Sacrifice

by Brigid Kemmerer

  For an eternal instant, Michael waited for Gabriel to snap and turn this whole thing on its head. He’d done it before, and Michael could almost see him charging past the social worker and the police officers, getting thrown to the ground and Tasered, making everything three thousand times worse than it needed to be.

  But then Gabriel let his shoulders drop, and he glanced at Nick and Chris. His voice was bland. “It sounds great. Come on, guys.”

  And just like that, they filed out of the room.

  Silence fell around Michael like a cloak. He dropped onto the side of the bed and waited for something to happen.

  Nothing did.

  His brothers were gone. He was alone.

  CHAPTER 17

  Near midnight, Hannah found herself outside Michael’s hospital room. The door was partially ajar, and the lights were off. He was curled on his side, the blanket draped over his form. The monitors cast an eerie glow on the edge of the bed, but she could tell his eyes were closed.

  She slipped into the room, moving as silently as she was able. His breathing was soft and even, so she eased into the chair with barely a whisper of sound.

  His eyes shot open anyway, and he shoved himself up on one arm.

  “Easy,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “You didn’t.” His voice was rough, and he ran a hand down the front of his face and pulled himself all the way to sitting. He must have been on a boatload of painkillers to move so easily this soon. His shoulders drooped as he looked at the door. “What time is it?”

  “Almost midnight.”

  He nodded, but didn’t look at her. “Do you know?” When she didn’t answer right away, he turned his head. “Do you know what they did?”

  The pain in his expression took her breath away. She nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

  He folded his arms across his stomach and seemed to curl in on himself. His breathing shook.

  Then Hannah realized he was crying.

  It took her by surprise. He was so strong—so stoic. Seeing Michael crying silently in the dark in a hospital bed surprised her as much as it would to find her father the same way.

  She pulled the lever to drop the railing on her side of the bed and sat beside him.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She put a hand on his arm gently, unsure he’d welcome her touch.

  He unwound his arms and pulled her closer. It put his face against her shoulder, his arms tight around her back. She could feel him shaking. The only other person who ever clung to her like this was James, after the really terrifying nightmares.

  Only this wasn’t a nightmare.

  “I don’t know where they are,” Michael said, his voice thick with emotion. “They wouldn’t tell me where they were taking them.”

  Hannah drew back enough to speak. “They wouldn’t tell you? Don’t they have to?”

  “No. Said it was safer if I didn’t know.” He pulled back and seemed to gather himself a bit. “I’ve spent five years drilling it into their heads that I have to know where they are, and now it’s the middle of the night and I have no idea.” He glanced at the side table, then at the door. “I don’t have a phone. I can’t even call—”

  “Shh. It’s okay. They’re okay.” She stroked a hand down his face.

  “I promised them, Hannah.” His voice was rough and harsh and the pain in his words almost hurt her ears. “I promised I wouldn’t let anyone take them away. And now—”

  “You didn’t fail them, Michael.”

  “I did.” He put his face in his hands again. “I did.”

  “No. You didn’t.”

  His voice took on a panicked edge. “What if I can’t get them back? What if the judge says no?”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Don’t you know what happens in those kinds of places?” He dropped his hands and looked at her. His eyes were shining in the darkness. “If someone picks a fight with Gabriel—if someone finds out Nick is gay—” Another shaky breath. “And Chris. Chris hates me for this.”

  “He doesn’t hate you.”

  “He’s so young sometimes—” Michael shook his head. “He wouldn’t even look at me.”

  “He’s afraid.”

  Michael gave a laugh that was more of a sob. “That makes me feel better. Thanks.”

  She found his hand and held it. “They’re together. They’ll take care of each other.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so. They barely left each other to go to the bathroom.”

  Michael turned his head to look at her. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  “Where were they last night?”

  “Here. Well, downstairs.”

  He looked bewildered. “Wait. They weren’t at Adam’s?”

  “No. They came here as soon as they heard. Hunter, too. And Layne and Simon and Adam.”

  “All night? They were sitting down there alone all night—”

  “I stayed with them. They were okay.”

  Michael stared at her. His voice was soft with something like shame. “You didn’t have to do that, Hannah.”

  “Your brothers were ready to climb the walls.” She brushed another finger across his cheek, pulling a stray tear away. “Consider it a public service.”

  “What about James?”

  “He stayed with my mom. He’s all right. I went home for dinner and his bedtime story.” She didn’t mention that she’d had to wait for her father to fall asleep before she could sneak out again. She’d sent her mom a text message so she wouldn’t worry, and hoped the woman would run interference if her dad decided to pitch a fit.

  “I’m sorry you had to waste your time here.”

  “They’re your brothers, Michael. It wasn’t a waste of time.” She paused. “I was worried about you, too. No one would tell us anything.”

  “I’m all right.”

  Said the man crying in the dark. She stroked a hand across his cheek again, feeling the beard growth there. He bowed his head and leaned into her touch. He always took her by surprise in these moments when he was quiet and passive, like an untamed lion that would only settle in her presence.

