The Orphans

-The Orphans-

Somewhere in Eastern Kentucky, 1996.

Though, rain-heavy clouds drifted slowly across the night sky, the moon was full and shown down brightly. In the shadows of a small tree, overlooking a steep incline to the bottom of a large hill, a lone figure stood, gazing up at the shining stone in the sky, and all the glittering starts surrounding it, dancing in place. He was of roughly average height and build, and his thick raven-colored hair was always combed smoothly down to the nape of his neck, and contrasted his simple white shirt. His name was Titus. That was its extent and entirety, and no name proceeded it, nor did one follow. He had no last name, for he, as the rest of his ‘siblings’ were orphans, and had never been graced nor burdened with such identities by their guardian, ‘The Nun’. Though he knew she would never admit it, Titus believed she practiced this to distinguish them as ‘special’, in some way. He had always found it to have insulting connotations, as it suggested that, in being orphaned, he had lost some sort of birthright. On the other hand, he had been orphaned only because his biological parents had refused to take responsibility for an irresponsible fornication, and had relinquished their burden to someone else. Thinking of this, he was happy not to be associated with whatever unknown family name he might have been entitled to. Taking that into consideration; if his own family name was unnecessary, then it was only logical that any such name would be superfluous.

Of course, his first and soul name seemed foreign and misplaced, given the circumstance of his lineage, and he wasn’t sure how one such as himself had come to receive such a name, or to live in one of the most rural locals of the upper-most section of the Southern United States. One did not often come to be of such conditions when one was full-blooded Japanese. As best he could figure, his parents had been tourists to the states when he was born. After extensive research and pondering of the subject, he had arrived at the conclusion that, for whatever reason, they had decided it was not to their best interest to return home with him, if they had returned home at all. Titus had never ben certain of that detail, but ultimately deemed it inconsequential. He would doubtlessly have fit in quite comfortably in one of Japan’s crowded cities such as Tokyo or Nagasaki. Here, however, he was treated with different attention. It wasn’t as much to do with his ethnicity as one might expect; not from the younger generations, anyway. Many of the young misfits were far less concerned with his foreign heritage, or his ancestry against which many of their fathers and grandfathers harbored lingering resentment. Rather it was the incidentals of his appearance. He did not often venture out during the day, as sun light and heat did very little to suit his tastes, and he liked simple clothing with little adornment or aesthetic character. Most often he wore barren colors; black, grey, or white, on plain clothing. He was quiet, and his preference of isolation was often mistaken for a unwarrantedly high self opinion. In short, he was different, and in most any place, different, unless directly and outwardly encouraged due to some form of conformity to a particular ideological perception or sense of social acceptability, was met with distrust and likely a concise lack of approval. He often resented the people around him for this close-mindedness and ignorance, but also knew that it would be very much the same nearly anywhere else in the world.


As Titus continued to stare up at the moon, deep in thought, he heard the sound of a car driving up the winding road, and could hear the faint sounds of Euro-beat techno music coming from inside. Dana was finally home.


***


Despite having the advantages of patience, tact, and logistical reasoning, Titus could rarely seem to gain the upper hand against his ‘sister’, a fact which irked him to no end. Even before he had ducked behind the tree to avoid being seen, he knew he would not go undetected.

Walking up the hill, her hands in the pocket of her dress coat, Dana looked around intuitively, before her eyes settled on the single oak, overlooking the road. “I know you’re back there, Ty’, she announced, her voice both cool and dry; triumphantly relaxed. ‘Why are you hiding from me?”

Saying nothing, he slowed his breathing, and considered what to say. When he remained silent, she shuffled over to the tree to peer around. “Ty?” A soft, dark face, appearing to glow with a spirited innocence appeared from behind the tree, looking up at him curiously, and a smooth hand reached up to brush jet black hair away from dark eyes. Dana, a full-blooded Cherokee, was short and slender, and stood nearly ten inches beneath his height. She had to reach up to wave her hand in front of his face.

Titus slouched over, and with a sigh, stepping out into the moonlight, his white sweatshirt gleaming in it’s pale luminescence. In contrast with his simple clothing, Dana; a girl of nearly the same age, give or take a year or two, wore a festive and low cut purple shirt, a blue and teal skirt, a dark and richly colored green coat, and fancy looking black leather boots.

“Fine, Sis, you caught me”, he relented.

Smiling playfully at this, she gave him an affectionately weak punch to the arm. “I ALWAYS catch you!” she exclaimed.

