The twins watched the whole thing unfold in a surreal haze. And for the first time in their lives, they thought about someone other than themselves. What would they do without their mom?
Eventually someone noticed them, a woman on her way home from a long nightshift at a chemical plant. She ushered them away from the carnage, and in a daze they allowed themselves to be lead into the Rose Haven Retirement Resort. The Good Samaritan thought it was the best place for them given the nature of the accident, and she left them with the receptionist, who'd been loitering in the doorway watching the proceedings the same way you’d watch a dog fight between two strays on the street — with interest, but with no intention of getting involved.
The receptionist had no idea what to do with the two identical faces in front of her. The boys seemed content sitting in the waiting room, swinging their legs, looking neither upset nor happy, but bored, which was how she would have described them if anyone had asked her.
The twins had considered asking about their baby brother, but they hadn’t known him that long, only a few months, so they sat, silently waiting for their mother. By the time anyone thought to check the pushchair, their baby brother was dead. He’d suffocated on the plastic cover their mother had placed over the pushchair to protect him from the flying midges which annoyed everyone at this time of year.
And after the other witnesses had left, and the first responders had done what the state paid them to do, and after the tow trucks had hitched both vehicles onto their rigs, there was no one left to consider the whereabouts of the two young boys waiting patiently for their mother in the reception area of the Rose Haven Retirement Resort.
When Doctor Perry showed up at eleven o’clock for his regular clinic, the antsy receptionist pounced on him. Asking Tracey Chappell for advice wasn’t something she wanted to do.
“Excuse me Doctor Perry, but I need some advice about the boys.”
“The boys?” Doctor Perry’s brow furrowed. He didn't like being asked questions outside of his clinic; there was no money in free advice.
The receptionist inclined her head towards the twins, explaining in a theatrical whisper why they were in the waiting room. That the mother had been taken away but not in an ambulance with its lights on, which must mean that she was dead. And how she’d waited for someone to come and collect the boys, and how it seemed that they had been overlooked.
Doctor Perry carefully arranged his face. “That’s terrible,” he commiserated, casting his eyes over the boys.
So enraptured with retelling the lurid details, the receptionist didn’t notice the change in the doctor’s demeanour, she only felt a wave of relief when he offered to deliver the boys to the relevant authorities.
“Sadly I’ve dealt with many children orphaned by the untimely death of a parent, so I’ve a number of contacts with the local child welfare office. Leave it with me. Keep an eye on them for a few minutes more while I have a quick word with Tracey.”
The receptionist nodded, her blonde ponytail bouncing in agreement. The sooner the boys were gone, the sooner she could ring her girlfriends to tell them all about her traumatic experience. Those cars could have even hit the front of her building. She was seriously lucky to have escape unharmed herself.
Doctor Perry emerged from Tracey’s office and bundled the boys into the back of his sedan, marvelling at their identicalness. Neither child had questioned what was happening with them. They were the most compliant children he’d ever encountered. Perfect children.
Driving home, he observed them in his rear vision mirror. They both sat looking out the windows, school bags clutched in their laps. Yes, they were perfect in every way. He’d already fired off a text to Myra warning her to prepare another room for their new guests.
He’d never had a pair of twins before and he was tempted to experiment on them with different doses but deep down he knew he wouldn’t. There was too much money involved to ruin the appeal of twins. He allowed himself to daydream about the profit they would fetch. With that money, it would definitely be time to move on.
Pulling into the driveway, he drove straight into the garage, closing the cedar door behind him. You never knew when prying eyes might see something they shouldn’t. Myra was waiting at the back of the garage, a forced smile on her face. Doctor Perry frowned. Myra’s face hadn’t changed in the slightest. If anything, the lines between her eyebrows looked deeper than they had this morning. He questioned the dosage he’d left for her on the kitchen bench. Perhaps she’d built up a tolerance? He made a mental note to increase it next time.
The twins clambered out of the car and stood shoulder to shoulder. They’d expected to be taken back to their grandfather, but obviously that wasn’t the case. At least they weren’t going to have to share a bathroom anymore with a stinky old man who couldn’t hold his bowels.
The woman ushered them inside with the promises of banana cake after they’d eaten some lunch. Cake! They never had cake at home so trooped behind her to the kitchen, climbing up onto the stools. They ogled the expensive appliances on the bench and the vast lawn they could see through the window complete with a large ginger cat challenging them from under the tree. This adventure was turning out to be better than expected.
After a mumbled thanks, they ate the sandwiches Myra had prepared. The doctor followed them into the kitchen and they squirmed under his scrutiny, Myra’s promise of banana cake keeping their manners in check.
“I’m going to leave you in my wife’s capable hands and I’m sure you boys will be on your best behaviour while I’m gone. Myra will show you which room will be yours until the State sorts out some official care for you-”
James started to interrupt but Jesse kicked him in the shin, out of the doctor’s sight.
“Pardon?” Doctor Perry said.
“He was just going to say thank you,” Jesse replied.
“Yes, good manners are essential, your mother has raised you well,” Doctor Perry smiled at them. “And your father of course…” he added.
