| The kitten’s pained cry died in James’ throat. With a slurp, he pulled the animal free. Shaking it violently, he asked, “Do you like it when I bite you?” The kitten’s head--fur moist with saliva--lolled lifelessly on its neck. A thin thread of bright blood trickled from its open mouth. “Kitty?” Warm urine wicked down the animal’s flaccid tail. Sitting Indian-style, James cradled the dead creature in his arms. “Oooooooh. Poor kitty,” he sobbed as he rocked rhythmically. “What did I dooo?” Giant tears dripped from his eyes and moistened his pajamas. When Father discovered that he had murdered the animal, he would beat James soundly. Baby Zack, stirred by his big brother’s break down, began to whimper. James bolted upright. If Zack were to cry, it would summon Father. Then… Tossing the dead kitten aside, James leapt to his feet and ran to the playpen. “Be quite,” he spat. His warning produced the opposite effect intended. Frown deepening, eyes glistening, Zack began to cry. “Shut up, they’ll hear,” James begged. Panic knotted his insides like a clenched fist. Desperate, he frantically searched the room for a solution to his mounting problem. Sitting a few feet away--its transparent wrinkles capturing the greenish glow of a twinkling light--was a cellophane bag. Without hesitation, James grabbed the bag and slid it over his brother’s head. “Shut up,” James said as he clamped the edges closed around the boy’s thin neck. He hoped that the plastic might muffle the sound. It did better. Bloodshot eyes bulging, mouth gaping, Zack collapsed. “Zack?” James called, a little concerned. Zack laid stone still, his gaze locked unblinkingly on some unknown point. “Oh no. Oh nooooo.” Climbing into the playpen, James cradled his brother’s limp body. Rocking, he cried, “Poor Zack. I’m so sorry.” With a loving hand, he pealed the bag off of the infant’s sweaty face. From above him came the soft sounds of footsteps. Mike was coming. Wadding the bag up, he shoved it into his underpants. James laid Zack out and covered him with a blanket. The child appeared to be asleep. Climbing out of the playpen, he had just enough time to sit by the fire before Mike entered. His brother paused, scrunching his eyes in mistrust. “What were you doing?” “Nothing,” James answered curtly. Mike’s jaw dropped. James followed his brother’s gaze to the dead kitten. He had forgotten to hide it. “But, but...” A sinister smile creased Mike’s face. “Wait until Dad sees that. You’re dead.” “No, please you can’t,” he pleaded. “I’m sick of you getting away with everything. This time mom won’t be able to help you.” Dad’s new toolbox--a gift from mother--shimmered in the firelight. The rubberized handle of a hammer jutted from opening. “No,” James growled as he grabbed the tool and rushed his brother. Taken off guard, Mike stumbled over a toy and landed on the floor. With a leap, James covered the remaining ground between he and his brother. Using all of his strength, he brought the hammer down. James hit his mark. The claw punctured Mike’s skull with a resounding crack. Wedged in the thick bone, the hammer became stuck. |