At this, he coyly replied, “Do you now?”

For a brief moment, a look of uncertainty drew across her face like a fleeting shadow, and then was gone, as she grinned in self-assured sarcasm. “Uh-huh, sure!”

Turning away, he smiled to himself, having gained a slight but easy victory. However brief, he had seen her doubt. Taking a few steps, he spoke, though his back was still turned. “I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression, or think I was waiting up for you.”, he shrugged, innocently.

Crossing her arms, she gave him a suspicious look. “WERE you waiting for me?” Dana disdained being overly guarded, and though her patience was in short supply in general, she lacked the rare virtue particularly when it came to such coddling.

“No’, he retorted, cooly. ‘I just came out here to be alone, y’know, get some air’, he paused, looking up at the moon. ‘You know how the night and I get along.”

She eyed him with suspicion for a moment, before shrugging her shoulders. “Okay’, she exhaled, loudly. ‘Suit yourself, Mr. Vampire. I’m going to bed.”

“See you’ve been to the club again, huh, ‘Sis”, he remarked, indifferently.

She stopped, halfway across the yard, and stiffened. “How did you know?”, she asked, nervously.

He smiled. Titus enjoyed being right, and he especially enjoyed earning it. “Well, for one thing’, he began, ‘You’re wearing your nicest coat; the one that you usually wear to church. Not to mention, Melissa was playing her techno so loud I could hear it when you turned onto our street. And furthermore, you’re wearing virtually every type of clothing, or as Mother would call it, ‘so-called clothing’, that has been banned and blacklisted in the house.”


Saying nothing, Dana quickly looked down at her chest, her red-tinged face turning all the redder and she quickly buttoned the over-sized buttons off her coat up to the neck. With that, she walked off hurriedly towards the large, three story colonial house, known only as ‘the Orphanage’. Stopping on the rickety old stairs however, she turned to him, in dejected embarrassment. “Guess it’s your turn to catch me, Ty, but thanks for not telling ‘Mother’.”

At, this, he smirked, despite himself. “How do you know I didn’t?’, he asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. ‘How do you know she’s not sitting in there, in the dark, waiting for you to come in?”

At this, Dana whined in exasperation. “Bubby!”, she huffed, nervously. She always called him by that childish nickname when she was flabbergasted, or wanted something from him. It had once been a simple affectionate and often teasing term, but had since devolved into a personal means of playful persuasion, and was synonymous with agenda or a relative degree of desperation. As it were, their guardian, was a rather religious, and equally strict matriarch, and did not approve of such ‘unseemly’ modern trends as ‘skulking around at night with wild teenagers’. Dana however, was an insatiable socialite, and given to make friends of those with whom she came in contact naturally, as well as seek out more deliberate interaction of her own accord.

Titus said nothing for a moment, feeling the tension rise as she began to doubt his passive loyalty. While it was in his nature even as the mere stand-in of a sibling to antagonize her from time to time, he did take slight offense in the notion that she would suspect him of betraying her. Turning to her, and smiling, he replied, “C’mon Sis, haven’t ratted yet. Why would I now?”

Dana breathed a sigh of relief, trotting over, and putting her arms around his neck. “Thanks, Bub”, she exhaled, gratefully, giving him a squeeze.

Simply chuckling, Titus gently hugged her waist, patting her on the back. “Don’t mention it. Now get to bed before I raise the alarm”. His threat was empty, and meant to sound no more unkind than literal. Grinning, Dana stuck her tongue out at him, before quietly making her way into the house for the evening, carefully closing the door behind her.

***

Upstairs Tomas sat in the chair by his bed, quietly reading by light of the soft fluorescent twenty watt bulb in his old-fashioned desk lamp. He turned the page, scratching his smoothly dark skin. As with the other two wards of the estate; his ‘siblings’, Tomas was of an interesting linage, and as always, one that was not common to the area. He was biracial, half of African-American, and half, interestingly enough, of French Canadian descent. Truly, he was ‘The Nun’s’ most prized acquisition, as she had always sought to adopt children of uncommon breed or lineage. Such was her greatest eccentricity. She had always told him that he was a product of good breeding, and despite the questionable implications of such a sentiment, she had, in effect, been correct for now, at the age of twenty-three, he stood tall and lean, with smooth even skin, a chiseled face, and bright green eyes. He did not take any particular pride in being the most doted upon, or the most favored, and felt it inappropriate towards the others but said little, as silence was the best perpetuator of peace. Furthermore, they wanted for very little considering the matron’s containing lifestyle and rigid discipline.

