimes, Saphira wondered if Esther knew the names of some of her siblings. Everybody was Sister or Brother: as if identities no longer existed, as if everyone was just a slave. Children weren¡¯t meant to be subservient to their parents. Children had feelings too, but everyone acted like they didn¡¯t.


    It was hard to keep a secret. Usually, Saphira was good at being secretive - she knew important things that no one else knew, and this made her feel powerful. But with secrets came weight, and after a while, they became heavy enough to weigh on you. Some of Saphira¡¯s siblings would have confessed to terrible things if it meant saving someone else. She wasn¡¯t sure if the same could be said about her.


    ¡°I miss sister Mary. Does she have a baby now?¡±


    Next year, Saphira would be old enough to date. She wasn¡¯t sure how she felt about this. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Is that why she left?¡±


    It was cold in the house. Lillian and Samantha spoke loudly to the officers, hurting Saphira¡¯s head. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    No one really played with Esther, except Saphira. She was mostly ignored, left to fend for herself or beg for attention. It was no way for a child to live. This house was no place for a child to live. Home didn¡¯t feel like home. It never had, really. Home should be welcoming and friendly, not hostile and intimidating.

 14. There Are Many Ways To Die (And This Is One Of Them)

    ¡°So what happened, anyway? How did he die?¡±


    Monty needed to be home before his mother. Since the death of his father, she¡¯d been working longer hours, and taking out frustrations on her children. Monty sat in Zina¡¯s living room, discussing the unfolding events of his father¡¯s passing. It hadn¡¯t been a surprise, really. The most surprising part of it all was that anybody believed the man would kill himself.


    ¡°They¡¯re saying it was a suicide. There was a note by the cellar where he was found.¡±


    He¡¯d always wanted to be like Zina. She was an accomplished and confident woman, though she hadn¡¯t always been like this. In just a few short weeks, Zina was getting married. If you¡¯d asked her five years ago if she ever believed anybody would fall in love with her, she¡¯d have awkwardly avoided the question.


    She was on her phone, enjoying a rare day off work. She worked long hours and came home drained, and still couldn¡¯t seem to find a reason to slow down. ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem like something he¡¯d do. Maybe it was an accident. He could have fallen down the stairs or something.¡±


    ¡°But there was a note.¡± Atticus was home. Monty saw his car pull up in the front street. ¡°Why would there be a note if it was an accident?¡±


    ¡°This is my youngest, Sariah. She¡¯s not much of a conversationalist, but she¡¯s got a great body.¡±


    Monty hated his speaking voice. Sometimes, he tried to make it sound lower, but this hurt his chest and didn¡¯t make much difference anyway. In a year and a half, he¡¯d be eighteen. This seemed like forever away. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Zina put her phone down, greeting her fiance when he came in the door. Her home was quiet, tidy; River was nowhere to be seen. He never was. ¡°This whole thing is suspicious, anyway. He probably got on someone¡¯s wrong side or something.¡±


    Atticus was a serious, intimidating man. He looked at Monty, not smiling; he never smiled. He¡¯d done nothing to Monty, but he made the boy feel anxious. That morning, he¡¯d called Zina after his mother left for work, and she¡¯d come to pick him up for a visit.


    ¡°Do you need a ride home, Monty?¡±


    It was late afternoon. There was really no telling, these days, when Lillian would arrive home from work. If Monty wasn¡¯t there when she arrived, he¡¯d be badly punished.


    ¡°Yes, please.¡±


    ¡°Zina? When did you know you were a girl?¡±


    Monty was nine years old when he began to question himself. Zina, ten years his senior, began medically transitioning several years after she moved out, and offered Monty advice on the days he was feeling dysphoric.


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    She was eighteen years old at the time, in the midst of packing to move out on her own. She¡¯d been dating Atticus online for six months when she left, moving instantly into the home he¡¯d inherited from his grandparents. Shutting the door, she sat down beside Monty. ¡°I think I was around twelve? I don¡¯t know. Maybe I¡¯ve always known.¡±


    He was uncomfortable, all the time. When puberty began, everything got worse.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m a boy. You can¡¯t tell anyone.¡±


    Monty¡¯s father never knew the truth about his youngest child. Though Hannah had threatened to tell many times, she never seemed to follow through.


    ¡°Zina, when I move out, can I live with you?¡±


    She drove a smart car which seated two, and always listened to the radio. ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll even come pick you up.¡±


    It was likely he¡¯d run away, like some of his siblings had done. It was a miracle any of them had stayed for eighteen years. He was twelve years old when Joseph ran away, and envied him. At one point, he¡¯d even asked to come along. A year later, it was Mosiah who left, and then Zeb. Monty often wondered where his siblings went when they first left. Nobody had any money. Most hadn¡¯t had a place to stay.


    Shortly after his death, Orion¡¯s body had been given an autopsy. Lillian insisted one of the children had tried to frame his murder as a suicide, despite there being no reason to think this. It was hard to know what to believe.


    ¡°Maybe it was Mom,¡± said Hannah, a few days before. ¡°That¡¯s why she¡¯s trying so hard to act innocent.¡± It was weird, certainly, for a woman to care so little about the loss of her husband. It was silly to think Lillian wasn¡¯t as brainwashed as the rest of them.


    The farm was unusually quiet, the cellar area opened again. Canaan ran around the backyard, giggling. He didn¡¯t do this a lot. Lazarus sat on the edge of a backyard chair, not noticing Monty sneaking past. Asher hadn¡¯t been home in three days, and Monty didn¡¯t blame him.


    ¡°Mom?¡±


    Her car was in the driveway. The house was warm, even with the windows open. Samantha, who spent most of her free time in the front room adjacent to the kitchen, was noticeably absent. Perhaps LIllian was preoccupied, and hadn¡¯t realized Monty¡¯s absence, though this was unlikely - the woman had eyes like a hawk.


    ¡°Mom, are you home?¡±


    The doors to the living room were glass and surprisingly heavy. As a child, Monty had run into them, leaving him with a large bruise on his forehead. Through the slight opening in the door, Lillian¡¯s brown hair poked through. Something was unusual here. Next to his mother¡¯s car in the driveway was a large open spot where Samantha always parked.


    On the wall outside the living room, Lilian had hung embroidered cloths containing her favourite scripture verses. It was confusing that a woman who claimed to love the words of the scripture could pick and choose which ones she listened to at all.


    Monty felt anxious. This had been becoming more common for him. When he nudged the door open, Lillian¡¯s head fell from the wall and onto the floor. ¡°Mom?¡± She was pale, cool, maybe having been here a while. It was strange that nobody else had done anything about her body. It was obvious that she was dead.


    Shuffling slowly across the floor, Monty grabbed the cordless phone from the computer desk, quickly dialing the number of the local police.

 15. The Hand That Feeds Me

    In Iceland, springtime was white and patchy, as the snow began to melt away and the temperatures rose. There were many hours of sun, bringing life to the plants and trees, and leaving Delilah burnt. It would have been nice to see: the sun setting, the flowers blooming. When people learned Delilah was blind, they assumed she saw black, and nothing else. She¡¯d shocked more than a few strangers by revealing she didn¡¯t see black at all.


    Delilah worked as an English professor in Iceland¡¯s largest city. The hardest part of her job, as a blind woman, was organizing lesson plans. She¡¯d have thought this was the hardest part of any professor¡¯s job. Delilah always knew she¡¯d go blind. She was born with retinitis pigmentosa, which she¡¯d inherited from her mother, and which affected her vision. In childhood, she lost the ability to see at night. In early teenage years, she lost peripheral vision.


    It had been eleven years since Delilah moved to Iceland, and she hadn¡¯t regretted it for a moment. At eighteen years old: newly blind and flat broke, she¡¯d struggled to feel at home in a new country. Learning an entirely new language was difficult, especially without the ability to see its alphabet. At nineteen, she received Osk, a forty five pound border collie trained as a seeing-eye dog.


    ¡°Hey,¡± said Frigg, arriving home to the turf house she¡¯d helped her grandparents build. ¡°What time does the flight get in?¡±


    Delilah¡¯s mother had been blind, too. She¡¯d seen photos of the woman, but had no memory of her. Despite being surrounded by women growing up, no one had felt like a mother, and she always wondered what her father¡¯s relationship had been with the woman who gave birth to her.


    She listened for the sounds of the dog. ¡°Eleven thirty.¡± It was the first day of a long weekend. Frigg had sent her sons to stay with their father for the night, who had much more space. A turf house was small and contained two rooms, but it felt like home.


    Osk sat on the floor, his head resting in Delilah¡¯s lap. He was an affectionate and protective dog, but wary of strangers. Frigg began to crinkle paper for the fireplace. She wasn¡¯t a doting woman, but showed love in strange ways. ¡°Is River going to be an asshole the whole time again?¡±


    Delilah hated this. Her wife never liked River, and Delilah understood why. Though it wasn¡¯t his fault, it was hard for people to remember that he hated his behaviour just as much as anybody else did. ¡°Honestly, that depends on if he¡¯s drunk or not.¡±


    It was around the time when it began to get dark outside. Delilah looked forward to visiting with her brothers, despite the circumstances. Osk whined, running back and forth through the small house. Delilah heard the creak of the door, and the shutting of it several seconds later. ¡°The dog¡¯s outside,¡± said Frigg, and lit a fire.


    The women met six years ago, when Frigg¡¯s divorce was nearly finalized. At the time, Delilah was living alone in the small basement of an elderly couple, working late and saving money for her own place. Her first meeting with Frigg occurred at a local music festival, and lasted three nights. One day, on the phone with Salem, she¡¯d mentioned her feelings for Frigg, and he encouraged her to act on them.


    Delilah didn¡¯t know the face of her wife. She was a blonde Viking woman; Delilah longed to see the features of her face, the imperfections Frigg described in her eyes and cheeks. She could imagine it. This wasn¡¯t the same.


    ¡°Hey, Delilah,¡± said Salem, on one of their first phone calls after her move, ¡°I want to kiss boys. I need to get out of this house.¡±


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    For a Saturday night, the local airport was unusually quiet. Osk walked nicely on a lead, padding along behind Frigg through the airport. Delilah hadn¡¯t been on a plane in seven years, her first time travelling after becoming blind. It was strange, and she¡¯d had difficulty getting her dog through security.


    Delilah hadn¡¯t met her six youngest siblings. Though it was probable she was meant to wonder about them, she never had. It wasn¡¯t the children''s fault she¡¯d been forced to raise them - but after a while, she couldn¡¯t help but feel bitter toward them. When the adults went out, Delilah was always put in charge, even on the days when she refused. The adults went out a lot, and no one ever knew when they¡¯d be home. Sometimes, they went to town for only an hour or two, returning in time to cook the children dinner and put them to bed. Other times, they were gone for days, claiming they¡¯d taken a weekend trip to relax and unwind, as if there were anything stressful about their lives.


    Being the oldest child had few perks. Delilah knew the dynamics and secrets of all her siblings, and had used these against them in the past. Years ago, when she was recovering from stomach flu, she was put in charge of the children while Orion and the women ran errands in town. Delilah had often been the one to tend to her siblings¡¯ injuries, to comfort them when they were ill, to cook them dinner and give them baths. Truthfully, if it hadn¡¯t been for her, the youngest children probably wouldn¡¯t have survived into adulthood.


    That day, she was cranky and tired, and still feeling ill. At the time, Mara was pregnant with Adam, and Delilah was fifteen. The birth of a new sibling was always exciting for the youngest children. For Delilah, it was always something to dread. She was trying to make dinner, and Hannah cried loudly, tugging on Delilah¡¯s pant leg, waiting to be noticed. As a kid, it wasn¡¯t uncommon for Hannah to cry for attention, and this became exhausting.


    ¡°Delilah! I need you!¡±


    Some days, it didn¡¯t feel like it was worth it. Some days, Delilah debated hiding in her room, refusing to step up when she was needed, knowing it was never her responsibility. This wouldn¡¯t have stopped her father from blaming her if something went wrong.


    ¡°What, Hannah? I¡¯m trying to cook. Go play a board game with your brother.¡±


    She never knew if she was making the right decisions. It shouldn¡¯t have been something she had to worry about. Hannah was loud, fake crying loudly enough to drown out the noise of her siblings. ¡°Mosiah won¡¯t let me kiss him! He said I¡¯m annoying and to leave him alone.¡±


    There was always something: always some sort of fight to break up, or disagreement to settle. Most of it was stupid kid stuff. None of it was things Delilah cared to be involved with. She was a far better parent than any of the parents, and had grown enough to realize this. Lillian would have made Mosiah accept kisses from his younger sisters, all the while knowing children were entitled to their own autonomy. Orion would have shouted at the kids for fighting, even when they calmly stated differing opinions.


    Most days, patience only went so far. ¡°Get over it,¡± said Delilah, prying Hannah¡¯s fingers off her leg. ¡°He doesn¡¯t want a kiss. You don¡¯t have to whine about it.¡±


    River and Salem were nothing alike, a jester and a dreamer. Despite this, they still mostly got along. Osk, who was still unfamiliar with them, approached differently than his usual exuberance, likely sniffing around. Salem was always the first to make conversation, hugging Delilah each time they saw one another. ¡°Hey, Delilah! We¡¯re finally here!¡±


    He always ate edibles before a flight. For a person who was terrified of flying, it was always easier to get stoned than sit calmly. ¡°How was the flight?¡± Delilah hugged River, who was thin and dressed in baggy clothes. He¡¯d always been thin. When Delilah hugged him now, she could almost feel his ribs. ¡°Are you eating enough, River?¡± He¡¯d hate to be asked. She knew this. Sometimes, it was just too hard not to act as an overprotective mother.


    He grumbled, dragging a wheeled suitcase on the jagged airport tiles. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Let¡¯s just go. I¡¯m tired.¡±


    It took Delilah many years to understand the difference between platonic and romantic attraction. She¡¯d been set up on dates with boys by her father as a teenager, and assumed she liked them romantically after enjoying their company. After meeting her wife, it took far too much time to understand her feelings. When Frigg kissed her for the first time, Delilah had felt as though fireworks erupted all around her.

 16. RIDDLERS

    The hotel was warm and less trashy than River was expecting. He¡¯d fallen asleep drunk the night before, and woke up the same way. Liquor was much more expensive in Iceland than it had ever been at home, and River survived only with the little money he got from the government. As a kid, he had goals and aspirations for the future. By maybe the age of nineteen, his only goal was always to make it through the day. This seemed simple to the average person. Most of the time, the hardest part of life was getting out of bed.


    ¡°River, Mom and Dad are dead.¡±


    Staying in the extra bedroom in Salem¡¯s townhouse, River spent a lot of time painting. Maybe, when he was dead, people would care about his art. Several weeks before their trip, Salem poked his head inside River¡¯s room, holding a joint in one hand. ¡°Mosiah told me. They both died within a week of each other.¡±


    It might have been a surprise, to somebody outside the family. Their deaths may have been unexpected, sure, but it¡¯d have been stupid to say River was surprised. ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±


    He wished he could be friendly like Salem, or confident like ZIna, or assertive like Mosiah. River had no sense of himself outside of his siblings, he¡¯d been told. Relationships were short-lived and fickle, like people no longer existed once they weren¡¯t in the same room. An old therapist of his had once suggested taking a moment in times of frustration before speaking - and he¡¯d attempted this. He never seemed to be able to calm down.


    Lying stomach-down on top of the unmade hotel bed, River clutched a bottle of dark rum in both hands. He was alone in the room, and he hated being alone. Having woken up that morning with a hangover, River had downed half the bottle of rum to make himself feel better, and then fallen asleep again. ¡°What the fuck."


    It was very bright outside. Once again, he¡¯d been abandoned.


    River rose, yanked open the door, stepped into the hallway with his thick grey socks. ¡°Salem! Where are you?¡± The night before, they¡¯d chatted and watched several old movies. At home, Salem was always too busy to spend time with. ¡°You can¡¯t just leave me like that!¡±


    Their room was down the hall from an elevator, and next to a room with small noisy children. There was nothing to do here for someone who didn¡¯t understand the language. If it hadn¡¯t been for Salem¡¯s hasty translations, River would feel completely lost.


    ¡°Riv, relax.¡±


    Salem emerged from the elevator, holding a small plate of food. He had a septum ring and a ponytail he refused to cut. ¡°I just went to get breakfast. Here, I brought you a plate.¡± It was filled with bacon and sausage, River¡¯s favourite part of any brunch. Zina used to eat brunch with him every Sunday. Salem had been vegetarian for ten years.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me where you were going.¡± River snatched the paper plate, turning back down the hallway. ¡°I woke up all alone. I didn¡¯t know if you were coming back.¡±


    When River was growing up, his mother had a habit of apologizing for him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she¡¯d say to friends and congregation members, ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong with my son. He likes to be dramatic.¡± Only this wasn¡¯t true, and River didn¡¯t like to be dramatic at all. The screaming in his head, the uncontrollable anger over something small, the feeling of complete abandonment after being left alone for ten short minutes: all of this left him exhausted. River wasn¡¯t mean, or dangerous. He was just sad and alone.


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    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m back now. Come sit down. Have a smoke.¡±


    Years ago, River had a therapist named Tonia, whom he saw weekly. Eventually, Tonia, like all the therapists he¡¯d had in the past, had grown tired of him. ¡°You said you have a lot of siblings,¡± she said once, sitting in front of him in her cluttered office. ¡°How many?¡±


    He hadn¡¯t been to therapy in a while. He needed to go back.


    ¡°Nine sisters and eleven brothers.¡±


    After Tonia, there was Daisy, who did group therapy. River hated this - though he¡¯d made a few friends in therapy groups. They were all long gone, now.


    ¡°Growing up, how often would you say you felt neglected by your parents?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s easy. Every day.¡±


    On the days where River woke feeling disgusted about himself, he begged for validation from his favourite people. He never liked people casually the way a regular person did. He never liked anything casually at all. Since moving in with Salem, he¡¯d become fixated with the man: leaving him voicemails in the middle of the night, sitting in front of the door waiting for him to arrive home from work, becoming irrationally angry when he spent time with other people. River was consumed by his emotions, always, waiting for them to give him a break. At least twice a month, he dyed his hair a different colour. There was no reason for this, really, except for the desire to feel control over something for once.


    River lay on his back, having eaten half of the small plate of food. Despite eating semi-regularly, he lost weight often, and became lightheaded almost daily. ¡°I don¡¯t think Dad would kill himself.¡±


    The television was on, playing one of the few hotel channels, mostly ignored. Even away from work, Salem was busy with work. He responded to emails and made rough drafts of schedules on his phone, which irritated River. ¡°I don¡¯t, either.¡±


    In the hallway, hotel guests laughed and socialized loudly. River longed to be a person who could socialize with anybody. ¡°I heard Samantha skipped town after Mom died. She probably killed them. That¡¯s why she ran away.¡±


    It was strange to think how different his life might be if only he¡¯d been born in a slightly different year, or a slightly different place. It was bittersweet to think about the different routes his life could have taken, had it only been a little different. Perhaps he wouldn¡¯t have been so unreliable, or messy, or melodramatic. Perhaps he would have grown up to be a productive member of society.


    The bottle in his hands was crooked, nearly spilling over onto the bed. Salem took it from him gently, setting it on a table with a clink. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s true.¡± He was so forgiving, so helpful - it was aggravating, though really had no reason to be. ¡°Let¡¯s go do something. Maybe you need a distraction-¡±


    It was cold. Despite this, River was sweating. ¡°I don¡¯t need a distraction! Why do you hate me?¡± He didn¡¯t mean to say this. Most of the time, he exclaimed things without taking a moment to think.


    ¡°This session, we¡¯re going to work on emotional regulation. It¡¯s important to remember that our friends and family still love us even in the midst of a disagreement. It¡¯s important to remember that they still love us even when they spend time with other people.¡±


    Dialectical behaviour therapy had worked wonders for River in the past. These days, he was too anxious or sad or dysfunctional to go. It was easy, in theory, to put the things he learned into practice. When it came time to act in the moment, he rarely acted any differently. Perhaps if he hadn¡¯t been so much - so dramatic, so emotional - he would have been somebody worth loving.


    No one wanted to be River¡¯s favourite person. He¡¯d had many in his life. The thing about River was that once you were dead to him, there was no coming back. ¡°Riv, I don¡¯t hate you. I just think you¡¯re not in a great headspace right now. Let¡¯s go for a walk. Do some exploring, maybe.¡± It was isolating. Like everybody else, citizens of Iceland found him to be overwhelming and rude.


    Most of the time, it was easier to be drunk than present. River had realized this years ago. Standing, he snatched the bottle back, taking a gulp. It wasn¡¯t like River to feel anxious. Since arriving in Iceland, he hadn¡¯t stopped.

 17. Wolves And Men

    The people of Iceland were beautiful and honest. The night before, Salem hooked up with a woman he¡¯d met at the hotel bar. If River hadn¡¯t taken off down the street, he¡¯d probably still be with her. It was early in the morning, chilly, and River still hadn¡¯t returned. There was always danger in taking him somewhere unfamiliar. When River ran off at home, there were only so many places he¡¯d go.


    As a teenager, Salem would sometimes pull his youngest siblings in a trailer behind the tractor when he tilled the soil. When the younger boys got older, he¡¯d teach them to do the tilling.


    Monty was born in December, less than two months after Salem turned eleven. The children were home with Samantha, who was never much of a caretaker. At just thirteen years old, Delilah took on a motherly role, knowing the children would be neglected otherwise. She never wanted her own kids, Delilah. Frigg, who knew of her childhood traumas, rarely left her in charge of the boys.


    ¡°Sit still,¡± said Delilah to Kezia, whose hair needed to be brushed. ¡°I need to put your hair up before you go to bed.¡± She was impatient and slightly anxious - but it was hard to be a Zoan and grow up without anxiety. Trying to braid Hannah¡¯s hair was a task in itself. Delilah barked orders at the other kids at the same time. ¡°Jacob, get your pyjamas on. Mary, brush your teeth. Mosiah, give the toy back to your sister.¡±


    The farm was always chaotic growing up. It was filled constantly with the sounds of children fighting and adults shouting. Even after sundown, when the children were in bed, there was still noise.


    A person couldn¡¯t heal in the same environment that hurt them. The biggest eye-opener of adulthood was realizing you¡¯d grown up to be your father: especially if your father was a man like Orion. Salem was nineteen or twenty when he began attending monthly therapy sessions to work through childhood traumas - but these things took time, and old habits were hard to break. After moving out on his own Salem dated a man named Robin, and he was just like his father.


    This early in the morning, the streets were barren. Later that day, they¡¯d promised to meet with Delilah for dinner.


    When River ran off, he never went far. About ten minutes down the street, he lay in the lobby of an apartment, huddled underneath an oversized rain jacket. He didn¡¯t sleep much these days. The lobby was small, and tiled, and dirty - hardly a good place for a sleep. It was a bit shocking that River had been here all night without being kicked out. On the floor, an empty bottle was tucked under his arm.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    Fortunately, the lobby door was unlocked. River was hot to the touch and sweaty, even though it was cold. ¡°River, get up. We need to go.¡±


    It must have been assumed by tenants and passersby that he was a homeless man. He certainly looked like one. It was hard to talk sense into River when he was in a Mood. It was hard to change his mind once he had it made up. Having him around was relieving and intimidating, but it was much safer than having him live alone. River hated this, he¡¯d said: being babied, making people worry all the time. The thing was that people only worried when they cared. River had never believed that anybody cared.


    ¡°Look, I learned a new magic trick! It only took me two hours to figure it out!¡±


    Salem was always interested in magic. His mother once said he was giving in to the ways of the devil, and that he one day would realize the consequences of his actions. It had begun as simple magic tricks in childhood, and spiralled into wand work and spell work in adulthood. Still, it was easy to impress people with magic, especially children. Delilah¡¯s stepsons were ten and seven years old. When Salem wanted to impress them, he¡¯d simply do a magic trick or two.


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    River grumbled, rolling slowly into the fetal position. ¡°I hate myself. I wish I was worth something.¡±


    The first time River mentioned wanting to kill himself, he was twelve years old and had been depressed most of his life. The first time he actually attempted to kill himself, he was fifteen. When Salem moved out, he worried about how River would cope. He shuffled slowly at Salem¡¯s side, hands shoved into his pockets, quiet. River was an open book, and he hated this.


    Quit crying, said Orion, each time one of his sons was upset growing up, Nobody likes a crybaby. Boys don¡¯t cry.


    ¡°You are, River.¡± It was hard to find weed in Iceland. Salem had managed to bum some off another tourist, though it wasn¡¯t a lot. Back home, he could pick the stuff up almost anywhere. ¡°Lots of people love you, you know.¡±


    The truth was that most people pitied River. He was pitied for being sad, or unemployed, or emotionally unwell. Considering the circumstances, River did his best. This was nothing worth pitying.


    He scoffed. ¡°Stop feeling bad for me, asshole!¡± Wiping his face with a ratty, wet sweater sleeve, River frowned. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean that. I¡¯m in a bad mood.¡± He was pale and shaky, pulling his yellow raincoat along the ground by its sleeve. A small group of locals passed by, gossiping about parties and dating. It had taken almost five years to learn enough Icelandic to survive in the country. If Salem had had more free time, it probably would have been much faster.


    ¡°Do you want a hug, River?¡±


    Shortly, Frigg was coming to pick up the boys from the hotel. It was hard to tell whether she was alright with this. Frigg was a stoic woman, but she was honest. If you got on her bad side, she¡¯d be more than happy to tell you.


    River looked exhausted. He stopped on the sidewalk, rubbing his eyes. ¡°Kind of.¡±


    Kioni had told Salem, once, that she was never the first one to pull away from a hug. She said sometimes, someone else needed a hug more than she did, so she was always careful to let them hug her as long as they needed. Some people have nobody else, she said, so I like to make sure they have me. River wasn¡¯t much of a hugger. When one was offered to him, he seemed to melt into you.


    ¡°How long were you out here?¡±


    When they arrived back at the room, River flopped lazily onto the bed, sinking into it. He looked like a man who hadn¡¯t slept in days: dark bags underneath his eyes, green hair tousled and badly in need of washing. From an outside perspective, it was hard to understand depression, hard to know how to be helpful. River always just appreciated people being present.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t remember leaving here.¡±


    After an episode, River rarely remembered what had happened. He could bounce back quickly, leaving those around him feeling confused and uncomfortable, often having to explain the types of things he¡¯d done. It was hard to live with a person whose brain was so unpredictable. Of course, it was even harder to be this person. Like anyone else, Salem had blamed River for his outbursts. It was easy to cast blame when you didn¡¯t understand. It likely wouldn¡¯t have been too far off to say that everyone, at some point, had blamed someone else for something neither was responsible for. If a person was blamed enough times for things that weren¡¯t their fault, they¡¯d eventually begin to blame themselves too.


    ¡°Salem?¡±


    River looked as though he was about to fall asleep. It was something he needed, probably.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Why did you come after me?¡±


    It was hard to be vulnerable. None of the boys had ever been particularly good at it. Often, Salem envied people his age who had grown up learning to be emotionally open. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I? You¡¯re my brother.¡±


    Sometimes, said Kioni, when the two were still getting to know each other, I don¡¯t think you ever learned how to be vulnerable. That¡¯s why you never take anything seriously, so that people can¡¯t tell. She was an observant and intuitive woman. It was aggravating about her. Salem had loved her at one time.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± River yawned. ¡°You only give a fuck because I¡¯m your brother, and you have to. No one ever cares unless they have to.¡± He sighed, sitting up lazily on the bed. ¡°Give me some of your weed.¡±


    Frigg had arrived to pick them up. When Frigg was your ride, she never came inside to get you. Instead, she¡¯d send a text, waiting approximately one minute before leaving without you. River smoked from a slim ceramic pipe, shuffling out the hotel door after his brother.

 18. Three Can Keep a Secret if Two of Them Are Dead

    As it had been since the inception of Zoan¡¯s Farms, the farm became possession of the eldest son upon the death of its owners.  This was a tradition that needed to be ended, in Hannah¡¯s opinion. Many people cared what happened to the farm upon Orion¡¯s death, and Salem wasn¡¯t one of them.


    Hannah had nowhere to go. She¡¯d spent the last couple of weeks cooking her own meals and attending mass with her boyfriend Aaron. He was shorter than her, which embarrassed Hannah, but he believed in all the same things she did.  Despite not having solid plans for the future, Hannah wanted to leave the farm, as anybody would. She had no job, no money, and was far too proud to ask for help.


    Orion Zoan had not taken his own life. This was evident by the way he¡¯d been positioned upon being found. Hannah, who had seen the crime scene photos, knew that her father had been found with a footprint on the back of his pyjama shirt, having evidently wandered out of bed at night. It was a mystery, though, why the man had left the house at all. Several of Hannah¡¯s siblings believed Samantha was to blame - as she hadn¡¯t been seen since the night of Orion¡¯s death. Despite this, there was no proof of her ever having been at the scene at all.


    Hannah sat in a large room at the city police station, avoiding the drilling gaze of the officers sat across from her. She assumed all of her siblings would be questioned, at some point. It was just Hannah¡¯s luck that she was up first. It was suspicious that Asher had run off days before the questioning began. It was suspicious that Hannah¡¯s siblings had been oddly silent since all of this had begun.


    ¡°Hannah,¡± said one of the officers, who was unsympathetic and blunt. ¡°Are you aware that the footprint on your father¡¯s jacket matched the tread of your sneakers?¡±


    She¡¯d spoken to Delilah over the phone recently. Though Delilah wasn¡¯t the smartest nor the most outspoken of her siblings, she had the most life experience. Though it would have been helpful to have a lawyer, Hannah couldn¡¯t afford one, and hadn¡¯t a clue how the law worked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    The truth was, Hannah was asleep when her father died. But it was easy to lie, and everybody would be expecting this. She wasn¡¯t a bad liar, but refused to do so. The world was full of liars and sinners, and hardly anyone was trustworthy.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t aware?¡± Both officers were stoic, making Hannah feel uncomfortable. This wasn¡¯t easy to do. She was used to men of authority attempting to overpower her. ¡°Where were you the night of February 28?¡±


    It had been a month since her father¡¯s death, during which he¡¯d been pushed down the stairs. The case, which was initially branded as a suicide, had been re-opened as a murder case - and Hannah didn¡¯t know anything. According to Alma and Sariah, they didn¡¯t know anything, either. ¡°I was at home, asleep. I had to get up early for school the next day.¡± It was fortunate for Hannah that she¡¯d never fallen victim to anxiety the way some of her siblings had. For people like them, being questioned would be the end of the world.


    ¡°Tell me about your last encounter with Orion,¡± said the second officer, who was fatter and taller than the other. ¡°When did you last speak to him?¡±


    In Hannah¡¯s opinion, questioning her was pointless. It was obvious Samantha had something to do with the deaths of her parents. Why else would she have run off and not returned? First, it was about Orion. Then, Hannah would be questioned about her mother, impatiently, as if she weren¡¯t a teenager who¡¯d just lost both parents. It was hard to remain patient. Delilah had told her not to lose her patience. Jacob had told her not to speak to the police without a lawyer present.


    Go to bed, Hannah.


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    The night of Orion¡¯s death, he¡¯d scolded her for staying up past her bedtime, and they¡¯d had an argument. Hannah had called her father an asshole, and he¡¯d thrown a hand at her. Hannah remembered being told she was punished for her own good: to learn how to be a good woman, to learn to be obedient. All of the daughters in the family were treated this way: property, not humans.


    She wasn¡¯t upset. Like all the rest, she¡¯d been robbed of a proper childhood. ¡°Hannah,¡± said the officer, waiting for her to return his gaze. It was important to look a person in the eyes when you spoke to them. It showed respect and attention. ¡°When did you last speak to Orion?¡±


    She was cold. ¡°I spoke to him the night he died.¡± The next morning, she¡¯d been woken abruptly by her mother, who was appropriately frazzled by the events. ¡°I just said goodnight to him, and then I went to bed.¡±


    Lying by omission is still lying, Lillian would say, when she suspected a child was not being fully honest. She may have been right, but Hannah didn¡¯t see it this way. Saphira, always the suck-up, joined her mother in reprimanding dishonest children. ¡°My sister Saphira has the same shoe size as me.¡± Hannah didn¡¯t mean to say this. Now that she had, there was no taking it back. ¡°Maybe she borrowed my shoes that night. She does that sometimes.¡± The truth was that Saphira didn¡¯t have the interest in pushing the man down the stairs. She did, however, have the motive. ¡°My father never let Saphira leave the house and spend time with her friends. She hated being inside all the time.¡±


    She¡¯d piqued the interest of the officers. In a scenario like this, Hannah knew better than to take people at their word. Alma had been losing her mind from the uncertainty surrounding the case. Hannah was impatient for the chaos to settle down, and for the criminal to be brought to justice. It was assumed that the person responsible was a citizen of Clyde River who was knowledgeable of Orion and his mysterious home life. Perhaps this wasn¡¯t true. It could have been a churchgoer, or a friend, or a child who snuck in from out of town.


    Hannah assumed she was finished. Fidgeting in the uncomfortable station chair, she met the gaze of the officer. ¡°Where were you on the day of March 5?¡± This was the day Hannah¡¯s mother had died. She¡¯d heard the women fighting upstairs, but thought nothing of it - the women fought a lot. When she¡¯d gone upstairs later that evening for dinner, Samantha was nowhere to be found, and Lillian was dead in the living room, and Mara wouldn¡¯t speak.


    She shrugged. ¡°I was home.¡± I¡¯m always home. ¡°Downstairs in my room, doing homework.¡± She and Saphira had been the only ones home that day, and both kept to themselves. Hannah preferred it this way.


    The room she sat in was dim and cold, nothing but a long table separating her and the officers. Hannah respected cops. Too many law-breakers tried to get away with sin, and needed to be held responsible. ¡°Were you home at the moment of Lillian¡¯s death?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you think to call someone?¡±


    If it had been Hannah who discovered Lillian, she would have. ¡°My sister Sariah got there first. They¡¯d already been called by the time I came upstairs.¡±


    There were a lot of conflicting feelings that came with the passing of an emotionally unavailable father. Though Hannah had been traumatized in many ways by Orion, she¡¯d loved him - and it was very hard to explain why. Most people would find it bizarre that a girl could love a person who abused her. Hannah found this bizarre, too. She supposed it wasn¡¯t all bad. Her father had taught her how to ride a bike, and tie her shoes, and spell her name.


    Dearest family, the note had begun, allegedly from Orion. Hannah knew all along that it was faked by someone outside of the family. Anyone who knew Orion knew he was not a man to call people dear. I regret to inform you that I can no longer struggle. The note, to an outsider, may have been convincing. To Hannah, it was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to get away with murder.