“Our father died,” James added. “In the war.”
“War is a terrible thing,” the doctor replied.
The boys couldn’t tell that the doctor’s heart had started beating a little faster and they couldn’t see the dollar signs dancing in the man’s eyes. They nodded at his sympathy. He’d responded the same way everyone did when they found out their father was dead. He’d spent most of their short lives stationed overseas and on the few occasions he came home, he either slept lots or spent his time behind the locked bedroom door with their mother. He’d never done any real fathering.
“Right, well I must go back to the Rose Haven Retirement Resort now, there are patients relying on me. I’ll see you all tonight,” the doctor said before disappearing back down the hall.
With the doctor gone, the boys finished their sandwiches and devoured the banana cake, practically inhaling the moist slabs of cake. James licked the crumbs from his plate and would have looked for more but Jesse read his mind and shook his head. The woman offered to show them their room.
They followed her down the hall towards an open door.
“This is your room, I’ll leave you here to get settled in while I sort out the baby, so I’ll check in on you shortly then maybe we’ll have afternoon tea outside? Okay?” Myra said.
Jesse and James nodded silently. They didn’t need to talk to communicate. Today was turning out to be one of the best days ever.
16
“It could be worse,” Jesse said.
“Yup, could be worse,” James replied.
“Is your knife in your bag?”
“Of course.”
“Where shall we do it?” Jesse asked.
Both boys looked around the room. Fairly spartan with two beds, one bedside table, a bookcase filled with the complete works of Charles Dickens bound in faux leather and a dozen or so Readers Digest books. Tucked away in the corner was an old dining chair, an ironing board and an ugly set of plastic drawers fill
ed with life’s detritus.
“On the ironing board, but look in the drawers for something to put them in,” James directed.
Jesse rifled through the drawers before settling on an old tobacco tin. It hadn’t held any of the evil weed in it for at least a century but still reeked of tobacco. It was filled with old buttons, bobbins and needles. Jesse’s face glowed as he carried the tin over to his brother.
James set up the ironing board in the middle of the room and took the tin off his brother. “Perfect,” he said, tipping the contents onto the bed. “You sort out the pins, we could use them for sure.”
Jesse smiled, he’d had that exact thought himself.
James shoved his hand deep into his school bag and pulled out a handful of squirming baby rats. The whole time he’d been sitting in the foul-smelling reception of the old folks home, the knowledge of the rats in his bag had kept him quiet. He didn’t want a suspicious adult going through the bag and taking their rats away.
The little boy placed the rats carefully in the tobacco tin, like treasured possessions, and stepped away to admire his handiwork.
The rats huddled together in a corner, their pink eyes darting faster than a hummingbird, seeking out the threat, sniffing the air. The brothers and sisters clambered over each other using barely formed limbs.
The bottom of the school bag had been a smorgasbord for their palates — bread crumbs and mandarin peel, raisins and popcorn kernels and a sliver of luncheon sausage caught in a seam right at the bottom, the green hue not a deterrent to the rats’ voracious appetites.
“Pass me the pins,” James instructed, his hand outstretched.
Jesse straightened up the selection — a darning needle, a fine embroidery needle, and a thick crochet hook which looked like a miniature hockey stick. He’d wanted to play hockey at school but there was no money for the gear, so Mom had said no. She always said no.
He fussed over the selection of pointy needles — the darning needle would be too quick, so he chose the thin embroidery needle with a thread of red silk looped through its eye. That would be pretty he thought, and passed it to his brother.
James transferred the nearest rat to the solid surface of the ironing board and holding the squirming body flat, he took the needle and plunged it through the rat’s tiny paw, pinning it to the ironing board.
“I need another one like that needle. They should all match don’t you think?”
Jesse nodded, he had them all lined up ready. He knew what his brother needed, he always knew, that’s what made them such a good team. He passed another needle over, no thread this time, so it didn’t look as joyous as the first one. There were dozens of thread fragments mixed in with the buttons so while James was pinning the second limb of the rat he licked the end of a blue silk thread and passed it through the eye of the needle, just like they’d been taught at school.
“You can do one if you like?” James offered. They shared everything.
Jesse took the embroidery needle with the blue thread and instead of pinning the rat’s third paw to the ironing board, he passed the needle straight through one paw, once, then twice, before pinning it down tight. There, that was better, much prettier.
The animal’s only free paw scrabbled at the floral fabric cover of the ironing board, frantically trying to escape, like swimming one handed.
The boys stepped back, heads cocked to the side, as they surveyed their efforts so far.
“Not bad,” James said. “Now we need the knife.”
17
Elijah had watched the whole event unfold across the road. He couldn’t see what it was that the twins picked up but if they were anything like he’d been as a child, it was probably a nest, a python skin, or a lizard’s tail to throw at the girls. Whatever it was they’d stopped to pick up, he was grateful it delayed them long enough that they hadn’t been close enough to see their mother’s head pop like a balloon.
The two boys had stood bewildered on the sidelines as people flocked to the scene, no different to vultures circling high above a dying buffalo. Humans gravitate towards mayhem as a way of assuring themselves that they’re still alive, a reminder that there is always someone worse off than them.