He turned a page, and heard the stairs creak. Someone was swiftly approaching. Looking up, Tomas quietly leaned forward, craning his neck to see through the cracked door. He saw Dana swiftly approach, and pass. After he heard no more, he turned his attention back to the novel, but was promptly interrupted as she quickly poked her head into his room.

“Hey Tommy,” she whispered, uneasily.

He said nothing at first, his eyes scanning the page, hurriedly finishing through the current paragraph. After he was done, however, he looked up and replied, “Yes?”

“You, aren’t going to tell Mom, are you?”

At this, he just smiled, good-naturedly, shaking his head. “No, Dana. I won’t tell her. Did you have a good time?”

She smiled slightly. “Yeah, it was fun.’

His smile broadened. “Good. I’m glad.’ Then he turned back to his book, and began reading again. Immediately, however, he remembered Titus, and looked back to her quickly. ‘Oh, Dane, did you see Titus?”

Responding thusly, Dana rolled her eyes in mild exasperation. “He was outside again.”

Observing the look of annoyance his ‘sister’ wore, Tomas expertly drew a deductive conclusion. “Waiting for you to get home again?’, he chuckled.

“Yes’, she sighed. ‘I wish he would be more like you, and just trust me.”

Tomas nodded understandingly, but calmly rebutted, “He just worries about you. He just wants to know you’re safe. It’s his way of showing that he cares.”

“Yeah,’ she sighed, ‘you’re probably right, but still...’ She paused, yawning deeply. ‘I’m going to bed now. So tired.”

“Good night, Dane,” he muttered softly.

She stepped into the room as light-footed as could be, and hugged him quickly, before quietly fleeing to her quarters, not wanting to think about what would happen, were their guardian to be awakened and find her up and about, dressed in the fashion that she was. Once she was gone, Tomas finally returned to his reading, becoming increasingly engrossed in the knowledge being laid out at his disposal. The book, titled “A Fever in Salem”, written by Laurie Winn Carlson was an interesting new account of the fear that gripped Salem Massachusetts in the late 1600’s. For the first time, an author had come forward focusing not on the unscientific myths and superstitious legends of the Witch Trials, and instead took the stand to examine the dark phenomenon in the light of medical science. It was a fascinating correlation between the outbreak of unexplainable and seemingly supernatural plagues of strange physical affliction and bizarre mental illness, and obscure medical conditions that would have been unrecognizable during the era.

He read for quite some time, whole heartedly engrossed in the details and revelations of the study. He became so engrossed that he did not at first notice as his ‘brother’ quietly made his way up the stairs, and stood in his doorway, leaning against the frame. Within seconds though, his instincts made him aware, however, he did not look up, or speak even a whisper. He merely sat there, continuing to read, waiting to see what Titus would do. After a minute or two, the younger remained silent, and so Tomas, deciding to break the silence, and his ‘brothers’ composure, extended his arm towards the door, pointing his fore and index finger and raising his thumb as if to pantomime a gun. He then jerked his forearm up, and muttered, ‘Bang.’

Chuckling despite himself, Titus replied, stepping into the room, “Aw, hell. You shot me.” Tomas laughed softly, too, and looked up from the book.

“What’s up?”, he asked, casually. Despite the fact that they rarely left the house, the two had not seen each other nearly all day; at the morning and afternoon lessons, and at their regular mealtimes. They often spent hours in conversation, but at times would become engaged in different activities.

Hardly responding to the rather habitual question given, Titus, noting the book, asked, ‘Hey, Tom, what’s that you’re reading?”

Turning his attention back to the book, Tomas quickly marked his place and closed it, explaining, “It’s about the Salem witch trails, and potential alternative medical explanations of all the goings-on that couldn’t be explained at the time.”

Looking away, Titus sighed, a strange distance in his eyes. “Another loose end undone, I see.”

“Don’t you mean tied off?”, Tomas asked, curiously.

Looking back to his elder, Titus shook his head. “Not quite how I see it, Brother.”

Tomas thought about this, carefully pondering his words for hidden meaning, all the while wearing an indifferent look of hard wisdom and consideration on his face. Looking into the same corner Titus was, he said softly, ‘How do you mean, exactly?”