    Aaron met her outside the station, driving the rundown Jeep he¡¯d borrowed from his mother. He wasn¡¯t the most knowledgeable boy, but he was handsome, and he supported Hannah. ¡°Did it go alright?¡±


    When Hannah moved out, she planned on asking Aaron to teach her to drive. Recently, she¡¯d bought herself a cell phone using cash she¡¯d found on her father¡¯s dresser: it wasn¡¯t as if he¡¯d need this anyway. ¡°I guess. I don¡¯t think anyone suspects me.¡± The priest, recently, had sent a care package to the farm for Hannah, with whom he¡¯d grown close over the years. ¡°Let¡¯s go to your house.¡±


    It was cloudy. Hannah never left the farm, and felt stupidly scared when she did it on her own. Aaron put his hand casually on her thigh before descending the parking lot.

 19. ghost towns

    Outside the police station, two middle-aged blonde women gave Jacob a dirty look. ¡°You know,¡± said one woman, who was old enough to be his grandmother, ¡°you really shouldn¡¯t smoke. It¡¯s terrible for your body.¡±


    Jacob didn¡¯t drive. He had, at one point, but it wasn¡¯t a priority at this point. Tossing his cigarette onto the ground at the womens¡¯ feet, he scowled. ¡°Did I ask?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t be forced to participate in questioning. Jacob had been arrested before, and wasn¡¯t afraid of it happening again. Zeb suggested he go, if only to ensure he wasn¡¯t looked at as a suspect. It didn¡¯t matter. He was familiar with the station, and its officers were familiar with him. This meant nothing. Jacob had no reason to kill his father, besides finding a thrill in it. The most thrilling part of anything was getting away with it. Jacob wasn¡¯t the most moral man, but he wasn¡¯t a killer.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with, then.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t familiar with the two officers who¡¯d brought him in for questioning. Like any cops, they were corrupt and took advantage of their position. This wasn¡¯t intimidating to Jacob. He¡¯d learned to look out for himself and be wary of others - this was the only way to get around in life.


    He sat back in his chair, feet planted firmly on the floor in front of him. Authority figures weren¡¯t intimidating. His father hadn¡¯t been, either.


    Just cooperate, said Zeb, before dropping Jacob off at the station. You weren¡¯t even there that night. They can¡¯t get you for anything.


    When the nearest officer looked at Jacob, he returned the man¡¯s intensity, not to be intimidated. ¡°Where were you on the night of February 28?¡±


    Jacob hadn¡¯t spoken to his father in years. Truthfully, he barely remembered his last conversation with the asshole.  He hadn¡¯t returned to Prince Edward Island since leaving. He had no plans to return ever, really. ¡°Do you really think Orion was worth enough to me to travel all the way back just to kill him? I have better things to do with my time.¡±


    If it was any of Orion¡¯s children, Jacob would have put money on River. He¡¯d wanted Orion dead for years, and he was unpredictable.


    ¡°Jacob.¡± The second officer looked at him as though he was joking - but Jacob didn¡¯t joke. ¡°When was the last time you spoke to your father? You moved out at the age of seventeen. Have you seen your father since then?¡±


    Jacob had a date later, with a woman he¡¯d met online. First dates rarely went anywhere, and no one really caught Jacob¡¯s interest. It was pointless, really, dating. Jacob didn¡¯t have the time, or the interest, or the commitment to be interested in somebody else. Still, it passed time, and it kept Jacob¡¯s social skills sharp.


    He sat back in his chair. ¡°Like I said, I have better things to do than spend time with some old asshole.¡±


    Why are you always so angry?


    Hannah had asked him this once. She was a child when he left, and still vulnerable to the ideas of others. He hated leaving her behind, but aside from Hannah, there was nothing preventing him from leaving. For some, it was easy to turn a blind eye to injustice and cruelty. Orion traumatized all of his children in different ways, and always believed he was doing it for the greater good.


    You¡¯ll understand someday, Hannah. People are callous and selfish, and no one believes you when you talk about it.


    When Jacob was eighteen, he spent six months in jail for battery. It wasn¡¯t the worst experience of his life. In many ways, jail was much more of a home than his actual home had ever been - he had to admit he¡¯d sort of liked it there. Prison was different, and Jacob was different too. Four years ago, he was arrested for filming and distributing a film of a couple having sex in a restaurant bathroom stall. The way Jacob saw it, if you were in a public place, you shouldn¡¯t expect complete privacy. The way the judge saw it, this was a crime worth three years in prison.


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    ¡°Jacob, you¡¯ve got a record,¡± said one of the officers, as if Jacob wasn¡¯t aware of his past, ¡°You realize things aren¡¯t looking good for you right now.¡±


    The trick to getting what you wanted was to be apathetic. If someone believed they could get under your skin, you became controllable. Likewise, if you didn¡¯t care, it was pathetically hard for anyone to take advantage of you. Jacob had learned ways to find other people¡¯s weak spots - and he was good at it. ¡°Arrest me, then. I ain¡¯t scared of prison.¡± They couldn¡¯t. Nobody had proof. Everybody knew no crime was complete without proof.


    ¡°Watch this video I took,¡± said Jacob to Zeb, after returning home from the restaurant. It hadn¡¯t been anywhere fancy, but he¡¯d been bored. They¡¯d been living together for eight months, in the same apartment they were in now, and Jacob was twenty years old.


    ¡°Let me see,¡± said Zeb, smoking a cigarette on the balcony. His hair wasn¡¯t quite so long, back then. ¡°Damn. You better make sure nobody finds this. You could get in a lot of trouble.¡± Zeb had never cared about the video. He¡¯d gotten off on it just as Jacob had. Though Zeb had never been arrested, he¡¯d never really had much more morality than Jacob.


    It was easy to distribute recordings. Jacob had uploaded it to the Internet for others to download, and he¡¯d gotten away with it until somebody tipped off the police. At the time, he wasn¡¯t aware how easy it was to trace an IP address, and he¡¯d been proud of himself for going unnoticed for so long. When he got out of prison, he was driven home by the police, and put on probation.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t have killed Orion even if I wanted to,¡± he¡¯d said to Zeb that morning, before coming in for questioning. ¡°I¡¯m on probation.¡±


    Zeb never took him seriously. ¡°Please. You¡¯re not afraid to go to prison.¡±


    He left the police station feeling frustrated and asocial, and eager to get home. Jacob often wondered what he was doing with his life: he¡¯d accomplished little, and spent most of his time getting into trouble or starting fights. Eve blamed Jacob¡¯s temper on self-hatred and guilt - but this was stupid, and Eve thought she was a genius.


    In the car, Zeb listened to loud metal music and tapped on his phone. ¡°Chanel keeps messaging me. Apparently she¡¯s planning on filing for child support.¡±


    When Zeb and Chanel met, Jacob had been in prison. He¡¯d never met the girl beyond Zeb¡¯s brief interactions with her, and had never seen their daughter. ¡°Didn¡¯t you give up custody when it was born?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Zeb snorted, tossing a cigarette out his window and onto the ground. ¡°She¡¯s losing it. She knew it was me or the kid.¡± In the three years since Armani¡¯s birth, Zeb had never referred to her as his daughter, but this hadn¡¯t stopped Chanel from demanding child support payments. Jacob¡¯s ex wife had wanted children, and he¡¯d refused vehemently. Children were a pain in the ass, and a waste of money.


    It was sunny, and everything was coming to life again. Jacob remembered his last encounter with Orion: it had been six years ago, on the night he and Zeb left the farm. It had always felt strange to call Orion his father. A man could make children and become just as much a father as a passerby on the street.


    As Jacob gathered up his bags to leave, Eve tugged on his arm. ¡°Will you come back to visit?¡±


    She¡¯d seemed to admire him, when she was younger. Jacob suspected she still did. ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll come visit.¡± He¡¯d pulled his sister¡¯s hand from his sleeve, leering at his father, ¡°when this asshole drops dead.¡±


    Jacob was never an angry child. Orion, who stood by the sliding door, frowned. He¡¯d tried to punish Jacob, once. The first and last time Jacob was beaten by his father, he was thirteen. ¡°I certainly don¡¯t plan on dropping dead any time soon, Jacob.¡± He treated Jacob differently than the others. He was less harsh, less disrespectful. From a very young age, Jacob learned how to make others fear him.


    He¡¯d stepped over Adam, who was sitting against the screen door and playing with one of the very few toys he was allowed to own. ¡°That¡¯s okay,¡± he smiled, letting his eyes linger on Orion a moment too long. ¡°I know where you live.¡±


    Most of the time, Jacob was bluffing. He said a lot of things he didn¡¯t mean, but he spoke in a way that was certain and decisive, because if you seemed confident enough, most people would believe anything you said. He¡¯d learned this from his father, years ago, and taught it to Zeb.

 20. Catching A Dragonfly

    It had been years since all of Orion Zoan¡¯s children were in the same place at the same time. The last time Zina saw her father, she was a closeted woman, appeasing Orion by acting as the boy she¡¯d been assigned. This was difficult. There was a time, years ago, when Zina hid inside her room with Sunday clothes she¡¯d sneaked from her mother¡¯s closet. It had felt degrading and embarrassing to dress up in public like this. It had felt like a betrayal of the ultimate sort.


    If Zina could have told her thirteen year old self anything, it would have been that change was possible. With nobody to talk to growing up, much of her feelings and worries had been internalized, or admitted in anonymous confessions to strange priests. There was Mary, and Delilah - but like anyone else, Zina¡¯s sisters had their own problems. No one wanted to feel like a burden.


    As a teenager, Zina was a scared boy, possessing little dreams or ambitions in life. She was outed as gay by an elder of the congregation, which led to a long lecture by her father and Lillian. She was beat up often and predictably from bigger boys at church, who called her terrible names and left her traumatized to return. She was the third of Orion¡¯s children - and the third to become a disappointment. It was almost to be expected, after a while. It was almost inevitable that any child of Orion¡¯s would be loathed by him.


    It was meant to be a happy day. As a young person, Zina never imagined she¡¯d ever transition, let alone get married - but the day had come, and she was rushed. It was just like Zina, to be rushed. She prepared her makeup in the bathroom of her home, already dressed in the frilly dress she¡¯d chosen. It was late April, two months after the death of her father, and nothing had yet come of it. Atticus had left early that morning, having agreed to get ready at the home of his best man. He was six years Zina¡¯s senior, and had three younger sisters Zina hadn¡¯t yet met. She wasn¡¯t the most confident of women, nor the most adaptable. Today, she expected to be the centre of attention.


    After a brief knock on the door, Mary¡¯s voice rang through the house. She wasn¡¯t always loud, but certainly wasn¡¯t afraid to raise her voice when the times called for it. ¡°Where¡¯s the beautiful bride?¡± She¡¯d brought Monty with her, and Alma too. Zina wasn¡¯t in touch with most of her siblings - and hadn¡¯t been since leaving the home seven years ago. Her younger brothers had tormented her during childhood, and she hadn¡¯t quite forgiven them.


    She felt beautiful, for once. When she wasn¡¯t wearing her bright orange firefighter clothing, she was in sweatpants and coffee-stained tees. Zina never had time to dress up. She never had time to do much of anything. ¡°Up here!¡±


    Zina¡¯s home had two bathrooms, and both were rather small. When River lived with her, he always had a mess strewn around the basement bathroom. She missed him: instability and messes and all. He wasn¡¯t the type to check in, especially with somebody he¡¯d had a falling out with. Once in a while, she heard an update from somebody else, but she hadn¡¯t spoken to River in months. The night he ran off, she received a text from Salem informing her of his location, which she¡¯d appreciated.


    As a bridesmaid, Mary was dressed like the rest of the women. She¡¯d helped Zina choose the lilac dresses that would best match her wedding dress, and looked beautiful wearing it. Monty had never been allowed to wear a suit before. In his sheer navy tuxedo, he looked radiant. ¡°Hey.¡± Zina hadn¡¯t gotten good at makeup until her mid-twenties, after begging a female friend to give her tips. ¡°You guys look nice. Any updates on the case?¡± She¡¯d regret asking, probably. It was all she spoke about with her siblings these days. Sometimes, it was refreshing to take a break from conversation about death and mystery.


    The wedding venue was a park downtown that meant a lot to Zina. Her fiance never understood her desire for an outdoor wedding, but he usually gave in to her whims in the end. It was a nice day. She¡¯d be out late that night.


    Monty, an asocial and timid teenager, wandered slowly to the empty living room. Mary, looking weary, sat roughly on the side of the bathtub, checking her phone for updates about Malachi. ¡°We can talk about that later, Z. C¡¯mon, it¡¯s your wedding. Are you excited?¡± Mary was never one to keep her opinions to herself. As a woman who openly distrusted Atticus, she kept silent in the company of Zina. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a great day!¡±


    Zina got engaged two years ago, on the New Year¡¯s Eve after her breast augmentation. The most liberating part was getting married as a woman. ¡°I am excited. Lots of my friends are coming out.¡± She didn¡¯t see her friends much, between her schedule and theirs. Friendships in adulthood were mostly scattered messages in between work and personal responsibilities. Friendships in adulthood were very hard to maintain.


    She wondered what it was like, living alone at the farm. As a teenager, she¡¯d have done anything to be left alone.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never be a woman!¡± said Lillian, scoffing in Zina¡¯s face after breaking her way into the teenager¡¯s room. ¡°You can put on my makeup and dress up in women¡¯s clothes, but you¡¯ll always just be a boy in a skirt.¡±


    For a long time, this was exactly how Zina had looked at herself. Some days, it still was. Atticus was a silently accepting man, never openly expressing his support or approaching outsiders who spoke badly of her. He was affectionate in private: a man of pride and reputation, stoic and opinionated. Checking the time, Zina put her hairbrush down. ¡°I do wish Asher could have come, though. He said he¡¯d be here, but I haven¡¯t heard from him.¡±


    There was so much to do. Zina was dressed, but she¡¯d promised friends to help set up the venue. Wedding planning was stressful enough in itself; Zina would have felt defeated if anything went wrong after all those months. Mary followed her from the bathroom, atypically quiet. ¡°Z - ¡±


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    ¡°Have you heard from him?¡± Zina wasn¡¯t motherly. But she worried, just as much as the next person. ¡°Did something else come up?¡± Her vehicle was too small to hold two extra people. Mary, who drove an SUV, could transport them all. Mary didn¡¯t have many friends. ¡°I¡¯m going to be so late. I should be at the venue by now.¡± She snatched her purse from the counter, the one Atticus had gotten her as a birthday gift, and smoothed her hair in the hallway mirror on the way out the door.


    Mary was nearly as tall as Zina on a regular day. When she wore heels, she could pretty much look the older woman in the eyes. ¡°We can talk about it later.¡± She was purposely aloof, which was unlike her - Mary had poor impulse control at the worst of times. Her vehicle was messy and smelled of apple juice: toddler toys and food scraps scattered across the back seat. She¡¯d tried to be organized, in the past. She never had the patience or the motivation. Zina hated a mess. Mary never seemed to care. ¡°Let¡¯s get you to your wedding!¡±


    Mary met Atticus for the first time when she was kicked out of the farm at seventeen. Mary made her opinions known, and Atticus demanded respect. In the first few months of Mary staying with Zina, she and Atticus argued a lot. Zina wasn¡¯t stressed by conflict, but she enjoyed the peace. It wasn¡¯t until Mary suggested Zina leave her fiance that she¡¯d lost her temper.


    She was a cautious driver, but let her guard down when Malachi wasn¡¯t in the car. Some people called Mary a neglectful mother. She was a single mother: eighteen years old, underpaid and struggling to get out of bed in the morning. If it weren¡¯t for Malachi, Mary probably would not have left the house at all.


    In the back seat, Monty sat quietly with his legs crossed, the way he¡¯d been taught to sit as a child. Zina should have stopped prying, probably. Her siblings knew something, and she hated feeling left out. ¡°Tell me now.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you embarrassed to be seen with me in public?¡±


    When Zina began dating Atticus, she was eighteen years old and very insecure. Coming out to him had been scary; Atticus was a strictly straight man, and he had always been certain of this. Zina wasn¡¯t stupid. She¡¯d noticed the way his affections had changed as her transition progressed, When they¡¯d begun dating, he¡¯d known of her plans to transition, and she realized now that this was important to him.


    When she doubted herself back then, he¡¯d give her a reassuring smile and remind her that she was a woman, even if she didn¡¯t yet feel like one. He wasn¡¯t often a comforting man. Zina had learned to understand his affection came in different ways.


    In the mirror, Mary glanced at the back seat: Monty looked small and tired. He was still young. Weirdly, it was hard for Zina not to be envious of him at times. Mary sighed, pulling onto the street which led to the venue. ¡°Asher¡¯s in custody. He was arrested last week.¡±


    Anybody could have killed Orion Zoan. But it took a certain type of person to take another¡¯s life, regardless of the abuse they might have suffered. Zina was starting to believe that, under the right circumstances, anybody could become a killer.


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡± She shouldn¡¯t have asked. Mary warned her not to bring it up. ¡°For what?¡± It was foolish to ask. It was foolish to hide from the truth.


    Monty sat quietly, his hands folded neatly into his lap. Mary gave Zina a strange look, her eyebrows disappearing under mops of curly hair. ¡°Second degree murder. I thought you¡¯d have heard by now.¡±


    It was quiet. Turning her music down, Mary exchanged a silent look with Monty in the rear-view mirror. It wasn¡¯t the time for this: but Zina had brought it upon herself. Never pry into matters which aren¡¯t yours, Orion had said once, if it¡¯s any of your business, it¡¯ll be told to you. If anything, he was a man who never busied himself with the intimate lives of others.


    ¡°No.¡± Zina had no knowledge of her father¡¯s death, aside from what she had heard from siblings. Some liked to gossip. Others liked to lie. ¡°He could never do that.¡± It was true what they said, of course. Everybody had a dark side: even those you knew and loved the most.


    Mary shrugged, pulling up in front of Zina¡¯s wedding venue. ¡°Well, he swears he¡¯s innocent, but you know - that¡¯s what they all say.¡± She parked roughly, adjusting the bobby pins in her hair. ¡°Anyway, we¡¯re here. Let¡¯s get you married.¡±


    Today was a long time coming. Even as a child, Zina had dreamed of getting married, though she¡¯d never been able to picture it quite like this. It was a cloudy day, but the sun poked out, and the flowers were in bloom.


    ¡°Where did you meet this guy, anyway?¡±


    Mary was the first one Zina confided in when her relationship began. She was a blunt and intelligent preteen, better at speaking than listening. To this day, Mary had a way of judging a person without saying anything at all.


    Zina was eighteen years old, and spent most of her time in her bedroom. Like all of the eldest children, she¡¯d aged out of homeschool without ever learning a single life skill, and had had to learn all of this on her own. She and Mary sat in her room, up earlier that morning than their parents. ¡°We met online. I haven¡¯t actually met him in person yet.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t the first of her siblings to have a cell phone, and she certainly wouldn¡¯t be the last. Most of the children had had phones sneaked in to them by older siblings, and ZIna was no exception. Mary didn¡¯t question this - but frowned, standing to close the door. ¡°Mom said it¡¯s dangerous to speak to people you don¡¯t know.¡±


    Since meeting her fiance, ZIna had often wondered about his affections. She was an affectionate woman, and he wasn¡¯t the same. She¡¯d heard someone say, once, to love your partner in the way they liked to be loved, and not the way you did. She often forgot this. ¡°But I like him.¡±


    Mary looked like her father. She used to like being compared to the man. ¡°Well, how old is he?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-four.¡±


    At eleven years, Mary didn¡¯t seem to quite grasp the concept of age. It was hard for children to understand things that didn¡¯t have to do with them. When ZIna lived at home, she often grew tired of the questions from younger siblings. Kids wanted to know everything, and adults didn¡¯t know anything close to everything.


    At the front of the makeshift altar, Atticus waited for her. Zina should have been excited to walk up and lock hands with him. Instead, she felt an odd sense of obligation.

 21. Unusual Eulogies

    Most days, it was near impossible for River not to hate himself. He was a mess of a person, never in the same mood for more than an hour, leaving a mess everywhere he went. Some days, he felt as though he was making progress, or maybe not doing a terrible job getting through the day. Some days, he felt as though he was moving in reverse. It was difficult to remember the little things, although he¡¯d been told it was important. I got out of bed today. I pet a dog. I stayed calm when I was upset. He¡¯d taken to starting the day with affirmations - a task given to him by his therapist, who did her best to understand. There was no way for River to survive without the imitation of others. Since moving in with Salem, he¡¯d taken to witchcraft and music and leaving the house. When he lived alone, he had no idea what kind of person he was.


    The house was quiet when he was home alone. Being alone was either very dangerous or very calming, and there was never any telling which day would be what. He was dizzy, and blamed it on not having eaten all day. River couldn¡¯t cook, and Salem was never home for dinner. Eating alone was lonely and uncomforting.


    As a child and teenager, Zina was River¡¯s safest person. When she moved out, he felt a sense of emptiness that could be filled only with abstract art and cigarettes. He felt embarrassed and stupid, to be an adult man with no sense of himself beyond somebody else. People in the church community had said many things about River, and he used to think all of these things were true. River had never meant to be emotional, or destructive, or hateful. After lashing out at somebody he loved, he woke up feeling empty and guilty.


    In his early twenties, River fell in love for the first time after meeting a girl at an art gallery. It was frightening and intimidating to fall for someone, and it took River nearly no time at all. Her name was Alexandra, and she loved art and philosophy. River¡¯s friends thought she was pretentious, and maybe she was. Their relationship ended when, after River confessed he had no interest in sex, Alexandra strayed, and later admitted this to him over cups of coffee and bagels. In relationships, he spent most of his time trying to be someone who was worth being loved, and this never seemed to make a difference. At some point, he¡¯d learned to give in. It always meant more to be loved than to be comfortable.


    It was hard to be productive when you were alone. While River made his way through his flat of beer, he sat in front of the easel he¡¯d had since teenagehood. As a kid, he¡¯d painted a picture of a flower and a sunset, and he¡¯d been quite proud of it. When he brought it to his mother, she¡¯d tossed it straight into the garbage, telling him to focus less on stupid hobbies and more on studies. After that, he didn¡¯t paint anything for years.


    On the easel, he painted a nameless woman - one of his exes, or a woman he dreamed of meeting someday. It seemed hard to believe he¡¯d ever fall in love again. It seemed even harder to believe there was a woman out there who¡¯d fall in love with him. You¡¯re worthy of love and happiness, his therapist had said once, as if she expected him to believe it. It was dark. Salem worked twelve hour shifts, five days a week, and oftentimes more. In the absence of somebody he loved, River often forgot they ever existed at all. It was hard to focus, and River¡¯s head pounded as he tried to paint. The basement of the townhouse was cool and comforting - but River sweated through his clothes, and didn¡¯t know why.


    Like most people, he was comforted by music. He listened when he painted, though the neighbours lived close and complained if he was too loud. Growing up, he was sheltered from most types of music: and most types of media in general. Moving out brought both a sense of freedom and a terrifying sense of emptiness. Adulthood had once seemed so far away and exciting, and children were stupid.


    ¡°What do you think happens when you die?¡± he¡¯d asked Zina once, when they still lived together. It was expected of them growing up to believe what they were told without question, and River had, for many years. As an adult, he¡¯d spent more time questioning life than doing much of anything else.


    ¡°That¡¯s easy,¡± said Zina, who¡¯d always been decisive. ¡°The good go to Heaven, and the evil go to Hell.¡±


    Sometimes, the words out of other people¡¯s mouths left River disgusted and baffled. Others would likely say the same about him. ¡°You still believe in Heaven and Hell? That¡¯s stupid.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t one to let the words of others get under her skin. Unlike River, Zina knew her worth, even if it took her a little to remember it sometimes. She¡¯d shrugged, ¡°Okay, then, smart guy. What do you think happens?¡±


    River wasn¡¯t the smartest man in the world, but he was smart enough to know that there was no life after death. ¡°Nothing, Dumbass. You die, and that¡¯s it.¡± He never meant to be rude. Sometimes, it was just too much effort to filter himself. Some of his siblings had learned not to take his attitude personally. Many others had not.


    It took a lot for River to get drunk. He had his first drink on his eighteenth birthday, with the friend he was living with at the time. He¡¯d enjoyed the escape and the ease that came with alcohol, but now  sometimes regretted having ever tried it at all. It was chilly and very dark when he set down his paintbrush, and he¡¯d had a lot to drink. The lines of the painting were shaky and jagged; his hands were shaking badly. ¡°You should go see a doctor,¡± Salem had said, not too long ago. ¡°Are you losing weight for no reason, or do you just not eat?¡±


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    It was half past midnight. River was lightheaded and dizzy, and picked up his phone, which was old and cracked from the times it had been dropped or thrown.


    ¡°Here, I painted this for you. It¡¯s you.¡±


    One of River¡¯s ex-girlfriends had told him about love languages. At first, he¡¯d thought it to be a stupid concept. River wasn¡¯t good company. He wasn¡¯t affectionate, or touchy, or empathetic. But he loved to paint, and he loved to give gifts to the people he cared about. These days, there weren¡¯t many people that deserved to be loved by him - because, despite River¡¯s eccentric mood swings, he could love a person harder than they¡¯d ever been loved before.


    The taxi driver was an elderly, white haired woman. River didn¡¯t take a lot of taxis. On the rare days he left the house, he¡¯d usually wander until ending up somewhere completely unusual. ¡°River?¡± said the driver, hanging a cigarette out the window. He didn¡¯t have a lot of money. Nothing he got ever lasted long.


    He was far too drunk to leave the house. Grumbling, he threw himself onto the back seat. ¡°Sleeping Tulip.¡± It wasn¡¯t uncommon for him to feel irritable, but he seemed to be grumpier than usual tonight. Sleeping Tulip was a small bar that was always overcrowded. That night, there was karaoke and bingo, as there was every Thursday. When River approached the door, he heard pounding music and laughter of patrons, and stumbled to the bar. ¡°Black Russian.¡±


    They should have known him by now. The bartenders were dressed well, tidy uniforms and name tags. River had worked briefly in the service industry, though never at a restaurant, and never as a bartender. ¡°Need my ID? Here.¡± It was a slim card, off-white and bent at one corner. River never meant to be destructive. He simply was.


    At the bar next to him, a beefcake of a man yelled at a young bartender. When a man slid a cup across to River, he gave him a pointed glance. ¡°Don¡¯t you have anything better to do than yell at a bunch of nineteen year olds?¡± He was guessing on the ages. Like himself, many people looked younger than they were. ¡°Sit the fuck down, dude.¡±


    River made stupid decisions. Even if he¡¯d wanted to, he couldn¡¯t win in a fist fight - especially not against a man three times his size. Drunkenness brought out a rowdy and dangerous side of him. The bartender glanced at him, looking confused and grateful, getting to work on a different drink.


    The bar stools were black and spongy, leaving little room for personal space. The beefy man turned to River, sweeping a hand across the counter of the bar. ¡°What the fuck did you say to me? You look like you¡¯d fly away if a strong gust of wind hit you the wrong way.¡± It was very hot, and very damp, and very loud. Attempting to pick up his glass for another drink, River found his arm numb and tingling.


    ¡°You heard me, asshole. If you have a problem, maybe take it up with management instead of harassing people who¡¯re just trying to do their job.¡± It was hypocritical of him to say. He¡¯d gotten irritated with service workers thousands of times. He took a big gulp, enjoying the burning feeling at the back of his throat. Finishing the rest of the vodka drink, River waved down a server. ¡°Black Russian.¡±


    There was a crowd gathering round. With the flashing of the lights, and the pounding of the music, and the stabbing pain engulfing River¡¯s head, he wasn¡¯t all too certain what happened. The big man yelled, and River yelled things he couldn¡¯t quite hear over the blurriness behind his eyes. It was stupid to provoke an angry, buff man. It was stupid to do anything at all.


    Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight.


    River was angry. Even in his mid-twenties, he hadn¡¯t learned to regulate his own emotions. Picking up his empty glass, he threw it loudly at the man¡¯s head.


    "Never back down from a fight,¡± Orion said, when River and his brothers were roughhousing. ¡°Backing down shows you¡¯re weak, and no son of mine will be weak.¡±


    The man threw the first punch. There was a stinging in River¡¯s eyes, and then blood pooled on the counter in front of him.


    If little River met his twenty-five year old self, he would have been so disappointed to see what he¡¯d become. Anybody who met River ought to have been disappointed by him. He could have made something of his life: gotten a job, or a wife, or some stability. Twenty-five was still young, but it felt as though he was running out of time to get his life sorted out.


    Someone handed him a rag. When the crowd dispersed a little and River¡¯s head stopped spinning, he lifted it from the countertop. ¡°Hey, Salem.¡±


    His brother was unimpressed, and probably had been in the middle of something when he got interrupted. ¡°Did you come here just to start a fight?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He felt childish now, to admit the real reason. He rarely had a good reason for anything. There was a throbbing in his nose. The rag would become full rather quickly. ¡°I was bored. When will you be home?¡±


    There was a scuffle at the back of the bar. River was wasting everybody¡¯s time. Salem sighed. ¡°When I¡¯m home.¡±


    Even being drunk wasn¡¯t enough these days. River turned to the counter. ¡°Can I get another Black Russian?¡± He spoke with a slur, startled by the sudden tingling in his cheek. It wasn¡¯t painful. River found it difficult to speak.


    ¡°No.¡± Salem took the rag from River, though his nose still bled. ¡°No more drinks. You were probably already drunk when you got here.¡± He watched, for a moment, the twitching of River¡¯s cheek, the gibberish coming out of his mouth. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you? Are you having a stroke?¡±


    River couldn¡¯t speak. He tried. All he could manage was a few brief incoherent phrases. As the pounding behind his eyes picked up again, he fell off the stool and onto the sticky floor.

 22. Collecting Carcasses

    Home hadn¡¯t ever felt like home. At night, Eve had trouble sleeping. This was nothing new, but the intensity of her insomnia had increased since the death of her father. While Seraphim tricked their mother into letting her go outside and explore, Eve isolated herself inside their bedroom, too scared to leave. Samantha hadn¡¯t returned since the death of Lillian. There was only Mara left, and she refused to act as though anything had changed at all.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you dressed, Eve? We¡¯ve got to get going, and you¡¯re going to make us late.¡±


    Some people never changed. Earlier that day, Eve had spoken to police with her mother present. The scene of the crime was no longer closed off for investigation, but it still made her feel strange. When she was sent outside to get food from the cellar, she could barely shake the anxiety that accompanied her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going.¡±


    Mara was different without Orion. She was less aggressive, and spent more time with her children. This wasn¡¯t a particularly good thing. Eve¡¯s father had a way of bringing out the worst in people. Mara was less of a bully without him around, but she wasn¡¯t a good mother, and likely would never have recognized this of herself. Most of Eve¡¯s siblings were already dressed for church. Asher hadn¡¯t been home since the night of Orion¡¯s death. Hannah said this made him look very suspicious, but Eve wasn¡¯t sure. She and Asher were similar, but even the best of friends could keep secrets from one another.


    She¡¯d seen him the night of their father¡¯s death. He was acting strange: stumbling, slurring, so that Eve could barely hold a conversation with him. She hadn¡¯t been aware of the commotion that was going on outside, because Seraphim had started an argument, and it distracted her from everything else. Eve¡¯s mother would say she was easy to distract. Seraphim would purposely annoy her siblings when she was bored, which was often.


    ¡°I can¡¯t sleep. Can I sleep in here?¡±


    Asher¡¯s bedroom was across the hallway from Eve¡¯s. Sometimes, when she and Seraphim were having trouble getting along, she¡¯d sneak into Asher¡¯s room for the night. He often had trouble sleeping, and always appreciated her company. The night he disappeared, Eve snuck into his room and shut the door quietly behind her, sitting cross-legged on his floor.


    She knew the kinds of things teenage boys did when they were alone. Many things were off limits at home. Most of the children found a way to do them anyway. Asher was always up late, talking or texting on the cell phone he kept hidden underneath his mattress. He was almost old enough to move out. Eve envied him for this.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    She wasn¡¯t allowed to sleep in her brothers¡¯ rooms. Seraphim, who knew of Eve¡¯s frequent journeys to Asher¡¯s room, could have told on her at any time. Eve spent a lot of nights feeling hopeless and sad, but she kept it to herself, knowing no one would take her seriously.


    ¡°I feel anxious,¡± she said, unrolling the blue blanket she always used in Asher¡¯s room, ¡°and I don¡¯t know what I did that I should feel guilty about.¡± She¡¯d disrespected her father. She¡¯d spoken out of turn. No matter how hard Eve tried to be a good daughter, there was always something worth being disappointed about.


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    Eve¡¯s father said that when it came to people, there was either good or evil. Her mother had no opinions of her own, following Orion around day and night, loudly seconding everything the man said. When Eve was a little girl, she wanted to be like her mother.  The older she got, the harder it became to figure out what to believe.


    Asher wasn¡¯t a boy who talked a lot. He was timid and kept to himself, never standing up to those who mistreated him. Seraphim called him a pushover, and other things she¡¯d never say to his face. ¡°I¡¯m tired.¡± He grumbled, shoving the phone under his pillow. Orion was stupid and prideful. Eve was exhausted by the constant fight with her siblings for validation. ¡°You can sleep in here if you want. I¡¯m going to get some water.¡±


    That night, she¡¯d been woken sometime in the middle of the night by Asher returning to his room. He was covered in dirt and packing a backpack, holding a small flashlight in his hand.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    From a young age, Eve was taught the immorality of mind-altering substances. She knew nothing about drugs or alcohol, aside from the very basic information that had been told to her by her parents. She knew that Asher had a bag of weed hidden underneath his bed. He never told her where he got it from. Come to think of it, maybe it was possible that he was a murderer after all. He came across as an anxious and gentle boy, but this could have been an act. You should always trust your family, people say. What if your family is not worth trusting?


    Asher had looked at her, looking nothing like himself. He had a look in his eyes that she¡¯d never seen before: she could only describe it as frenzied. He slung the filled backpack over his shoulders, but never told her what it was for or where he was going. The bedroom window was small and ground-level; Asher opened it carefully and squeezed through, saying nothing as he vanished into the darkness.


    Mara had never cared for the other women. Eve wasn¡¯t even sure if she cared for Orion. Her parents met online, on a religious site meant for dating and socializing. Orion was married, and to his credit, shared this information with Mara soon into their conversation. There was little that Eve knew about her parents. They rarely shared information about their personal lives or relationships, and disliked being asked questions. Eve had never really seen her parents as actual human beings. Perhaps their secrecy contributed to this.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Like anyone, Mara had her secrets. Maybe she had loved Orion at one point. Maybe, at the beginning of her relationship with him, he was kind and compassionate. Eve¡¯s brother told her once that the most harmful people aren¡¯t usually harmful at the start.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going,¡± said Eve again, feeling timid. Her mother always made her feel timid. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go to church anymore.¡±Kids are meant to do what they¡¯re told, because the older you get, the more you know. This made sense to Eve, but many of her siblings argued it. Some people just liked to argue.