  “I should leave so you can get some sleep,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think I can sleep.” He rubbed his hands down his face, catching her hand in his own, holding it against his face. “Every time I close my eyes, I see too many things.”

  She didn’t mention that he’d seemed asleep when she’d walked in here—but then again, he’d startled so easily. “Do you think you could lie down? Rest?”

  “No, I—no.” His breath shook again, just a little. He kept a grip on her hand as if he worried she’d leave him here.

  “Try,” she said. “If you don’t sleep, you won’t heal.” She kicked off her shoes and leaned back against the pillows, giving his hand a tug. “Lie down. I’ll rest with you.”

  After a moment, Michael shifted to lie beside her. He pulled his hand free to stroke her hair back from her face. His fingers were warm against her cheek. After a moment, he shifted closer, until his forehead rested against hers.

  She thought he might kiss her, but he didn’t. Somehow this was more intimate, lying in the dark, dried tears on his cheeks and trust in his eyes. She was seeing a side of him that he didn’t often show. To anyone.

  For the longest time, he didn’t move beyond touching her, his hand stroking the length of her cheek or the slope of her arm. After a while, his movements slowed, and his eyelids fluttered. He fought it.

  She put a hand against his face. “I’ll stay,” she whispered. “If that’s okay.”

  He nodded and took a long breath. His eyes drifted closed. “Always.”

  Michael woke to a cart rattling past his room and sunshine peeking through the window blinds. He was alone in the bed, and the sheets were cold.

  Hannah. Had he dreamed her?

  His hand shifted, crumpling a piece of paper. He
held it up.

  Had to be home to get James breakfast, then on first shift. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

  She’d signed it with an H.

  And a heart.

  It made his own heart sing.

  He had so little good to hang on to that he wanted to clutch this silly little note to his chest and never let go of it. He folded it in half and tucked it beneath the card from the social worker.

  A nurse knocked on his door and announced it was time for vital signs. She was different from the nurse the previous evening. Her name tag read MARY PAT. He obediently let her take his blood pressure and temperature.

  She made a note in her computer, then said, “I hear you get to go home today.”

  “I do?” But then he realized that home didn’t really mean home. They just weren’t keeping him here.

  She nodded and pulled the blood pressure cuff from his arm. “The doctor will be around with your discharge instructions later this morning.”

  She was gone, wheeling her cart into the next room, before he realized he had a dozen questions. Where would he go? How would he get there? What had happened to his wallet and the clothes he’d been wearing at the bar?

  His brain couldn’t process all these questions. Not yet. He curled against the pillow and read the note from Hannah again. He could still smell her on his sheets.

  Other memories started to crowd those thoughts, darkening his mood. His house, burning. The bomb. The bodies in that ravine. The gunfire.

  His brothers, walking through the doorway as DFS took them away.

  His throat felt tight again. He’d never felt so alone.

  A hand rapped on the door, and a hushed voice said, “Wait. He might he asleep.”

  “He’s not asleep. He’s wallowing. Mike, get up.”

  Hunter’s voice. Michael lifted his head. Hunter and Adam stood in the doorway.

  He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “We aren’t allowed to see the guys, so we figured you were better than nothing.” Hunter came into the room and dumped a duffel bag unceremoniously onto one of the plastic chairs. “Here. I hope they fit. If they don’t, blame Adam.”

  “Wait. What—?”

  Hunter snatched the piece of paper from the side of the bed. “What’s this?”

  “Hey! Give that—”

  Hunter’s eyes flicked up to him, and his lips twisted into a shadow of a smirk. “H? And a heart? She’ll be back? Dude. This is a hospital.”

  “Shut up, Hunter.” Michael snatched the note out of his hands. “How did you guys get in here?”

  “Walked,” said Hunter. “Well, from the parking garage. Up until then we were driving—”

  “They said you could have visitors,” said Adam.

  “And we knew you didn’t have clothes,” said Hunter.

  “Though now that I’m this close to you, I kind of wish we’d brought you a toothbrush.”

  The banter reminded him of his brothers, and while it hurt, it felt good, too. He scrubbed his hands down his face and thought a toothbrush sounded delightful. Maybe he could get one from the nurse. “No—seriously. What are you doing here?”

  Hunter raised an eyebrow. “We. Brought. You. Clothes. And—”

  “Come on.”

  “We’re being serious.” Adam came over to lean against the wall. His voice held some of the emotion Michael felt. “We saw them when they left. They’re not allowed visitors. Not at first.”

  Them. Michael hadn’t thought of what his brothers’ being taken away would mean to anyone outside his family. Becca. Quinn. Adam. Layne. Would his brothers be in school tomorrow? How would that work?

  Michael had to clear his throat. “Were they okay?”

  “Shaken up,” said Adam. “They said their phones would be confiscated for the first three days.” He smiled, and it was a little sad. “So Nick slipped me his. He said to give it to you.” He pulled it out of his pocket and held it out.

  A phone! Michael felt like he’d been handed a missing limb. But then he realized what Adam had said.

  Three days.

  “It won’t be three days,” he said. Now he understood why Hunter and Adam had come here: this separation was too new, too raw. The county had torn his family apart without warning, and here their friends were trying to glue the remaining scraps back together.