“What I mean,’ he began, running his hands through his thick hair which had become slightly matted in the last of the summer heat, ‘is that there hardly seems to be a single damn mystery left that has yet to be explained away.”

Tomas merely nodded for a moment, selecting his words at his own leisure. “You seem disappointed,’ he countered, finally. ‘I thought you were the analytical type.”

His quip was met with a look of mild distaste. “If you knew nothing else about me, you would know that were so. I AM analytical, and scientific. But that doesn’t mean I believe that science can so easily explain every single phenomenon under the rug, or that they actually do every time they say.”

His ‘brother’ chewed on this wisely for a bit then said, with a knowing twinkle in his eye, ‘Is it that you don’t believe it, or that you don’t WANT TO believe it?”

Now taking a moment to gather his own thoughts, Titus considered the introspective insight and said finally, “Perhaps a bit of both. I would say that the truth is usually somewhere in the middle. But you have a good point.”

Noticing his subtle dejection, Tomas spoke to offer a trace of encouragement. “Of course there are mysteries that can’t so easily explained away, just not so many. Furthermore, the sooner we get through the false ones, the sooner we can get to the real.”

“The afterlife doesn’t count’, Titus interjected. ‘I’m not talking about the mysteries of God, and the Universe, and where you go when you die. I’m referring to things that are more within human comprehension and relevance.”

At this, Tomas flashed an odd sense of relief. “Oh look, he’s finally returned to Earth to walk among men.” In recent years, as Titus had began to study more outside of the realm of the Matrons lessons, he had taken to studying subjects far beyond his time such as quantum physics, and even metaphysics. What he had taken away from his studies had left him with thoughts and theories as intricate and profound as they were utterly unquantifiable by any reasonable or realistic means, and thus entirely inapplicable, and Tomas had told him as much from the beginning, attempting to enforce humility. Despite his strength of character, Titus often displayed tendencies to become self-absorbed with his pursuits, and often over-valued the knowledge and understanding he developed from the studies. Because of this, hearing him so casually confess or even suggest that such things were perhaps beyond the scope of limited human understanding pleased Tomas very much, as it indicated maturity.

Titus, of course, said nothing to his ‘brothers’ quip, but, as he frequently did, casually steered the conversation elsewhere. “Take this for example,’ he said, pulling a crinkled up piece of paper from his jeans pocket. ‘It’s an article I printed it off from the library.”

Tomas took the page, unfolding it more noisily than intended, as Titus peered out of the room, and down the hall, cautiously watching their Matron’s door. The headline read:

New accounts of ‘haunted’ ravers reported:
Wave of allegedly supernatural sightings at underground parties
lead investigators to suspect new drug, as yet, unknown.

Examining the headline carefully, Tomas began skimming the article as Titus spoke again. “Strange, isn’t it? It goes on to talk about mass hallucinations, and stuff.”

“Don’t believe in them,’ replied Tomas, his eyes not leaving the page. ‘Coincidences are possible, but rare.’ He paused for a few moments, then added, interestedly. ‘This is rather unusual.”

“I know’, exclaimed Titus, grateful for his ‘brothers’ affirmation.

Stroking the slight beard on his chin, Tomas mulled it over, then turned back to Titus. “What do you make of it?’ he asked. ‘What do you think they’re seeing out there?”

Titus was quiet for a moment, thinking.

“Do you think it’s a real mystery?”

“I don’t know’, he admitted, regretfully. ‘Not likely, if I’m being honest.’ He turned, as if leaving. ‘Still, it is unusual.”

“This is true’, Tomas nodded, looking over at the antique clock on his wall. Titus followed his glance, cringing a little. The time was 3:27 A.M. While not a bad time in Titus’ eyes, it was an unpleasant numeral when taken into consideration that ‘The Nun’, would be rousting them from their beds early the next morning to do chores, and partake of their daily lessons. ‘Look’, said Tomas, with a pleasant smile. ‘Perhaps we can discuss it more tomorrow, and in better detail. We could both benefit from some rest right now. I heard Mother say we’re going to be cleaning tomorrow.”

“Wonderful,’ sighed Titus, in exasperation. ‘Bloody wonderful.”

Chuckling in spite of himself, Tomas took another look at the article. “In the mean time, do you mind if I keep this for a bit? I’d like to look over it some more after I’ve had some sleep.”

“Hmm? Oh, sure. Hell, you can have it”, Titus replied, moving slowly towards the door.