    The house was noisy and crowded. Even in her bedroom, Eve was never alone. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you want.¡± Mara wore a muted peach dress that made her look old. Before Eve¡¯s father died, he enjoyed deciding what the women could wear. ¡°You know what your responsibilities are. Get dressed; the neighbours are already here.¡± This brought Eve no comfort. Nobody had spoken about Asher¡¯s arrest. Eve wanted to bring it up.


    On the rug inside the door, Sebastian helped the youngest children tie their shoes. The kids loved him, and Eve had to admit he was a doting brother. These days, it was hard to figure out who was trustworthy.


    ¡°Hi, Eve,¡± said Sebastian when she entered the room. Sebastian might have made Eve uncomfortable at times, but he always put effort into telling the twins apart, and she appreciated this. Most of her siblings didn¡¯t even do this. ¡°How are you?¡± She saw him too often. With so many people living at the farm, there didn¡¯t need to be any more taking up space.

 23. Marshmallow Fluff

    It felt strange to be married. Zina had no time for a honeymoon, no time to take a single moment to herself outside of work. Fifteen or so years ago, she argued with her father about careers and children - a rather strange thing for a grown man to argue with a preteen about. It was her duty to find a wife, to make money for her children, to teach her sons to be strong and manly. Zina had never wanted kids. This was a discussion she¡¯d had with Atticus shortly after they began dating. The couple lived far too busy a life to raise children - and Zina had just never been interested.


    It had been assumed by most that Samantha had killed Orion and Lillian, despite her DNA not matching that at the crime scene. Even after Asher¡¯s arrest, it was believed by many that Samantha had framed him - but she was nowhere to be found, and there was no proof of her ever having been at the scene at all.


    ¡°How did it happen?¡± Zina asked Mary, who sat in her living room with Malachi. Atticus loathed children, refusing to visit even with Zina¡¯s siblings or nephew. The toddler played on the floor, keeping to himself. ¡°There¡¯s no way Asher could do that. He¡¯s the most passive person on the planet.¡±


    The trial was coming up, according to Mary. At just eighteen years old, Asher was looking at a lifetime behind bars, and that didn¡¯t seem right. A person could torment the boy daily, and he¡¯d politely put up with it.


    When Malachi tugged on Mary¡¯s pant leg, she sighed and pulled him onto her lap. ¡°They found his fingerprints on Dad¡¯s back and the walls of the cellar. Apparently there was all kinds of DNA linking him to the crime.¡±


    ¡°That makes no sense.¡± Atticus, sneaking in the front door, swept past the living room without saying a word. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Malachi whimpered. Mary thrust a toy at him, impatient. ¡°I¡¯m just telling you what the police told me. That¡¯s all I know. Anyway¡­¡± She shrugged, setting the toddler back onto the floor. ¡°When¡¯s your honeymoon?¡±


    Before the ceremony, Zina and Atticus had agreed on a prenuptial agreement, although they had argued before this. Zina didn¡¯t take her husband¡¯s last name, and he¡¯d seemed offended by this, but it was a woman¡¯s right to choose.


    ¡°We¡¯re not having one.¡± She was stressed from a long day at work, and from being scolded by a superior. ¡°Don¡¯t have time. Don¡¯t have the interest, really.¡± Her phone was ringing, flashing on the edge of the coffee table. ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll take a trip on one of the weekends we both have off. Maybe not.¡±


    The phone stopped ringing, and then started again. Few people phoned Zina more than once at a time. Few people phoned her at all. Mary stood, bouncing the whiny toddler on one hip. ¡°You gonna answer that? Stop whining, Malachi.¡±


    It was an unknown number, which called back each time Zina didn¡¯t pick up. ¡°You know, maybe if you didn¡¯t get so impatient with Malachi every time he whined, he wouldn¡¯t whine so much.¡±


    Mary scowled. ¡°Yeah, come back and give me advice when you have kids.¡± She glanced at Zina¡¯s phone, which now rang for the third time. ¡°Answer your goddamn phone, or I will.¡±


    ¡°Jeeze.¡± Snatching the phone from the table, Zina shuffled across the room. ¡°Grump.¡± She was irritated; whoever was calling certainly was persistent. ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong with me,¡± said River, several months after moving out on his own, when he and Zina met up for coffee. ¡°I just feel so angry, all the time. It¡¯s like one minute I¡¯m happy and laughing, and then out of nowhere, I wish I was dead.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t known where he lived at the time. When he wasn¡¯t with her, she never knew where he was. ¡°Have you talked to a psychologist?¡±


    He was tired. River was always tired, even when he got a full night¡¯s sleep. ¡°No. What are they going to do? Tell me I¡¯m crazy, like everyone else?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not crazy,¡± she wanted to say. He didn¡¯t listen. You could reassure River of the same thing a million times, and he¡¯d never believe it. ¡°They can help you, River. If you think something¡¯s wrong, you should talk to a professional.¡±


    The caller had a tired voice, strained, calling from a place which whirred and beeped. ¡°Zina?¡±


    She paced, covering an ear to quieten the sounds of Malachi¡¯s whines. ¡°River?¡±


    Somebody spoke softly on the other line. ¡°I¡¯m at Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Can you come?¡±


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    Already, her keys were in her hand. It was bad timing, certainly, for she¡¯d had a long day, and had looked forward to an evening of relaxation. ¡°What happened?¡± Mary listened, although she¡¯d never particularly cared for River. He¡¯d never much cared for her, either. ¡°River, why are you at the hospital?¡±


    He was quiet. She hadn¡¯t heard from him in a while. Despite the circumstances, it was nice to hear his voice. It sounded hoarse, and soft. He mumbled; Zina could hardly hear him. ¡°I took too many painkillers.¡±


    He¡¯d done this before. Only last time, he hadn¡¯t done it on purpose. Leaving Mary in the living room, Zina made her way to her little car, which had just gotten washed that afternoon. ¡°Why did you do that?¡± He was quiet; she drove quickly. ¡°River? Why did you do that?¡±


    He heaved a long sigh, which rumbled in Zina¡¯s ear. ¡°Because I fucking hate myself!¡± There was a shuffling noise. River spoke softer, once again sounding tired. ¡°I have to go. Just come to the hospital.¡±


    Zina and River were only a year apart. Perhaps that was why they had spent so much time together growing up. It had always been important to him that she loved him. The night Zina spoke to him about moving out of her house must have been the biggest betrayal of their relationship. It was hard to understand River¡¯s mind, even to the people who knew him best. Zina had been practising understanding him since she was old enough to know his brain worked differently.


    ¡°Hi,¡± she said, arriving at the admissions desk, ¡°I¡¯m here to see my brother.¡±


    The first time Zina questioned her identity, she was seven years old. She remembered looking into a mirror and feeling strange, as though her body didn¡¯t belong to her, even though she¡¯d known it did. There was always an odd sort of disconnect between Zina¡¯s reflection and her perception of herself, and nobody ever understood until Monty. She existed to support him when nobody else would, to be the voice of understanding and comfort: a voice she¡¯d never had herself. Perhaps, now that their father was dead, Zina could adopt him. Perhaps now he could finally begin to become the boy he saw inside his head.


    ¡°River?¡±


    She¡¯d been directed to his room. They all looked the same: small and white, impersonal, designed for ease over comfort. He sat in a thin blue hospital gown, speaking quietly to a nurse at his bedside, who fiddled with the IV machine he was connected to. When the nurse left the room, River sat up to smile sheepishly at ZIna. ¡°Hi.¡±


    ¡°What did you do?¡± It had been a while since he¡¯d been a hospital patient. Zina was here then, too, to keep him company. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    He grumbled, taking a sip from a water bottle on the bedside table. ¡°I told you. I took too many pills. I took them with alcohol. I went into cardiac arrest. I don¡¯t know who called the ambulance.¡±


    His hair, which used to be a bright green, was now a faded orange, and fell into his eyes. ¡°Why, though? What were you trying to accomplish?¡± Zina knew. Sometimes, someone needed to explain things themselves. ¡°Don¡¯t you live with Salem? Why didn¡¯t you call him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s working.¡± River¡¯s eyes were red, and appeared puffy. ¡°He¡¯s always working.¡± He sat up further, tugging on the sleeves of his hospital gown. ¡°I wake up and hate myself. Go to sleep, hate myself. I had a mini stroke two days ago. Apparently I have Grave¡¯s disease. It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± He wouldn¡¯t look at her. ¡°I¡¯m a fuck-up.¡±


    ¡°First of all,¡± Zina wasn¡¯t openly comforting, or supportive. She talked sense into people by using tough love, the way her mother had. ¡°We¡¯re all fucked up in some way or another. You¡¯re not special.¡± He blinked, peering at her like a child. ¡°The rest of us had to stay alive through tons of shit. You have to stay alive, too.¡±


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to?¡±


    ¡°Too bad.¡± Zina had a message from her husband. He wasn¡¯t a man who worried. In her rush out the door, she¡¯d forgotten to say goodbye. ¡°You have to.¡±


    A nurse bustled in, and then out. River shook his head. ¡°I can¡¯t. I¡¯m just stuck inside my head all the time. Happy, and then angry, and then scared, and then fucking depressed.¡± Everybody reacted to trauma in different ways, after all. Trauma didn¡¯t make a person strong. Surviving it did. ¡°You have no idea what it¡¯s like to want to die everyday.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Zina could tell you stories. She¡¯d lived a thousand times. ¡°Dad used to say he¡¯d rather die than give in to my delusions. I¡¯d stand in front of the mirror, sobbing, begging to look like all the other girls. When Mom went out, I¡¯d sneak into her room and steal her clothes to try on in secret, even though I know I¡¯d get slapped if she found out.¡± So many people thought they knew her. There was so much more to people than what they let you see. ¡°I used to think I¡¯d rather die than be trapped in a body I hated.¡± The room was quiet. River was quiet, too. Reliving the past wasn¡¯t painful anymore. At one point, it took all of Zina¡¯s strength not to break down and cry.


    He was easy to read. Zina was good at reading people. ¡°How come you never told anyone any of that?¡±


    ¡°Because -¡± The past didn¡¯t matter. Sometimes, the only reason to stay alive was to prove to yourself you could. ¡°Complaining about it doesn¡¯t make it better.¡± It was strange. Two people could be exactly the same age, and be at such different points in life. But nothing changed overnight. Three years into her transition, Zina still had moments where she felt crippled by insecurity. ¡°There are really great things waiting out there for you, River.¡±


    He stared at her. He could try to be apathetic, but she knew him better than that. ¡°What if there¡¯s not?¡±


    Zina shrugged. ¡°Well, I guess you¡¯ll just have to stay alive and find out.¡± All River really needed, like  anyone, was to be loved. When ZIna was a sad, lonely teenager, all she needed was to be loved too.


    ¡°Does it ever really go away?¡± Monty would ask, staring at himself sadly in her standing mirror. ¡°The self-hatred? If I start transitioning, will it fix all the things I see that are wrong with me?


    ¡°No,¡± said Zina, each time. ¡°You have to learn to love them on your own,"

 24. Dumortierite and Dust

    It was very hard to explain what it felt like to be looked at as a liar. You could insist a million times that you hadn¡¯t done anything, but people believed what they wanted, and everyone knows a criminal will deny the truth until the day they die. The cell was freezing cold, and always locked. It reminded Asher of home. The floor was made of white tiles, which left large red spots on Asher¡¯s legs when he got up. He was in the company of a middle-aged woman, who looked like she could murder him without any effort at all.


    Asher hadn¡¯t killed his father. That¡¯s what they all said, and he had no good alibi. The night of Orion¡¯s death, Asher was in his bedroom, talking to Rowan on the phone, as he did every night. The next morning, he woke in Rowan¡¯s bedroom, feeling tired and disoriented, with no memory of how or when he¡¯d gotten there.


    Though many people had wanted to kill Orion over the years, very few of them would actually have ever done it.


    ¡°You were acting really weird last night,¡± Rowan had said, ¡°stumbling around and slurring your words. You seemed like you were drunk.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t really sure what had happened. He¡¯d spent hours and hours trying to sort out how his DNA ended up around the cellar, and had come up with nothing. He was arrested from Rowan¡¯s house very early in the morning, after a particularly bad anxiety attack. Asher knew nothing about the law or how to protect himself. Rowan¡¯s mother, who was a lawyer, had taken on his case, though he wasn¡¯t sure what to expect out of this.


    ¡°Hey, kid!¡±


    It was early in the morning. Asher¡¯s cellmate stared at him from the opposite corner, not at all concerned about the fact that she was in jail. It wasn¡¯t really a jail. The trial was coming up soon. Asher had been held at the police station for questioning, and hadn¡¯t really gone home.


    ¡°Who, me?¡±


    The woman chuckled. ¡°You see another kid around here?¡± He couldn¡¯t tell if she was amused or annoyed. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    Nobody would believe him if he told the truth. It didn¡¯t matter. It was lonely and intimidating. Even if Asher had tried to run, he felt as though all his body was made of jelly. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything.¡± There were many theories. In the end, nobody really knew the whole truth. ¡°I¡¯m not a criminal.¡± He sat on the floor, sort of folded into himself. He¡¯d never been in trouble before: not like this. With each second that passed, the pit of nausea in his stomach grew bigger.


    There was a girl in the police station, speaking to a woman behind the counter. Asher¡¯s cellmate grinned. ¡°Right, yeah. Same here.¡± Winking, she guffawed, plopping back down onto the grey cell bed.


    He missed Rowan. There was really nobody else to miss.


    Rowan¡¯s mother had promised to get him out of trouble. The problem was, nobody knew how Asher¡¯s fingerprints had ended up at the crime scene if he hadn¡¯t been there. It didn¡¯t matter. Anything he said would be used against him.


    ¡°What do you think would be the best way to die?¡±


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    Hannah had stared at him, leaning her head over the side of her bed on the top bunk. They were about eleven years old, and had just learned about the passing of their grandfather. Asher didn¡¯t know him well.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Dying in your sleep. I wouldn¡¯t want to feel any pain.¡±


    He still believed this was the best way to go. Everyone wanted to live to old age, to die peacefully in their sleep. It had seemed like a promise when Asher was a child: he¡¯d grow into old age, healthy and successful, without a second thought. Now it seemed like only the luckiest got to grow old.


    ¡°Why were your fingerprints at the scene of the crime if you weren¡¯t there?¡±


    "I don¡¯t know! I told you, someone¡¯s trying to frame me!¡±


    Asher didn¡¯t remember what happened that night. He¡¯d gone upstairs to get a drink of fruit punch, and everything was fuzzy after this. He¡¯d told Rowan¡¯s mother everything he remembered, but she hadn¡¯t seemed to believe it. Asher wasn¡¯t a liar. He was cold and nauseous, and no one believed a word he said.


    He hadn¡¯t been home in weeks. His trial was coming up, and he¡¯d been trying to avoid the thought of it as much as possible. Due to his foggy memory, Jane said she could use the argument that he¡¯d been drugged, even though there was no evidence of this. When he arrived at the police station, he¡¯d been fingerprinted and questioned while accompanied by Jane, who¡¯d advised him against speaking without her there.


    ¡°But who could have drugged you?¡±


    Asher remembered waking up feeling sick and confused. According to Rowan, he¡¯d arrived almost ten hours ago, sloppy and uncoordinated, acting very strange in conversation. There was evidence against Asher: his fingerprints on the door of the root cellar and the back of Orion¡¯s shirt, proving that he had been on the scene at the time of the murder. Most people, including his own siblings, believed he was lying about his inability to remember: but Asher was a bad liar, and attempting it made him feel too anxious.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It had to have been someone with a key to the house. My dad always locked the doors when he went to bed.¡±


    There were few people Orion trusted enough to allow free entry to his home. When his children moved out, they weren¡¯t given a key, and Orion thought they would be bothered by this. There wasn¡¯t any reason any of Asher¡¯s siblings would return: and if they did, someone would let them inside.  Father Roy had, at one point, a key to the farm. Orion had given it to him in case of emergencies - although Asher had never understood what sort of emergency would constitute this. You were supposed to blindly trust people in positions of power, and Asher had done this for most of his life. Asher was uncomfortable with the idea of visitors letting themselves in without warning. As a minor, he wasn¡¯t entitled to privacy. If there was ever an emergency, an adult would need to get to him.


    In the case of his father, he¡¯d been arrested for second degree murder. Rowan believed his innocence, but no one else seemed to. Everyone expected a criminal to deny their crimes. According to the judge, he hadn¡¯t planned to kill his father, but had an argument with him the night of his death which culminated in shoving his father down the cellar stairs. His lawyer said it would be unlikely to get his charges dismissed, but that she could argue that the whole incident had been an accident. It would have been easy, in an argument, to let your temper get the best of you, and to push someone in frustration. This was something that could have been done by Jacob, or Mosiah. Asher wasn¡¯t a boy with a temper.


    His mother had been found with rope burns on her neck, evidently strangled to death. No one quite knew who was responsible for this, but it was suspicious that Samantha had vanished shortly afterwards. A warrant for Samantha¡¯s arrest had been released, although no one had seen her since the day of Lillian¡¯s death. The farm had been searched and scoured for any evidence the investigators might have missed. They were complicated cases - and you could suspect all you wanted, but you couldn¡¯t close a case without evidence. Asher knew little about the law. With nobody to vouch for him, it felt as though none of Jane¡¯s arguments would have made any difference at all.

 25. The Devil Doesnt Bargain

    Most people had thought about dying at least once in their life. Most people were afraid of dying. It was pointless, to be afraid of things that were inevitable. River had been home alone the last time he thought about death - but didn¡¯t remember much of what happened after this. It was getting dark, and he was very tired and dizzy. The painkillers didn¡¯t belong to him, but he¡¯d had them in his possession for months.


    The problem with being a boy is that no one gives a shit if you¡¯re depressed. You¡¯re supposed to deal with it on your own, and not cry about it. But boys have feelings, too, and sometimes, they¡¯re too hard to figure out on your own.


    When River arrived home from the hospital, he carried a small bag of new medications. After the mini stroke he¡¯d had the week before, he was meant to look out for his health, and this sounded exhausting. It was getting dark, but it was still warm, and he was sweating. The backyard was small and fenced, containing a circular table and two chairs. River was home alone, again. It seemed he was always alone these days.


    ¡°Drink more water,¡± said the nurse who¡¯d treated him. ¡°You¡¯re severely dehydrated. You¡¯re lucky someone found you and called for help.¡± River didn¡¯t feel lucky. He felt sick, and hopeless. Behind the brown picket fence, a young woman stood timidly and looked at him.


    There was a water bottle on the table. River hated water. It was bland, boring. He took a reluctant swig, shooting a look at the woman. ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    He¡¯d seen her before. She lived in the neighbouring townhouse, and left for work at the same time every morning. Folding her hands in front of her, she smiled sheepishly. ¡°I¡¯m your neighbour. I called the ambulance when you fainted.¡±


    The day of his cardiac arrest, River had been very drunk and very lonely. After washing down a handful of painkillers with a swig of alcohol, he¡¯d become disoriented and lightheaded. It was nothing he hadn¡¯t felt before, but felt different somehow. There had been a tight feeling in his chest: painful and pulling, until he¡¯d become nauseous and stumbled out the front door into the yard. If someone else had been nearby, he certainly hadn¡¯t seen them.


    After setting the bottle back down onto the table, River stood to open the gate in the fence. ¡°You don¡¯t even know me.¡±


    The woman had red hair, which looked very dark against her fair skin. ¡°I know you.¡± She hesitated, took a tentative step into the backyard. ¡°It¡¯s River, right? I¡¯m Sarah.¡± She wasn¡¯t that pretty. She looked ordinary, and sounded the same way. ¡°I¡¯m happy to see you¡¯re home.¡±


    It felt strange to be noticed. It felt strange to be helped. ¡°How do you know my name?¡±


    When he sat, she sat as well. He wondered how often she¡¯d watched him. ¡°Sometimes, when it¡¯s really early in the morning and you¡¯re still asleep, Salem invites me over after work to hook up.¡±


    Of course he does. ¡°Salem¡¯s got a thing for redheads.¡± Perhaps he shouldn¡¯t have said this out loud. Sarah didn¡¯t seem bothered by it. She probably knew this as well as River did. ¡°Why did you call for help? How long was I unconscious for?¡±


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    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± From what River had heard in the hospital, he was fortunate to have even survived, let alone to have survived with minimal brain damage. ¡°Maybe ten minutes. I thought you were dead, honestly.¡± She had kind eyes, and large glasses. ¡°I was in my yard with some friends when you passed out, and I didn¡¯t know what had happened. So I shouted for a friend to call 911 and I tried to give you CPR. I watched the paramedics revive you with one of those defibrillator things.¡±


    It didn¡¯t make sense. It didn¡¯t make sense that a stranger could care about River more than his own family ever had. ¡°You know CPR?¡±


    Sarah nodded. ¡°I work at a daycare. I had to be certified.¡± She¡¯d warmed up to him a little, and gotten comfortable in the chair across from him. He wondered how many times she¡¯d been here, and felt weirdly violated. ¡°You¡¯re lucky to be alive, you know.¡±


    He¡¯d been told. It had gotten dark, and wasn¡¯t quite so hot anymore. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just let me die?¡± He hadn¡¯t meant this to sound so aggressive. ¡°I wanted to die.¡± This was the reason River had no friends. He was treated with kindness, and understanding, and he reciprocated with anger or hostility. It was no wonder people wanted nothing to do with him.


    The girl was silent for a minute, mulling over his words. When she placed a gentle hand on his arm, he wanted to melt into her. ¡°I know you¡¯ve been struggling. I¡¯m not one to just stand by and watch somebody die.¡± He didn¡¯t deserve her kindness. It felt foreign to be touched with softness after a lifetime of being touched harshly.


    ¡°Did my brother send you?¡± River pulled his arm away. ¡°He didn¡¯t want to leave me alone when he went to work. Did he send you here to babysit?¡± It had been four months since Salem took him in. There was no telling how much longer he¡¯d put up with River¡¯s shit.


    Sarah sighed. ¡°No. I saw you were home, and thought I¡¯d come check in with you.¡±


    I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m like this, Salem. Every time someone is nice to me, I treat them like shit.


    Go back to therapy, Riv. You were doing well with it before.


    ¡°Do you guys talk about how fucked up I am?¡±


    ¡°No, River. We don¡¯t talk about you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, right.¡±


    It felt bad to be hurtful. River hated being hurtful. Before saying something harsh he didn¡¯t mean, he turned and trudged back inside. On the dresser inside Salem¡¯s room, there was about half an ounce of shredded weed. Packing one of his brother¡¯s many pipes, he scooped an orange lighter from the top of the snake terrarium.


    River stayed up that night painting and fooling around with the theremin. He didn¡¯t smoke weed much, though it had been recommended to him. At seven in the morning, when the sun had been up for a couple of hours already, Salem¡¯s car pulled up in front of the house. River met him at the door, impatient, desperately needing an answer.


    ¡°You have your two days off now, right?¡±


    As he always did after getting home from work, Salem looked tired. He claimed he was never tired. ¡°Yeah, why?¡±


    ¡°Take me to Charlottetown.¡±


    It was hard to figure out if Salem got tired of being River¡¯s ride. He insisted he enjoyed being helpful, but River was a person with a lot of doubts. ¡°For what?¡±


    Why was it that admitting shortcomings was so humiliating? River was insecure and looked down upon himself each time he made a mistake. Nobody ever expected their loved ones to be perfect, but always expected it of themselves. ¡°I want to admit myself.¡±


    The province of Prince Edward Island had a single psychiatric hospital, and River had been here once before. He¡¯d hated it. But he hated himself more.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Shutting the door, Salem removed his shoes and pulled a pipe from his pocket. ¡°We¡¯ll go tomorrow. I¡¯m going to go take a nap.¡± He lit the pipe on the way upstairs, leaving a cloud of smoke in his wake.

 26. La Diabla Estas Vivanta Ene De Mia Corpo!

    As a little girl in Colombia, Valentina longed for her father¡¯s affection. It wasn¡¯t that he was an absent man - but he worked two jobs to provide for his daughters, and young children don¡¯t always understand why their daddies won¡¯t play with them. When she got older, it was always the men like her father that caught her eye. Valentina moved to Canada at the age of seven, thrown into an entirely new culture before she¡¯d had a chance to learn the language. It wasn¡¯t hard to learn.


    Valentina had one younger sister, a teenager named Esmeralda. They hadn¡¯t spoken since Maia¡¯s birth, and Valentina felt conflicted about this. She¡¯d chosen to leave her religion, knowing full well it¡¯d likely mean leaving her family too. At fifteen, she fell in love with a boy at work: gothic and outspoken, a boy her parents would surely not get along with. ¡°You¡¯re much too young to date,¡± her mother had shouted when Valentina brought it up. ¡°You must focus on school and graduating, so you don¡¯t have to work at an electronics store for the rest of your life.¡±


    Four months after giving birth to Maia, Valentina graduated high school. She¡¯d always wanted to start her family young, like her mother had done. She¡¯d always wanted lots of children.


    ¡°Your boyfriend¡¯s a freak,¡± Esmeralda said, after meeting Valentina at the store where she worked. ¡°Why does he dress like that?¡±


    Mosiah was much taller than her, and he had an air of haughtiness Valentina was attracted to. She¡¯d never cared much about her sister¡¯s opinion. ¡°He¡¯s hot. I love the way he dresses.


    Esmeralda wrinkled her nose. ¡°You do? Well, then you¡¯re a freak too.¡±


    From as young as about eleven, Valentina was looked at sexually by men many years older than her. When she started developing, she was no longer treated as that naive little girl, but as an object. As a teenager, she¡¯d put up with this: knowing she was beautiful and desired. When every boy tries to get a date with you, it becomes a challenge to get the one who doesn¡¯t.


    ¡°Mam¨¢, come play!¡±


    She¡¯d just picked up Maia from daycare. The girl played in her room, dumping toys onto the floor and jumping over them. Valentina used to be energetic like that too. It was summer, and she was nearly six months pregnant. It wasn¡¯t so uncomfortable yet, not like her pregnancy with Maia had been. She had a mild cramping in her stomach, and a dull backache, but the aches and pains had been far worse this pregnancy. ¡°Coming, baby.¡± Being a mother was exhausting. Working from home with a toddler running at your feet was even more so.


    Maia¡¯s room had just been cleaned. On the days Mosiah had off, he¡¯d spend his time cleaning and organising the duplex, claiming it was unhealthy to live in a messy environment. Valentina had always been impressed by this, as she was never a clean person herself. ¡°What are we playing?¡±


    Like most girls her age, Maia liked dolls. Valentina had liked dolls, as well, as a little girl. ¡°Here,¡± she said, and thrust a Baby Alive doll at Valentina. ¡°It¡¯s my baby.¡±


    ¡°Your baby is so cute.¡± Spending time with Maia was priceless to Valentina. It was the biggest reason she¡¯d chosen to pursue self-employment rather than an office job. ¡°What¡¯s her name?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re having a small issue with Maia,¡± the girl¡¯s daycare teacher had said, the last time Valentina picked her up. ¡°When we sit down together to eat our lunch, she stands and shouts: Hail Satan!¡±


    Religious people were so uptight. A Christian could sit and say a prayer in the classroom, but heaven forbid a Muslim or Buddhist did the same. Satan wasn¡¯t a figure, but an embodiment of human traits. ¡°Sorry,¡± Valentina had said, though she wasn¡¯t. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to her about it.¡±


    Maia climbed onto her mother¡¯s lap. ¡°Butterfly Unicorn!¡±


    The cramping in Valentina¡¯s stomach eased, and then tightened again. ¡°Wow, what a great name! Is she hungry?¡± After Maia¡¯s birth, Valentina had nursed for eight months. She wasn¡¯t sure it was something she wanted to do again this time around. ¡°Are you hungry, Butterfly Unicorn?¡±


    Maia giggled. ¡°Silly mam¨¢.¡± She¡¯d been attending speech therapy, and had improved greatly in the past few months. ¡°Pee!¡± Abrupt, Maia jumped from her mother¡¯s lap, her feet slapping across the floor as she ran to the restroom.


    ¡°What are we going to do with Maia when the baby comes?¡±


    It was a question she¡¯d discussed with her husband more than once. He had no family in the area, and she wasn¡¯t exactly on speaking terms with her own. ¡°Maribel said she¡¯d watch her.¡± Valentina¡¯s best friend, Maribel, had been the first person she¡¯d met after moving to Canada. Though she didn¡¯t understand Valentina¡¯s lifestyle, she was a supportive and loyal friend. ¡°She said to just bring her over whenever, even if it¡¯s the middle of the night.¡±


    Her stomach hurt. The dull pain had become louder, as if something were pressing on her from the inside. Maia hollered from the restroom, needing to be cleaned. Valentina felt a cold dribbling down the inside of her thigh, and then a sharp pain. ¡°Maia! Get me my phone!¡± Something was wrong. There shouldn¡¯t have been this much pain. ¡°Hurry!¡±


    ¡°Why would you marry a boy like that?¡±


    Valentina¡¯s mother always hated her husband. Valentina couldn¡¯t really blame her for this. Paloma was an old-fashioned woman, and Mosiah wasn¡¯t the most personable of people.


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    ¡°Mom, stop. He takes care of me. That should be enough for you.¡±


    The little girl was naked, running from the restroom to the kitchen loudly and quickly. ¡°Mam¨¢, what¡¯s wrong?¡± She held out the phone, her fingers sticky and cold, and frowned at Valentina. ¡°Are you sad?¡± Keeled over on the floor, her face in her hands, Valentina supposed it was easy to mistake her anxiety for sadness.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sad, baby.¡± It was hard to speak through the pressure on her stomach, which had seemed to come out of nowhere and now wouldn¡¯t stop. The liquid dribbling down her thigh came faster, and she¡¯d felt this before. ¡°Go get your clothes on.¡± She was bleeding. A woman didn¡¯t need to check to know if she was bleeding. When her husband was at work, it was hard to get hold of him.


    ¡°Pick up, pick up.¡±


    Hearing his voice always made her feel better. ¡°What¡¯s up, sexy?¡±


    Even when she was bloated and breaking out, he still said she was beautiful. A cramp hit, and then stopped. ¡°I need you to come home. I think I¡¯m in labour.¡± It had felt this way with Maia, too, though she was born on time. It was the same sense of pressure, the same dull backache, the same cool dribble. But it was far too early, and Valentina wasn¡¯t ready.


    When Valentina was pregnant with Maia, she didn¡¯t have a hospital bag ready until the night of her birth. This time around, she¡¯d planned on packing at her thirty week mark - but it hadn¡¯t been that long, and she¡¯d gotten nothing prepared. Perhaps it was a false alarm, and this baby wasn¡¯t ready to be born yet. Whatever the case, something was wrong, and Valentina wasn¡¯t willing to risk ignoring it. Before too long, it¡¯d be Maia¡¯s bedtime, and her routine would be all thrown off.


    Mosiah arrived home much quicker than usual, probably grateful for an excuse to leave work early. He was an unruly driver at the most of times, and an impatient one the rest of the time. ¡°Valentina!¡± Maia hadn¡¯t dressed. She ran around the duplex nude, as she did often, as was fine when you were a child. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    There was pain in her stomach, and her chest. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡± She hobbled to the living room, falling onto the patchwork sofa. ¡°It¡¯s not time. I don¡¯t know if she¡¯s okay.¡± Twenty was far too young to be knowledgeable in the complications of pregnancy. Valentina was the first of her friends to have kids, and had no older mentors to guide her. ¡°She can¡¯t come out yet.¡±


    Maia sat on the floor of the living room, cross-legged, watching her parents. Mosiah pulled Valentina onto his lap, putting a finger to her lips. ¡°Take a breath, amor. We¡¯ll take Maia to Maribel¡¯s and get it figured out, okay?¡± He was holding it together surprisingly well. Valentina needed this. ¡°Maia, go pick out an outfit.¡±


    ¡°If you have complications during this pregnancy like you did the last one, we¡¯re not having anymore kids.¡±


    She could get him to do anything. Everybody knew Valentina always got what she wanted.


    ¡°My stomach hurts.¡± Valentina slipped her shoes on, though it hurt quite a bit to stand up straight. ¡°I¡¯ve been bleeding a lot.¡± Mosiah helped Maia dress, as she was slow and clumsy, and they were in a hurry. Maribel lived nearby, and rarely asked questions.


    ¡°Why do you always ignore me?¡± she¡¯d asked, planting herself at the table across from Mosiah after a shift they shared. He was hot, and the first boy to reject her advances. ¡°You¡¯re hot, and I¡¯m hot. Let¡¯s go out.¡±


    At the time, his hair had been brown. Valentina liked it better dyed. ¡°What if I say no?¡±


    She smiled: the smile that always got people to give in to her. ¡°Come on.¡± He was a hard egg to crack, but Valentina was determined. Something about being ignored made her feel excited. Boys were easy to control. All you had to do was turn them on. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you¡¯re not attracted to me?¡± She¡¯d unzipped her sweater, exposing her fitted work shirt, which had made her tits look huge. He¡¯d look - they all would, that was the point. ¡°You can touch them if you want.¡±


    He¡¯d muttered. ¡°Goddamnit.¡± They stood very close, the only two employees in the staff room at that moment. Her hands were quick and steady, grabbing his, guiding them to her chest. ¡°You¡¯re such a flirt, Valentina.¡± She was good at it, too. He let out a breath, giving in. ¡°Meet me in the parking lot.¡±


    ¡°Valentina?¡±


    They were parked in the hospital parking lot, and the cramps in her abdomen were coming quicker. ¡°Does something hurt?¡±


    Jesus, he was gorgeous. ¡°I¡¯m having contractions. They¡¯re getting stronger and stronger.¡± The hospital bag she¡¯d thrown together hastily sat on the floor in the back of the truck, for the moment unneeded. Mosiah took her hand, pulling her out of the truck and toward the hospital doors.


    It all happened so fast. Valentina was rushed into the hospital, and then placed into a wheelchair, with a thin gown and an IV in the back of her hand. In the maternity ward, a nurse assisted her through labour, which had become painful. ¡°This baby wants out, and it wants out now.¡± Valentina was afraid of this. She¡¯d begun to suspect she wouldn¡¯t leave the hospital tonight without a baby.