Elijah didn’t own a cellphone anymore, there was no need, he had no one to ring and no one wanted to ring him. He did have an emergency call button which he’d never had cause to use before, but today he was seconds away from using it, to summon someone to rescue the twins. If the scene outside was as bad as the faces of the onlookers, it would haunt those boys for the rest of their lives. Elijah knew boys, he knew how damaged boys grew up, angry at the world. Elijah knew what made boys tick, and what made them explode.
Before Elijah could persuade his grotesque fingers to press the bell, he spied the good samaritan hone in on the twins and in a carefully orchestrated move, wrap her arms around them and hustle them into the Rose Haven’s reception before they even had a chance to protest.
Elijah lost sight of them after that but at least his own pulse returned to normal knowing someone was caring for the boys, someone eminently more suitable than him. He tried not to think about his own accident. The sudden screams cut off. A heady mixture of rum and oil — a sickly sweet Caribbean flavour remembered from a holiday long ago in another life. Elijah’s ears buzzed with the memory of the ticking of the cooling engine. Overwhelmingly, mostly he could only recall the stickiness of the rum dripping from his hair, and the utter confusion of how rum got into his hair.
A knock on the door interrupted Elijah’s reminiscing, plucking him from the fitful doze he’d fallen into, the sweet smell of alcohol fading like a photograph in the sun. The knocking grew more insistent and Elijah struggled to get up from his chair, engulfed by the fabric and cushions. He clawed his way out of the fog of sleep, the stuff of his nightmares clinging to him, as he tried to escape from the car… no, not the car, that was his old life, his other self. Then the pain hit.
Clambering up from the chair without his usual careful ministrations sent shockwaves of pain coursing through Elijah’s fingers and hands, radiating up his arms. Worse pain than his accident. Worse but deserved. The pain was his punishment.
“Hey, Mister Cone, you okay?” Benson Flag let himself into Elijah’s room after hearing him cry out. He lead him back to his chair, lowering him like you would transfer an invalid from his wheelchair to his bed.
“What did you do Mister Cone?”
“I didn’t think, Benson. It’s a bad habit of mine, not thinking. Jumped out of this damn chair without thinking about my hands. So much for being a damn easy chair. The pain hit me a bit, but I’m okay now,” Elijah said. He didn’t want to look at Benson’s face. He was a nice kid, but he was an efficient kid, and this would end up in his notes. He was on track to be a fine doctor one day, after he paid his way through medical school, or nursing school, or whatever school it was he was at. Elijah didn’t care any more. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts or with bottle of rum and a handful of pills.
Benson backtracked to scoop up his folder from the bed. “It says here you’re to see Doctor Perry today, I came by to say there’s going to be change cause he’s taking some kids to the child welfare people so your appointment will be after lunch now.”
“I didn’t make any appointment, Benson,” Elijah said.
“No, Mister Cone, you didn’t, we did. It’s our job to look after you folk, you know that. You aren’t going to give me a hard time now are you?”
Elijah shook his head, it was the only part of him which didn’t hurt.
“Do you mean the boys from the accident earlier?”
“Yup, if I’d heard about it I would have been over there myself but I was on the other side of the building. Didn’t even click that the sirens were so close. Someone should have called us to help. But Doctor Perry is a good man to look after those boys. Hope their momma is okay.”
“It didn’t look so good from here,” Elijah said. If Benson trusted this doctor, then he coul
d too. God knew he deserved the pain he was in, but some relief so he could hold his own cock without grimacing when he went to the toilet would be welcome.
“What time do I go see the doc?”
“You need to be in his waiting room at one o’clock. He’s a bit funny about patients being on time.”
“I’ll be there.”
Benson raised one eyebrow.
“When I say I’ll be somewhere, I will be. I don’t need babysitting,” Elijah replied.
The orderly shrugged, “They’re your hands, I’m here to look after you, it’s what I get paid for.”
“You’re the only one,” Elijah muttered and returned his gaze to the window. The road was empty of any evidence of the crash. Even the broken glass had been swept away by an overly energetic council employee. Most times accident debris was left in situ, waiting to be washed into gutters by the rain, saving on manpower. Elijah imagined portions of brain tissue tumbling through the city’s sewers. A bizarre art project gathering momentum underground.
The image of another morbid art installation detached itself from the recesses of his memory. Another woman’s head, crushed in a car accident. The smear of the lipstick she’d been applying streaked across her face from the corner of her lips, if she’d still had them. Her lips sliced off by the metal sign they’d hit. The council’s healthy and safety advisor could not have foreseen that eventuality.
“I think I’ll have a rest now. I’ll be in the doctor’s waiting room at one o’clock, you can count on me.”
Elijah imagined he could still smell the scent of rum long after Benson had left the room. Perhaps it was the other man’s aftershave. Perhaps it was his guilt. Tears fell from Elijah’s face. There’d been a time when his tears were more rum than water. If only he could forget that time and wind back the clock. He’d do anything to have a second chance.
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