“Oh, thanks’, said Tomas, appreciatively. ‘I’ll look over it more, and we can talk about it after lessons, tomorrow.”

Nodding, Titus turned to his elder, waving casually. “Sounds good. Good night, bro.”

“Good night, Ty”, Tomas said, softly, smiling back at him. After his ‘brother’ had left for his own room, he went back to the book he was reading, having only two more pages to go. Quickly reading over them, thus finishing the chapter, Tomas folded the article, placing it between the pages as a book mark. He then closed the book quietly, setting it down on his bedside table, and laid back on the bed, rolling the comforter over himself, and turning out the lights.

***

The next day began much the same as any other. Titus awoke briefly to the sound of rain pounding against his old and dirty window. A draft flitted in from the pane and he pulled his blanket up farther, wishing to himself that the intense precipitation could find its way to the other side of the glass, so as to render it clean. Nevertheless, the tranquil familiarity of the sound brought much comfort to his ears and he fell back into a peaceful slumber with no difficulty whatsoever. This was short lived however, as no more than fifteen minutes later he awoke with a start to the sound of their Motherly caretaker ringing her old brass bell softly, as she leaned into his room. She was a self-made woman, and a picture of the specific cleanliness and dignity that only came with advanced years. Her silver hair was neatly combed and parted, and fell evenly to each side of her head, and her skin, despite the lines of age, had a smoothness to it. While many elderly women had long-since resigned themselves to living in night gowns and trusting their mobility on brushed titanium walkers, she wouldn’t hear of leaving her room in anything less than clothes to be worn the day, and would have no more assistance for her mobility than an old, gnarled oak cane, which had been her late husbands.

“Come, come. Don’t be difficult, Dear. I let you sleep in today as it is”, she politely prodded, moving down the corridor to wake Tomas in a presumably similar fashion. Groaning, Titus listened to the sound of the familiar yet obnoxious bell grow fainter and fainter. Then he promptly rolled over, graciously returning to sleep.

His regained state of slumber was cut short once again, however, as he soon felt something rubbing abrasively against his head, moving it around on the pillow, and tangling itself in his thick, uncombed hair. “Now see here, young man!’, squawked Dana, playfully imitating and over exaggerating their mothers voice. ‘If you sleep any longer, yer gonna forget what the sun looks like! Now get up, there’re chores t’be done!”

Titus groaned loudly. “The sun... isn’t that the big bright ball of burning gas that comes up every morning and makes the world hot?”

Dana giggled, but did not break character, playing along. “That’s the one, Sonny! Now get yer keister outta bed and c’mon downstairs! Yer missin it!”

“Saw it yesterday,’ he muttered. ‘It hurts my eyes. Think I’ll just stay here, and-’, he paused, squinting and looking around for some sort of ham-handed distraction or excuse in a feeble attempt to dissuade his sister. Finally, he spotted a few scraps of paper, and a dusty cloth on his bedside table and promptly swept them into the garbage pail beside his bed. ‘-And clean of my nightstand. That sound good, Mom?”

Finally speaking normally, Dana whacked her brother in the head playfully. “Nope! Now move your ass, Ty! I ain’t cleaning the attic by myself!”

“You aren’t cleaning the attic at all’, came a voice from the door way. ‘Dana looked over her shoulder curiously, as Ty, rubbed his eyes, beginning to succumb the the inevitability of facing the waking world. As his vision cleared, he could see Tomas standing there, watching the two. ‘Remember, Dane? Mother wanted you to help dust the living quarters and clean the kitchen. Plus, you’ve got extra studying to do for your history lessons.”

‘The Nun’, often spent solitary time with her wards for the purpose of their studies, when they fell behind, or when she other wise wished to give them special attention regarding a subject. Today was Dana’s turn. “Wonderful’, she growled, tersely, finally appearing to turn her attentions from her playful antagonism. ‘Well, you boys have fun in the attic.” Having said that, she walked out of the room without another word. Left alone, Ty, and Tomas looked at each other briefly, in awkward silence. Then Titus snorted discontentedly, laid back down, rolled over, and pulled the cover over his head.

Frustrated, Tomas moved to the bed, grabbing hold of the cover, and was poised to rip them away, pulling his brother out of bed with them, if need be. Just then, a long, light blue projectile came streaking from behind him, striking Titus squarely in the head, though it was concealed, and indistinguishable amidst the massive lump underneath the duvet.