    As it had been with Maia, Valentina found herself in the operating room, clutching her husband¡¯s hands while an anesthetist put a needle in her spine. She was scared, and cold, and nauseous. Mosiah stood at her side, rubbing her hair, whispering into her ear. It was far too early. She couldn¡¯t bear the thought of losing the baby.


    The problem with being chronically online was that people always had something to say. Valentina had heard it all - and nothing really got to her anymore, except for hate about her family. She¡¯d heard things like you¡¯re a slut, your life is full of sin, and you¡¯re not a real mother until you have a baby properly. It didn¡¯t hurt. Valentina didn¡¯t care what strangers on the Internet had to say.


    She could feel the surgeon working on her. There was pressure, and the tugging of the scalpel through her abdomen. According to the nurse, the baby¡¯s health was in danger, and she needed to be born as soon as possible to prevent anything further.


    It was a baby girl. Valentina had known this since her eighteen week ultrasound, and had named her weeks ago. When the baby began to cry, she was whisked away to a nurse, and the room was quiet. There seemed to be a worry over the surgery, as the nurses and surgeons gathered around, and Valentina became woozy.


    ¡°Baby¡­¡± She was tired. The newborn had been taken away to intensive care before Valentina had gotten a chance to see her. Mosiah spoke to a nurse in low tones; Valentina couldn¡¯t make out their conversation. She was dizzy, attempting to make out her husband¡¯s face, which blurred before her eyes. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    He touched her face, which was clammy. ¡®You¡¯re bleeding.¡± The room spun. ¡°You¡¯re going to be fine.¡± She felt weak, and tired. As the hospital staff hustled around her feet, Valentina fell unconscious.

 27. The Unbaptized

    Viola was beautiful, but she was very sick. At only one and a half pounds, she lay inside neonatal intensive care, in a ventilator that made her look tiny. Mosiah had no idea where his wife was. After giving birth, she¡¯d hemorrhaged on the operating table, and he¡¯d had no choice but to watch her be taken away to emergency. Nothing made a man feel more helpless than having his wife and newborn swept away from him, and being able to do nothing about it.


    He sat in the waiting room, eager to see his wife, and worried for her safety. He¡¯d been informed by a kind nurse that she¡¯d lost about forty ounces of blood after the surgery, and had taken a while to revive. When she was wheeled from the operating room, Mosiah had been certain she wouldn¡¯t survive. Though some of his anxieties had been eased by the nurses, he still feared the worst.


    When Viola was born, she¡¯d caused a lot of concern, and had been too small to undergo necessary surgeries without apprehension. She¡¯d been born with quite a large lump in the middle of her spine, and whisked away for surgery with permission from her father. It had felt wrong to send a newborn into serious surgery without first consulting her mother.


    A nurse entered the waiting room. It was late at night, and two hours had passed since Viola¡¯s birth. ¡°Mosiah?¡± He¡¯d seen this nurse before. It was one of the ones who took Valentina out of the operating room. It was hard to be hopeful. ¡°Your wife is asking for you.¡±


    She¡¯d gotten a blood transfusion. It played in Mosiah¡¯s mind, over and over again, Valentina lying on the operating table, bleeding heavily and quickly. He hadn¡¯t wanted to leave her, but had been given no choice. The nurse walked quickly and impatiently, rushed, as nurses always were. In her hospital room, Valentina was connected to multiple machines after her transfusion, and looked weary. She was alive. At one point, he hadn¡¯t been sure.


    She didn¡¯t greet him. ¡°Where¡¯s Viola?¡±


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    She was a goddess. Everything about her made him feel inferior. ¡°She¡¯s fine.¡± Taking the seat at the foot of her bed, Mosiah longed to hold her. ¡°She¡¯s in intensive care.¡± The baby had been taken away while Valentina was woozy, and it was likely she hadn¡¯t been told anything. ¡°She¡¯s recovering from spinal and brain surgery.¡±


    ¡°Brain surgery?¡±


    He shouldn¡¯t have agitated Valentina. She sat upright, looking very tired and run-down. ¡°Why is my daughter getting brain surgery?¡± She needed to rest. There was time to rest now. Viola was alive, and she was being taken care of.


    ¡°Viola was the name of my childhood best friend in Colombia. If the baby is a girl, I want to name her Viola.¡±


    He spoke to her in Spanish, in the low tone that always calmed her down. ¡°She has spina bifida: but she¡¯s okay. They put a shunt in her brain to prevent hydrocephalus. I said they could.¡± Perhaps Viola would recover with minimal disability. Perhaps she would grow up to have physical limitations. None of this mattered now, because she was alive. Valentina was quiet. She became agitated easily in times of stress, but always tried to find a moment to calm down. She looked small and scared, as she had during her labour with Maia. Mosiah moved his chair to the side of her bed, kissing her forehead, which was wet. ¡°She¡¯ll be alright, cari?a, promise.¡±


    She looked at him, not speaking for a moment, scrutinizing his face with crestfallen eyes. ¡°Is it my fault?¡±


    Valentina needed a nap. This would be hard for her with all of the anxiety she was having. ¡°No, baby. Sometimes things just go wrong.¡± He¡¯d been allowed to hold Viola briefly after her birth, before she was whisked away by the medical team. ¡°Take a nap, amor. When you wake up, we¡¯ll go check on Viola.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m scared,¡± she¡¯d said, when they wheeled her upstairs to the operating room. ¡°What if the baby doesn¡¯t make it?¡±


    He¡¯d taken her hands, stroking her thumbs with his. ¡°Everybody will be fine, sweetheart.¡± He couldn¡¯t promise this. All Valentina needed was a bit of reassurance to get her through the surgery. After tonight, Mosiah was certain he¡¯d never agree to having another baby.


    Valentina was groggy. ¡°Stay here,¡± she said, and lay back on her pillow, falling asleep in seconds.

 28. 5AM

    River hadn¡¯t had a drink in eleven days. He missed home, but in a way, he¡¯d also missed the hospital. He hated sobriety, and the rawness that came along with it. Sobriety meant being present, and he¡¯d never been very good at that. The hospital was relatively small, the only psychiatric unit in the province. Like any hospital, it was cold and impersonal, filled with troubled people who couldn¡¯t make it in the world on their own. River met with a psychiatrist once a day, and his progress was tracked in a chart along with everybody else¡¯s. He felt like a project. He felt like a boy whose only purpose in life was to be fixed by others.


    It was exhausting, being betrayed so many times by people you loved the most. Everybody grew tired of River at some point or another. It wasn¡¯t his time. Most days, it was hard to believe this. In the hospital, he did the same things every day. It was comforting to know that each day would be predictable. It was probably a lot safer than making his own decisions. At breakfast, he sat alone at a corner table and munched on a muffin, which tasted bland. River was never a fan of muffins.


    ¡°Excuse me, is it okay if I sit here?¡±


    River had grown tired of being alone. At this point in life, he¡¯d expect nothing else.


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    A chair squeaked. Breakfast was nearly over, and then he¡¯d have to go back to real life. Eating alone made a lot more sense than trying to make friends. Friends never lasted, anyway.


    ¡°I¡¯m Wren.¡±


    She¡¯d been so quiet, River had forgotten she was there. She was brown and beautiful, glancing at him from the other end of the small breakfast table. ¡°How long have you been here?¡± She wore yellow, which looked good on her. River couldn¡¯t stare. He always fell in love at first sight, and it never ended well.


    ¡°It¡¯s my third day.¡± He wasn¡¯t hungry, and hadn¡¯t been in days. Every morning, after being given his medications, he was sent to the breakfast line with the rest of the patients.  ¡°But I¡¯ve been here before.¡± He¡¯d arrived at the hospital in the middle of the afternoon two days before. It wasn¡¯t a long drive, but he was groggy and fatigued, and slept for most of it. Check in was always the same - River missed the things he¡¯d been forced to leave behind.


    Wren ate quietly, tapping her fingers on the table next to the plate. River wondered why she¡¯d come. Everybody had their stories, and so few people were willing to share. Tossing the rest of his plain muffin onto the white paper plate, he tried not to stare. There were lines and lines of tables in the dining area. Something had drawn her to his. ¡°My name¡¯s River, by the way.¡±


    Technically, River wasn¡¯t his real name. This wasn¡¯t important. ¡°I like that.¡± Wren was soft-spoken. River was an open book. ¡°What¡¯s it like here? I just got here yesterday. I don¡¯t really know what to expect.¡± It was nothing like home. Being in the hospital made River feel calm and safe.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± River¡¯s latest diagnosis had sent him reeling, and it had taken far too long to catch his breath. ¡°Mostly we just sit around and talk about our feelings.¡±


    ¡°Sounds uncomfortable.¡± Wren sighed, and then smiled - sending a jolt through River¡¯s body. He was erratic, sure, but there were benefits to this. It didn¡¯t feel like it sometimes. ¡°Can I sit with you?¡±


    Yes, please.


    ¡°I guess so.¡±


    When breakfast finished, it was always time for individual therapy sessions. River had always been extraordinarily uncomfortable opening up to people: especially those who were paid to judge him. The only way to escape this place was to cooperate. Wren cleared her plate quietly, and then washed her hands repeatedly in the dining hall¡¯s small sink. The lines were long and orderly, and seemed to take forever to move.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Why did you sit at my table?¡±


    Wren stood in the line beside him, muttering to herself. River could always tell which patients were self-admitted and which weren¡¯t. She continued to mutter, two or three or four seconds more, before looking up. Her eyes were dark and soft; something about them was familiar. ¡°You looked kind.¡± River didn¡¯t see how this made much sense. He was impersonal and unfriendly. ¡°Also,¡± Wren smiled, and it lit up her whole face. ¡°I like your pink hair.¡±


    The psychiatrist was an older woman, who spoke with a tone of voice that reminded River of his mother. She shut the door with a loud click, sending a long glance at him as she took her seat. ¡°Good morning, Lael.¡±


    God, he hadn¡¯t heard that name in years. ¡°I¡¯d prefer it if you called me by my middle name, actually.¡± Names had memories, and identities. River couldn¡¯t bear to hear a name his mother had used to demean him.


    He¡¯d never met this psychiatrist before. Ten years ago, most of the hospital¡¯s current staff had been different. According to the nameplate on the desk of the woman, her name was Doctor Bethany Goulding. He hadn¡¯t spoken to her yesterday, and still wasn¡¯t quite sure why. She gave him a long look, and then glanced over his paperwork. As the hospital lined patients up by surname, River was always last.


    The psychiatrist smiled, suddenly kind. ¡°Let me try this again. Good morning, River. What are you hoping to get out of your hospital stay?¡±


    A safe haven.


    He¡¯d found it difficult to self-regulate since arriving. This was nothing new. Without the reassurance of other people, he was all but useless. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± River didn¡¯t want to die. But he didn¡¯t want to hate himself, either. All his life, it had seemed like it was either one or the other.


    ¡°Start smoking weed,¡± Salem said, on the drive up. ¡°Trust me, you¡¯ll feel a lot better.¡±


    He wondered what Wren was doing. It was embarrassing how quickly a mood could swing. It was embarrassing how little time it took to mould an entire personality around somebody else. Well-adjusted adults had a sense of themselves. Well-adjusted adults could live their lives without the need to imitate somebody else.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Goulding held a clipboard, as had every other shrink River had ever seen. ¡°How about we start with setting simple, daily goals. Something you¡¯d like to accomplish each day of your stay.¡± It sounded a lot like circle talk. Each afternoon, every patient would gather in a circle in an open room, taking turns discussing their hopes and goals for the duration of their stay. It was about the little things, they all said. Celebrating the little victories is just as important as celebrating the big ones.


    ¡°I want to make friends.¡±


    Humans needed companionship. River once discussed love and friendship with a friend, and he¡¯d been astonished to learn that he thought so differently than everyone else. Everybody talked about love and sex going together, as if you couldn¡¯t have one without the other. The world was filled with sex: and River never understood it. He craved intimacy in the form of small talk, cuddles, nature walks, secret-keeping. He¡¯d never looked at a person and wondered what it would be like to sleep with them, and he¡¯d never shared his friends¡¯ interest in kissing. Growing up, this had all made him feel so alone - especially as a man, who was meant to be dominant and virile.


    ¡°You want to make friends.¡± Goulding wrote this down, scribbling loudly on her clipboard. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of people like you here, River. Making friends is certainly possible.¡± When he arrived here, he¡¯d been forced to see a doctor for a review of his medical history. They all seemed concerned about him. Goulding seemed concerned, too. ¡°Your medical records say you were rushed to the hospital with cardiac arrest five days ago.¡± He was fine. He¡¯d survived a lot worse.


    ¡°Mhm.¡±


    She had kind eyes. Kind, but pressing. She only cared about River because it was her job. ¡°Do you know what caused that?¡± She was persistent. So was everybody else here.


    He shrugged. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you know that? You¡¯re the doctor here.¡± River¡¯s ex-girlfriends would call him a functioning alcoholic. This was a bit far-fetched. He hadn¡¯t really functioned in years, and he probably wasn¡¯t about to start now.

 29. Icepicks (Murders)

    It was Saturday night. Fifteen minutes before Salem was meant to leave for work, he was fucking a twink he¡¯d met the weekend before. With River gone, he could go back to doing whatever (or whomever) at any given time. Once, River asked Salem why he slept around so much, and Salem had had no answer except that he could.


    It was easy to pick out a twink in a crowd. Salem had been doing it for years.


    ¡°Gotta go,¡± he said, after leaving the man sweaty and exhausted, ¡°I don¡¯t want to be late for work.¡± Tonight, as it had many nights before, Sleeping Tulip was hosting a bachelor party. This meant, despite being scheduled for a full staff, they¡¯d likely have too much work to keep up with, and Salem would be needed behind the bar. He rarely had time for this.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on over there?¡± Delilah had asked, during yesterday¡¯s phone call. ¡°We haven¡¯t talked in a while. What have I missed?¡±


    They were never free at the same time. With work schedules and time zones, it was getting harder and harder to keep in touch.


    ¡°Actually, you¡¯ve missed a lot.¡± Salem was on lunch when Delilah called, and she¡¯d just gotten up for work. Too much news at once would overwhelm her. Too little would leave her unsatisfied. ¡°Mara¡¯s dead and Samantha¡¯s been missing for months.¡± A lot of people enjoyed gossip. Delilah wasn¡¯t partial to gore and details, but she appreciated a good story. ¡°Asher¡¯s fingerprints were found all around the place where Dad was killed, so everyone thought it was him.¡±


    It was easier to have a conversation face to face. Salem preferred the intimacy that came with in person conversations: he enjoyed observing the reactions of other people, and seeing expression on their faces. He¡¯d met people who seemed to have no expression at all, and they always left him feeling uneasy.


    ¡°Sometimes I miss being so far away.¡±


    Delilah could talk for hours. She didn¡¯t plan this, but in pleasant conversation with loved ones, time often got away from her. When she and Salem were kids, she¡¯d sit for hours and listen to him tell stories, and he never ran out of things to say.


    ¡°But Asher was framed,¡± he said, feeling rushed by the noise in the bar, and the mess of the lunch room. ¡°Sebastian would sneak into the house when Dad was asleep, and he never got caught.¡±


    He often walked to work. It was a short distance from his house, and it gave him time to relax and enjoy life before arriving at work. He hadn¡¯t always walked, and certainly didn¡¯t do it every day - but sometimes it was nice to get some fresh air and exercise.


    The bar was busy and loud, and in need of inventory. On the way to work, Salem had been texted by an employee he¡¯d hired not too long ago, who¡¯d been apologetic over falling ill. This meant, in addition to every other necessary duty, he¡¯d need to be responsible for finding someone to replace her.


    ¡°Hey, Katie. How¡¯s your night?¡±


    She was on break in the lunchroom when he arrived, and already seemed to be exhausted. It was an exhausting environment for most people. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here! Everybody is so uptight tonight.¡±


    He hung his jacket. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Katie was seldom shy, even if it meant offending a customer. Sometimes, the customer wasn¡¯t right, but you still had to pretend they were. ¡°All the other bartenders just seem so intense. A customer just yelled at me because I accidentally gave her the wrong drink. And Damon¡¯s being so mean. He said I was bad at my job.¡± She sighed, checking the clock at the back of the staff room. ¡°But you¡¯re actually friendly, and don¡¯t yell at us over every little mistake.¡±


    ¡°Interesting.¡± The world needed honesty - but it seemed so hard to find most days. Some things were better left unsaid, sure. It was important to make employees feel heard. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be here all night. You know where to find me.¡± There would be interviews tonight. In the summertime, Sleeping Tulip was always busiest.


    He had a missed call from Kioni. She only called when she was horny.


    Several months ago, a long-time employee of Sleeping Tulip was caught stealing from inventory. If you were observant, it was easy to figure out when suspicious activity was occurring among employees. Most people, when witnessing theft by somebody else, would turn a blind eye, or confess to a manager in secret. This was far less helpful than confrontation - and one couldn¡¯t be afraid of confrontation to work in an environment like this.


    There was a lot to do. Creating checklists, budgeting, overseeing: it seemed there was never a shortage of things to do. When an employee clocked in, they checked in with Salem, who created schedules and assigned employees to stations. When the tables began to fill up, and the customers got unruly, he¡¯d often go out and greet regulars. The most important duty of any business was, of course, to keep their customers happy and coming back. At work, he was never in one place for long. Tonight, two new hires were starting, and this meant training and education. Though Salem was in charge of hiring and staffing, he wasn¡¯t a trainer, and certainly didn¡¯t have time to take on the task.


    ¡°Kaley, I need you for training.¡± At the front of the bar, a large group of men laughed and chatted. Kaley had been working there for several years, and had recently been given the responsibility of training inexperienced hires. The two new employees were fresh out of the restaurant business, and followed Salem around awkwardly while waiting to be given a task. ¡°This is Charlie and Izzy,¡± he said, greeting Kaley behind the bar. ¡°Can you run through the manual with them?¡±


    She was quick and friendly. Each week, Salem liked to leave a small gift for every employee. The ones who were well-seasoned with Sleeping Tulip had grown to expect this.


    It was important, when it came to training, to ensure each bartender knew the drink recipes exactly as they were written. Sure, people were individualistic, and each had their own way of making drinks: but customers noticed discrepancies, and they weren¡¯t shy about pointing them out.


    Max, one of the bar¡¯s regulars, was a man in his fifties who¡¯d been married and divorced twice. He frequented the place three times a night, and often brought friends. Weaving his way through the crowd, Salem greeted the man.


    ¡°Hey, Max. Good to see you! How¡¯ve you been?¡±


    It was loud. At the end of the night, Salem¡¯s ears were always ringing.


    Max clapped him on the back. ¡°Same old, my friend!¡± Tonight, he was accompanied by a younger man, whose similar facial features gave him away. ¡°This is my son, Collin. He¡¯s visiting from out of town.¡± Salem always loved to see a new face. Max always ordered the same drink: whiskey and ginger, and he always tipped well.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Hey, Collin. Great to meet you. Welcome to Sleeping Tulip! First drink¡¯s on the house.¡±


    At least once a night, a belligerent customer came forward with a complaint. More often than not, the bartenders could diffuse this. Sometimes, arguments grew so out of hand that people needed to be removed. The first angry customer of the night came in the form of a middle-aged man, who shouted at Katie across the counter. Katie wasn¡¯t easily flustered. She looked as though she could cry.


    ¡°Hey, Katie. What¡¯s going on?¡±


    She frowned. The man, who was wildly drunk and loud, whirled around. ¡°Are you a manager?¡± Katie, who had no nametag, wiped out a shot glass, her eyes downturned to the counter. ¡°I need a manager! This bitch ruined my drink!¡±


    There was a line between customer dissatisfaction and plain disrespect. It was a two-way street, respect. You didn¡¯t earn it if you didn¡¯t give it.  ¡°Okay.¡± Salem looked the man in the face. He¡¯d been here before, but hadn¡¯t caused a problem. Everybody had bad days. This didn¡¯t make it fair to make it other people¡¯s problems. ¡°Please don¡¯t disrespect my employees. Tell me what happened.¡±


    A bartender had to know when to stop serving a customer. If a person was unruly, or troublesome, or visibly drunk, they needed to be cut off at the counter. This, as one could imagine, had enraged many customers - but the safety of other patrons and employees was important.  The man scowled, slamming his glass down on the counter. ¡°She put too much rye in my sazerac! When I asked for a free drink as an apology, she snapped at me and refused to take accountability!¡± This could have been true. The hard part was figuring out which side of the story was the truth. ¡°She needs to be fired for her disrespect. incompetent, inconsiderate, stupid¡­¡±


    Alcohol made people unruly. It was almost guaranteed that when bar fights broke out, a lot of alcohol was involved. ¡°Katie,¡± said Salem, taking the rag from her hand, ¡°go take a break. Have some water, take a bit to cool down, okay?¡± He wasn¡¯t angry. The man stared at them, nearly falling over in his haste to get closer. ¡°Sir, I¡¯ll get you a new drink. Just give me one moment, okay?¡±


    The situation could have been salvageable. But again, there was always a line. Taking a seat on the last bar stool, the man shouted at Katie¡¯s retreating figure. ¡°Maybe you should learn how to do your job, stupid bitch!¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± He wasn¡¯t a tall man. ¡°Don¡¯t talk to people like that. You¡¯re going to have to leave.¡± At work, Salem survived on coffee and weed. After running over things behind the bar and adjusting the dance music, he went to find Katie.


    There was a weekly schedule on the wall behind the door of the break room. It was updated every weekend, and always hung in the same place. ¡°Katie.¡±


    She sat at a table, sipping water and talking to herself. In the ten months since being hired, she hadn¡¯t been shouted at once. Everybody had a first time. After a while, being shouted at didn¡¯t have an effect at all. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Katie sighed, staring at the table. ¡°I made a mistake. I was distracted by another customer when I was pouring the drink, and I put in an extra ounce of rye by mistake. Please don¡¯t yell at me.¡±


    What did yelling do, besides put everybody on edge? Salem¡¯s father had been a man who yelled, and he¡¯d seen the way it had forced his siblings into themselves. ¡°I¡¯m not going to yell at you.¡± Something it had taken years to learn was that you couldn¡¯t please everyone. ¡°I¡¯m just here to tell you you¡¯re doing a great job.¡±


    There was a homeless man named Francis, who most of the bartenders knew by name. Once in a while, he¡¯d stop by for a drink, or an appetizer to get him through until the morning. The world was run by corporate greed and corrupt men. Without the help of strangers, it was all but impossible to survive.


    Katie smiled. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± said a man earlier that night, watching Salem help serve up drinks behind the bar. He¡¯d been flirty, but not inappropriately so. ¡°You look like you¡¯re great in bed.¡±


    Technically, it was unprofessional to hit on customers. But the man did it first. ¡°Yeah? Why don¡¯t you take me home and find out?¡±


    In late summer, Salem always got off work right when the sun was beginning to come up. That night, Kioni was parked outside of the house when he arrived, sitting in her car, talking on the phone. She¡¯d had a key to the place, once, but returned it after the breakup. These days, she only stopped by if she wanted a fuck.


    He tapped on the window, which was unrolled slightly. ¡°Come inside. You can wait in my room while I take a shower.¡±


    It was barely half past six. For Kioni to show up this early was very unusual. She sighed, unrolling the window the rest of the way down. ¡°I¡¯m not here for that.¡± It was strange how things changed. They¡¯d dated for four years, and broken up right at the moment everyone began to assume they¡¯d get married. In the end, it was always one stupid argument after the other. It was stupid to wait around. She¡¯d always assumed he¡¯d change his mind about marriage and children. He always assumed the same.


    ¡°What if I got pregnant?¡± she¡¯d ask, ¡°Would you marry me then?¡± She¡¯d ask and ask, as though wearing him down would change the outcome, and it never did. It was never because of her. Love and marriage didn¡¯t go together.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Glancing at Kioni through the open window, Salem lit a pipe. ¡°Why are you here, then?¡±


    It was quiet. Giving him a long glance, Kioni unlocked the doors. ¡°Sit down.¡± She¡¯d always hated it when he got high. She still did. Her eyes were loud and upturned; he used to get lost in them for hours. ¡°Remember four years ago, when you made me drive you to get a vasectomy?¡± It was an unexpected conversation starter. Salem couldn¡¯t tell where she was heading with it.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°And remember how they said it was almost completely effective, but had a possibility of reversing itself over time?¡±


    She was staring at him. She hadn¡¯t looked at him like that in years. The sky was pink, and Salem was very tired. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Come on.¡± Kioni¡¯s dark eyes were tired. The sun had come up, and washed her face with light. ¡°You¡¯ve got to know  where I¡¯m going with this by now. I don¡¯t come over just to visit.¡±


    Women were hard to read. They left subtle hints at important subjects rather than being straightforward, and became frustrated when they weren¡¯t understood. ¡°Where are you going with this, Kioni?¡± At one point, he might have understood her hints. At one point she was more straight-forward.


    Salem blew smoke out the window. Kioni would never forgive him if he made the car smell like weed. ¡°Jesus,¡± she said, and sighed, crossing her arms over her stomach. ¡°I¡¯m pregnant, Salem. I took a test at home this afternoon.¡± She¡¯d always wanted kids. During their relationship, this had been another common topic of argument. She sat with her hands over her lap, watching him, as if waiting for a specific reaction. ¡°Say something.¡±


    He was far too stoned for this. ¡°What are you going to do?¡± He could give an opinion. In the end, it didn¡¯t matter. Years ago, he would have believed it did. ¡°Don¡¯t you want kids?¡±


    She was quiet, her gaze wavering. When Kioni was deep in thought, she always bit her lip.  In the year since they¡¯d broken up, she hadn¡¯t dated, or expressed interest in doing so. Though the end of their relationship had been inevitable, Kioni had taken it particularly hard. She looked at him, a crinkle in her eyebrows. ¡°I thought about getting rid of it¡­. But I¡¯m thirty years old, and you and I both know I¡¯m running out of time to have kids.¡± Watching him take another hit, Kioni exhaled. ¡°What do you think I should do?¡±


    It didn¡¯t make a difference. ¡°It¡¯s not up to me.¡± Ten years ago, he would have believed it was.


    ¡°Anyway.¡± Kioni reached for the keys, rubbing her hands together the way she¡¯d always done when she was tired. ¡°I needed you to know. I¡¯ll sleep on it and text you later.¡± It was hard to stay awake. ¡°Goodnight, Salem.¡±


    She used to ask if he was in love with her. There was no point lying, but sometimes, it hurt less than telling the truth. He could have said it. She always loved him more than he loved her. ¡°Night, Kioni.¡± It was a chilly morning. Shutting the door of Kioni¡¯s car, Salem slipped inside the house.

 30. Oak Trees

    The hardest part of falling in love was the inevitable breakup. A person could fall in love a million times, in a million different ways, and be left in a thousand pieces every time. Out of all of the best places to fall in love, a psych ward wasn¡¯t one of them. Wren stood outside River¡¯s room, having grown close to him over their shared stay. Discharge had always felt strange, but it was never bittersweet before. In a twisted sort of way, he¡¯d miss the hospital. It had been three months since River¡¯s admission. He suspected he¡¯d be back here soon enough.


    Wren dressed simply, wearing mostly whites and greys. She¡¯d been struggling, and River was the only one who knew this. ¡°Here,¡± she said, standing sheepishly in the doorway of his hospital room, holding out a piece of small white paper. ¡°I drew you a picture. It¡¯s not the best.¡± Head ducked, she swept a foot against the floor. ¡°I¡¯m not an artist like you.¡± Like he had with everybody before her, River had fallen for Wren in a single moment after meeting her. Over the past weeks, Wren had gotten into the habit of sneaking out of her room after lights out, and tiptoeing down the hallway to his, and then disappearing before the nurses came around in the morning. It was stupid, maybe, to pursue somebody else as a boy who couldn¡¯t even manage himself. He knew all about Wren¡¯s family, and her hobbies, and her fears.


    It was time to go. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll treasure it.¡± Like everybody before her, Wren had no idea what she¡¯d gotten herself into. River was a lot, but he was also one of the most creative and passionate people you could ever meet. Before picking up his bags from the hallway floor, he hugged her. Wren was beautiful and sweet. Wren was nothing like anyone he¡¯d ever met before. ¡°I¡¯ll miss you.¡±


    She was very thin, and nearly as tall as him. Wren was a registered nurse, and had struggled with eating disorders in the past - though she claimed to be mostly recovered now. Bashful, she looked at the floor. ¡°I wrote my phone number on the back. I¡¯m supposed to be discharged next month. I was thinking, if you want, we could hang out.¡±


    River had to get going. His few belongings, which had been taken from him upon arrival, needed to be picked up at reception. He couldn¡¯t leave Wren. He remembered what he¡¯d spoken about with Goulding. ¡°Hang out as friends, or on a date?¡± He¡¯d learned, recently, that you couldn¡¯t force a person to like you, no matter how badly you wanted them to. Like anything else he¡¯d learned from shrinks, he¡¯d forget this.


    Wren was kind, and smart, and much more put-together than him. ¡°A date.¡± She smiled. Each time she did this, River¡¯s breath caught in his throat. ¡°I really like you, River.¡±


    I¡¯m sorry to hear that.


    Maybe he should have kissed her. All his life, he¡¯d thought of kissing as nothing more than an obligation: a way that people used to show affection. It had always felt strange and dirty: but women enjoyed being kissed, and River wanted to be loved. Sometimes, he wondered what it felt like to crave sex, or to want to kiss a woman. He¡¯d had sex before to appease other people, and it always left him feeling ill and unfulfilled. For most people, it was hard to imagine how love could exist without sex - and still everybody knew that you could have sex with someone you never loved at all.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s wrong with me,¡± River had said once, sitting in the basement of Zina¡¯s Victorian home, after leaving the room following a sexually-charged scene on television. ¡°It feels like everybody in the world wants to think about sex except for me.¡±


    Zina was always kind to him. When he hid himself away, she¡¯d always go to check that he was alright. ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± She sat in the basement across from him, not yet out of her work clothes. ¡°I have many, many friends who think of sex the same way you do. Some people are just disinterested.¡±


    Despite their closeness in age, Zina was a lot more mature than him. He wouldn¡¯t look at her. Zina always knew herself, and River was always confused. ¡°How will anybody ever love me if I don¡¯t want to have sex with them?¡±


    After leaving the hospital, River took the bus to Stratford.


    ¡°When I was a little girl, I got bit by a wolf in the forest. It was a full moon. Ever since then, I¡¯ve been terrified of the moon.¡± The day he¡¯d met Wren in the breakfast room, River had taken an interest in her. She was timid, but had grown to trust him with her past. She sat on the floor of his room, hours after patients had been sent to bed, her legs crossed against the cold plastic floor. She had a soft face, and often second-guessed herself. ¡°I can¡¯t even look outside when the moon is out.¡±


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Wren had been vulnerable with him. Even to the people River was closest to, it was hard to be vulnerable. He was afraid of many things: abandonment, criticism, chaos. He rarely confessed these fears to other people. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he¡¯d watched Wren. She¡¯d been open. It was only fair that he be open too. ¡°I¡¯m afraid of being naked.¡±


    It was something River had never said aloud before. He was afraid of being vulnerable - of letting somebody else get too close. This always led to people getting hurt. When River got too close to somebody, he became overcome by fear, and this never ended well.


    When River arrived at home, he was alone. His bedroom, which hadn¡¯t been cleaned in a while, smelled stale. He hadn¡¯t had a drink in three months, and it felt strange to be sober. Sliding a hand-rolled joint from the kitchen table, he turned on the Playstation.


    At night, River had been having strange dreams. His subconscious was often fantastical and cluttered, and it seemed he couldn¡¯t find an escape even in his sleep. He dreamt most often of falling or flying: and sometimes both at once. When he grew tired of video games, he fell asleep on the plaid fold-out couch.


    That night, he dreamt of Wren. She was named for a bird, and had two sisters who were named the same way. She had unusual compulsions, and had struggled with them during her time in the hospital. She¡¯d felt guilty for this, as if it were her fault her brain worked the way it did. It was strange. River blamed himself for the way his mind behaved - but never would have dared blame a loved one for the same thing. Wren loved red pandas and tie dye, and dreamed of seeing the world. River¡¯s easel, which sat in the middle of his small bedroom, was made of aluminum and could be folded for transport. During his stay in the hospital, he had turned twenty six, and Wren had promised to bake him a cake when she returned home.


    When he woke, it was late in the afternoon. Music played from the living room, drifting up the stairs and in through River¡¯s door. In the kitchen, Salem unloaded groceries. Since River had arrived in Stratford, he hadn¡¯t been asked to pay for a single thing, and he felt strangely guilty about this. He supposed Salem didn¡¯t really need him. He¡¯d gotten along perfectly fine without River, after all. ¡°Hey.¡±


    He needed water, but rarely drank it. When he didn¡¯t have alcohol, there was a sense of anxiety inside him. Sitting on a kitchen chair, he reached for a box of granola bars that had just been unpacked. ¡°Hey, River.¡± Salem only listened to psychedelia. Sometimes, he did this after taking acid or mushrooms. ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡±


    It was good to be home. In the same sense, the hospital had made River feel safe. ¡°I met a girl.¡±


    Salem wouldn¡¯t judge him. He was probably the only one who wouldn¡¯t. Zina, as she did last time, would tell him he needed to stop falling for girls in psych wards, as if River wasn¡¯t in the psych ward too. It had been nearly four years since he had had a girlfriend - and this, like every other relationship he¡¯d had, didn¡¯t last long. Salem turned the music down. ¡°What¡¯s her name?¡±


    The picture Wren had drawn sat on River¡¯s dresser, her phone number already programmed into his phone. It was hard not to text it. It was hard to wait. ¡°Wren.¡± He could have spoken about her until the sun went down. He could have thought about her eyes, or her smile, or the way she twitched her hands when she was nervous. River wasn¡¯t always observant. When he liked someone, they took all of his attention. ¡°She¡¯s pretty. Her room was just down the hall from mine.¡± Wren was born in India, and practiced Hinduism. River hated religion. It was a matter of either overcoming trauma, or abandoning Wren. ¡°We¡¯re going to go on a date when she gets discharged.¡± The night before, he¡¯d begun a painting of a red panda, to gift Wren when she returned home. She¡¯d told River of a time when she visited Bhutan and saw red pandas in a conservation habitat, and how she had sat with them for hours. She had a calming presence, and likely could have soothed even the most anxious people. In fact, River knew she could. He¡¯d seen it.