  “How long do you think it’ll be?” said Hunter.

  “At least another day. I can’t get in front of a judge on Sunday.” He used to love Sundays because it was the one day a week he didn’t schedule landscaping jobs—but he’d give up Sundays for the rest of his life if he could accelerate time right now. “David said he’ll try to get me a hearing tomorrow.”

  “They’ll be okay,” said Adam.

  “Did they tell you where they were going?”

  “No,” said Hunter. “The social worker lady said it’s to prevent a ‘conflict of interest,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

  She’d said the same thing to Michael. “It means they’ve had issues with people breaking out—with outside help. Or people breaking in to cause harm.”

  “Breaking out?” said Adam. “It’s not prison.”

  Michael looked at him. “It’s not home either.” He frowned and admitted a truth he didn’t want to share. “I’m glad they’re locked down. It’ll keep them safer than being with me.”

  Hunter and Adam exchanged glances. “What does that mean?” said Adam.

  Michael glanced at the hallway, which wasn’t busy, but still had a fair amount of traffic. “Close the door.”

  Adam did.

  Michael kept his voice low anyway. “It means Friday night was a setup. Whoever started the fires in our neighborhood set that bomb as a trap.”

  “For you?” said Hunter. “So you think whoever wanted to meet about that landscaping job was—”

  “There was no job, Hunter.” Michael hesitated. “When you guys were sleeping at Adam’s, whoever started the fires in our neighborhood asked me to meet him.” Now he realized the insidious threat behind those text messages. Bring your brothers. Bring the police. Bring anyone that makes you feel comfortable.

  It was supposed to be reassuring.

  Now, in retrospect, it was terrifying.

  What if he’d listened? What if he’d called the police and they’d stormed that bar? How many more people would have been killed?

  Hunter folded his arms across his chest. “So you lied.”

  “I didn’t lie! I did it to protect you. All of you.”

  “Do your brothers know?”

  “No.”

  Hunter’s expression had turned into a glare. “Everything we’ve been through, and you lied. We could have come with you. We could have helped. Do you have any idea what they’re saying on the news? Do you have any idea?”

  “Damn it, Hunter, of course I have an idea! I was there! And you all could have been killed!”

  “Easy,” said Adam. He glanced at the door.

  Michael sighed and dropped his voice. “It was too dangerous .”

  “Fuck dangerous,” said Hunter. “We’ve been through worse. With you. You know that. We could have helped.”

  Michael glared back at him. “I’m not apologizing for this. I’m not putting all of you in danger.”

  “Too late! You don’t even know where your brothers are, and they have no idea someone could be after them! You didn’t even warn them!”

  “I know that! You don’t think I know that?”

  “Hey.” Adam got between them, his hands up. “Fighting isn’t going to solve anything.”

  Michael didn’t realize he’d swung his legs onto the floor, or that Hunter was on his feet, ready to get into it.

  He knew better than this. Michael sat back. “You’re a kid, Hunter. Like it or not, you are. All of you are. I’m not putting you in harm’s way if I can help it.”

  “I’m not helpless,” said Hunter, his voice full of acid. “Your brothers aren’t either.”
>
  “I know you’re not—”

  “And you’re obviously not doing the greatest job keeping everyone safe, are you?”

  Michael flinched.

  “Stop,” said Adam. “Both of you. Stop.”

  But Hunter’s words lingered in Michael’s head, an arrow of guilt when he least expected it.

  Hunter was right. He hadn’t kept them safe. That’s why he’d lost them.

  “This isn’t just about you,” Hunter snapped.

  “I know that!”

  “Fix it,” said Hunter. “Right now. Fix it. Tell us what really happened.”

  Michael froze, not wanting to give in. But keeping everything a secret hadn’t kept anyone safe—and in fact, he’d ended up putting more people in danger. With a sigh, he explained everything he knew, from the text messages he’d received while he was sitting on Adam’s porch to the fact that whoever was attacking them had hidden in a tree. He tried to recount the text messages as well as he could, but his phone was still evidence, and he doubted he’d be getting it back anytime soon.

  When he was done talking, Hunter still looked pissed—and Adam looked thoughtful.

  “How’d he get your number?” said Hunter.

  “I have no idea. It’s not like it’s private. I have business cards, a website. . . . He could have gotten it from anywhere.”

  “How do you know it’s a he at all?” said Adam.

  They booth looked at him, and he shrugged. “Nick said a sixteen-year-old girl was responsible for the last round of arson, right? Could she be responsible now?”

  “Yes,” said Michael. “But Calla has fallen off the map again. I tried reaching out to her, but her phone has been disconnected.”

  “Was it really a bomb?” said Hunter. “Not a gas line or something?”

  “The fire marshal said they’d found fragments,” said Michael. “I don’t have details, but they seem convinced.”

  Hunter shrugged. “A bomb would mean some kind of sophistication. I’m not saying a teenager couldn’t have done it, but for the level of damage they showed on the news, especially if it were on some kind of timer or remote control . . ”

  “I agree,” said Michael. “And I think I saw the person who shot me.”