“Get up, Stupid!” Dana barked, impatiently, before disappearing once again.

Groaning in frustration, Titus wiggled around underneath the blanket until his arm was free. Having done this, he searched around on the covers blindly, until he found the offending object; Dana’s left slipper. Picking it up, he threw it in blind, directionless agitation.

Tomas watched silently as it sailed weakly across the room, landing with a flop on the desk on the far wall, very nearly the opposite direction of the intended target; the doorway, which had been vacant for almost half of a minute.

***

A cloud of dust mushroomed up from the old faded cloth covering the round cherrywood table, highlighting the dim glow from the dirty light bulb hanging from above. Coughing loudly, Tomas waved the cloud away as best he could. Looking over in the other corner, he saw Titus rummaging through an old cardboard box. The two had been cleaning for nearly and hour, but the condition of the room had not visibly improved in the slightest. So far they had more or less managed only to rearrange the vastly unorganized mess into an only slightly more organized mess. Titus had been primarily sifting through boxes and sorting them into stacks, and Tomas had been dusting and straightening the old furniture. Upon asking his younger brother if he had found anything interesting, Tomas had been met with a distant reply of incoherent muttering. He paused to watch Titus for a moment, observing quietly as the young man sat on the rough and dirty floor, looking through an old photo rolodex. After a moment, he put it back in the box, reluctantly standing up, and sliding the box neatly into a corner if front of several others. He then proceeded to immediately move over across the opposite corner of the attic to an old wardrobe, stepping over an as-of-yet, unorganized pile of boxes and fabrics, and opening it, at once wincing in mild disgust.

Leaving him be for the moment, Tomas went back to his dusting. After finishing the table, he delicately moved it to the side, and began moving further towards the far corner. The attic covered the entire house, and so, was rather spacious. What’s more, it had collected several generations of acquirements, most of which were from bygone eras and wards the ‘Nun’ had previously raised. She normally held on to all her treasures fiercely, despite her often-voiced distain for materialism, however, money had become rather tight as of late. Furthermore, the farmer Willard Ackels; an old neighbor and friend from church whom had often visited the house, sharing his harvest with the family had recently been discovered to be growing more than vegetables on his land. Needless to say, his visits were forever halted after the arrest. Although it was never admitted, or discussed, everyone in the house knew his generosity did a great deal to put food on the table during the harvest season, and the canned goods which their caretaker produced from the aforementioned shared bounty were supplemental throughout much of the year. Because of this, and the slight downturn in the towns economy, which relied largely on small, disappearing businesses, it was in the best interest of the family to part with some un-needed possessions for a slight monetary exchange.

Tomas moved further back towards the wall in the middle of the attic, which sectioned off the single room, with a large and presumably very old curtain hanging above the doorway. As he stepped over an old banana crate, nearly knocking over a large floor lamp in the process, he heard a faint dripping sound, and smelled the pungent musk of wet mildew. Looking around for the source, he eventually spied a dark green wool afghan tossed over what appeared to be some sort of box or luggage container. The blanket was drenched, and appeared to have years of layered mold permanently adhered to it’s threads. Looking up, he could see the source of its ruin. A leak in the old wooden ceiling. Quickly picking up the unpleasant smelling wool by the edges, trying as best he could to avoid handling the wet spots, Tomas carried it over to one of the few clean places in the floor and laid it down, wrapping up the mold inside it to the best of his ability. “Hey Ty’, he called out to his brother, who appeared to be carefully wiping dust and tiny shards of broken glass off the top of an old wooden crate. ‘Go get a trash bag to put this in, if you don’t mind.”

His concentration broken, Titus turned to look over his shoulder, immediately eyeing the green mass of wet wool and mildew with suspicion. “What is it?”, he asked, hastily.

Tomas explained. “It’s one of Mom’s quilts or something, from when she used to knit. Theres a leak in the roof, and it got wet. Think it’s been getting wet for years.”

Titus groaned under his breath. “Wonderful. She’ll have a fit when she sees that.”

“She isn’t going to’, his elder brother interjected, quickly. ‘We’re going to bag it, and take it down the next time we burn our trash. She’ll never see it.”

Nodding, Titus began making his way for the stairs. “Good idea. I’ll go get the bag.’ He paused, looking over towards the leak, which, no longer muffled by the destroyed afghan, dripped loudly on the wooden chest it had been covering. Tomas followed his gaze to the chest. When he looked back, his brother had disappeared from sight.

