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"He wouldn't have," I say. I hate putting my brother down like this, but I need to be truthful with her. "He doesn't go out of his way to help others, only himself. I'm surprised you didn't already know that about him. You two were dating, after all."
"I guess you could call it that," she says. "But, it was more for appearances than anything else."
"Yeah, that sort of makes sense with my brother. Well, half-brother."
"Oh. I didn't realize you were half-brothers."
"Dad got around," I say with a laugh. "You said you were an only child?"
"Yeah," she says. "And my parents were really angry about that."
"Why?"
She lets out a big sigh. "They really wanted a boy."
"So, why not just try for another? How is that your fault?"
"My mother had complications during childbirth. Apparently, the doctors told her that as a result of delivering me she couldn't have any more children."
"How is that your fault?" I wonder out loud.
"Because, if it weren't for me, maybe she could have had more children. Maybe she would have had a boy."
"Again, not seeing how that's your fault. It's not like you had any choice in the matter. Each and every one of us is literally dragged into this world kicking and screaming."
"They always said it was my fault," she whispers softly.
"Yeah, sounds like they said a lot of shit that wasn't true."
"They're my parents. I'm supposed to respect them and what they say."
"Nah," I reply. "Parents are just people. They can be good or they can be shitty. Just because they're your parents doesn't mean you should automatically respect what they say."
She lays there quietly for a moment, as if contemplating what I'm saying. Finally, she pipes up again.
"Can you tell me what happened to them?"
"You sure you want to know?" I ask.
She nods her head softly before closing her eyes. "If I don't know, I'll always wonder."
"They've been cremated," I say. "We cleaned up the scene. There's nothing left that would ever indicate what happened. No cage. No nothing."
"What happens to their ashes?"
"One of the guys buried them beneath a tree somewhere deep in the woods," I lie. I don't think it's all that important for her to know that they were actually going to be mixed into concrete. I secretly hoped that their batch of concrete is used to make bathrooms, so that people can shit on them for the rest of eternity.
But again, she doesn't need to know any of this.
"I'm sorry," she says after a moment, her eyes still closed.
"Stop saying that," I reply.
"Sorry," she repeats.
I turn over in bed and jostle her a bit. Her eyes fly open and she looks at me.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're the victim in all of this. Don't you understand that?"
