Shadowed

IX. The Cages

The silence is nearly deafening. Whistling wind shakes the tree branches, and I'm gripped with a sense of guilt.

She's not going to die, I remind myself, but I know the voice at the back of my mind won't be convinced so easily. 

Drew tilts his head up at me. "Where's she going?"

"Nowhere," I mumble, brushing my bangs over my forehead so they cover my eyes. 

He laughs, but there's no humor behind it, only sarcasm, which cleverly masks the hint of worry I detect. "Listen, I don't know you nearly as well as I know her. But it's not nowhere. There's something going on. She doesn't freak out like that."

He sounds so much like Abby that I almost chuckle. Their mannerisms are practically identical—he's even digging the heels of his shoes into the ground exactly like I've watched her do when she's anxious.

I can tell he's uneasy. And he cares about her, too. I can't avoid the question, let it glance off me like light shining onto a mirror, ushering it into the folds of vagueness I always carry around me like a shield. 

"She owes me a favor," I say simply. "She'll be fine." I hope I sound more confident than I feel. I have no idea what the Hunters are capable of, but something tells me they wouldn't hesitate to hurt her, given the chance.

Drew nods, considering what I've said, and falls silent, seeming to relax. I'm a little surprised— Abby would never let anything go this quickly, especially if she knew she hadn't been told the whole truth yet. 

But then again, I know damn well siblings are never the same person, no matter how alike they look.

My own brother, Holden, was nearly an exact copy of me, looks-wise. We both had the same wild black hair, the same ashy, pale skin, the same blue-green eyes. Growing up, we were completely inseparable from each other, as if we were two parts of one person. He understood me without me having to say a word. 

Even though I was the oldest, he'd been the favorite child as long as I can remember—years before I even met Jeremy. And, of course, he went off to college and came out with a degree, a job, money in his account, and a plan to never look back. Just like I wished I could.

He always had enough money to get me out, get me away from our parents. Whenever he came home for the holidays, I'd beg and plead for him to loan me something—anything. The first month's rent of an apartment. A spot on the couch at his place. But he was grown, with a wife and a newborn daughter already, and he didn't have the space in his perfect life to help out his bisexual older brother who still looked like a child. It was so much easier for him to forget all about me. So that's what he did.

I bury my face in my hands, shaking my head. I haven't thought about Holden in years. There's been no reason to. Holden's part of a different me, a different life. One I thought I had buried and left behind.

Trying to shake the painful memories that have come dislodged, I watch Drew in silence. His disfigured hands rub together for warmth, and I'm beginning to notice all of the minute differences that distinguish him from his sister. He's taller, or at least has longer legs than she does. I'd guess he's about two or three years older. His hair is darker, though still blond. They have the same narrow face shape, but hers is fiercer, more hardened than his. He seems like he smiles more. I can still see the fight in his eyes, though it's muted, and he seems more passive and wistful than outright angry, like Abby.

And, of course, Abby has all of her fingers. The scars don't look very healed— I'd put them at no more than two years old. I'm disturbingly curious, aching to know where they came from, what could have hurt him badly enough to burden him every time he grabs hold of something.