***

Making his way down the narrow staircase, Titus looked over the rail and into the living area, where he knew their Mother would be holding her lesson with Dana. Quite predictably, the two were there, sitting opposite each other in the old parlor chairs, a small stained wooden coffee table between the two of them. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, and swung around to make his way through the hall and into the kitchen, he noticed a large map laid out on the coffee table, and observed the ‘Nun’ pointing to it, and expertly thumbing through a book. Dana was studying the map, as if some information unbeknownst to him was taking root in her mind. It quickly became clear that she was not aware of his presence; a rare occurrence in and of itself.

He said nothing, but quickly walked through the white-framed doorway into the kitchen. A quick inspection made it clear that his adoptive mother and sister had already cleaned this area of the house. The sink smelled strongly of mildew remover, and several other odors of chemical cleaning agents permeated the room. The floor was only just drying from being mopped, and glistened in it’s own cleanliness, so he kicked off his house shoes, leaving them at the entrance. After that had been done, he entered the room and made his way over the the cabinet under the sink, where the trash bags were kept. Retrieving one, he turned and was about to return through the doorway from whence he came. Suddenly, he was stricken with an idea. On the other side of the kitchen, past the cheap round table, and their seemingly ancient stainless steel refrigerator, was an adjacent doorway that conveniently lead into the living room. With their Mother busy with her text book, and Dana absorbed in the map she seemed to be studying, he should have little trouble startling her from behind. On the rare occasion that she did not automatically detect ones presence, she could be easily surprised. Silently, he moved from the kitchen and positioned behind Dana, standing over her and getting down close to her ear. “What are you studying?”, he whispered, going out of his way to make his voice deep and gravely.

Stiffening, the girl squealed, noisily, and whirled around, glaring at him. “Damn it, Ty! You know I hate it when you do shit like that!”

“Dana!’, the ‘Nun’ exclaimed, indignantly, looking up. ‘What have I told you about such language?!”

Immediately shifting her disposition, Dana turned quickly back to the woman, shrinking up timidly. “I’m sorry Mother’, she muttered, before shooting Titus another dirty look and adding, ‘It’s all HIS fault!”

“And Titus’, continued the elderly lady. ‘What’s wrong with you, sneaking up on your sister like that? I raised you to be a gentleman, not some kind of wild...’, she paused, looking for the word. ‘...Hoodlum!”

He said nothing at first, but simply looked away. Perhaps he should have foreseen such a reaction. Their mother did not tolerate horseplay, or as she was known to call it; ‘tomfoolery’, very well. Her reactions were inconsistent however, and he had not given the proper thought to prepare for such an incident. The two women stared at him for some time, and finally he muttered. “Sorry, Mom.”

“And don’t you have something to say to Dana, young man?’, she pressed.

Dana crossed her arms, watching him expectantly. Perturbed by her attitude, Titus thought briefly of the situation. Arching his eyebrow, he lifted his grey t-shirt, reached into the pocket of his faded bluejeans and produced a light blue slipper, handing it to Dana. “Found your missing house shoe, Sis’, he said dryly ‘It was in the bathroom”.

Instantly, the girls demeanor changed. She knew as well as he did that this was untrue, and that that morning had not been the first time she had acted in such a fashion against her brother. Although never truly in anger, she frequently accosted him in a similar manner. And while such acts were never remotely harmful, the ‘Nun’ had very low tolerance for such behavior, even going so far as to dissuade them from having snowball fights. She would be upset if she knew of her young wards actions, and Dana knew as much. She sighed in discontented defeat, gingerly taking the slipper, and looking up at Titus. “Thanks, Bub”, she muttered, as the ‘Nun’ merely looked on in confusion.

“Dana, Dear, you must be more careful’, she cooed softly at the girl. ‘You’ll catch a chill from the draft, with this weather.”

Having avenged himself on behalf of her earlier aggravation, Titus took his leave, returning to the hall, and retrieving his own house shoes. But not before digging around in the under-the-stairs closet and removing an old mop bucket. Before heading back up to the attic, he turned to Dana once more. “Oh, Dane, sorry if I scared you to bad.”

She sighed. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you’, she returned, giving him a rueful yet conceding nod. Though seeking to exact some sort of penalty for her meddling from earlier, he had no desire to instigate the type of retributory contest between them, as was often commonplace between differentiating siblings. Dana knew as much, and expressed the same sentiment... More or less.