    Finishing up with the groceries, Salem joined him at the table. ¡°You¡¯re in love with this girl, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Wren loved to read, and to hike. River had known her for three months, and wondered how he had ever gotten along without her. Ever since leaving the hospital, he¡¯d wondered what she was doing. ¡°Maybe.¡± He felt vulnerable and exposed, and didn¡¯t like the feeling. Being drunk made feelings like this much less uncomfortable. ¡°Anyway¡­ what did I miss? What¡¯s up with you?¡± It was quiet. Aside from the quiet music playing from the living room, the brothers sat in silence. Salem hated silence. River could have lived in it.


    ¡°Not much.¡± Salem opened a bag of seaweed chips, took a handful. ¡°Kioni¡¯s pregnant. She came over the other day to tell me.¡±


    River knew how Salem felt about kids. He¡¯d been responsible enough over the years to take precautions, but River knew as well as anyone that nothing came without risk. It wasn¡¯t his business. River¡¯s curiosity got the better of him. Despite never meeting Kioni, he knew of her on a superficial level. ¡°Is she keeping it?¡±


    The music faded out; wind roared outside the kitchen window. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Shit.¡± River felt anxious, though he had no reason to. Digging through the cabinet beside the stove, he became frustrated by the tremors in his hands. When the music started up again, he trudged downstairs to continue work on his painting.

 31. Stay Wild, Sunchild

    When the sun went down, Monty dressed up. As a child who was never taught about Halloween, he was eager to join the other kids in their night of fun. As an elementary school student, he was told about Halloween by an older sibling, and had proceeded to gush to his parents about it later that day.  Lillian, upon his excited chattering, had slapped him in the mouth and scolded him for speaking of the devil¡¯s holiday. After this, he never again brought it up - but always longed to participate.


    Three nights before, Zina and Atticus had a fight that left Zina in tears. It reminded Monty of his parents. After arriving home from her vaginoplasty appointment, Zina had been tired and sore, and certainly not in the mood to argue with her husband. Atticus had waited by the door for her to return home, frustrated at her long absence. Monty had cooked his own dinner, and eaten alone in the spare room Zina made for him. Even if he¡¯d had the opportunity to spend time with his brother-in-law, the man made him feel intimidated.


    Six days ago, Mara was found dead by Saphira.  Asher, who had been in prison, left law enforcement baffled. He wasn¡¯t here for long, but even a short stay somewhere scary could be traumatic. Alma was tired of looking after the younger kids. She¡¯d told Monty this the last time they spoke, which wasn¡¯t recent.  The farm had been empty and eerie, filled with children and social workers trying to find places for them. The fact that Monty¡¯s father had no will made things complicated. The children couldn¡¯t stay at home, but there were too many of them to keep together.


    Both of Orion¡¯s parents were dead. It wouldn¡¯t have mattered either way; they wouldn¡¯t have wanted their grandchildren anyway. Monty wondered who his father would have chosen as an emergency contact for his children. He had no siblings: at least, none that Monty knew of. Orion probably wasn¡¯t a man who cared much what happened to his family when he was gone. Orion probably was too proud to imagine anything happening to him.


    Monty always assumed he¡¯d move in with Zina: but she was increasingly busy and tired, and their visits were becoming less frequent. Several of Monty¡¯s siblings were already living on their own when they were his age. No one left home knowing how to support themselves. If you had no older siblings or role models, you had to learn everything on your own.


    He could speculate, but nobody knew for sure who murdered Mara. She¡¯d been found in the kitchen, positioned as though she were resting, with no visible wounds. According to the officer Zina had spoken with earlier that week, Mara died of a cerebral ischemia caused by manual strangulation - a blood choke, she¡¯d called it. Asher¡¯s innocence was proven during the investigation, after his lawyer convinced the lead investigator to check the deleted footage from the security camera Orion had set up outside the garage.


    It never seemed like Sebastian. He was a charismatic and cunning man, although evidently not smart enough to realize that deleted video footage could be recovered. There was a man with him in the footage; Monty had never seen him before. The night of Monty¡¯s father¡¯s death, he used Asher as bait: luring him, drugging him, knowing he¡¯d be too groggy and disoriented to remember the details of the night.


    ¡°It¡¯s always the people you least expect,¡± said Saphira, ¡°I always knew there was something weird about him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why Sebastian would do that,¡± said Adam, ¡°I thought he loved Dad.¡±


    Monty wondered a lot of things. Mostly, he wondered how Sebastian had gotten into the house late at night without a key. He wondered what motive a person could possibly have for killing a man they claimed to respect and honour. It had been proven without a reasonable doubt that Sebastian was responsible for the deaths of Monty¡¯s parents. Despite this, no one was really certain if he was responsible for the death of Mara as well.


    ¡°One of the kids let him in,¡± said Zina, when Sebastian¡¯s trial had ended. ¡°I don¡¯t know who, or why, or whether they knew what he was planning, but somebody let him in.¡±


    After arriving home that night, when Atticus demanded to know where she had gone, Zina raised an eyebrow. ¡°I was getting my surgery. I told you about it months ago.¡±


    Monty had been wary of Atticus since the wedding. He wasn¡¯t the type to speak badly of other people - and Zina loved the man. ¡°You never told me that.¡± Zina was six feet tall. She used to hate this, as a woman, always having to date men she towered over. Atticus was taller than her - and she¡¯d been comforted by this. He stood in front of her, blocking the doorway with an arm on the wall. Zina loved his arms: she¡¯d always been drawn to muscular men. ¡°You don¡¯t tell me anything.¡±


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    It was uncomfortable to eavesdrop on other people¡¯s arguments. No matter where Monty positioned himself, they spoke loud enough that he could hear. Zina¡¯s voice was steady, where Monty¡¯s would have wavered. ¡°I know that I told you, Atticus. Maybe you just weren¡¯t listening.¡± At this, she¡¯d sighed, glancing briefly over at Monty. ¡°I¡¯m tired. I¡¯d like to go to bed.¡± Zina wasn¡¯t an emotional woman. At least, Monty didn¡¯t know her to be. Like anybody else, she reacted to emotional situations, but she¡¯d always managed to get herself under control rather quickly. It helped to know your worth. It had taken Zina many years to get where she was at.


    ¡°Come on, Monty! Let¡¯s go celebrate your first Halloween!¡±


    Zina stood in his doorway, dressed in the Barbie costume she was so excited to receive. For the first time, Monty was leaving the house as a boy, and he felt like one. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± Two days previous, Zina had taken him costume shopping at the city¡¯s costume store. He dressed as a vampire, which felt fitting for the night. Zina, who had promised to take him trick-or-treating, had been eager about introducing Monty to her friend¡¯s younger brother, who was around Monty¡¯s age and also trans. He hadn¡¯t ever had friends before. It would be very nice to have someone else to talk to. ¡°Is your friend coming?¡±


    Monty didn¡¯t remember what it felt like to have fun. He¡¯d certainly never gone out on a weeknight. He¡¯d felt bitter more often than not since leaving the farm: a teenager deserved a proper childhood, with friends, and hobbies, and freedom. It felt inappropriate to be bitter. In the hallway, Zina stopped to look at herself in a standing mirror. ¡°They¡¯re meeting us in a bit. You¡¯re going to love Sam. You two have a lot in common.¡±


    It was getting late. This time of night, most of the young children had gone to bed, leaving only older kids and teenagers. Zina said this was the best time to go. There¡¯d be a Halloween party at the home of one of her friends, who lived down the street. Although Monty wanted to develop a normal social life, he wasn¡¯t sure he was ready to attend a party. She stopped in the kitchen to greet Atticus, who had just gotten home from work.


    Atticus looked up from his phone. ¡°Where are you going?¡± He had a gruff voice, and never spoke just for the sake of speaking.


    ¡°I told you.¡± Zina¡¯s boots were black and spiky. Monty¡¯s sneakers were checkered and scuffed. ¡°We¡¯re meeting Rian and Sam to go door-to-door. Then there¡¯s a party at Danica¡¯s house.¡± She smiled, kissing her husband before opening the door. ¡°We won¡¯t be out that late. I just want Monty to experience Halloween.¡±


    Teenagers whooped outside. Monty¡¯s plastic vampire fangs felt uncomfortable. A clock ticked. Atticus stood, striding to the door in three swift steps. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re wearing?¡±


    He hadn¡¯t always seemed so controlling. Ever since the wedding, he¡¯d been increasingly so. Zina looked down. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with what I¡¯m wearing?¡±


    Atticus reminded Monty of his father. Shrugging, he returned to the table. ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything was wrong with it.¡± Quiet, he looked at Monty, and then Zina. ¡°Anyway, have a good night. I¡¯ll be here, alone.¡±


    It was windy. Leaving the house still felt immoral. Shutting the door behind him, Monty frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t like the way he was talking to you.¡± Monty knew nothing about grownup relationships. Outside of his parents, he had no examples of how they were meant to work. Maybe Monty had been wrong all along. Maybe men owned their wives, the way Orion had tried to own his mother. In a masochistic society, women needed to be protected.


    Zina began to walk; Monty followed. ¡°I thought we¡¯d do a lap around the block before heading to the party. Sound good?¡± It was hard to know what a party would be like. Monty could assume, and it could turn out to be nothing like he expected. Zina walked quickly, so that Monty had to jog in order to keep up. He was the shortest of the children, and certain he had finished growing. There were trademarks of a Zoan child: green eyes, tall stature, small noses. The children of Samantha had thick and curly hair; the children of Lillian had hair that was pin-straight.


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Trick-or-treating was exciting. Doing it for the first time at sixteen years old gave Monty anxiety. The neighbourhood was welcoming, and most knew him as Zina¡¯s brother. At the end of the street, a short woman and a hooded teenager greeted Zina enthusiastically, and she waved Monty forward. ¡°This is my friend Rian and her brother Sam.¡± Feeling cold, and suddenly very self-conscious, he stood at his sister¡¯s side, waiting to be spoken to. ¡°This is my little brother, Monty. It¡¯s his first time celebrating Halloween.¡±


    It had begun to drizzle. Monty wore a cloak that was thin and didn¡¯t keep him warm. After waving awkwardly at the woman and the boy, he scuffed his feet on the sidewalk to follow them inside.

 32. If I Killed Someone For You

    Wren, who lived in Miltonvale Park, had promised to visit River when she was discharged from the hospital. It had been years since he was in a relationship with a girl, but he hadn¡¯t missed the feeling of absolute infatuation that came with meeting someone new. It was one thing to feel nervous: the light butterflies that came with a new crush. Ever since leaving the hospital, River had revolved all of his time around Wren - and he hated this. Before leaving the hospital, she¡¯d recommended him an art book.  River didn¡¯t read. He¡¯d have cut off a finger if Wren told him to.


    Outside the library, a group of boys surrounded a redheaded girl in a wheelchair, and River stopped to observe.


    The night before, River had finished his red panda painting. He¡¯d done this just in time for Wren¡¯s discharge from the hospital, and felt good about completing a task, which he seldom did. Later that day, Wren was coming to see him. Despite spending hours confiding in one another, there was still so much about him she didn¡¯t know. If she was anything like girls he¡¯d dated in the past, she would grow tired of him after discovering how exhausting he was.


    ¡°I know you can walk!¡±


    Outside the library, one of the boys got in the girl¡¯s face. ¡°I saw you walking a minute ago. Why are you using a wheelchair if you can walk?¡± She was alone. A backpack hung from the handlebars of her chair, adorned with sparkly keychains and popper toys. It was none of River¡¯s business. He couldn¡¯t help but watch.


    ¡°It¡¯s really none of your business,¡± said the girl, who looked tiny sitting down. She had childish features and wide-set eyes, which looked very small under her large glasses. ¡°Please leave me alone.¡± She spoke in a monotone voice, looking at the boys with a blank face, clutching the padded handles of her wheelchair.


    The boys laughed. ¡°She¡¯s just pretending,¡± said one to his friend, circling the girl. ¡°She just wants attention.¡± River stood by the car, unusually quiet. He missed drinking, although this is what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. River had been sober for one hundred twenty days; he¡¯d been told to keep track by the hospital¡¯s psychiatrist. It didn¡¯t feel like an achievement. When one vice was taken away, it was replaced with another, and this wasn¡¯t always better. River had taken to eating junk food and smoking weed.


    The girl looked at him. Salem, who had been smoking inside the car, strode over to the group. He could strike up a conversation so easily, and make strangers feel comfortable while doing it. River would have told him to leave it alone. River didn¡¯t bother himself with the drama of strangers. Salem couldn¡¯t pass a problematic situation without stopping to help.


    ¡°We never talk about our mental health in my family. I told my parents I wanted a therapist, and they said I had nothing to be depressed about.¡±


    Wren had beautiful eyes. She¡¯d let them linger on River¡¯s face, giving him an excuse to stare at her. Though she was introverted with most others, she spoke openly with River from the very first time they met. She¡¯d been discharged, and hadn¡¯t stopped texting him since.


    It was a large library, the largest in the city. River stood in the middle of two aisles, lost among the rows and rows of literature. He wasn¡¯t smart enough to be an intellectual. In another section of the library, the redheaded girl sat with Salem, showing him the charms on her backpack.


    Of course he likes her. She¡¯s a redhead.


    The distance from Wren¡¯s house to River¡¯s was twenty minutes on the highway. He¡¯d never seen her drive. He¡¯d never seen her in her natural habitat. Before leaving the library, River read the entire book. It wasn¡¯t long. Wren would be pleased to hear he¡¯d enjoyed it. On the screensaver of his phone, there was a photo he¡¯d painted of Wren.


    ¡°I want to go.¡±


    It was hard to remember that other people had wants, too. River¡¯s DBT therapist had told him to ward off episodes by putting ice water to his face. It sounded stupid. When his emotions became too hard to handle, ice water grounded him quickly.


    Mid-conversation, Salem looked up. ¡°Now?¡±


    River felt exposed. The redheaded girl and another glanced at him; he shoved his hands into his pockets. ¡°Wren¡¯s coming over.¡± Everybody said it was so important to have a life outside of other people. River had never learned how to do this, and he knew he should have. Functioning as a human seemed so simple to everyone else, and made no sense at all to River. He enjoyed painting, and drinking, and self-sabotage. Outside of this, there was really nothing to him.


    Slipping inside the car, River shook snow onto the floor. ¡°Only you could make a friend at the library.¡± Friendships were short-lived and mostly too painful to be worth the time. In the end, friends always left. When River was off his medications, he blamed them for leaving.


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    Salem smiled, playing Pink Floyd through the Bluetooth speakers. ¡°Her name¡¯s Aggie. We have a date on Tuesday.¡±


    It was so easy for everybody else. River could barely function as a human. Everyone else went around impressing others without even trying. ¡°She looked like she was twelve years old.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, she said she gets that a lot.¡±


    At the farm, there was a hole in the living room wall where River had punched through it. A day after this, his mother had sent him to an institution.


    He had a text message. ¡°Why¡¯s she in a wheelchair?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Didn¡¯t ask.¡±


    It all should have been easier: dating, friendships, being an adult. River had no possessions of his own except an easel, and didn¡¯t see himself living independently anytime soon. River would certainly never own a home, or have children, or learn how to stop absolutely hating himself. It was snowy, windy; winter was much more tolerable than summer. Since being treated for Grave¡¯s disease, he¡¯d slowly begun to put on weight.


    Wren was taller than him, but only by a little. She arrived at the townhouse shortly after dinner, bundled in a colourful parka and thick boots. ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late.¡± She was beautiful, still. River imagined she could wear a burlap sack and still be beautiful. ¡°It¡¯s Diwali. I had to help my parents decorate the house.¡±


    The house smelled of weed. It always did. A benefit of owning was the ability to do almost anything you wanted. Shutting the door behind her, River hugged Wren - in twenty-six years, he was never much of a fan of hugs. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± There was more to life than love. There was so much that existed outside of other people. River always had trouble finding it. ¡°Uh - I made you something.¡± He¡¯d put too much work in. In new relationships, it always happened the same way. ¡°It¡¯s stupid.¡±


    Wren needed a lot of reassurance. This was something River had learned quickly after meeting her. Earlier that day, he¡¯d cleaned his room from top to bottom, knowing Wren would find it hard to relax in a messy space. After removing her shoes, she scrubbed her hands and arms, and then scrubbed them again. ¡°What is it? I bet it¡¯s not stupid.¡± He wondered how the fear of contamination affected a nurse at work. He wondered how intrusive thoughts made working life a challenge. She followed quietly, mumbling to herself or stepping over tile cracks on the way to River¡¯s room.


    The painting leaned against the wall behind River¡¯s door, sleek, painted on a large canvas. When he set it on the bed, Wren¡¯s dark eyes sparkled.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can keep doing this. It¡¯s been eight months and you still won¡¯t have sex with me.¡±


    River¡¯s ex was named Auryn. He had a very bad habit of becoming completely wrapped up in people who were bad for him, and maybe she¡¯d been the same. In the end, he always gave in. If sleeping with someone was how to make them stay, River was guilty of it. The funny thing was, after all that, they all still left.


    Wren laid across the bed, her head on his legs. There would come a time when she¡¯d see him lose his temper: punch walls, curl up into a ball and scream, say hurtful things he didn¡¯t mean. She was quiet, fiddling absently with her hair, looking up at him. ¡°What¡¯re you thinking about?¡±


    He could confide in her. This didn¡¯t make it easy. ¡°I have to tell you something.¡±


    Having spent the past four months talking nearly nonstop, there wasn¡¯t much about River that Wren didn¡¯t know. He¡¯d confided all his fears, traumas, dreams, and still this didn¡¯t seem like enough. His mother would tell him to be less vulnerable - it¡¯d make him weak, and controllable. Boys aren¡¯t meant to be vulnerable, she¡¯d say, with that distasteful look in her eyes.


    Wren had a chip on her front tooth. ¡°What is it?¡±


    River played with her hair. It was soft, and very long. It had been a long time since he¡¯d had feelings for a girl - and even longer since a girl had reciprocated. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s that big of a deal¡­ but girls always get mad.¡± Wren was a good listener. It felt nice to be fully paid attention to. Everybody was so busy working, socializing, and nobody had time for River. ¡°I¡¯m asexual. I don¡¯t even like watching sex on TV.¡±


    That¡¯s not a thing. Once you meet the right girl, you¡¯ll realize how fun sex can be.


    Wren sat up. She didn¡¯t look disappointed, or upset, or confused. ¡°Me too.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Most people assumed there couldn¡¯t be a healthy relationship without sex: as if abstinence in a romantic relationship was caused only by relationship problems or lack of attraction. River used to think this too. River used to think he was unlovable outside of sex, and so what was the point of falling in love? He was tired, and thirsty.


    ¡°I¡¯m asexual too.¡± Wren smiled, standing to remove her sweatshirt. ¡°I only figured it out recently. My mom said it was just a phase.¡±


    Paranoia always crept up on him at the most annoying times. Frowning, River sat up on the bed. ¡°You¡¯re probably just saying that to make me feel better. Then you¡¯ll sleep with someone else when I still don¡¯t want to have sex with you in six months. That¡¯s what they all do.¡± It was quiet and cold, the bedroom almost empty of possessions. Wren looked hurt by what he¡¯d said, but she knew him better than to take it personally.


    ¡°You know I¡¯d never do that, River. Besides¡­¡± Smoothing out the blanket, Wren sat beside him again, ¡°there¡¯s more to life than sex.¡±


    She was so kind-hearted. He was in love with her. They could have sat in silence for the rest of the night, and he wouldn¡¯t have gotten bored.

 33. Havoc Has a Way of Rearing Its Head at The Most Inopportune Moments

    There were more than two thousand species of firefly, and most emitted light. Bioluminescence, or the production of light by living organisms, was responsible for light emission in fireflies - which were normally yellow, green, or red. The light of a firefly could travel at wavelengths of up to six hundred seventy nanometres, which wasn¡¯t nearly as far as it sounded. Humans were drawn to the firefly - so much so that their population was beginning to decline due to firefly tourism and pesticides. As a young child, Aggie had held a yellow firefly in the palm of her hand on a camping trip, and she had felt a connection with them ever since.


    Able-bodied people took their health for granted. When Aggie was healthy, she had taken her health for granted too. The truth was that any regular person could become disabled at any time, and never see it coming. Aggie became an ambulatory wheelchair user at the age of thirteen, although she never accepted this for many years. There was a sense of shame that came with disability, especially as a child. For years, Aggie forced herself to walk, even when she physically couldn¡¯t stand a moment longer. For years, she denied illnesses and the need for accommodations in school, scolding herself for symptoms and weakness. There came a point in any person¡¯s life when they were forced to come to terms with their disabilities. For Aggie, this came in secondary school, after fainting while forcing herself to run laps in gym class. A person could will themselves to be healthy a million times. Sometimes, it just wasn¡¯t meant to be.


    Being an ambulatory wheelchair user meant that Aggie had the capability of walking for short periods of time, but needed the help of mobility aids to get around. This also meant that she was harassed often: accused of being a liar by strangers who assumed all wheelchair users had to have some degree of paralysis. The last time this happened was several days ago, at the library Aggie frequented with her best friend, Briar. The library was inaccessible, and the wheel of Aggie¡¯s chair had gotten stuck in a rut. When she stood briefly to free it, a man nearby shouted at her.


    ¡°Why are you using a wheelchair? You can clearly walk!¡±


    She got this question often. As a teenager, it bothered her. It seemed the older Aggie got, the less consideration she put toward the opinions of others. There had been a man at the library, accompanied by another who looked little like him; Aggie later learned they were brothers.


    It was hard to make conversation. Aggie¡¯s father said it was this way for everyone.


    At twenty-four years old, Aggie had spent more time in hospitals than all of her friends combined. Some days, she could walk up and down the hallway of her tiny house without feeling dizzy. Other days, she could hardly get out of bed without feeling weak. She dreamed of travelling and falling in love. She was too much of a liability.


    ¡°Good morning, Daddy.¡±


    Since the death of his youngest daughter, Aggie¡¯s father had become very protective. Most would have been annoyed by this. Despite being an adult, Aggie felt as though she were perpetually twelve years old. She and her father lived alone, with the tiny toy poodle Aggie had registered as an emotional support animal. Kieve, who had gotten married and moved out, came around for holidays and the occasional weekend visit. Aggie¡¯s house was quiet and tidy. She liked it this way.


    ¡°Good morning, my girl.¡± Aggie¡¯s father was a man who didn¡¯t talk much, but whose words were never meaningless. Like his children, he had bright red hair, though his was beginning to thin. ¡°What¡¯s your plan for today?¡±


    Cecil was a strict man, but he had good reason to be. He was worried about many things: and most of these were out of his control. Aggie was tired, though she almost always was. ¡°I¡¯m going on a date.¡±


    A widowed father, Cecil was always more lenient with his son than his daughters. Kieve was allowed to go on dates as a teenager, and aged out of curfews by the time he was sixteen. Aggie had never been on a date. She sat on the small living room couch, which folded out into a bed, and which she used to share with Kieve. ¡°A date? With a boy?¡± Her father frowned, sitting across from Aggie on the couch. ¡°You¡¯re too young for that.¡±


    Her wheelchair was small and didn¡¯t fit well in the home. Cecil had never been able to afford much more than three hundred square feet. ¡°Actually, Kieve was fourteen when he went on his first date, and Blodwyn was fifteen when she went on hers - which means that, because I¡¯m already twenty four, I¡¯m more than old enough for mine.¡± It had been her idea, the destination. It was unusual for a boy to speak to her without saying something mean.


    Aggie could hear the roaring of the refrigerator, and the wind swooping outside the window. She was easily warm, but dressed in layers even in the summertime. As she lay on her stomach across the couch, her father chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re right, as usual. Where are you going?¡±


    It was nerve-racking. Aggie would have been embarrassed to admit she¡¯d never been on a date. Due to her disabilities and her overprotective father, there were many things she¡¯d never done. ¡°We¡¯re going to a movie. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be back for dinner.¡± In the winter, it was hard to travel by wheelchair. In the winter, Aggie didn¡¯t often leave the house. It was a small, foldable wheelchair that fit neatly into her father¡¯s car. On bad days, she couldn¡¯t go anywhere without it.


    Cecil loved his children. When Blodwyn, the youngest of three, fell victim to depression, he had never learned to forgive himself. ¡°Who¡¯s the guy?¡±


    It had been the idea of Aggie¡¯s best friend to visit the library. Briar was an introverted and studious girl who lived in a big city, and Aggie very seldom enjoyed leaving the house. ¡°His name¡¯s Salem. He works as a bar manager.¡± As she spoke, the tiny toy poodle jumped onto the couch in front of her. ¡°You told me to get out and meet more people. You said you were sad because I only have one friend.¡±


    The day she¡¯d met Salem, he¡¯d shouted at the man who harassed her. Aggie wasn¡¯t afraid to stand up for herself, but it was nice to get a break from it once in a while. With him, conversation wasn¡¯t confusing or complicated the way it was normally. She¡¯d lost track of time: babbling on about fireflies and Adventure Time, barely letting anyone else get a word in. He didn¡¯t seem to mind: listening closely, even asking questions about things she was interested in. This had impressed her, because it seemed most people just cared about their own interests.


    Her father sighed. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean boys, love. Boys don¡¯t make good friends.¡±


    Never sleep with someone on the first date, her mother had said, when Aggie first became interested in boys. You need to be sure a boy really likes you before you sleep with him. If you don¡¯t, he might just take advantage of you.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    Blodwyn had loved knitting, and bowling, and stars. She died at the age of fifteen, and nobody had even known she¡¯d been suffering.


    ¡°Boys don¡¯t want to be friends with girls.¡± Cecil petted the dog behind her ears, and then stood to pour himself a cup of tea. ¡°They want to sleep with girls. You¡¯re young. I¡¯m worried you might not be able to tell if a boy is taking advantage of you.¡±


    He sounded like her brother. Kieve had said the same things many times. ¡°Daddy, you look at me as a baby because I¡¯m disabled. I might seem like a little girl sometimes, but I¡¯m a grown-up now, and I want to do grown-up things.¡± He had reason to worry. Having lost one daughter in the past, Cecil couldn¡¯t bear to lose another.


    Aggie was born in Swansea, the second-largest city of Wales. In primary school, she was educated in Welsh-language education. In secondary school, she was bullied endlessly, finding solace in books and art. It was a challenge to sit still, to volunteer in class, to look at someone when they were speaking. In secondary school, Aggie was punished often for acting differently than the other students.


    She changed in her loft, which was cramped and humid. In Wales, she¡¯d had her own bedroom, with a door and ample space to move around. In Wales, her whole family had been together. On the wall hung a large photo of Aggie¡¯s mother. She¡¯d had the same thick, dark red hair as her daughters: the same stretchy, soft skin as Aggie. Her parents had met when they were young, attending high school together in Wales, getting married directly after graduation. Cecil used to look at Isolde as though she were the only woman in the world, and treat her the same way.


    Cecil worked irregular hours, never the same time every day. This caused Aggie stress, but it wasn¡¯t her responsibility to keep track of her father¡¯s ever-changing schedule. Sometimes when her father was at work, Kieve would come to keep her company at Cecil¡¯s request. Sometimes he¡¯d bring his wife along.


    Aggie sat on the edge of the couch. ¡°Mam, I miss you.¡± On the hardest of days, she missed Swansea: the people, the culture. It had been three years since her father moved the family overseas, drawn to suffering from the memories of the childhood home. ¡°Some days, I feel like I¡¯ll never really be a grown-up, even though I¡¯m twenty four. Everybody else knows how to keep a job, and socialise, and make friends, but I don¡¯t know how. Daddy says being different makes me unique.¡± Aggie¡¯s mother had understood her more than anyone. She¡¯d been a good listener, and Aggie liked to think that she still was. The day of the car accident, Isolde was driving herself and Aggie to a physiotherapy appointment, and the car was T-boned by a pick-up truck.


    Aggie¡¯s family wasn¡¯t religious. On days she felt overwhelmed, speaking aloud to her mother was a calming activity. Her body hurt. In junior high, she dislocated her ankle playing in gym class.


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    ¡°Mam, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve been paying attention, but I¡¯m going on my first date today.¡± Isolde was a welcoming and outgoing woman. There was never a person who didn¡¯t like her. ¡°It feels like, at some point he¡¯s going to decide I¡¯m too much, just like everybody else.¡± There was a lullaby her mother always used to sing every night. It always made Aggie feel calm. ¡°I¡¯m not as pretty or grown-up as his ex-girlfriend, and she¡¯s having a baby. I don¡¯t know how I feel about it.¡±


    Before Blodwyn¡¯s death, Aggie had been the last person to speak to the teen. She was twenty years old, and doing her best to comfort Blodwyn after a disagreement with her boyfriend. The mourning liked to be treated with compassion, and Aggie never believed in sugar coating the truth. Blodwyn died alone inside her bedroom, found by her father, leaving her friends wondering why she hadn¡¯t reached out. For a long time after Blodwyn¡¯s death, Cecil never let Aggie out of his sight.


    She was long overdue for her first date. She¡¯d had brief crushes on boys before, but no self-respecting teenager would have been caught dead speaking with the weird girl. It had always seemed so simple for everyone else: making friends. Kieve was so good at it. Kieve could walk into a crowd of strangers and come out laughing with a group of new friends.


    Dressed in all black, Salem was the most handsome man. He was so grown up compared to Aggie: working full time, owning a home, driving a car. At her request, he stepped inside for a moment, not at all intimidated by her father¡¯s harsh stare. Cecil had a way of intimidating people by staring at them in just the right way - but it had never failed, and Salem wasn¡¯t the type to be intimidated.


    She¡¯d made the first move. This was surprising to Blair, and it seemed to be surprising to Salem, too. After expressing interest in a date, Aggie asked for his phone number, and he¡¯d agreed. Honesty wasn¡¯t intimidating. Growing up, she was scolded for it.


    ¡°Hey, Aggie.¡±


    He was so friendly, popular. Instead of spending the afternoon having fun with friends, he¡¯d driven forty five minutes to come see her. As a disabled person, Aggie spent a lot of her time feeling invisible. It was as though if anyone paid any attention to her at all, it was to mock or stare. It was as though there was a target on her back just from leaving the house.


    ¡°Never be the first to fall in love,¡± said Kieve, when he wasn¡¯t poking fun at Aggie. ¡°It¡¯ll make you seem vulnerable.¡± As a teenager, she might have thought it a bad thing to be vulnerable - but how could a relationship grow without it? There was risk to falling in love, but there was risk to anything. You could fall in love with somebody today, and wake up in the morning feeling as though they¡¯d never existed. Aggie didn¡¯t know a lot about love. She¡¯d known she loved Salem before he left the library.


    He drove a sports utility vehicle, which was green and looked futuristic. According to the user manual in the front seat glove box, it had a range of four hundred eighty kilometres. Salem cared a lot for nature and animals - Aggie had learned this during a late-night conversation. She didn¡¯t know much about cars. She¡¯d never learned to drive.


    Her wheelchair fit neatly in the back seat of the car. Aggie had tried to drive before. There was always too much going on around her. ¡°Your car smells like smoke.¡± Aggie¡¯s pink backpack was decorated with charms and squishy keychains, which soothed her when she was feeling anxious. Over the past weeks, this had been more often than not. ¡°Smoking is bad for you. I don¡¯t want to date you if you smoke cigarettes.¡± People claimed to value honesty. When Aggie was honest, they always just got offended. How was a person supposed to know how much honesty was too much, if nobody ever said anything?


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± It was warm in the car. Salem was a cautious driver. ¡°It¡¯s just weed. Does that change how you feel?¡± He was too attractive to date somebody like Aggie: she liked his piercings, and smile, and braid.


    When Aggie¡¯s mother had been alive, she¡¯d dealt with the same major disability. Aggie had seen her mother smoke weed since she was a child, all the way up until the day she died. If she¡¯d asked to join, her mother probably wouldn¡¯t have minded. She fiddled with a popper toy on her backpack, staring straight ahead. ¡°My mother smoked weed all the time. I¡¯ve never tried it. Maybe I will someday, because I do have a lot of pain sometimes.¡±


    Making conversation was hard. Most of the time, Aggie had no idea how to keep a conversation going. She got to know people via text or email: quick ways of communicating that didn¡¯t involve speaking face-to-face. Aggie was the one who had suggested seeing a movie. She enjoyed company, but not in a way that involved talking or making eye contact. They could have gone anywhere: a fast food restaurant, a yard sale, a meaningless drive. He could have taken her anywhere, and she would have been pleased.


    ¡°Why are you in a wheelchair if you can walk?¡±


    Aggie hated the questions of strangers, though they were often. Kieve would scowl at them, cursing at them or shooting them a dirty look. Disclosing medical issues to strangers was uncomfortable and unnecessary - but there was often no way around it. It was always the first thing, when new people came along: always a question of what had happened to make her this way, as if sharing personal health issues was common decency. The theatre was loud, but not unbearably. Aggie hadn¡¯t been to the movies in ages, and she¡¯d admittedly missed it. It was new and scary to like somebody so much - and Aggie didn¡¯t know what it was about her, but falling in love was both simple and petrifying.


    There was a lot of space inside the vehicle. Aggie could spread out in the front seat with room to spare, and her wheelchair wasn¡¯t cramped. After getting comfortable, she looked around. ¡°Is this an electric car?¡±


    Salem was far friendlier than her. He smiled at everyone he saw, and went out of his way to help those in need. ¡°Yep.¡±


    Aggie didn¡¯t know what it was about her. Recently, she finished memorizing every country¡¯s flag. ¡°Are you an environmentalist? If you are, there are so many more things you should be doing to help save the planet. When I was a kid, I went every year with my mom to plant a tree on earth day.¡±


    He never made fun of her. If anything, he seemed to appreciate her honesty. ¡°Oh, you know. Just trying to do my part.¡± He had a touch that was soft and warm and made Aggie feel safe. If it were anybody else, she¡¯d hate the physical contact.


    She hated scary movies. For the first time in her life, she¡¯d chosen something other than a children¡¯s adventure film. Her chair sat awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, folded in half to save space. It was a small and generic chair - this had been all her father could afford.


    Aggie had a text from her father. He was a sensitive man, and never would have forgiven himself if she were alone and in trouble. She wouldn¡¯t end up like Blodwyn - he¡¯d make certain of this. Feeling clammy, she took a handful of M&M¡¯s.


    The last time she¡¯d spoken to her sister, Blodwyn had been upset about a boy. She¡¯d had a new boyfriend, and she¡¯d known her father disliked him. It was obvious how differently girls and boys were treated in society. As a teenager, Kieve was permitted to bring girls into his bedroom with the door closed. As an adult, Aggie was hardly permitted to even talk to a boy. If she were a boy, nobody would have cared what she did.


    She wanted to rest her head. It was stupid, how much of an effect a random person could have on you. She was exhausted by noise and pain and jump scares, and couldn¡¯t get comfortable. If it wasn¡¯t something Aggie initiated, physical touch made her feel nauseated.


