He woke up covered in sweat, but the dream, the nightmare, kept calling him back. His father was there before he knew it, holding him, comforting him as if he were afraid.
Paul held onto the child in his arms like a lifeline, though he couldn't tell who was anchoring whom. He wanted so desperately to protect him, to shelter him from the storm raging around him. Kyle was all that remained.
His eyes drifted toward the empty bed on the other side of the room, and he felt a pang of guilt when he caught himself wondering what to do with Alex's things. He dreaded the idea of touching them, especially this soon. Had this been only Alex's room he could have left things as they were for a few days, maybe even for months or years, but he couldn't do that to Kyle. He couldn't turn what was now HIS room into a museum honoring his brother.
There was no question about the toys, since most of them belonged to Kyle as well, though the beaten up stuffed frog had been Alex's alone. The clothes he would give away. Even though Kyle would soon grow into them, Paul just couldn't fathom seeing them on him. And then his eyes fell on Alex's most prized possession: his beloved fish tank. Looking at it, it was hard to imagine that it all began with a single little goldfish Alex had won at a fair. Now there were so many different shapes and colors gliding through the water. Paul remembered how his oldest son used to spend hours sitting in rapt fascination, just watching the fish swim, forming an ever-changing, living pattern. For two years, Alex had cared for that tank almost obsessively, to the point that, even though he was only seven years old, and just barely able to read, Paul was already encouraging him to learn as much as he could about the sea and its creatures. Kyle had never shown an interest in the tank or its inhabitants. At first, Paul had assumed it was because he was too young, but as time went by he realized that Kyle simply didn't care. Maybe he could look after it himself, as Alex would have done.
Would have...
Paul was numb and exhausted, but he couldn't keep himself from remembering the past 48 hours. Accepting it as an accident was made all the more difficult because he should have known better. He should have gotten rid of those damned pills while he still had the chance. Paul knew he should have thrown them away the first time he saw them in Kyle's hand, after the boy somehow managed to climb up to the bathroom sink and open the medicine cabinet. Instead he had hesitated, as he had been hesitating to touch all of Sarah's things for the past eight months. So, after warning Kyle never to touch them again, Paul had hidden them in an old shoe box on the top shelf of his own closet, confident that they were safely out of the children's reach, and then he had forgotten all about them.
He could hardly believe it had only been the previous day that he was working in his study, listening to the boys playing in his room, as they often did. Suddenly Kyle had burst in saying something about Alex being asleep and not waking up. Paul had followed his younger son back to his room, slightly annoyed by the interruption, to discover Alex in a coma and an almost empty bottle of pills laying on the bed. The ambulance was there in a matter of minutes, but he already knew that only a miracle would save his son, and he had lost his faith in miracles when he lost Sarah.
The hours he had spent in that waiting room with Kyle sitting on his lap, while they waited for the news were forever etched in his memory. Paul struggled with the fear, the guilt, the confusion and the anger. It was too much and it needed an outlet, something he could ill afford. He could not, would not, blame Kyle for a tragedy that he knew to be his own fault.
He wanted to question the boy, but he knew he was strung too tight, and he dreaded the possibility of losing control, of saying something he might regret. He had expected the boys to be more responsible, to act like more than children, and now this was the price he had to pay. Stunned, Paul did the only thing he could do. He held Kyle, silently, as closely as he could, afraid that he too might somehow be snatched away from him. He focused on Kyle, who seemed strangely calm, as if he were unaware of what had happened... and perhaps he was, Paul reminded himself, as he wondered if a five-year-old child, even after losing his mother, could possibly be aware of the concept of death.
Paul's thoughts were interrupted by a social worker who introduced herself as Ms. Jones. She told him that she wanted to ask him a few questions, apparently unaware of just how deprived of answers he felt. Paul told her what he could, but it wasn't much.
He dreaded Ms. Jones's presence, as it rekindled his fears of losing Kyle. It had taken him months to accept the idea that he would have to raise his boys alone. The sheer scope of that responsibility was daunting, and he was well aware that there were those who thought he couldn't, or shouldn't, do it. Paul was also painfully aware of what kind of power Ms. Jones had. He knew that, if she should consider him as an unfit or negligent parent he could end up losing both of his sons. However, in spite of his fears, when she asked for his permission to question Kyle, Paul felt almost grateful for the possibility of finding some answers to those questions he could not bring himself to ask.
He could recall every single thing that had been said in that dialog. Kyle's words had been so innocent, so childlike that they had chilled him to the bone. After making a few irrelevant comments, aimed at putting Kyle at ease, Ms. Jones had asked him why they had grabbed the pills.
