Page 44 of Whispers From The Dark

He grins, then leaves his host in what looks like a blast of steam from the grate below us.

“Whaddidido?” the man says, dumbly, and I leave him outside.

17

PETRA

I’m elbows deep in dirty dishes when Jack comes home from the neighbors’ house. Takeout had been the solution to our hunger for the first week after Mom died, but the last week or so, I’d tried to cook actual meals. And with that comes dishes. I don’t know how so many dishes get used every day with just the two of us. And doing them is my sensory nightmare. Wet food scraps are a heinous texture, and if I never touch a soggy piece of cereal again, it will be too soon.

“Hey,” Jack says before heading straight back to his room. It’s not like him, but the past couple weeks have been exceedingly hard. He’s in this tricky spot of life where he doesn’t think he’s a little kid anymore, and I suppose he’s not. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need me. He’s approaching puberty, which comes with a ton of emotions anyway, and now his mom died. He doesn’t want to share those feelings with me, and I understand, but I worry about him. Especially when he goes straight to his room and comes out an hour later with swollen eyes and a pink nose.

But I have good news for him today, so I finish with the plate in my hand and follow after him. My new cat is right behind me, weaving in and out of my gait like he’s trying to murder me. When I accidentally kick him, he yowls like it’s my fault.

“Watch out!” I say, and he darts ahead of me down the hallway.

“Huh?” Jack pops his head out into the hallway, thinking I’m talking to him. I laugh, then have to stifle a yawn. My nap hadn’t been satisfying, and I’m still pretty tired. The nightmare that has plagued me since Mom’s death had been so realistic, I’d woken up with tears in my eyes. But I try not to think of it now. Jack turns his head toward Mom’s door, where the cat sits, statuesque and out of the way of my swinging feet. “Is that a cat?”

“Sure looks like it,” I say, teasing him.

“Cool,” he says, but it’s clear he’s not sold on the idea. He’s never had a pet before, and he’s only ever talked about wanting a dog.

“I have something to talk to you about, buddy.”

“What’s up?” he asks. He’s quiet, and his posture is suffering. His head hangs heavy, and he slouches when we sit down to eat lately.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that I officially got temporary custody of you, and the lawyer has filed all the stuff I need to try to get permanent custody.”

“Really?” Jack asks, lighting up. When I nod, he launches himself at me, wrapping his arms around my ribs and squeezing hard enough to bruise. “YES!”

“He’s pretty sure it will work out,” I say, leaving out Asmodeus’s involvement.

Jack grins before his little face grows serious, brows furrowing. “I was worried somebody was going to take me away. What about Dad? Is he…does he want…”

I hate his dad so fucking much, because how am I supposed to tell this funny, clever, and sweet little boy that his father doesn’t want to be involved in his life? It’s bullshit, especially when I’ve done everything I can to keep myself in it.

“I haven’t heard from him since the last time,” I say, reaching out and squeezing his hand.

“Good, then it shouldn’t be a problem,” Jack says with confidence. “I don’t want to live with anyone but you.”

I’m hugging him again, resting my chin on the top of his head. He smells like middle-school boy, so I tell him to go take a shower. When he whines about it, he sounds like himself, and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. That we made it here, that I get to stay with him, that he is free from one parent who doesn’t want him and the other who abused him.

“Okay. Did you get the chips for Max’s party? His mom said I don’t have to bring anything, but I want to.”

“Yep, and I bought extras.” He grins, then gives me another quick hug before going into the bathroom. I close his bedroom door as I hear the water start running, and I exhale. I have so many regrets over how this happened.

The day she died hadn’t been the first time she hit him. It’s just the first time I caught her. She’d done it when I was at work, and it would fade by morning. At first, I thought Jack didn’t trust me enough to tell me, but it wasn’t that.

He didn’t trust her not to do something even worse to me when I would inevitably confront her.

He’d had to think of shit like that, and he’s just a little goddamn kid.

I’d failed at the one thing that was most important to me. I failed to protect my little brother.

“Oh, shut up,” the cat says, and I nearly shit myself.

I don’t move. Or perhaps I can’t move. When I try to speak, nothing comes out. The black and white cat sits at the end of the hallway, backlit by the sun streaming through the kitchen window.

“Come now,” he says, turning away and walking toward my futon with his tail in the air. I’m moving, but I have no control over it. At first, I wonder if this is Asmodeus, but his voice doesn’t sound quite right, and I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into.