    When the film came to an end, and the lights flickered back on, Aggie¡¯s head hurt. There was pain in her legs and chest, and the lights hurt her eyes. Padding down the short staircase to her wheelchair, she followed the crowd of people out of the theatre. Socializing was hard. In school, Aggie was often scolded for doing it wrong. ¡°Did you know there¡¯s more than two thousand species of firefly?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a dork,¡± Kieve would say, whenever she shared a new fun fact. ¡°You know that¡¯s the reason you don¡¯t have any friends, right?¡±


    Salem opened the car door for Aggie. Even just a simple look from him was enough to make her breath catch. It was foolish. Being the first one to develop feelings meant being the first one to get hurt. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± In the cup holder between the seats, there was a slim red pipe and a metal grinder. ¡°You like fireflies?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re my favourite animal.¡± To anybody else, it would have been embarrassing to admit her fascination with fireflies. Aggie had many interests, but nobody ever seemed to share them. ¡°A firefly is actually a beetle, even though it has the word fly in its name. Females have light-emitting organs on their abdomen, which is actually cold and has no UV radiation.¡± This was the reason Aggie couldn¡¯t keep friends. She was smarter than the average person her age, and seemed to offend people when she told them so. ¡°Sorry. My older brother says nobody cares about my fun facts.¡±


    It was noisy. Even the most quiet of sounds became too noisy.  Aggie fiddled with the keychains on her backpack, which were sequined, and flipped back and forth between colours. She¡¯d been told many times that it was childish to carry around sequined charms and squishy stuffed animal keychains. She¡¯d never been bothered by being childish. Salem smiled, driving with one hand. ¡°You¡¯re cute.¡± This was hard to believe. ¡°Did you know there¡¯s an instrument you can play without touching it?¡±


    People were filled with fun facts. All anyone ever wanted to do was make small talk. ¡°That sounds weird. I want to see it.¡± For a girl who hated to be touched, it was strange to crave human contact. Hugging Salem made her feel safe and warm - she could have done it all night. ¡°Thanks for not saying anything about my wheelchair. Everybody says something. You smell nice. I like hugging you.¡± She caught people off guard. After a lifetime of being made to feel like too much, Aggie was finally beginning to feel like just enough. ¡°You¡¯ll never be too much,¡± her mother had said, ¡°for the right person.¡± Aggie¡¯s mother was a wise woman. Aggie wanted to grow up to be just like her.


    He had nice eyes. After parking outside of Aggie¡¯s house, he picked up a pipe. ¡°Figured you¡¯d tell me when you wanted me to know.¡±


    It was time to go home. Aggie, for the first time in a long time, didn¡¯t want to go home. There was fear, always, of being left behind after a night out, of doing something wrong without meaning to. ¡°I have a blood circulation disorder called POTS, and a connective tissue disorder called Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. My mother had them too.¡± Her mother, Isolde, had died in the same car accident that left Aggie with PTSD. At her father¡¯s insistence, she¡¯d spoken to somebody about it.  ¡°You can look it up later, because I don¡¯t want you to be late for work listening to me explain.¡± She wanted to kiss him. Aggie¡¯s head hurt. There was always something that hurt. ¡°Goodnight, Salem.¡±


    Aggie always liked people more than they liked her. She always knew she didn¡¯t have much to offer. ¡°Aggie, wait.¡± Even the way he said her name made her weak. She¡¯d never spent so much time with a boy before: except maybe Kieve, and never by choice. They sat very close, and Aggie wasn¡¯t uncomfortable. ¡°My next day off is Monday. Do you want to go out again that day?¡±


    It was way past curfew. ¡°Yes.¡± Inside the house, Kieve watched out the window, likely prepared to question Aggie the second she stepped inside. ¡°Are you going to kiss me goodnight?¡± It was easy to be blunt. Aggie had been doing it her whole life.


    Salem checked the time. ¡°Would you like me to?¡±


    Aggie was tired. On a bad night, she had too much pain to sleep. ¡°Yes.¡±


    If somebody loves you, you¡¯ll know. But you have to remember that people show love in different ways, and not everyone is honest and thoughtful like you. The most important thing to remember is that, even though some people will say you¡¯re weird or intense or anything else, you deserve to be loved just like anybody else. Do you understand?


    Yes, Mummy. I understand.


    Aggie had never been kissed before - and she hadn¡¯t been prepared for the way it made her head spin, or her chest pound. Aggie could have dreamed of being kissed a thousand times, and she still could never have dreamed of this.

 34. Like Angels

    Orion and Lillian Zoan had been buried together in the Clyde River cemetery. No one ever went to visit them: not even the churchgoers who¡¯d claimed to adore them. It wasn¡¯t hard to believe. When you were dead, no one remembered you. It was stupid to let your feelings get the better of you. River had been doing it for years. Sebastian had been last spotted in Newfoundland and Labrador, around the area where Hannah lived. It was always curious to River how the boy managed to travel without a vehicle to his name.


    It was almost New Year¡¯s Eve. Wren, who didn¡¯t celebrate, had invited River over for the night, and he was anxious to go. Waking up that morning had made him feel grumpy and sad, without a single indicator as to why. For most of his life, his default emotion had been sadness. After her very early morning shift at the hospital, when River was home alone, Wren had come to pick him up. It was stressful, the thought of being disliked by her sisters - but from what River had heard, both were outspoken women. He was very cold: but sweat through his tee shirt so that his winter jacket stuck to him. When Wren parked her small purple hatchback, she took quite a while to get out.


    Raven was the owner of the mobile home that Wren lived in. The eldest of the sisters, Raven was thirty four, married to a man her parents had chosen. This was strange to River. In some parts of the world, arranged marriages were standard practice.


    He frowned. ¡°What if your sisters don¡¯t like me?¡±


    He was often embarrassed about his obsession with being liked - as if rejection by a stranger meant he was worthless and meaningless. As the sisters of his favourite person, the opinions of Robin and Raven meant something to him. River knew he should have learned to value himself without the opinions of others. This seemed so seamless to everybody else.


    Wren unlocked the door with a small silver key, which hung off a tie dye keychain. She had spoken of her sisters to him, and of him to them. The day would end badly, probably. He hadn¡¯t yet met the women, and was already on edge. ¡°If my sisters care about my happiness, they¡¯ll like you.¡± This should have been comforting. River wasn¡¯t a consistent boyfriend, or a well-adjusted one. In the four months since meeting Wren, he had been calmer - but all of his well-being revolved around her, and this could leave him broken.


    The mobile home was small and well-kept, possessing three bedrooms and one bathroom. River knew that Wren paid her sister rent, but he wasn¡¯t quite sure of the amount, and it didn¡¯t really matter. The sun wasn¡¯t yet up; the women still slept. He followed Wren to her small bedroom at the back of the mobile home, clutching in his hand the small plastic bag he¡¯d packed with things. ¡°It¡¯s okay if they don¡¯t. I¡¯m used to not being liked.¡± Wren, who¡¯d insisted he bring a change of clothes, changed into her inside clothes in the corner of her room. She was beautiful and exposed, and even this didn¡¯t make River feel excited.


    He shut the door. ¡°Don¡¯t look.¡± River hadn¡¯t always been afraid of nudity. He changed quickly, lying next to Wren on her small trundle bed. ¡°Fuck, you¡¯re pretty.¡± Wren, who was born in Australia to Indian parents, was far more cultured than River: having travelled to six countries and lived in three. When she sat up against the wall, he plopped his head on her thighs.


    What¡¯s going to happen when she gets tired of you like all the rest? What¡¯s going to happen when she decides to leave you?


    River had spoken about his intrusive thoughts to his therapists - many of whom had suggested journaling as a way of managing them. He¡¯d tried this. The trick was to stop an intrusive thought before it completed itself: a task that, apparently, a mentally healthy person was fully capable of. Since leaving the hospital, he¡¯d replaced alcohol with weed and hoped this to have the same effect.


    River missed booze. Some days, it took all of his energy to not fall back into it.


    He¡¯d fallen asleep. When the sun came up and voices talked loudly outside the bedroom, River woke to realise Wren had gone.


    I try so hard to love you, but you¡¯re so exhausting. It¡¯s always something with you. It takes all of my energy to spend time with you.


    Bad habits were hard to reverse. Vices were replaced with vices, which were sometimes worse than before. They all claimed to support a friend¡¯s mental health issues, and then ran away at the first sight of a crisis. River had seen movies and heard stories about crazy people - as if people like him chose to act the way they did, as if they were miserable on purpose. He¡¯d been called all sorts of things, and crazy was the tamest of them.


    The sisters sat around the living room, chatting casually and listening to soft Hindi music. River was an outsider, an imposter, standing quietly in the hallway outside Wren¡¯s room and observing. She was the youngest of her sisters, and - according to her - the least accomplished of the family. Raven and Robin had met nice Indian men, gotten jobs as doctors and data scientists, established themselves. Wren had never been interested in following the footsteps of her sisters, and her parents had evidently been disappointed by this.


    She noticed him, and stood. ¡°Good morning, sleepyhead.¡± When she wasn¡¯t working, she wore mostly tie dye. When she took River¡¯s hands, the women looked at him; already, it was hard to self-regulate. He¡¯d promised Wren to respect her sisters, but had no idea what they¡¯d think of him. Wren smiled, leading him down the short hallway to where her sisters sat. ¡°This is my boyfriend, River. He lives in Stratford.¡± She sat, pulling him down next to her. He should have greeted the women. He should have done anything than just sit there.


    Raven wore a red sari and a bindi - the significance of which had been explained to River by Wren. He was nothing like them. Wren and her sisters were religious, dedicated, accomplished. River could barely get through the day without a breakdown. Raven stared at him for a long time, saying nothing. He was too sober to be here.


    ¡°Why are you staring at me?¡±


    Though she¡¯d purchased the mobile home, Raven no longer lived there. She¡¯d moved into the home of her husband after getting married, leaving the mobile home for Wren, coming to visit once in a while when she wasn¡¯t busy with wifely duties. She raised an eyebrow at River, turning the music down. ¡°You met my sister in the psych ward.¡± This was so stigmatized, still: psychiatric hospitals were for the insane and the dangerous, and not people who just needed a little extra help getting by.


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    River held her gaze. ¡°Yes.¡±


    He wished it were easier to be apathetic. He was many things, and apathetic was never one of them. Wren gave her sister a confused look, holding River¡¯s hands, which were sweaty. It was important to Wren that her family liked him, that he be on his best behaviour. Even his best behaviour was disappointingly lacking. Raven sat back in her chair, looking at him as though he were a disagreeable son. ¡°What do you do for work?¡±


    Wren clicked her tongue. ¡°Raven-¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The woman was unabashed, adjusting her clothing with dainty fingers. ¡°He needs to be able to provide for you. Do you think I¡¯d marry a man who made me the breadwinner?¡±


    It was cold, snow piled up around the trailer. It was just what he needed, a reminder that he¡¯d done nothing with his life. ¡°You¡¯re so old-fashioned.¡± Wren sighed at her sister, sitting forward in her seat. ¡°You married a man Mom and Dad picked out because you couldn¡¯t bear to disappoint them.¡±


    ¡°Unlike you - ¡° Raven cleared her throat, putting her hands up in the air. ¡°It was just a question.¡± She had very long hair, which was swept back into a thick braid. ¡°What about you, Robin? Anything you want to know?¡±


    It felt like a job interview. It¡¯d probably end the same way. River didn¡¯t know what it was about him that made people so sour. He tried so hard to be worth something.


    Robin shrugged, more casual than her elder sister, and only a few years younger. ¡°I¡¯m not as picky as you, Raven. If he makes Wren happy, then I¡¯m happy.¡± Nobody looked at River. They spoke as though he wasn¡¯t there, and this had always gotten to him.


    ¡°You know I¡¯m sitting right here, right?¡±


    Most of the time, River didn¡¯t mean to say the things he did. Words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, often leaving him with a bitter taste. Wren looked sideways at him, her face unreadable. The whole day had been a stupid idea, and so had trying to date. For a moment, it was quiet. He pulled his hands from Wren¡¯s, feeling warm and exposed. The room swayed, leaving him dizzy. That was always the way it started. Raven looked at her sisters, seeming to speak to them silently. Standing quietly, Wren followed the women to a room in the back.


    Anger tasted like poison, and left a burning feeling all through your body. Anger tasted like fire, leaving your skin scorched all the way through. Mirrors were contorted in a way that showed River¡¯s reflections as someone he didn¡¯t recognize: bags under his eyes that seemed to swallow his face. In the emptiest of rooms, insecurity was fueled by bitterness, swallowing everything around it until all that was left was a crooked trail of dirt. River wanted to bury himself in dirt, breathing it until it filled his lungs to the top.


    The women spoke in hushed whispers behind the shut door of the largest bedroom. Exclusion was much friendlier than rejection, and just as familiar. They all could claim to understand. They all could make up words that mimicked comfort.


    ¡°What did I tell you about meeting boys in psych wards, Wren? Your mental health is bad enough as it is without some purple-haired crazy sucking you inside his weird delusions. You need to stop dating white guys and find somebody who can look after you.¡±


    Anger tasted like regret, swirling around you in big waves until it swept you up. Anger tasted like stone-cold sparks, like huge bolts of thunder that left holes in the earth when they touched down. When Wren touched him, molten lava bubbled through his body, leaving him scalding everywhere it hit. When she spoke, words fizzled into static, filling his head with screams that left his ears ringing. Outside, snow filled River¡¯s shoes, and it felt like being burned alive. This was foolish. Being burned alive would probably hurt less.


    Nobody should have to love me, Z. People have better things to do with their lives than deal with me.


    Screaming left him feeling raw. Running left him sweaty and exhausted.


    On the side of the road, River stopped to be sick. His throat burned, more than the worst sore throat he¡¯d ever had. It was too early to be drunk. It never mattered. Tomorrow, he¡¯d be ashamed to admit he¡¯d used the last of his government handouts to get drunk. Today, everything felt like fire.


    I promise I won¡¯t drink anymore. I promise I¡¯ll work on getting better.


    You have me now, River. I¡¯m going to help you get better, too.


    He didn¡¯t want to be found - but had no idea where he¡¯d ended up, or how much time had passed. When Wren¡¯s tiny purple hatchback pulled up in front of the bus stop he hovered at, he didn¡¯t look at her. The whiskey bottle he¡¯d bought earlier sat at his side in a snow drift, nearly empty. It all tasted the same, when he was Worked Up. Wiping his mouth with a ratty coat sleeve, River noticed his eyes felt frozen.


    ¡°There you are.¡± Wren was alone, under-dressed for the weather. She wore thin mittens and regular running shoes, and she looked tired. River made everybody tired. ¡°What happened?¡± River¡¯s head spun; Wren was blurry. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing so well.¡± It was hard to tell how much time had passed since he¡¯d run off. It always ended with River running off, and realising after calming down that many hours had passed. He didn¡¯t speak to Wren, though she knelt in front of him - he was tired of being looked for, and weary of everybody he loved.


    Wren took his hands, which shook from cold or from anger. There always seemed to be something to be angry about. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have brought you to meet my sisters. I knew how they were.¡± She always spoke softly, except when very angry. River had only seen her very angry once, and it had taken him a while to calm her down. ¡°I¡¯m here, River. I understand how you¡¯re feeling.¡±


    They all claimed to understand. They all claimed to empathise. River was tired of being pitied.


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t!¡± Feeling dizzy and wasted, he ripped his hands away from Wren¡¯s, leaving her looking wounded. ¡°Stop saying you understand, when you clearly don¡¯t! I¡¯m just some fucking disaster people only spend time with out of pity.¡± Wren was so easy to love, and even easier to mistreat. ¡°You¡¯re so fucking naive.¡±


    It was windy. Snow whooshed around River¡¯s face; he was far too numb to be bothered by it. Wren was quiet, a mix of expressions on her face, all of them hard to read. ¡°You¡¯re drunk.¡± She picked up the frozen bottle, and then threw it down again. ¡°You promised.¡±


    She should have known better than to take him seriously. ¡°I promise a lot of things.¡± After today, she¡¯d probably never speak to him again. This was best. River was used to sabotaging relationships. Sometimes, he thought he did it on purpose.


    Wren was holding his phone. He didn¡¯t care about this - he was an open book, and secrets always came out. Wren already knew everything there was to know about him: the names of his siblings, all of his favourite music, how he felt about being alone. He always cared for people more than they cared for him. It didn¡¯t matter. That¡¯s the way it always went.


    ¡°You have a text,¡± said Wren, softly. She was the opposite of River: gentle, cautious, tidy. ¡°I think you¡¯ll want to see it. It¡¯s about your sister.¡±


    Her touches were gentle. Even the tenderest sent fire all through him. ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± After his rage wore off, River hardly remembered what he¡¯d been angry about at all. In the past, Wren had promised not to leave him. Everybody broke promises. River broke the most of all. He¡¯d been told by therapists in the past that those who claimed not to care about something usually cared most. He had a favourite sister. So did everyone else with multiple siblings.


    It snowed, turning to ice at River¡¯s feet. Wren sat very close to him, and still not as close as he would have liked. ¡°River,¡± she said, setting his phone in his hand, ¡°Alma¡¯s dead.¡±

 35. Spiderwebs

    It took a lot of effort to come across as apathetic.  Hannah had been doing it for months.  Alma¡¯s death had been labelled as undetermined - though everybody knew the cause behind it. Hannah could have told the cops a thousand times who killed her, but the fact of the matter was that nobody really cared.  On the night of her death, Alma had been at her small apartment alone, having put Esther to bed hours ago. The incident had been blamed on a bad fall, or an unexpected health concern, as though Alma were in severe danger living on her own. Perhaps she was.


    ¡°Alma¡¯s death wasn¡¯t an accident,¡± Hannah had insisted to the police officers investigating the scene. ¡°She was murdered by our neighbour, Sebastian. He¡¯d already killed both of my parents.¡± Everybody knew you couldn¡¯t solve a crime without evidence. Everybody knew the unproven words of a woman had no bearing against an authority figure.


    Eight months ago, Hannah moved to Newfoundland after deciding she needed a fresh start. She¡¯d taken Saphira with her, after the teenager begged to come along. She was nearly an adult. In Newfoundland, the people were friendlier, and the churches were plentiful. There was a fear, also, of being found - the way Alma had been found. As a child, Hannah admired Sebastian. As a teenager, she was fascinated by him.


    Hannah¡¯s nieces hadn¡¯t yet warmed up to her. Maia hid behind her mother, beginning to become wary of strangers. Viola was small, incapable of even crawling without assistance. Born with spina bifida, she¡¯d never developed the mobility of a normal baby, and according to Mosiah, likely would never accomplish much mobility at all. Hannah never wanted kids. She certainly didn¡¯t possess the patience or dedication to care for a disabled child. This wasn¡¯t fair to say.


    Do you ever regret having Viola? Do you wish you could have your freedom back?


    Hannah, if you¡¯re not prepared for a sick or disabled child, you¡¯re not prepared for a child at all.


    Over the past couple of months, all of Hannah¡¯s youngest siblings had been legally adopted by older ones. After Alma¡¯s death, Esther had vehemently refused to be taken in by anybody else aside from Mosiah. He didn¡¯t seem to mind this. Esther was nine years old and followed Mosiah everywhere he went: she¡¯d always been obsessed with him. Hannah hated kids, but she had to admit that the best place for Esther was with Mosiah. With two kids of his own, he knew how to be a father, and Esther was no longer alone.


    It had taken nearly five hours to travel to Manitoba, and was Hannah¡¯s first time on a plane. Working part-time in retail jobs didn¡¯t pay much; she¡¯d needed help paying for airline tickets. Mosiah, who had had the idea for Hannah to come visit, had been more than happy to help.


    ¡°Hi,¡± said Hannah to Maia, who looked like her mother. ¡°Are you scared of me? I¡¯m not scary.¡± Hannah was nineteen years old. Since moving, she¡¯d grown up very quickly. Mosiah¡¯s duplex was bigger than her apartment, but not by much. He was much tidier than he¡¯d been as a teenager: cleaning up after dinner and keeping up with household chores. Perhaps, like Hannah, he¡¯d been forced to grow up a lot over a short period of time.


    Maia looked away. When her father entered the living room, she held out her arms to him.


    ¡°She¡¯s a little shy.¡± Mosiah hadn¡¯t changed a bit. He dressed in the same Gothic style, and wore the same red contact lenses. ¡°Maia, that¡¯s your aunt, Hannah.¡± She attended preschool part time, but spent most of her time at home with her mother. Since Hannah¡¯s arrival in Manitoba, Mosiah hadn¡¯t once asked about things back home. Aside from Hannah, he didn¡¯t seem to care about the lives of his siblings.


    ¡°Hannah, guess what! I really like it here!¡±


    Esther struggled to get along with other kids. She was old enough to understand how to play nicely with others, but hadn¡¯t had a lot of practice. She was bossy and impatient, demanding to play with Maia, not seeming to understand that she was little. At four years old, Maia had the attitude of a fourteen year old, rivaled only by the attitude of her mother. The children were spoiled; Maia got everything she wanted. Mosiah was assertive and impolite - but when it came to his wife and daughters, he was a pushover.


    After their sister¡¯s death, Mary had been the first one Hannah heard from. Though they never spoke much growing up, the girls had spoken on the phone for nearly an hour that night. Mary was nothing like Hannah. This didn¡¯t seem to matter as much as it had in the past.


    ¡°What did they tell you?¡± Mary had asked, ¡°About Alma?¡±


    She shouldn¡¯t have had to ask. Orion Zoan had had a plethora of secrets, and all of his children had secrets of their own. ¡°They suspected it was a murder, but called it an undetermined cause.¡± It had been six months since Alma¡¯s death, and it seemed nobody cared. She¡¯d appeared to have choked to death, and according to law enforcement, nothing about this was suspicious.  Her apartment and her body had been bleached from top to bottom, the floors  vacuumed, the doors locked tightly - Esther left alone in bed to find her the next morning.


    There were several warrants out for Sebastian¡¯s arrest. His accomplice, Jude, had been arrested for multiple crimes, including breaking and entering and aiding and abetting. After the review of the camera footage, Sebastian had promptly disappeared, forcing the investigating officers to postpone his arrest until he was located. Hannah suspected someone had tipped him off - likely the same person who let him into the house after dark. She was observant, but the farm had been bustling and noisy, and it was easy to miss things happening right under your nose.


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    ¡°Hannah, come to the park with us. Valentina¡¯s got work to do.¡±


    Mosiah helped his daughters get shoes on.  It was June; Hannah had to be back to work the following week. She¡¯d made friends in her neighbourhood, and shared her apartment with a fellow Christian girl. In the months since moving, Hannah had even gotten a new boyfriend - though he wasn¡¯t as religious as her, and only attended church on occasion. It was strange to attend church without her parents. It was strange to have the freedom to do whatever she pleased.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    Hannah looked nothing like her brother: but if you were observant, you may have been able to tell they were related. He held Maia¡¯s hand as she walked, lugging Viola in one arm down the sidewalk. At nearly a year old, she was small and often fussy - a reminder to Hannah of her distaste of children.


    Hannah didn¡¯t know what had been done with her sister¡¯s body. Perhaps it had been hidden away, taking the secrets of her death with it. Perhaps, and more unlikely, it had been buried and forgotten about. There was no denying that Alma would be forgotten about. Everybody was, in the end.


    Bleach was a serial killer¡¯s best friend. A man who knew what he was doing could leave a crime scene without leaving a hint of a sign he was ever there.


    ¡°Will you ever get her a mobility aid?¡±


    Viola needed near-constant supervision. Since Hannah¡¯s arrival, Maia had thrown several tantrums over this. Crouching, she dug furiously in the playground¡¯s small sandpit. Mosiah placed the baby next to her sister, kneeling in the grass next to them. Hannah didn¡¯t know what had happened to him. As a teenager, he swore he¡¯d never have kids. ¡°Maybe. We have an appointment next month with a specialist.¡± He wore dark eyeliner, fishnet gloves: if he¡¯d dressed this way growing up, their mother would have had something to say. ¡°How¡¯s living in Newfoundland?¡±


    It was hard to get by without a cent to your name. Moving had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, and had taken much more time than Hannah expected it to. She¡¯d taken the cash from atop her parents¡¯ dresser, and made sure to have jobs lined up before moving. Hannah was inexperienced, but she wasn¡¯t stupid.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± It felt wrong to be independent. Hannah had never had solid plans for her future, no expectations for herself other than to be a wife and a mother. Lately, she wasn¡¯t sure she wanted either of these things. ¡°Do you ever feel angry that you didn¡¯t get a proper childhood?¡± Hannah wasn¡¯t much of a personal conversationalist. She¡¯d missed her brother, and had nobody to talk to back home.


    Mosiah shrugged. ¡°I did when I first left. I¡¯m over it now.¡±  Maia, who was making a sandcastle, threw a handful at her sister before getting up and running off. Viola cried loudly. Hannah felt irritated. Mosiah looked tired. ¡°Maia, if you can¡¯t play nice, you¡¯re not going to play at all.


    I¡¯m never having kids.


    ¡°Is she always like this?¡±


    Hannah had heard from an older friend that children always behaved worst for their parents. If this was true, she¡¯d certainly never become a mother.


    According to the police investigating Alma¡¯s death, the neighbours had been woken very early in the morning by Esther, who had been taken in by Alma after leaving the farm. It had been foolish to neglect to teach the girl about emergency numbers - but Hannah supposed this was something she could have forgotten as well.  She had many questions about what had happened, and it was likely none of them would ever be answered.


    The girls played nicely, taking turns being pushed on the swings. It wasn¡¯t a very accessible park, and Viola struggled to play. Since arriving, she¡¯d made herself comfortable in the spare bedroom, and woken several times to the crying of the baby.


    Hannah hadn¡¯t spent much time wondering Sebastian¡¯s motives. Surely, he knew the truth behind Orion¡¯s outward presentation, and watched him get away with it for far too many years. What he had done was wrong and deserved punishment. Hannah had never felt threatened by Sebastian the way some of her siblings had. She never hated him for his choices. Everyone knew most of Orion¡¯s children had wished death upon him in the past. No one ever had the guts to do it except Sebastian.


    ¡°I understand the reason for wanting to kill Mom and Dad,¡± Mosiah said, rounding up the girls, ¡°but why Alma? I can¡¯t figure it out.¡±


    There were still many unanswered questions. Hannah had never been fond of mysteries. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m wondering, too. He was always nice to Alma. They seemed to get along.¡± Upon further investigation of the crime scene footage, it was discovered that Sebastian had been accompanied by a man named Jude, who also attended Hannah¡¯s church. There wasn¡¯t much known about his involvement. Hannah hardly knew him at all. Perhaps she should have been afraid. If you lived a holy and proper life, there was nothing to fear. ¡°Who do you think could have let him inside? He never had a key, and there were no spares hidden anywhere.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Who liked him the most?¡±


    Growing up, Hannah argued with Mosiah regularly. He was three years older, and made fun of her for being childish and stupid. She loudly opposed his beliefs and style, knowing this was expected of her, determined to be pleasing and rewarded. Mosiah always had a retort in arguments that made Hannah feel inferior and angry, and Hannah always was eager to gossip about him to her father. When Hannah was a teenager, Mosiah became less of a nuisance and more of a fascination: something she refused to admit to him. It was easy to do what you were told. It was brave and stupid to disobey.


    ¡°Weren¡¯t you ever afraid to be disobedient?¡±


    Mosiah¡¯s wife was out of his league. She was obsessed with him, and Hannah didn¡¯t understand why. She sat on the floor to watch her brother play with his kids, reluctantly impressed. ¡°Maybe when I was really little.¡± He helped Viola eat, and didn¡¯t look at Hannah. ¡°Mom and Dad always went on and on about what kinds of terrible things would happen to us if we sinned or disobeyed. But I got older, and I watched other people sin, and I realized none of that stuff happened at all. That¡¯s when I knew everything they said was bullshit.¡±


    When Hannah was little, she was afraid too. This was what her parents always wanted: to be feared by their children, to be obeyed without question. If you couldn¡¯t think for yourself, you would never understand when you were mistreated or lied to. Hannah still believed in God. But she¡¯d begun to do it differently - making her own opinions about those who were different, and trying to become less judgmental. This had been difficult, but she had discovered recently that this was necessary.


    Hannah knew little about her sister-in-law. She knew that Valentina had controversial opinions and practices, and that she had a strained relationship with her family. She sat on the floor between her daughters, watching them play. Sometimes Hannah missed her childhood, but not in the way it had been. She missed what she could have had: best friends, travels, innocence. It was never too late to start anew, but there were some things in life a person could never get back.

 36. Fire And Zeal

    As most things when they were no longer needed,  the farm had been auctioned off, along with the animals it housed.  Most had probably been sold for slaughter, as Orion had always planned. During his life, he¡¯d been responsible for providing the community with meat and dairy products. He had taken this job very seriously. Each of his sons, beginning at the age of ten, would accompany their father to prepare the animals for slaughter. Monty had heard stories from his brothers of how it felt to neglect the animals, tag their ears, line them up to enter the darkened van. Everybody knew what happened to farm animals when they were taken away. Everybody pretended they didn¡¯t.


    Since moving in with Zina, Monty had been legally adopted by the woman.  She¡¯d taken to bringing him along to appointments with her gender specialist, who was an understanding cisgender man who listened to what Monty had to say.  It still felt strange to be listened to with openness, to speak his mind without feeling anxious of the repercussions. That morning, Monty had been given the go ahead from the specialist to begin his medical transition, and he felt both excited and nervous.


    Zina clicked her keys in her hand outside the gender clinic, speaking under her breath on the phone to her husband. Zina had been married for a year, and seemed to be unhappy. She always spoke to Atticus with downturned eyes, wary of what he¡¯d have to say next. Monty had become more observant and empathetic in the past year, learning to speak up and becoming better at standing up to others.


    ¡°I told you it wouldn¡¯t take long.¡±


    Zina unlocked her small smart car, throwing her purse into the back seat. Monty held a prescription in his hands for a vial of testosterone and a bag of needles. He¡¯d seen Zina do her shots. He was afraid of needles.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Monty had a lot to thank his sister for. She¡¯d given him a place to stay, and healthy meals, and a listening ear, and permission to transition. At seventeen years old, there wasn¡¯t much he could do without permission from a legal guardian - and Zina was the motherly figure he had always longed for. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯ll finally get to be a boy.¡±


    Alma¡¯s death,  according to the coroner who examined her, had been quick and traumatizing: lack of oxygen to the brain caused by restriction of the airways. Though it was obvious she¡¯d been attacked, there was no trace of a perpetrator at the scene. Monty had been told of the scrubbing away of the fingerprints on Alma¡¯s body and the footprints in the carpet of her apartment.  Esther, who had woken to a quiet room, had run up two flights of stairs to Joseph¡¯s apartment after she was unable to wake her sister from sleep.


    ¡°You seem sad,¡± Monty said late the night before, when Zina returned home from work. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Zina often returned home from work looking sad. Monty imagined he would too, if he worked in a job where he watched people die. It wasn¡¯t as if Zina saw a lot of deaths: but she knew of the ones that there were. Removing her heavy orange jacket, she¡¯d sighed. ¡°I¡¯m just tired.¡±  Monty hadn¡¯t believed this. Zina wasn¡¯t one to unpack her emotional struggles on him.


    She waited in the car while Monty picked up his prescription. He felt self-conscious, standing in line outside the small pharmacy, worried how he would be received by the pharmacists. Zina had picked up her estrogen vials from this pharmacy many times, and nobody had ever said anything.


    Monty was starting the twelfth grade. It seemed pointless to attend a public school for only a single year, but Zina insisted it would be good for him to make friends. On weekends and during the summers, he worked part-time at a fast food restaurant, where he had made several acquaintances, but didn¡¯t seem to fit in.  Monty felt he didn¡¯t truly fit in anywhere. Perhaps one day, when he was older and had learned to feel at home in his body, the feeling of fitting in wouldn¡¯t matter so much.


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    Until recently, Monty had assumed everybody had their lives together except for him. The more time he spent with Zina, the more he realized this simply wasn¡¯t true


    ¡°Does it hurt to give yourself a needle?¡±


    Zina had been doing it for four years. For her, it had become as second-nature as brushing her teeth in the morning. She¡¯d finished her phone call, and listened to a music playlist when Monty returned to the car. ¡°I don¡¯t like needles.¡±


    He¡¯d been given other options. There were patches, gels, creams; Zina¡¯s specialist said injections would give him the most consistent results. She turned the music down, took a sip from her travel thermos. ¡°I can give you the first one if you want. It takes a little bit of getting used to.¡±


    More than anything, Monty disliked his hips. He had a very distinct image in his head: how he hoped to look in five years, how he dreamed all his life of looking like. Zina, on their way to the pharmacy, had suggested he not get too caught up in his end goal, and to focus on celebrating every little milestone. Everyone had to start somewhere. At some point, even Zina had been clocked in public.


    He examined his new vial. It was small; a piece of paper with his medical information hung off the side. Someday, he would never see his birth name anywhere again. ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡±  Since Alma¡¯s death, Monty had fallen victim to frequent nightmares. They were always dreams of strange things: being chased by monster cats, seeing teeth coming at him from the corner of a book, clouds in the sky opening to swallow him whole.  He often woke feeling breathless and confused, needing a moment to remember where he was.


    ¡°Zina? How long did it take you to notice changes when you started estrogen?¡±


    Monty knew the timeline was different for everyone. He¡¯d done enough research to know what to expect.  Zina wore a short skirt and platform shoes, atypically feminine for a day on the town. ¡°My skin started getting smoother within the first few weeks. In the first few months, my boobs started to grow.¡±


    For a boy who¡¯d been forbidden to speak about bodies growing up, it wasn¡¯t uncomfortable to share these things with Zina. He had many questions, and some had been answered through online forums and transmasculine friends.  ¡°Did you track the changes anywhere? I might keep a journal.¡±


    When they arrived home, Atticus was absent. This seemed to leave Zina relieved. ¡°I kept a journal. I still have it, but there aren¡¯t many things to track anymore.¡±  Monty was excited; in his hands, he held the key to self-confidence. ¡°Come here. I¡¯ll show you how to prepare the needle.¡±


    The week before, Zina had taken Monty on a shopping spree, and he¡¯d come home with bags of boyish clothing. Dressing this way left him with a sense of guilt and panic,  as though he¡¯d disappoint a Higher Being by wanting to change himself. This, of everything, had been the hardest fear to unpack. Zina had overcome the same fear, and had reassured Monty. He questioned, sometimes, if there was a God. He felt ashamed for thinking this way.