"We were playing," Kyle explained, "I was a doctor and Alex was sick, so I gave him the pills to make him feel better."
"And who thought about using them?" Asked Ms. Jones, carefully watching the boy.
"I did, because Alex didn't know where our dad kept them."
"And you did?" She asked, puzzled.
"Yes, I saw daddy put them in his closet after I found them in the bathroom." Those words, coupled with the angry look Ms. Jones shot at him as Kyle answered her question, made Paul realize just how serious a mistake it had been to hide the pills in the boy's presence.
"And what did your daddy say the first time you found them?" She said, now keeping her eyes on Paul.
"In the bathroom? He said that I wasn't supposed to touch them because they were bad... but why would he give something bad to my mommy?" Kyle asked, more than a little confused.
"I see, so you had seen him give the pills to your mommy?" She questioned raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, they made her pain go away." Kyle explained.
Paul didn't know how a social worker would take those words. He now realized that he had made a series of mistakes, but the fact was that, when the pain hit, neither he, nor Sarah had the presence of mind to tell the boys to leave the room while she took her medication. Paul could only hope that Ms. Jones would understand that.
"And so when you found them, your dad told you never to touch them again and then he placed them on top of his closet. Is that right, Kyle?" Ms. Jones asked, trying to recreate the scene in her mind.
"Yes."
"And earlier today, while you were playing, where was your daddy?"
"In the next room. He was working, and I was afraid he was going to get mad at me when I told him that Alex was asleep." Kyle said shyly.
"Does he get angry a lot?"
"No, but we are not supposed to go in there while he is working." He explained.
"So, you didn't go right away, after Alex swallowed the pills?"
"No, I told you. Alex and I were playing, but then Alex fell asleep. I tried to wake him up, but I couldn't, so I went looking for dad."
"But there is something I still don't understand, Kyle." Ms. Jones said, apparently confused. "If the pills were on top of your dad's closet, how did you and Alex get all the way up there to reach them? Can you tell me?"
"I knew that daddy kept them on top of his closet, because I had seen him put them there, so we opened the drawers to climb up." Kyle tried to explain. "We just wanted to play."
"You opened the drawers?"
"Yes, like steps, and then Alex went up to get the pills."
"But your daddy had told you that you weren't supposed to play with them." Ms. Jones confronted the boy, though Paul couldn't fathom what good that could do. Kyle was only five, it wasn't the boy's fault. It had been his mistake.
"Yes, but I already told you, we were playing doctor and we had seen them make mommy's pain go away." Kyle insisted.
"And after Alex got them down, how did you open the bottle?" Asked Ms. Jones, aware that the package should have been child-resistant.
"I don't know. It was hard. At first Alex couldn't figure out how to do it, but after trying for a while he just opened it."
"So Alex opened the bottle and then he swallowed the pills?"
"Yes, he was very sick and I wanted to make everything better." Kyle declared.
"You mean he got very sick, Kyle?" Ms. Jones asked, unsure of what the boy meant by that.
"No. He was sick in the game we were playing."
Kyle appeared to be perplexed, and more than a little exasperated, by the social worker's apparent inability to tell what he believed to be the difference between reality and a game.
In the boy's mind, the game remained as nothing more than a game. Apparently he still didn't know what had happened. Well, Paul thought, at least that would explain how could he remain so calm. Still, it felt strange somehow... children were too often accused of confusing fantasy and reality. They were routinely dismissed because it was assumed that they believed that fantasy was indeed reality, but now Kyle remained unaware that the opposite had taken place. The boy insisted on keeping them separate long after they had merged. Kyle didn't seem to realize that what was for him nothing more than a fantasy, had become reality. It was only in Paul's own adult world that the two had become one.
Ms. Jones didn't leave after questioning Kyle. She remained with them, refusing to give Paul the space and privacy he so desperately needed, claiming that she would like to talk to Alex as well. Paul was grateful that she never finished her thought, though they both knew it was there... the knowledge that that would probably never happen.
Eventually a grim faced doctor approached them, and Paul knew what he would say as soon as he saw him.
The words rang hollow. A well-practiced speech that had been repeated countless times. He already knew the words, having heard them from the lips of another grim faced doctor when Sarah died. He wanted to cry, to scream but he couldn't do it... not now... not with Kyle watching him.
Ms. Jones left him then. She had more questions to ask and other cases to attend to. For her, Alex was now nothing more than a closed case to cross off her list and another incident report to file away.
Almost mechanically, Paul signed some papers, donating Alex's organs, trying to salvage at least something of his son, even after the doctor made it clear to him that most of those organs had been damaged by the drugs. In spite of his own pain, Paul was unable to forget that children's organs were a precious commodity.
