43. Deakon
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
deakon
“Deakon? My name is Ben Slater. I’m a friend. Do you mind if I sit with you?” A gentle-looking man stands by the boy’s side, a half-smile on his lips.
I only have one friend.
She is in heaven.
And no one will tell me how to get there.
The boy has gotten more attention than ever before. The people at the hospital are always checking him, testing him, putting him in machines that beep and clank. They stab him with needles, take his blood, add fluids. They are helping.
Go away.
He gave up on caring and hoping a few days ago, but unlike before, he now knows when the days pass. He stares at the ticking hand as it slowly circles the clock face.
Just go away.
One man yesterday, when the big hand was on the two and the little on the five, called him hostile. He doesn’t know what that means.
He just wants to be left alone. There is a weight in his belly that won’t go away. He feels full and sick and empty all at once. The boy scowls. They said they’d protect her.
He turns to the window and watches the outside world—the same world he is both desperate and terrified to be a part of. He loves the sky. He hasn’t stopped looking at it since the nurse opened the window when the big hand was on the ten and the little was on the seven.
The man takes a seat in the visitor’s chair and shifts to get comfortable. The boy has been watching that spot for days. It’s always empty—until now.
“You have very green eyes, Deakon.” The man coughs. Does he have very green eyes? He doesn’t know.
“I don’t know what you remember,” the man goes on. “But you can talk to me, if you want. Talking is what I do.” He chuckles softly, and the boy steals a glance at him. “I have two little girls who never let me forget it.”
The boy returns his eyes to the sky.
Adults lie.
All of them.
“The nurse said you haven’t spoken since yesterday…
” His voice trails to silence. Then, “Well, that’s okay.
Like I said, I have two little girls who do plenty of talking.
Felicity is only a few years older than you; she is eleven.
Cassidy is only five, and she’s here today. Would you like to meet her?”
The boy keeps his face still.
I would like to meet her.
Kids don’t lie.
Even when it’s hard.
Even when it hurts.
The boy looks at the man.
“Okay, but first, can you do me a favour? Cassidy is still very little, so she needs someone to look after her. Do you think that while I grab a coffee, you could watch over her?”
Something lifts in his chest.
He nods once, then again.
The man stands. “I will get her.”
The boy waits until the man has cleared the doorway, then pushes himself up to see down the hall. He watches. A few moments pass before the man reappears, a small blonde girl trailing behind him.
The boy pulls in a breath.
She is smaller than Liz.
Same hair.
I like her.
The girl grins, showing her gapped teeth. Her cheeks are rosy. The boy’s eyes widen when she rushes over, crawls onto his bed, and wriggles to his side.
She rests her head on the pillow they now share. He stares at her hazel eyes. They are full of laughter. He wishes he’d seen that look on Liz. The girl’s knee presses against his, and he wants to move away, but doesn’t.
She giggles.
The boy turns to look at the man, who is staring at them with a strange expression. The boy tilts his head. Then he realises—he is smiling.
“I’ve always wanted a brava,” the little girl says.
I like her.