    Monty¡¯s new needles were very thin, and came in a small orange bag. Zina disposed of  her needles in a Sharps container, which sat on the top shelf of her bookcase, and was nearly full. Monty had a stomach that was chubby and pale, often hidden underneath oversized tee shirts and sweaters. Ripping open the package which contained his new needles, he thrust one at her. ¡°Can you do it for me?¡±


    That summer, Monty had plans to attend pride with Zina. He was eager for this because, not only would it be his first pride celebration, he¡¯d be able to attend it as himself. It had to have meant something, that relief that Monty felt after picking up his hormones. Nobody chose to be transgender, Monty wanted to shout from the rooftops. Some people were just privileged enough to do something about it.


    Zina filled the syringe quickly, tapping out the air bubbles before poking  the needle quickly into Monty¡¯s stomach. He hadn¡¯t been prepared - he hadn¡¯t had a moment to become anxious. It didn¡¯t hurt. He had expected it to. It felt as though he had been pinched, quickly and tightly, and then the cap of the needle was placed back on to it, the whole thing tossed into the disposal container.


    ¡°Today,¡± said Zina, grinning at the boy, ignoring her husband coming through the front door, ¡°is the first day of the rest of your life.¡±


    If I¡¯m a girl, why do I spend all of my free time imagining what it would be like to be a boy? Mother told me I looked like a boy the other day, and I felt happy about it


    Outside of Monty¡¯s small group of transgender friends, nobody understood. The fact of the matter was that you could pretend all you wanted that you understood, but it was impossible to truly do so if you hadn¡¯t lived something yourself.

 37. Sons of Broken Fathers

    It had been nine months since Asher left the farm. Since then, Rowan¡¯s parents purchased a mobile home, as a place for he and Rowan to call their own. They made the women payments, but had a long way yet until the trailer was paid off. Asher appreciated being cared for. He¡¯d gotten used to the freedom and independence that came with moving out on your own. Though he had many traumas to work through, it helped to have somebody around that felt safe.


    Work had gotten very hard. When Asher wasn¡¯t feeling anxious or dissociating in the arcade, he was thinking of Alma, and the possibility of becoming a victim himself. It was hard to remain calm, some days. It was hard to get through the day. Rowan, who taught him to drive, often picked him up from work late at night. It was cold in the mobile home. The air conditioning unit, which hadn¡¯t come with the home, sat on the floor in front of a window, blowing cold air through the place. That morning, Asher had been woken by a bad dream, and it put him on edge all day.


    They had adopted a puppy. Rowan, who had allergies, had opted for a Shih Tzu, which they adopted from a local shelter. It was nice to have a pet, though the puppy was hard to train, and needed a lot of attention.  That day, Rowan¡¯s parents were visiting, and made themselves at home on the small living room sofa. Asher didn¡¯t know the women well. They asked many questions about his life, sharing stories about their childhoods and smoking weed.


    Rowan had never had to come out. He could simply bring a boy home, and his parents would treat them as just another son. He had both arms around Asher, who felt anxious to display affection in front of others. His parents acted more as friends than parents: poking fun at Rowan for his life choices, offering him joints during get-togethers. Still, despite his lax and carefree upbringing, Rowan was a responsible adult.


    Asher spent nearly two months in prison for Sebastian¡¯s crimes. This didn¡¯t seem like much, but it was frightening and uncertain. Without Jane, he wouldn¡¯t have gotten out at all.


    During his few visits at Rowan¡¯s childhood home, Asher learned basic things about his mothers - they were married in the Netherlands, when same-sex marriage was still illegal in Canada. Both of their children were adopted, and neither had ever had interest in searching for their birth parents. Rowan and his older brother, Crue, were adopted as toddlers through public adoption. Rowan had known this most of his life, and had never been bothered by it. He¡¯d mentioned once or twice in passing his desire to adopt his own child, someday far off in the future. Asher, who knew nothing of the adoption process, would have done anything for him.


    Hannah was calling. He didn¡¯t speak to her much these days.


    Rowan was very pretty. His parents had said nothing about Asher sharing a room, and hadn¡¯t cared at all about their son sleeping in a bed with another boy. It was as if Asher could have done absolutely anything he wanted, and nobody would have said a thing. It was scary and strange -  Asher missed having rules, and he missed having structure.  It was difficult not to feel angry sometimes. Some people were blessed with caring, open parents. Some people were given parents who didn¡¯t seem to care about them at all.


    Alma was twenty-three when she died, and Joseph had been the last person she¡¯d seen. This, likely, was only because they lived in the same apartment building. The place was supposed to be safe. If a person wanted something bad enough, they could accomplish the unthinkable to get it done. Asher had spoken to Mary a couple of days prior, and she¡¯d had a lot to say. There were benefits and downfalls to being a Zoan. One such thing was that news always spread quickly.


    ¡°How could someone do that?¡± Asher asked his boyfriend, after getting off the phone with Mary. He wasn¡¯t a person who spoke often on the phone. ¡°How could someone kill someone else and not feel guilty about it? Especially someone they knew so well and spent time with.¡± He would never have expected Sebastian to be a killer. He was only eighteen years old, even younger than Asher. Maybe it was true what Hannah used to say. The people you think you know best turn out to be the ones you should fear the most.


    The arcade where he worked was always filled with teenagers, who were noisy. Asher wasn¡¯t afraid of crowds, but he was intimidated by them, and he often struggled to make it through a shift without an anxiety attack. He wondered why this was. All of his brothers and sisters had been raised in the same environment, with  the same types of neglect. They had all seemed to grow up to function better than he had.


    At work, Asher was required to wear a polo shirt and a name-tag. He hated attention being drawn to him in this way. When disgruntled patrons complained to him, they often called him by his name.


    When Asher turned nineteen, Jane and Brynn took him out for dinner at the restaurant of his choice. This had been bittersweet for him - he¡¯d never had a birthday all to himself before, but he missed Hannah in a strange way. That night, they¡¯d had their first phone conversation since leaving the farm, and it left him feeling satisfied.


    It was raining. Asher stood by the window, watching the water drip down the windowpane. He hadn¡¯t left home in days.


    ¡°Ash.¡± There were hands on his shoulders. Though he knew it was Rowan, the sudden touch startled him. It was hard to be communicative with all that had happened over the past months. Asher hadn¡¯t been very good company, and he felt guilty for this. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    He supposed it would have been pointless to lie to Rowan. The boy knew him too well. Sometimes, when Asher opened his mouth and tried to speak, nothing came out. Turning away from the window, he looked at Rowan for a long time. ¡°Today is Alma¡¯s twenty-fourth birthday.¡± He hadn¡¯t been particularly close with his sister. Sebastian was on the run, and could target anyone he wanted next. He could target Asher, and no one would ever see him coming. ¡°I don¡¯t know how anybody could do that. He almost got away with it. She didn¡¯t do anything to deserve it.¡±


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    Asher¡¯s parents¡¯ deaths hadn¡¯t been accidental. Sebastian had planned them for months: visiting with the family, sitting at church with them, even eating at their kitchen table while knowing he planned to murder them. There were no spare keys hidden outside the farm.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Rowan said, laying his head on Asher¡¯s lap. Being near him every day felt so surreal, as if it weren¡¯t quite real. At times, Asher didn¡¯t believe it was. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about something else. I know what we can do today, if you want.¡±


    Asher played with the boy¡¯s hair. Being in love wasn¡¯t so scary anymore. It helped to surround yourself with people who loved you. ¡°What?¡±


    Rowan grinned. ¡°We could get married.¡±


    Escaping a cult was hard, but it was nothing compared to coming to terms with the idea of being in a cult to begin with. Since leaving the farm, Asher had spent hours staring at a computer screen, comparing his life experiences to those of other people who had escaped cults. You could easily imagine other people in difficult scenarios, and shut down completely when trying to imagine yourself the same way. There was a thunderstorm, shaking the trees that stood outside the house, beating the sides of the walls and the fence. Asher longed to be held: to curl up underneath the blankets and feel safe and warm. If he was with Rowan, anywhere would feel safe.


    His hands stopped fidgeting. There was an ache in his chest, and a ringing in his ears. ¡°What?¡±


    It was hard to imagine a future that didn¡¯t involve Rowan. He was chipper, rash, cocky in all the right ways. People were funny. Somebody completely unexpected could come along, and suddenly you¡¯d never feel afraid again. Rowan stood, kissing Asher deeply before sitting on the bed in front of him. ¡°I want to marry you, Ash. I want to live with you and be with you for the rest of our lives.¡±


    Forever was a long time. It seemed unlikely that anybody could spend forever with Asher and not grow tired of him. His father had always told him not to marry unless he was absolutely certain he was in love - though it was ironic coming from Orion. Asher doubted he had loved his wife a day in her life. There was a breath caught in Asher¡¯s throat. It all should have felt wrong, but it didn¡¯t. It never had. Truthfully, being with Rowan was the only thing that had ever felt right. Maybe it was a sin. Maybe he was too young, too inexperienced, too stupid. Maybe he¡¯d be punished, somehow, somewhere off in the afterlife. So many maybes, and none of them mattered.


    Rowan wasn¡¯t one to second guess his words - but he looked at Asher now with uncertainty, mulling over what he¡¯d blurted out. Asher longed to be brave and confident like Rowan: living the life he wanted, and not giving a second thought to what others wanted. Taking Rowan¡¯s face in his hands, he kissed the boy once, and then again, calmed by the smell of his skin. ¡°I want to marry you, too.¡±


    ¡°I should get home. I¡¯m not supposed to leave after bedtime. My father will yell at me.¡±


    It had been nearly two years since Asher snuck out for the first time. He¡¯d met Rowan in person for the first time in the winter, about a month after they¡¯d begun talking online. Leaving the house without permission, on its own, was terrifying to Asher. Leaving the house to meet a boy made him feel nauseated. Their first date was in Charlottetown, inside an ice cream shop Rowan claimed was the best in town. At the time, he¡¯d just learned to drive, and still had a curfew. Asher had felt very guilty, and very dirty, to know of his attraction to another boy. At the time, he¡¯d have done anything to keep it a secret.


    Rowan had a lock on his childhood bedroom door. Asher was in awe of him.


    I¡¯ve never kissed a boy before,¡± he¡¯d said, after Rowan dropped him off following their first date. He was so different: so warm, so grown-up, so self-assured. When they kissed for the first time, Asher shook so badly that he could hardly sit still.


    There was something about assaulting touch that made even the gentlest touch seem painful. Rowan stroked Asher¡¯s hair, and his face - and though it was gentle, every stroke felt like an electric current. Kissing was intimate and comforting; it felt nice to be loved. If it weren¡¯t for his boyfriend, Asher didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever feel loved again. He kissed softly and knew what he was doing, cradling Asher¡¯s face in his hands, nibbling on his lips. It was moments like this that made Asher wonder how many boys Rowan had kissed before him.


    Love shouldn¡¯t have been wrong. Even if a boy loved a boy or a girl loved a girl, it shouldn¡¯t have mattered - but to so many people, it did. For a long time, Asher didn¡¯t know there was a word for what he was: and he¡¯d been too afraid to voice his questions to somebody else. Salem had been the one to tell him, via text one day, the meaning of the word bisexual. Not everything needed to be labelled. Sometimes, it was just comforting to have words that described you. Asher wasn¡¯t the first of the Zoan children to use this label, and he probably wouldn¡¯t be the last.


    With his hands on Asher¡¯s thighs, Rowan pushed the boy backwards onto the bed. He was stronger and slightly taller, and his hands were soft. When his fingers ran over the zipper of Asher¡¯s jeans, a jolt of thunder roared.


    To a teenager, it seemed pathetic: to be nineteen years old and a virgin. Anxiety attacked the body in peculiar ways: a bead of sweat on the back, a pain in the chest, a restless night¡¯s sleep. Lifting his head from a grey pillow, Asher glanced at the boy sitting at his feet: whose hand rubbed against his jeans, playing with him through their fabric. Even fully dressed, with the slightest of pressure between his legs, Asher felt excited.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel ashamed of myself anymore, and it¡¯s all because of you.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t kiss a boy. You¡¯ll die alone.¡±


    In the past, this was a real fear. But it had been a while since the thought of dying alone had reared its head. It wasn¡¯t scary. ¡°Do it.¡±


    It was difficult not to be self-conscious. Asher had never touched himself, or gotten off. When Rowan went down on him, it was easy to give in. He¡¯d never had an orgasm before, and Rowan was determined. Asher knew, before him, the boy dated other boys. This didn¡¯t make him feel intimidated.


    ¡°I love you.¡±


    It was hard to breathe. It was hard to explain the feeling that tugged at Asher¡¯s abdomen and legs. Though he knew it was alright, to participate in these sorts of activities behind the boys¡¯ shut bedroom door, it left a tight knot in his chest.

 38. feathers

    It was the middle of the night, and the bar was messy. Since arriving at work nine hours ago, Salem had broken up three fistfights and had a man escorted out for attempting to spike a woman¡¯s drink. There was a lot to do; he¡¯d barely had a chance to sit down since arriving at work. Recently, a new batch of drink and food ingredients had been delivered.  As always, they needed to be sorted through.


    His phone was ringing. It was hard to take phone calls at work.


    Recently, Aggie moved into the townhouse. This was far more convenient than driving back and forth between cities, and Salem had been dating her long enough for it to be socially appropriate. The previous day, her brother visited. He was distrustful, when he wasn¡¯t harassing his sister. When Salem left for work that morning, she was watching her favourite movie and snacking on a bag of seaweed chips. By now, he¡¯d seen Inside Out so many times, he could probably recite the whole thing.


    The twins were twelve years old. Eve had nightmares often, and Salem was rarely home in the middle of the night. With three siblings living in the townhouse, Salem had run out of bedrooms, forcing the twins to share a room - which was a bigger problem some days than others.


    ¡°I need you to come over,¡± said Kioni when he answered the phone. ¡°I¡¯m having contractions.¡±  Months ago, Kioni had planned a water birth, and ordered a birthing pool from an online shop. With the suggestion of her doula, she¡¯d done this many weeks in advance.


    It was busy, customers piling in and conversing loudly. The music, which was usually some sort of dance track, was difficult to hear over.  Salem knew nothing about childbirth. Everything he did know, he¡¯d learned from Kioni. ¡°I get off work in a couple hours. Can you wait until then?¡± He¡¯d spent most of Kioni¡¯s pregnancy coming to terms with the idea of being a father.  Kioni had insisted he could choose not to be in the baby¡¯s life. We¡¯re not dating, she said, you¡¯re not obligated to help me.


    She¡¯d gone on maternity leave a month ago, after being forced by her supervisor to get some rest. She worked as a dance instructor, which she¡¯d always called the perfect job. ¡°I think so. If they get stronger before then, I¡¯ll call you back.¡±


    The night before, as her head lay on his lap, Aggie had asked Salem if he¡¯d  ever been in love with Kioni. She was straightforward and unabashed, which he appreciated - even if it did get them into some sticky situations. He¡¯d always cared for Kioni. Love was a strong word, and it had never seemed to fit.  Talking about things as personal as love and feelings was uncomfortable. Aggie always wanted to do it.


    He didn¡¯t believe in dishonesty. ¡°I loved her, but I wasn¡¯t in love with her.¡± For most of his life, he hadn¡¯t believed there to be any difference.


    Aggie was quiet for a while after that. She hummed, twitching her fingers a little before giving him a stern look. ¡°Are you in love with me?


    Kioni lived in a bilevel home. After checking in with her, Salem texted Aggie.


    Across the bathroom on the upper level, Kioni had a large crib set up next to her bed. Over the past month, Salem helped her gather the rest of necessary baby items, as well as setting up a bassinet in his own room. Although she had been offered to be told the sex of the baby, Kioni had refused, saying she¡¯d prefer to be surprised. It wasn¡¯t as if it mattered much anyway.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    It was early in the morning. Salem was tired, but it was nothing to how Kioni felt. She sat cross-legged on the living room floor, breathing deeply and listening to soft music. Over the course of her pregnancy, Salem received phone calls at random times, asking for specific snacks, or back massages, or company. River said it was stupid to do all of this for a woman you weren¡¯t dating. Aggie had expressed insecurities about the fact that Salem had a relationship with Kioni at all. He¡¯d been very busy: working, and trying to make time for people outside of this. After today, his slim amount of free time would deteriorate.¡°You doing alright? Do you need anything?¡±


    He knelt on the floor in front of Kioni. She was swollen around the ankles and legs. Salem was unsure how to be helpful, and felt stupid asking. He¡¯d been lectured by Delilah about being supportive, as if he wouldn¡¯t have done it otherwise.


    Kioni had made a birth playlist, which played now. She¡¯d said early labour could take hours. ¡°I¡¯m just uncomfortable. Will you go run me a bath?¡±


    She¡¯d always liked baths with bath bombs and candles. After sitting  down for any period of time, she needed help getting up.


    Labour progressed slowly. When Kioni called her midwife, it was well into the evening. She wasn¡¯t shy, and leaned her head on Salem¡¯s chest when she felt a powerful bout of pain. He had several unread texts, and little time to check them. Well into active labour, when Kioni was tired and pacing the living room, she groaned. ¡°Thanks for being here. I don¡¯t think I could do this by myself.¡±


    There was something about watching someone grow a whole human being. Salem had never wanted this. He¡¯d had time to get used to the idea. ¡°Have I ever told you you¡¯re a fucking warrior?¡±


    The birth pool was set up in the kitchen, and large enough to hold a whole family. Kioni tried to get comfortable inside it, switching positions often, her stomach rippling with the movements of the baby.


    She was six centimetres dilated. The midwife spoke in low tones, checking on Kioni  and the water often. The midwife was patient and detailed, and seemed to make Kioni feel comforted. She was anxious,  squeezing Salem¡¯s hands on the side of the pool.


    Each time Aggie stayed at the townhouse overnight, she fell asleep to white noise. Currently, she was at the house with River; Salem worried about how they¡¯d get along alone. He¡¯d been checking in with her throughout the night: eager for the birth of his child, eager to get home. Kioni breathed heavily, in tune with the doula, who kneeled next to her. Her playlist was quiet and mostly instrumental.


    Salem had never witnessed the birth of a baby. As her due date approached, Kioni had sat him down to watch childbirth videos, and he¡¯d suspected he¡¯d been more freaked out than she had. As long as you don¡¯t pass out, she¡¯d said, it will all be fine.


    ¡°Kioni.¡±


    Her eyes were closed. Though she hadn¡¯t begun pushing yet, the midwife said it was nearly time. She was clammy, finding it impossible to get comfortable. She laid her head on the side of the pool, clutching it with both hands, staring at Salem with big eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do this.¡±


    She was panicked. He knew the look on her face. ¡°You can do it, Kioni. You¡¯re fucking amazing.¡± After tonight, their relationship would never be the same. It was hard to figure out the way it was now. She¡¯d be a good mother: but the best parents always questioned if they were good parents at all.The water was getting cold. Kioni groaned. ¡°I¡¯m scared.¡±


    It was nothing like the movies. It was a lot calmer than Salem imagined it would be. ¡°I know. You¡¯re doing great. I¡¯m right here.¡± It was hard to know if he was being helpful. Kioni appreciated him being there. She squeezed his hands very tightly, readjusting herself often. When you cared for a person, seeing them in pain felt as though your insides were burning. Women could do incredible things. All Salem could do was sit back and watch it happen.


    It was getting late. When a high-pitched cry rang through the room, the midwife took the baby from the water. ¡°Kioni,¡± she said, placing the newborn on top of Kioni¡¯s chest, ¡°meet your daughter.¡±

 39. It Must Suck To Be You

    No one liked being the new kid. Life was unpredictable and unfair, and Adam was due to attend public school for the first time at fifteen years old. He was living in a new province, with a brother he hardly remembered, struggling to make friends at his new school. It wasn¡¯t all bad. For the first time, he¡¯d begun to feel like a normal teenager; Zeb was a decade older, but he wasn¡¯t protective, and didn¡¯t care much what Adam did. After the death of his parents, Adam had been permitted to decide for himself who he wanted to live with. All of his siblings had been permitted this, but the younger ones needed help.


    When he was contacted by a social worker, Zeb was surprised. Adam had memories of him from many years ago, and wasn¡¯t quite certain if these memories were reliable. Zeb wasn¡¯t the fatherly type. He had a four year old daughter that he never spoke about, but who came over once a month to spend time with him. ¡°I¡¯m not your dad,¡± Zeb said when Adam moved in with him. ¡°I¡¯m not going to give you rules, and I don¡¯t give a shit what you do.¡±


    It was easy to get away with troublesome things. Adam was beginning tenth grade and had no idea what to expect. He¡¯d been in Nova Scotia for nearly six months and hadn¡¯t yet made a friend, but Zeb said most people weren¡¯t worth befriending anyway. This didn¡¯t make it any less lonely. As a boy who had never had a friend before, Adam wasn¡¯t sure how to initiate relationships. He and Zeb lived alone in a small apartment. It was much quieter than the farm had been, but it felt unfamiliar. Life used to be miserable, but Adam was used to this, and sudden change felt strange. He had his own room for the first time, and he was never bothered here. He would be an outcast at school. He¡¯d seen that teenagers could be mean and loud, and he was a stranger. Still, starting at a new school on the first day was far better than starting in the middle of the year.


    Adam had a part-time job. As he was only fifteen, he couldn¡¯t work many hours. Making little money was better than nothing at all. Sometimes, it was intimidating to leave the house. Zeb said the city didn¡¯t have that many people, but it felt like it did. He was only three hours away from home. It was hard to remember sometimes that this was home now.


    ¡°Why did you choose me to live with, anyway?¡±


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Zeb was impersonal. He had controversial opinions, and voiced them loudly. Adam wasn¡¯t much different. He was seven when Zeb left the farm, and missed him briefly. The brothers were similar; this had been the reason Adam requested Zeb as a guardian. It was hard to tell if the man had a problem with this or not.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re a lot alike.¡± Similarly to Zeb, Adam had never worried about offending people. He spoke his opinions freely and openly, and rarely felt anxious. His father had made most people feel uncomfortable. Adam had learned how to be apathetic. ¡°I thought I¡¯d get along the best with you.¡±


    The last time Adam spoke to his father was the day of his death. They¡¯d argued about Adam¡¯ homework, and spent most of the rest of the day ignoring one another. Adam wasn¡¯t stupid, as much as Orion might have said otherwise. A perk of having much older siblings was learning things that were far older than you were.


    Adam worked at a popular fast food restaurant. He was one of the youngest and newest employees, which he disliked. Adults spoke to him the same way his father had: as though he was a child, incapable of making decisions on his own. Adam learned years ago that a teen couldn¡¯t stand up for themselves without being accused of disrespecting their elders.


    There was a chill in the air. It wasn¡¯t yet winter, but it felt like it was.


    On the days he picked Adam up from work, Zeb always parked directly outside the front doors.  He felt anxious tonight. His feet scuffed on the pavement, sore from standing. There were few vehicles in the parking lot; Zeb hadn¡¯t yet arrived. Sometimes he got held up by work or traffic, and Adam would sit and wait at the picnic table outside of the restaurant.


    He was tired. When he lay his head down on the tabletop, somebody grabbed him by the arm, their hand tightening over his mouth. ¡±Don¡¯t fight. You can do this the easy way, or the hard way.¡±


    The touch wasn¡¯t gentle or soft. The hand across his mouth was rough, calloused, dry. Under the faint nighttime lights of the parking lot, Adam made out a hooded figure: taller than him, forcing something into his mouth. He could have fought back. Attempting to escape the figure¡¯s grasp resulted in pressure to the throat, which left him choking for air.


    He¡¯d recognize the voice anywhere. As Zeb¡¯s car pulled into the parking lot, Adam was yanked across the sidewalk, held tightly by the throat, forced into the back seat of a tinted van.

 40. Burning Crosses +

    ¡°If you go through with this wedding, you¡¯re not welcome in our house anymore.¡±


    ¡°Fine. I don¡¯t want to live here anyway. It doesn¡¯t feel like home.¡±


    Valentina¡¯s parents still hadn¡¯t grown accepting of her marriage. Though they were cordial to Mosiah, she knew this was only for her benefit. It certainly didn¡¯t help that he was petty and opinionated, and had made it perfectly clear what he thought of his in-laws. Today, he¡¯d promised Valentina he¡¯d behave, but Mosiah was stubborn, and refused to dress in anything other than his usual black makeup and fishnets.


    Viola was one year old, though she didn¡¯t look it. The toddler was small, and took up much more of Valentina¡¯s time than Maia ever had. She had a sense of guilt, still, about her daughter¡¯s disability. She had a perpetual sense that it had been her fault.  Viola got around on her hands and legs, but had no muscle control in her lower body. This had led to the use of mobility aids such as walkers and crawlers - but mobility aids were expensive, and they had to be upgraded as Viola grew.


    She wasn¡¯t close with Esther. The girl didn¡¯t seem to like her much, and followed Mosiah around everywhere he went, like she was afraid of being left alone. Maybe she was. When her husband came to her with the suggestion of adopting Esther, Valentina hadn¡¯t been against it. She¡¯d wanted a large family since she was a little girl, but had become too afraid to get pregnant again after Viola¡¯s complicated birth. Esther adored Maia, confused as to why the little girl was shy around her. For many children, change was difficult. For a toddler, suddenly having another child move in with you would be disorienting and confusing.


    ¡°Mam¨¢,¡± said Maia, pushing her sister in a little stroller, ¡°when are we going to abuelita¡¯s house?¡±


    Valentina¡¯s parents had recently gotten in touch with her: not to speak with her, but to insist they needed to meet their granddaughter. In the four years since her birth, Maia had never met her grandparents, and she didn¡¯t know any better. Although Valentina didn¡¯t feel particularly loved by her parents, she was eager to mend her relationship with them, and had agreed to bring the family over for a visit. Mosiah wasn¡¯t thrilled by this, but he loved Valentina, and she could talk him into just about anything.


    ¡°Soon, baby.¡±


    ¡°If your parents say anything mean to you, we¡¯re leaving.¡± Mosiah had the day off work, and had spent it cleaning the duplex. He¡¯d recently dyed his hair: black as opposed to his usual red. Scooping Viola up from the stroller, he began to change her into the outfit Valentina had picked out.


    She sighed. ¡°Babe, you said you¡¯d be nice.¡±


    He had a lot more patience with the children than she did. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll be nice - if they¡¯re nice.¡± Valentina knew what her parents were like. She couldn¡¯t expect a person to sit back and let them treat her badly: especially not someone like her husband, who treated most people the same way they treated his family. ¡°Anyway - ¡° After finishing dressing Viola, Mosiah held out his phone, ¡°Saphira sent me the link to this Facebook page. She set it up to get help finding Jude.¡±


    The girls were noisy, but they were playing together without fighting. Maia hadn¡¯t adjusted to the idea of a younger sibling, and she often acted out for her father¡¯s attention. Valentina, who had been combing her hair, snatched the phone. ¡°Why do we need to find Jude?¡± She¡¯d never met the man in person. No sensible person would want to.


    ¡°Because he has Adam.¡± Mosiah hadn¡¯t been very invested in what was happening. He spoke to his sister once or twice a week, but seemed to have better things to do than put effort into figuring out the abduction. Valentina knew he¡¯d never been close with his siblings growing up. She knew that after Mosiah ran away, he lost touch with most of them.


    The social media page was filled with posts from strangers, who claimed they had seen Sebastian once or twice, or who claimed they¡¯d been victimized by him. ¡°Are we sure? He could have been taken by anybody, right?¡± Valentina knew the basics. She wished to know more.


    It was nearing lunchtime. There was a large pit of dread in Valentina¡¯s stomach. She¡¯d been told that Sebastian had been arrested and taken into custody, but no one knew what had become of Jude. According to the police, it was certain that Sebastian was responsible for all of the deaths, and it was certain he had acted alone - because although Jude appeared in Orion¡¯s security videos, it couldn¡¯t be proven that he was involved. Even Valentina knew this was a cop-out. Law enforcement had made an arrest, and so they were no longer investigating. Valentina believed Jude had gone on the run, that perhaps he¡¯d left the province so as not to be found. He seemed to have the ability to track Orion¡¯s children, although no one really knew how or why. Mosiah took the phone back, responding to a message from a friend. ¡°I¡¯m sure. Zeb saw him the night of the abduction.¡±


    There was a lot of effort that needed to be put in to leave the house with children. Esther was a chatterbox, telling the same stories over and over. Maia procrastinated on putting her shoes on. Viola couldn¡¯t do anything herself. ¡°Well, where was he going?¡± Impatient, she fastened Maia¡¯s shoes, and slapped hats onto the girls¡¯ heads.


    It was mid September, and Valentina hated the cold. Fastening Viola into her seat, Mosiah glanced at her. ¡°If we knew, we wouldn¡¯t need social media to help.¡± She was on edge, sitting restlessly in the front of the truck, uncertain about meeting with her parents. Esmeralda, who still lived at home, had been the one to talk Valentina into visiting, and it hadn¡¯t been easy. It was likely her father still saw her as a little girl who needed to be protected. This would surely make for some drama between the men. Valentina hated drama. Mosiah got a thrill out of it.


    Recently, Maia started preschool. Valentina believed it was important for young children to learn how to socialise and how to get along with other children. That summer, Mosiah had set the four-year-old down to explain, in words suitable for a toddler, the concept of body autonomy. As a boy who had never had this growing up, Mosiah was determined to ensure his daughters knew the importance of consent.


    Valentina¡¯s mother always cooked for her guests. She always had, since her daughters were young. This was where Valentina had learned how to be a hostess to houseguests. Her parents lived in the same home they¡¯d lived in since their marriage: a small home adorned with Christian symbols and artwork. They were a religious couple who said prayers before each meal and attended church twice a week. Valentina hadn¡¯t stepped foot inside a church since her early teenage years.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Hi, Mam¨¢.¡±


    Paloma had just scrubbed the house. She did this each time before having company. Waving Valentina inside, Paloma looked for a long time at each of her granddaughters. She knew nothing of Viola. She knew nothing of Valentina¡¯s pregnancy complications, or her scary birth experience, or Viola¡¯s disability. She said nothing to Mosiah, but looked at her daughter with a wounded look. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me you had another daughter.¡±


    At Paloma¡¯s house, there was no English allowed. Valentina had gotten in trouble many times as a teenager for speaking English at home. Even after moving to Canada, Paloma insisted their culture and language remain alive in the home. Maia stood behind her father, shy around people she didn¡¯t know. ¡°This is Viola.¡± Picking up the bulky car seat, Valentina stepped inside the house. ¡°She just turned one.¡±


    On the wall inside the front door, Paloma had hung a large print of the Last Supper. Esmeralda sat in the living room, smiling half-heartedly at her sister, looking up halfway from the book she read.  Maia followed her mother, sitting shyly on her lap in the living room. ¡°Hija,¡± said Paloma, sitting on the couch next to Valentina. ¡°I¡¯m hurt that you never reached out to me about Viola.¡± Communication was a two-way street. Since Valentina left home, her parents hadn¡¯t reached out either.


    Esther sat on the floor, rarely shy around strangers. Paloma cast her a suspicious look. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±


    Mosiah played with the girls. He was annoyed, already, but he was rather easy to annoy. ¡°Mam¨¢, that¡¯s Mosiah¡¯s sister. We¡¯re her legal guardians now.¡±


    It was important to be communicative. In order for any type of relationship to work, all parties needed to put in the effort. Maybe when she was younger, Valentina believed it was up to her. She¡¯d learned over the years that if a person truly wanted to be a part of her life - family or otherwise - they would put the effort in. It was important that Valentina brought her family around, even if it was uncomfortable. It was important her parents see she was a  good mother, and she¡¯d made something of herself. She wasn¡¯t sure why this was important to her. Perhaps, she just wanted to be told, just once, that the people who had raised her were proud of her.


    Valentina¡¯s mother was a woman who liked to gossip. She spoke to Esmeralda in hushed tones, a sour look on her face. ¡°He¡¯s still dressing like that! It¡¯s time to grow up! He¡¯s a father now!¡± Paloma¡¯s biggest issue with her son-in-law was his religion - but Mosiah wasn¡¯t really religious at all. The way Paloma saw it, he walked around with a burning cross on his forehead.


    Sitting cross-legged on the floor with the girls, Mosiah focused on the game they were playing: something made up, which had the kids giggling and feeling at home. ¡°You know I can speak Spanish, right?¡±  Valentina¡¯s mother looked shocked by this. She¡¯d assumed, maybe, that Valentina was made to speak only English at home, or that she¡¯d decided to leave her Colombian roots behind.  The truth was, although Mosiah hadn¡¯t known a word of Spanish when they met, he was a fast learner when he cared about the subject. ¡°Anyway -¡± he stood, kissing Valentina, scooping Viola up so that she giggled loudly. ¡°I¡¯m taking the girls to the park.¡±


    Valentina¡¯s daughters loved their father. Anybody could figure this out just by paying attention. Despite her family¡¯s less-than-warm feelings toward him, Valentina always knew she¡¯d made the right decision with her marriage. Maybe he wasn¡¯t always the perfect parent - but nobody ever was. When the door shut,  Esmeralda frowned.  ¡°Now I feel kind of bad for being so mean to him. He¡¯s a really good dad.¡±


    ¡°Obviously.¡± The religious artifacts around the home put Valentina on edge. ¡°That¡¯s why I keep having his babies.¡±  She¡¯d displeased  her father with this comment. Five years ago, this would have bothered her.  ¡°He takes care of us.¡±


    It had been three years since Valentina¡¯s elopement. Paloma, who had insisted the marriage wouldn¡¯t last a year, had loosened up slightly since Valentina¡¯s arrival. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Viola? One year old and can¡¯t even crawl - you should be working on milestones with her.¡±


    What¡¯s wrong with your baby?


    Valentina was tired of this question. It was usually asked by complete strangers - and she understood when it came from a young child. Most of the time, it didn¡¯t. She was always more polite than Mosiah when answering this question. ¡°She was born with spina bifida,  Mam¨¢. She has paralysis in her legs. We¡¯re getting her a wheelchair soon.¡±  Everyone acted as though a disabled child was the end of the world, like it was a death sentence for their parents and families. Viola had limitations, but so did everybody else. If Viola wasn¡¯t treated any differently than any other child, she¡¯d grow into herself and learn to be confident, even with her disability.


