The Collective

Chapter Twenty-One

     I paced the small space between the stairs and the kitchen. How'd Regan know about my house? Max didn't even know about this house. My home. But she was gone. It'd been two days since she left and there were no noticeable signs that she was coming back any time soon.

     I yawned. It'd been about two days since I slept last, too. I guess something about not being thoroughly exhausted unleashed memory after memory of Sam. He wanted to be a photographer. He'd just signed on with a major wildlife magazine, but he said he would always make time to take our wedding photos. He always jokingly said that weddings were the most dangerous animals of all.

     "The hobo is awake." Mom called to no one in particular. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and coffee drifted after her. She'd started smoking again right after I brought Ethan home. Dad said she hadn't smoked since I was in college.

     Couldn't think about it. Couldn't take anything else eating away at me.

     I jogged up the steps, knocking before letting myself in.

     Ethan shrank into the covers on the bed, the duvet crushed in his hands. He looked paler than he'd been for the last couple days.

     I sat on the foot of the bed. I reached for his hand, slowly, gently sliding my fingers into his. I squeezed his hand. "Hey." I cleared my throat, tried for a bit more volume. "Hey, you."

     He jumped, hand briefly tightening around mine. "Hi."

     "Everything okay?" I hated asking that. I told him Sam was dead. He didn't seem to remember. I dreaded the moment when he would.

     He nodded. He smiled, nothing about it natural or comfortable. "Hey, I'm kinda hungry. Do you think you could help me up?" He went to push himself up.

     I leapt to my feet. "I'll get it." I should just tell him. He deserved to hear it, really hear it, from me. Not Max. Not Regan. Definitely not my mother. Not that she knew. She could never know.

     He relented, collapsing back onto the mattress.

     I moved to the kitchen on auto-pilot. I spooned left over lasagna onto a plate, popping it in the microwave. I coerced my mother into making it last night. Ethan loved her lasagna.

     I glanced at the clock. Only 6 more hours until Dad came home. He didn't work nearly as much as he used to, but he slipped out of retirement almost as quickly as he fell into it.

     The microwaved beeped. I grabbed a fork from the drawer on my way up with the food. Just lunch. Nothing suspicious about lunch.

     I set it in front of him. His eyes lit up for the briefest of seconds. He tucked into it like it was the first food he'd seen in weeks, which... I mean... it could've been.

     I set down the origami butterfly. There were hundreds of them stashed around the house. There was only so many times you could scrub a clean sink.

     I started another one. "Ethan?"

     He froze, marinara sauce dripping from his fork.

     I stood up, didn't want to see him. "Something happened while Max had you." Shut up. It's not worth it. He's gonna leave you. Shut up.

     "Yeah?"

     The front door slammed open. Matilda barked. Canine and human rushed up the steps. Regan burst into the room, Matilda right on her heels.

     I glared at her. How dare she. Again.

     She ignored the scathing look I sent in her direction. She walked right up to Ethan. "You ready?"