    Paloma frowned, exchanging a look with her husband. Valentina¡¯s father was a man of few words, especially around those with which he wasn¡¯t comfortable.  ¡°You didn¡¯t take care of yourself during your pregnancy? You didn¡¯t take enough vitamins?¡± After Viola¡¯s birth, Valentina had been informed by a nurse that folate deficiency played a role in the development of spina bifida. Maybe it was her fault, after all. Maybe if she¡¯d taken more vitamins, or ate healthier foods, or gone for more check-ups, Viola would have been healthy.  Her mother stared at her, waiting for Valentina to speak. ¡°Hija, your dad and I don¡¯t think you¡¯re responsible enough to be a mother. You sit here, letting your husband take the children  to the park on his own, and you don¡¯t take care of yourself during pregnancies-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to her like that.¡±


    Mosiah, who stood quietly in the hallway with the girls, had snuck up on them.  He spoke in English out of spite, refusing to be told what to do.  ¡°Valentina, we¡¯re leaving. Get your shoes.¡± The pit in her stomach felt like acid, and tasted the same. She¡¯d heard it enough times: she¡¯d spent enough times lying awake, feeling guilt or shame or sadness. Normally, she¡¯d argue about being told what to do. Today, she was in a fragile enough mood to do what she was told.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s my fault Viola was born this way. I should have gone to the doctor more and taken more vitamins.¡±


    ¡°Cari?a, listen to me. It¡¯s nothing because of you. Sometimes things just go wrong.¡±


    Valentina sat quietly in the truck. There was so much grief that came with strained familial relationships. She¡¯d always been her parents¡¯ princesa, a girl who could do no wrong. If she hadn¡¯t gotten pregnant, if she hadn¡¯t gotten married, she still would be. She felt cold and emotional, wanting to go home.


    ¡°Why do you let her speak to you like that?¡±


    After buckling the girls into their seats, Mosiah started the truck. Marrying him had meant choosing between her family and a boy, and it had brought such a fallout. ¡°She¡¯s my mother. I can¡¯t just not have a relationship with her.¡±  Paloma had brought her family across the world for better opportunities for her children. She hadn¡¯t spoken the language, and had struggled to work multiple jobs to support the family. Valentina knew her mother had struggled. She knew the woman spent nights awake worrying about her daughters, and worked far too many hours at jobs that didn¡¯t appreciate her, and enrolled her daughters into the best schools in the best neighbourhoods. Valentina had repaid her by going against her wishes and breaking her mother¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Sure you can.¡± Mosiah, who usually drove with a hand on her leg, kept both hands on the steering wheel. ¡°I haven¡¯t had a relationship with my mother in six years.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s different. Your mother¡¯s dead.¡± She felt defensive. Growing up was hard. Growing apart from the people you loved was harder.

 41. A Fantastic Fantasma of Ruin And Dust

    Winter had always been Aggie¡¯s favourite time of year. In the heat, she felt sicker, and this made her miserable. As a little girl, she enjoyed the holidays. They weren¡¯t the same now; there was far too much social obligation, and far too little time. In the cooler weather, she sometimes attempted to walk around the block with Kerr. Some days, she was more successful than others. There had been times during a walk when Aggie fainted, and Kerr had been her comfort until she woke up. When the weather was hot, Aggie became faint and nauseous and didn¡¯t enjoy leaving the house. When Kieve lived at home, he would accompany Aggie on walks, knowing it was likely she would leave them incomplete. Kieve wasn¡¯t always nice to his sisters. After Blodwyn died, he became much softer toward Aggie.


    When Aggie returned home from her first date, Kieve waited behind the door for her. He¡¯d come over that night with his wife for a visit, and they never stayed long. It was hard to manoeuvre the wheelchair through the tiny house. Aggie used to love it here. These days, it was just too crowded.


    ¡°Who was that?¡±


    Kieve had never been overprotective. When Aggie made it through the door, she slid against the wall, feeling flushed and tired. ¡°Who?¡±


    She¡¯d gotten home in time for dinner. Although her father was still at work, Aggie¡¯s sister-in-law was a good cook, and was more than happy to take over. Kieve gave her a look she couldn¡¯t decipher. ¡°That guy you were just kissing. Who was he?¡±


    Aggie had always felt the need to ask her father for permission, even well into her adult years. Some days, it still felt strange to do things without her father¡¯s knowledge. ¡°It¡¯s none of your business. I can kiss who I want.¡±


    Aggie missed Wales: the climate, the people, her old home. Mostly she missed her family. Before breakfast, when her father had gone to work, Aggie sat to speak to Blodwyn under the soft lights of her loft.


    ¡°I miss you, Blodwyn.¡± It was quiet. Aggie could have sat in silence her whole life. ¡°It¡¯s almost your eighteenth birthday. I know you¡¯re not here to celebrate, but I¡¯m still having a  party for you.¡± Kerr, who sensed the emotions of his owners, curled up underneath Aggie¡¯s arm. ¡°I was thinking about the time we made a fort in the trees outside our house and wouldn¡¯t let Kieve inside. He was so angry.¡± Aggie wasn¡¯t sure what she believed regarding death. She was from an irreligious family who rarely spoke of death or what happened afterwards. It wasn¡¯t until Blodwyn died that Aggie began to spend time wondering where she had gone.


    As a teenager, Aggie had taken a day trip to Caernarfon Castle with her family. She was very newly disabled, and hadn¡¯t yet come to terms with the idea of mobility aids. The biggest hurdle for many disabled people, Aggie had found, was the realization that it wasn¡¯t something to be ashamed of. In the days when her diagnoses were fresh in her mind, she felt embarrassed to speak of them, to be any visibly different than anybody else. The truth was that, not only was the disabled community the world¡¯s largest minority, it was also the only one anybody could become a part of at any time.


    When Blodwyn was alive, she loved plants and knitting. She had a perch in her bedroom containing a variety of plants, which she took great pride in. She knitted her loved ones things like scarves, sweaters, hats. Aggie¡¯s favourite winter cap was one Blodwyn had made - one Aggie wore every year.


    It was late morning when Briar picked Aggie up . Briar worked a part-time job as a receptionist, which she disliked. Aggie had never had a job before: and living with her father meant she wasn¡¯t required to support herself. Getting a job would have meant feeling more like an adult, and more like a person who contributed to society. Aggie, who had grown tired of the limited space in the tiny home, had been thinking about leaving the home to live on her own. When left alone, Cecil was a lonely and depressed man.


    ¡°Hey, girl.¡± said Briar, helping Aggie load her wheelchair into the van. ¡°How¡¯re you doing?¡±


    She¡¯d just gotten off work, and the girls had plans to get lunch at the mall. Aggie hadn¡¯t spent much time with her friend lately. More often than not, she simply didn¡¯t have the spoons to do anything productive.


    Sweating made Aggie uncomfortable and overwhelmed. Briar¡¯s air conditioning was turned up as high as it went. ¡°Can you drive me home after we¡¯re done at the mall?¡± Most people were comforted by small talk. Aggie had never seen the point in talking just to break the silence. She said what she wanted to say, and nothing further.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Briar. It¡¯s just hard to tell if he actually likes me or if I¡¯m just being annoying.¡±


    ¡°Girl, please. This man works sixty plus hour weeks, and then drives forty five minutes to spend all of his free time with you.¡±


    She had a pain in her legs. When she stood too long, they turned a faint purple colour. The first time Aggie fainted, she was thirteen years old and giving a group presentation in class. This was awful enough in itself - Aggie always suffered through group projects. Standing at the front of the classroom, with twenty pairs of judgmental eyes on her, she¡¯d begun to feel dizzy and ill in a way that was difficult to explain. When she¡¯d opened her mouth to attempt to speak, she¡¯d instead fallen to the floor.


    Leaving the house was always overwhelming. The mall, which was filled with crowds and noise, was a place Aggie could never stay for long. She enjoyed small second-hand stores, and did most of her essential shopping online. When she spoke to her father about her desire to move out, he expressed concern about her lack of independence. With age and maturity came a strain in Aggie¡¯s relationship with her father. She loved the man, but he made her feel cramped, and being cramped made it hard to breathe.


    ¡°You have to understand something about your father,¡± said Isolde, years ago, when Aggie was still coming to terms with her disabilities. ¡°He spends a lot of time worrying about you. He¡¯s only overprotective because he loves you.¡±


    When Aggie was a child, being protected was fine. She was nearing her mid-twenties now, and being protected made her feel helpless. Aggie struggled to believe in her competency - and she blamed much of this on her father¡¯s helicopter parenting. She suspected the only way to grow up and learn how to be an adult was to have her own space. It wasn¡¯t as easy as just packing up and leaving. Aggie had no job, and very little money.


    Briar opened a window. ¡°Sure. I¡¯m glad to hear things are still going well with you two. How long have you been dating now, anyway? Six months?¡±


    Over the course of their friendship, Briar had learned to be direct and to say exactly what she meant. There had been far too many miscommunications for her to be coy or indirect. ¡°Actually, nine. We don¡¯t spend that much time together though, and I don¡¯t like that. He has a baby now, and she always needs something.¡±


    Aggie disliked children. They were noisy, unpredictable. They never cared if they were too much. Aggie never wanted to be a mother. Despite this, she still had an unusual  sense of mourning. Some people could become mothers without even trying, which seemed unfair to those who had to spend their whole lives trying.


    Outside the mall, Briar looked at Aggie. It was hard, sometimes, not to be envious of allistics, who could pick up on social hints and read body language easily. ¡°Are you insecure about that?¡± Aggie was tired. She had gotten a lot of sleep the night before, but became tired by not doing much at all.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Standing to remove her chair from the trunk made Aggie dizzy. Why would a neurotypical, able-bodied person want to spend time with a person like her? ¡°I¡¯m trying not to be insecure, but sometimes I wonder why people hang out with me.¡± Briar wouldn¡¯t understand. She had never had any trouble making friends.


    As a child, Aggie¡¯s mother used to tell her she was too honest for her own good - but Aggie had never understood what was so bad about being honest. People couldn¡¯t make up their minds: they wanted her to be honest, and then got angry when she was. It was things like this that made Aggie not want to speak much at all. Briar said people liked honesty when it made them look good, and not when it didn¡¯t. It was hard to understand this mindframe.


    Blodwyn¡¯s first boyfriend was also her only boyfriend. A week after her death, Aggie¡¯s mother was informed that there had been a private photo circulated of Blodwyn, and the boy she¡¯d been dating had had it in his possession. Although nobody had ever proved that Blodwyn¡¯s ex-boyfriend had shared the image, Aggie had always believed it to be him.


    ¡°Mrs. Sayce, we¡¯ve had a situation with your daughter. She told a boy at recess that he was getting fat from eating too many sweets.¡±


    Aggie, sweetheart, her mother would say, playing with her hair or her fingers. These things might be true, but you can¡¯t say them out loud, because they¡¯ll hurt people¡¯s feelings. Sometimes, the truth makes people insecure, and they get upset. Do you understand? She never did. Even when Aggie tried to be politically correct, she always said something wrong. The most confusing part of it all was that it seemed to offend people when she asked what she¡¯d said wrong.


    When Briar dropped her off at the townhouse, Aggie was warm and lightheaded, the way she often felt before a fainting spell. After learning of her reactions to uncertainty, Salem had taken to informing Aggie who would be there on a day she visited. It was hard to get around here in her chair, because of the stairs. There were always ways around this.


    Once, Aggie sprained her ankle tripping over a tree root in the woods. For an able-bodied person, this would have been nothing but a mild annoyance in an otherwise-relaxing hike. For Aggie, it was a trip to the hospital.


    Dressed in a tiny ladybug costume, Tha?s fussed in the baby carrier her mother wore. She had chubby arms and legs, and very thick hair, and stared at her father, who stood smoking outside his back door. Tha?s was too young to participate in Halloween: but this hadn¡¯t stopped her mother from dressing the baby in tiny costumes. ¡°Happy birthday, by the way.¡± Kioni was tired, always; she was dressed as Maleficent, and removed Tha?s from the carrier on her chest. ¡°She had a bath. She just needs a change and her pyjamas before going to bed.¡±


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Aggie had met Kioni for the first time many months ago, on the day of the woman¡¯s twenty week ultrasound. After leaving the bar, Kioni had driven her home. It was hard not to feel inferior: an underdeveloped disabled girl and an accomplished curvy woman. Kioni was friendly and affectionate, an opposite to Aggie. She¡¯d answered the girl¡¯s questions openly and offered her comfort about insecurities - never prying, never oversharing. It was strange and admirable for a person to have such control of how they spoke. When Aggie had returned home at the end of the night, she¡¯d fallen straight asleep.


    ¡°When you two were dating, did you ever wonder if he loved you?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes. I¡¯m very affectionate and open. Salem doesn¡¯t say he loves you like a normal person.¡±


    ¡°Then how do you know?¡±


    ¡°You pay attention.¡±


    It was hard to read people. They said eyes were the windows to the soul, that emotions could be read on the faces of everyone: but, what if every expression looked the same?


    Tha?s had her mother''s eyes. Sitting cross-legged in a plastic chair, Aggie watched. It was early in the evening, and she¡¯d had the idea to visit a haunted house that night. It was their first Halloween as a couple, and Aggie had insisted they wear matching costumes. Salem took the baby, who turned her head when he spoke. Since their daughter¡¯s birth, Kioni had been struggling with postpartum depression, and often called Salem for support very late at night. He didn¡¯t mind this, but Aggie wasn¡¯t sure how she felt about it. That was what happened with kids, though. Kioni was a part of his life forever now. ¡°How¡¯ve you been?¡±


    Everyone knew Salem was fond of his ex-girlfriend. She was a friend, and everyone needed a support system. That night, after Tha?s went to bed, Salem and Aggie were going out for a few hours. River, who¡¯d never wanted kids of his own, had been eager to stay home and look after her. Kioni kissed Tha?s before removing the diaper bag from her shoulder.  ¡°I haven¡¯t been sleeping well. Even when Tha?s isn¡¯t home, I¡¯m too anxious to sleep. I worry that I¡¯m a bad mom.¡±


    Kioni was never afraid to voice her opinions. Salem wasn¡¯t either, and this was probably the underlying reason they had broken up. Tha?s stared at Aggie - she was a baby; she stared at everybody. ¡°You¡¯re a great mom,¡± said Salem, taking the diaper bag. Bad moms didn¡¯t worry if they were bad moms. Since Tha?s¡¯ birth, Kioni had been attending a weekly mothering class, where she¡¯d already made several friends. Very early that morning, after Salem got off work, he¡¯d had a few friends over to take mushrooms and watch movies. Though he¡¯d invited Aggie to join, she¡¯d had little interest.


    Kioni hugged Salem before she left. In the past few weeks, she¡¯d stopped checking in with him so often, and limited herself to only a few messages a day. Like any parent, she worried about the baby, but she trusted Salem, and he was a responsible parent. After watching Kioni drive away, Salem took his daughter inside to be changed, and Aggie followed close behind. Tha?s was three months old. She was still very small, but had begun to gain back her birth weight. Aggie felt awkward stepping in to assist with her, even though nobody minded. Even Kioni had said she was more than happy to have Aggie lend a helping hand.


    Salem was twenty nine years old. Recently, he¡¯d purchased an electric motorcycle, and he¡¯d taken to driving it to work when the weather was good. Aggie came along for rides sometimes, and she always made him slow down. Tha?s wore onesies to bed, and slept, at Kioni¡¯s request,  in a crib next to Salem¡¯s bed. It was very strange spending so much time around a baby - and, despite never wanting children of her own, Aggie had taken to Tha?s like a moth to a flame. Blodwyn was born when Aggie was six years old. She¡¯d been told by her mother that she was very helpful with her baby sister. She didn¡¯t remember this.


    ¡°You¡¯re pretty.¡±


    Aggie spent a lot of time alone. She didn¡¯t mind this, but it was sometimes worrying leaving her alone. She¡¯d insisted they dress up as Emily and Victor from Corpse Bride, and she¡¯d enlisted the help of Briar to put her costume together. She was already dressed, but hadn¡¯t yet done her makeup.  Sitting beside Salem on the couch, Aggie fixed her wig.  ¡°Thank you.¡± She didn¡¯t hate compliments. She was uncomfortable by the attention that came with them. Tha?s fell asleep quickly, milk dribbling from her mouth, one chubby arm flopping down against her side. It was a little intimidating to put a small baby to sleep. She had grown a bit since birth,  but she was still very small. After placing Tha?s on her back inside her crib, Salem checked the time.


    ¡°River will be home in thirty minutes, and then we can get ready and go out. What should we do while we wait?¡±


    Only a few months into their relationship, Aggie fainted outside of the library. Though she¡¯d told Salem all about her disabilities, he worried. If Aggie hadn¡¯t insisted on being alright, she figured he¡¯d probably have taken the day off work. Salem usually worked on Halloween. This week, he¡¯d planned his days off in order to take Aggie out.


    The twins were rarely home. They were usually out with friends, and didn¡¯t spend time with one another. It was strange to see identical twins who hated each other. Eve was timid and cautious. Seraphim was blunt and opinionated. Aggie could tell the girls apart by their attitudes, and not much else.


    Six months ago, Aggie had sex for the first time. Before this, she¡¯d made Salem disclose details about his sexual past, and he¡¯d been very forthcoming. Aggie knew there were many more people before her - but she¡¯d never cared to know how many, and she could only hope he¡¯d been responsible.  It didn¡¯t matter. She¡¯d cum embarrassingly quickly: the first time in her life, a feeling she had no word for until afterwards, when explaining the feeling to Briar.


    Aggie seldom smiled or laughed in moments when it was appropriate. Salem couldn¡¯t read her face, and she knew this. ¡°I want to have sex,¡± she said, blunt as always. There were moments when having no filter was a good thing, and there were times when it was very bad. Aggie didn¡¯t seem to know how to tell the difference. ¡°You can put the bowl of candy out on the doorstep. I like having sex with you.¡±


    She didn¡¯t need to ask him twice. Between sixty hour work weeks and being a parent, Salem had little free time. Sleep when the baby sleeps, everybody said - but that was the only time a person had a chance to get anything done. On the screen of the monitor, Tha?s whimpered and wriggled, and then lapsed back into sleep. There was a crowd of people outside; Salem placed the candy bowl outside before locking the door.


    She was in love with him. It had snuck up on her, and then hit her all at once when she least expected it. ¡°I like living with you,¡± she said. ¡°You make me feel safe. I like your stubble and your piercings. Also, you¡¯re a good dad. In case nobody ever told you.¡± As a child and teenager, Aggie¡¯s parents rarely told her they were proud of her. As an adult, she often wondered if she¡¯d ever done anything worth being proud of. She kissed with her tongue, removing the elastic from Salem¡¯s hair, letting it fall over his shoulders. She liked his long hair, and wasn¡¯t shy about reminding him. There was noise outside, but both ignored this. Pressing Aggie against the side of the couch, Salem slid a hand up her dress.


    Earlier in their relationship, Aggie made a playlist of slow, soothing music - this is what she¡¯d called it, anyway. She liked to play it in times of stress, and to fall asleep, and even during sex, as she found quiet music relaxing. Pressing her face into Salem¡¯s chest, Aggie squeezed her fingers together, the way she always did when she was horny. The baby monitor stood on the coffee table, the screen dark and quiet. Salem used to check on Tha?s constantly, needlessly, many times throughout the night. He wasn¡¯t quite so paranoid now. Aggie lay on her back across the couch, her costume dress having been removed. She had very small breasts, and was insecure about this, but it didn¡¯t matter. Salem kissed her face, whispering into her ear the way she¡¯d said she liked.


    ¡°You¡¯re so pretty.¡±


    Kissing was nice, and Salem was good at it. Aggie supposed, with all the years he¡¯d had to fool around, he¡¯d gotten a bit of practice. He held her face in the palms of his hands, making her feel safe and protected. She¡¯d learned over the months that people showed love in different ways: some people gave gifts,  some did household tasks, some made time to spend with others.  She was horny and high - and these were unfamiliar feelings that she wasn¡¯t upset by. Sometimes, it still seemed strange to Aggie that anybody wanted to have sex with her at all.


    The best part of being in a relationship was the comfort. It was rare to meet someone who made Aggie feel so comfortable, so authentic. It was a relief to have the ability to be herself, completely, the way she had never been able to before. Salem¡¯s fingers swept her cheeks, making her feel warm. He had a lip ring and a tongue ring; they tickled her mouth.


    She was freckly, bright-eyed, flushed. The living room lights were dim and soft, casting a glow on her skin. She liked to be kissed softly and slowly: on the neck, on the chest, on the arms. ¡°I don¡¯t like being touched,¡± she said once, ¡°except by you.¡±  He liked to tease: nibbles on her ears and neck, circling her breasts with his tongue, sucking her nipples until her fingers twisted through his. He liked to leave soft kisses down her stomach, pausing only millimetres from her pussy, and then making his way back up. Aggie shut her eyes, letting her hair dangle off the couch. Salem took her breasts in his hands, and her swollen clit in his mouth.


    Guys don¡¯t go down on you unless they really like you. Usually, they just want to get off and be done with it.


    Briar knew a lot more about the world than Aggie. She knew more about dating, and boys, and being an adult. Without her, Aggie would have no idea what to do with herself. She wore a thin pair of leggings, which didn¡¯t keep her warm in the cold. Before meeting Salem, Aggie had no idea what it felt like to want somebody in an  intimate way. She¡¯d felt so alone, so broken, to know she was the only girl in high school who didn¡¯t want to have sex or make out. There was a word for this, Briar had said, when Aggie tried to explain the feeling, You¡¯re a demisexual. You¡¯re not attracted to people sexually until you¡¯re emotionally close with them.


    It was warm inside the townhouse. The heater turned on in short intervals, heating the living room. Aggie disliked the heat. In the summertime, she often sat in front of a fan, or took a cold bath. There was a picture in the living room that River had painted of Salem and Tha?s. River was a talented artist, although he¡¯d never believe anyone who told him this.


    Aggie grumbled, burying her slender fingers in Salem¡¯s hair. Sometimes, she fainted during sex. Sometimes, she fainted in public. She squirmed, watching him, her glasses crooked on her face. Her pussy was warm and wet, tightening around his fingers. Salem had only recently learned that women could control this.


    Always remember, you can withdraw consent at any time. Even if you say yes at first, you¡¯re allowed to change your mind.


    Salem always asked for consent. Aggie didn¡¯t understand this at first. Sometimes,  Briar said, people who have been taken advantage of in the past try extra hard to ask for permission. ¡°Faster.¡±


    Her eyes were closed, and her face hot. When Aggie came, a red spot appeared up the front of her neck. Flicking his pierced tongue over her swollen clit, Salem stuck another finger inside her pussy. He was gorgeous. Everything he did made her weak.


    On the screen of the baby monitor, Tha?s cried in her sleep. It wasn¡¯t rare for the baby to interrupt adult time, but she usually put herself back to sleep before too long.


    River rarely came downstairs. He¡¯d hide in his room, listening to loud music while he painted, or he¡¯d leave the house in the middle of the night. Sex was nothing like Aggie had been taught it would be. She¡¯d seen it on television, read it in books - and it was nothing like this.


    It was hard to speak when you were about to cum. Salem could always tell when Aggie was close; her hands squeezed him harder, her back arched against the arm of the couch. When a red streak made its way up her neck, Aggie gasped loudly, her legs scooped casually over Salem¡¯s shoulders, trembling. He once told her there was something different about going down on a person you cared about, that it was so much more satisfying than fucking for pleasure.


    The night before, River started an argument. He did this a lot, and left everyone around him feeling uneasy. After this, he¡¯d run off somewhere, and he still hadn¡¯t returned. Aggie didn¡¯t fear confrontation, but she disliked it. Since disappearing two weeks ago, Adam¡¯s abduction was reported to the police by his sister, Saphira, who had set up multiple social media accounts to look for him. Salem had too many siblings to keep track of, and he didn¡¯t talk about most of them. At Aggie¡¯s paranoid request, he changed the locks to his house. Jude could be anywhere, and he could sneak up on anybody.

 42. lost boys ?!

    The air smelled of musk. Stepping outside onto the hot brick, Adam¡¯s feet blistered. He hadn¡¯t eaten in days: the hunger didn¡¯t fill him anymore. He¡¯d been moved, from one windowless building to another, spending nights sobbing and vomiting out guilt. It was hard not to feel guilt. He didn¡¯t sleep at night. Instead, he lay awake to stare at the ceiling, wondering where he was, wondering if he¡¯d ever make it home alive.


    Curled into a ball on the bathroom floor, Adam retched. There was nothing inside him, but his stomach burned with hunger and fear. It was always yellow-green, and left him shaking. At nighttime, the streets were barren. Jude was working with other men, meeting up with them late at night, always masked. He was thorough, and this frightened Adam. Once a day, he was given a small amount of warm water. This wasn¡¯t refreshing: but a person couldn¡¯t survive without water. Adam longed to run, or to visit the ocean, or to hear his sister¡¯s voice. Perhaps he would never again get the chance to do any of these things.


    ¡°Get up.¡±


    Jude had a gruff voice, which anyone who knew him would recognize. Perhaps this was why he¡¯d fled the country. Back home, he was wanted, and many people in his city knew of him. He stood before Adam, dressed all in black, his face almost entirely obscured by a black balaclava. Adam had never trusted him, even when Jude was a friendly, sociable member of the church.


    There was no telling how long Adam had been gone. He grumbled, wiping a shaky hand across his mouth. ¡°Jude, I¡¯m starving. When can I have something to eat?¡± It was scary how different people could become. Jude didn¡¯t speak to him, unless to make a demand. They¡¯d recently moved to a new building; it was dark and echoed loudly.


    After a long enough period of hunger, a person didn¡¯t feel hungry anymore. Adam was thin and always dirty, rarely allowed to change his clothing or take a shower. He was used to neglect. This made it easy to survive.


    By now, he knew how things worked.  He ate when Jude said he ate, and ate what he was given. The only way to survive here was to be obedient, and Adam had been doing this his whole life. There were many ways to get people to do what you wanted: sweet-talk, bribing, blackmail. Jude had done all of these things and more.


    Stop calling me by my name, Jude had said, throwing Adam through a doorway, you don¡¯t know me here. Got it?


    After taking Adam from work, Jude had forced a small sleeping pill into his mouth, so that the boy slept until they arrived at an unknown location. ¡°What are you doing with me, anyway? Are you planning on killing me, too, the way you killed Alma?¡± Adam wasn¡¯t stupid. Jude was cold and calculated, but he was predictable, and he¡¯d been bitter ever since Alma turned him down for a date. He wasn¡¯t afraid of Jude. It was easy to act tough, but few people could actually back up their words with action. The last time Adam saw Mara, she¡¯d lectured him for his disobedience and nerve, swearing that he was a disappointment to his father. He had few good memories of his mother. If he tried hard enough, he could recall them.


    Somewhere in the distance, there were police sirens. Adam was very cold and very tired, and the building was warm. His hands shook badly, so that he couldn¡¯t get a glass of water to his mouth without spilling it. Water didn¡¯t make a difference. Adam¡¯s shirt hung off him, wrinkled and dirty.


    Everything was sore. Adam¡¯s feet were calloused and hard from weeks of going barefoot. He wondered how long it took to starve to death. Maybe, letting this happen would be easier than trying to fight. He¡¯d lost a lot of muscle (but it wasn¡¯t as if there was a lot to begin with), and a lot of dexterity, hardly possessing the energy to lift his feet off the floor. It was hard to stay awake, and even harder to sleep.


    In the small, dark building that Jude forced Adam inside, there were three empty rooms, and a very small window. When Adam looked outside, he saw nothing but empty space: no buildings, no people. He hadn¡¯t dared ask where he¡¯d been taken. If there was any chance of escape, he needed to gain Jude¡¯s trust. This was hard to do. Even the most hardened people had a kryptonite.


    ¡°You guys did what nobody else had the guts to do.¡±


    It was either very smart or very stupid to try and find Jude¡¯s humanity. It had to have existed: at some point, anyway. He stared at Adam, confused or suspicious, or both. The doors were locked; there was no way out unless Jude let you out, and this would never happen.


    When Adam stood, his legs wobbled. He could have fallen asleep, and not woken up for days. Jude stood over him, perhaps curious to see what he had to say. Like a lot of people, the man had a deep fear of being inferior. It was easy to pretend you weren¡¯t scared. ¡°I always wished I could be as brave as you.¡± He had no plan, beyond the impulsive decision to attempt to appeal to Jude. Escape would be very difficult, but not impossible. The only way to do it was to gain your captor¡¯s trust.


    It had taken Adam a very long time to understand that everyone had demons, in some way or another. Having older siblings helped. Having a dysfunctional family helped, too. Jude said nothing, just stared, his eyes easy to read above his mask. ¡°I think we all daydreamed about my dad¡¯s death at some point. You were the only one who was brave enough. You got away with it for so long: much longer than I could¡¯ve. You even killed my mom, right? She wasn¡¯t really much of a mom at all.¡±


    Jude scowled. ¡°Shut up.¡±


    He presented himself as cunning and superior. Adam had begun to suspect this was just to cover up his feelings of inferiority. No one knew the motives behind the crimes, and this had been bothering Adam. He wanted to call himself an honest person. This wasn¡¯t as true now as it had been in the past. The room spun around him: unwelcoming and dark. ¡°Dad was a bully. I¡¯m glad he¡¯s dead. You saved us.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    It would take a while. There was a system that came with escape. Jude was suspicious. He had every right to be. ¡°He was a sinner. I spent years watching him act like a man of God, knowing he was the furthest thing from it.¡±


    Growing up came with loss: mourning the person you once were, mourning the experiences you never got to have. Growing up came with change, and sometimes this meant leaving loved ones behind. As a kid, all anyone ever wanted was to be a grown-up. As a kid, Adam had no idea what he was missing out on.


    ¡°Sebastian should have put you in charge.¡±


    He was in dangerous territory: trying to humanize a killer. Adam supposed even the worst criminals had been human at some point. He was bluffing, but it seemed to calm the man down. ¡°He¡¯s the one who did it, but you¡¯re smarter. You got away with killing, and he didn¡¯t.¡± A shadow danced across the wall at the other side of the building. There was someone else here; the hallway creaked briefly as the shadow moved. Adam was thirsty. He¡¯d been given a small amount of warm water that morning, and it hadn¡¯t been refreshing.


    Jude had been driving a grey van with tinted back windows. Everything was blurry. Being alone with Jude might have brought fear to others. Adam knew there was a possibility he wouldn¡¯t go home. It was better him than one of the younger children. Adam knew how to protect himself, and he wasn¡¯t afraid to do so.


    There was a commotion outside, and then a loud blast. Jude fell to the floor abruptly, bleeding profusely from the leg, landing with a thud that shook the walls. A shadow danced once more, falling over Adam¡¯ face. When someone brushed his arm, he shrieked.


    I don¡¯t know why you try so hard to make Mom and Dad proud. They don¡¯t care about you. Their opinions don¡¯t matter.


    It was easy to be disagreeable. The thing Adam always fought most with his siblings about was his father. He grew frustrated with his siblings sucking up to the man, as if Orion had been anything more than a brainwashed bully. He pretended not to fear his father. It was foolish to be fearful, anyway. Fear made you vulnerable, and vulnerability made you controllable.


    ¡°I shot him.¡±


    Mind tricks were a funny thing; they could make you believe almost anything, even without reason. Samantha had disappeared almost a year ago. By now, mostly everyone assumed her to be dead. Light had begun to flood in through a very small window, so that Adam saw, faintly, the outline of the woman speaking to him. He had travelled in Sebastian¡¯s van many times. There had always been hints of the presence of another person. It was hard to put hints together when you were focused on staying alive.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I actually shot him.¡±


    Samantha was a blonde woman whose attitude had always been decided by Orion¡¯s mood. At one point, she¡¯d presumably been a person with her autonomy and opinions. Like everyone who lived with Orion, she¡¯d eventually become a mindless shell. She wasn¡¯t his mother. Despite this, she¡¯d always felt more like a mother than his own. The difference between the women was that Samantha was only harsh when Orion was nearby, and Mara seemed to have forgotten how to be gentle at all.


    Adam never disliked Samantha. She was kind when alone, but feared Orion the way most people did. This was what he wanted: to be feared. There was nothing Adam¡¯s father would have hated more than knowing his children could think for themselves. There were few things Adam knew about his father¡¯s past. Orion had met Mara online, an ironic fact about a man who swore the Internet did nothing but brainwash people.


    Samantha stood in front of Jude, holding a semi-automatic pistol with shaking hands, aiming it at Jude. He¡¯d been shot with his own gun, taken from the trunk of his stolen van, probably used to kill before. Samantha didn¡¯t shoot to kill. She shot to disarm, and to escape. Jude crawled, though his wound bled on the floor beneath him. He didn¡¯t seem to fear the weapon pointed at his head, or the dark look in Samantha¡¯s eyes. She shot again, hitting Jude in the shoulder; the man grunted, falling backwards onto the hard floor, where he lay motionless.


    ¡°I thought you were dead.¡±


    Adam had too many questions. There was little time for explanation. Jude was covered in his own blood, and groaned in pain. Adam felt little pity for him. He was surprised by Samantha: a woman who had always advertised for peace and compassion, and now stood with blood on her hands in the middle of a large, dark room.


    ¡°I saw them kill Lillian.¡± Samantha threw the gun down, her face crumpled, as though she were disappointed in herself. ¡°Jude drugged me, forced me into that stolen van, and drove me somewhere.¡± She spoke softer than usual. Perhaps the adrenaline of shooting a man was wearing off, and she was beginning to realize what she¡¯d done. ¡°I stole the gun during one of those long journeys he took us on. I hid it in my shoe.¡±


    It was a miracle Samantha was still alive. Adam wondered what would become of her when she returned home. She was innocent in regards to the murders, but had nowhere to go. This wasn¡¯t particularly a bad thing. Starting over was intimidating and unpleasant, but it was also freeing. After everything that had happened, Samantha could leave somewhere and never come back.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll die?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t as if Adam cared either way. Deep down, he was fond of Samantha, and knew that she had been a victim of Orion in the same way he had. She stepped over Jude, looking down at him briefly before grimacing at Adam. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine. Assuming he doesn¡¯t bleed out before someone finds him, that is. Now come,¡± she said, taking him by the arm, ¡°quickly!¡± He followed quickly, careful not to squeak when he stepped. He was taller than Samantha, but struggled to keep up with her. For a woman who had been starved and neglected for nearly a year, she was impressively spry.  There was no way to know where she was taking him. Maybe she had a destination in mind. Maybe they were just wandering. The ground was very hot, covered with rocks and bumps that poked Adam¡¯s feet.


    When the sunlight hit Adam¡¯s face, he squinted. After weeks in complete darkness, daylight hurt his eyes. After following Samantha out a small window, he chased her down the street, his feet bare and dirty, slapping on the ground.


    She hadn¡¯t been the best mother. She would probably never be one again.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    Samantha began to run again. ¡°Far away from here.¡±


    Sirens seemed to follow them. If Adam was lucky, he would be found before he starved to death.