And then there was a hastily organized funeral the following morning. As no arrangements had been made, Paul was forced to debate dollars and cents with the vultures that sought to profit from his pain. He was in a cold place, an assembly line of grief where the dead became contract numbers who had not only lost their lives but also their names and identities. A place where the bodies were handled with the same cold indifference as carcasses in a slaughterhouse. He almost lost it when a salesman began to extol the virtues of the different caskets as if he were merely shopping for clothes, or maybe a new car.
There was an eerie feeling in Alex's wake, as his friends were led by their parents past the small coffin. For most of them, this was their first experience dealing with death, and it came embodied in a child like themselves. Kyle stood quietly by his father's side. The boy was calm, maybe even detached, as the events unfolded in front of him. Paul wasn't sure how much he understood of what was going on around him. Kyle had only asked if Alex had gone away like his mommy and Paul had barely dared to nod, unsure of whether or not he could control his emotions long enough to answer.
There were nameless faces expressing their condolences with empty words, and Paul suddenly realized that Alex had somehow suddenly become Alexander... a man's name he would never grow into. He became almost painfully aware of the fact that his son had never truly been Alexander before, only Alex. As so many parents he had branded him with an adult's name before he was even born, only to change it to a child's nickname the moment he saw him. And now, in death, he had turned into a stranger Paul had never met.
Once the wake was finally over, there was the burial itself. A small grave had been dug open next to Sarah's headstone in the place Paul had always assumed he would one day occupy.
He felt desolate as he tried to imagine what might have been if something, anything, had been different. Paul was horrified when he caught himself wondering about his feelings had Kyle, and not Alex, been the patient in their deadly game.
Had Kyle been the patient, Paul knew he would still be there, saying goodbye to one of his sons, holding Alex's hand, comforting him as he now knew he would never do again. He would have been standing in that same spot, holding Alex's hand in the same way in which he was now holding Kyle's. His own grief might have been different, as both boys had always been, but it certainly wouldn't have been any less. He would still be there, wondering what might have been had Alex been the patient. Unconsciously, Paul tightened his grip on Kyle's hand, needing to be reassured of the boy's presence. He couldn't even hear the priest offer what he believed to be words of comfort.
Paul was not a religious man. For him, church was a place he was expected to go to a couple of times a year. Part of a ritual rather than a faith... and lately, a place to bury the dead. But in spite of that, he caught himself muttering a prayer to Sarah, begging for her forgiveness and asking her to keep Alex safe, as he vowed to keep Kyle. He would not fail twice.
The sound of dirt raining on the casket was almost deafening, but no-one else seemed to hear it. Paul gathered his courage to look around himself. He was surrounded by his closest friends, as well as some of his colleagues and a few of his students, but the ones that drew his attention were the little mourners who had never mourned before, and their parents. Their parents who were too afraid to look him in the eye, their expressions a mixture of compassion and accusation.
Paul suddenly realized that those children, the ones that appeared to be strangely out of place in such a gathering, were the only ones who were there really because of Alex. The ones who had had a chance to know him. The adults were there for him, or perhaps because they felt it was their 'duty'. Even his own family had failed to attend. It really wasn't their fault, most of them lived thousands of miles away, and everything had been so sudden. Sarah's parents had asked him to postpone the services for another day but Paul had refused. For Kyle's sake, he couldn't allow things to drag out any longer.
He was grateful when he felt a light hand touching his shoulder, distracting him from his own thoughts. Sandra, one of his closest friends, was there, standing by him. Paul tried to give her a reassuring smile, but failed miserably. She didn't say anything, as if she knew that there was nothing she could say. She just remained there grounding him, lending him the strength he needed to keep himself together as the ceremony dragged on.
Paul hated himself for feeling relieved once it was finally over, but he couldn't help it. There was something about funerals that always made him sick. It went beyond the obvious, it had to do with the emptiness of the ritual. It was a charade, where each one of the participants seemed to have a role to play, and he couldn't help but fear that he was going to get his own lines wrong. His mind drifted back to Sarah's funeral.
Then everything had been ready, prepared. At the time he had found himself almost wishing for a different kind of ceremony, perhaps a Tibetan Sky Burial, but he had known that that would never be allowed. That was then, but when he found himself forced to bury his son, Paul suddenly realized that there was a part of him that was relieved to have a physical place where he could be with him, with them. This time, walking out of the cemetery had been difficult. Always fiercely protective of his sons, he dreaded the idea of leaving Alex there, even though a part of him wanted, no, needed to be left alone.
As soon as they got home, Paul realized that, what he had not counted on, was Alex's presence in every inch of the house. He couldn't take a single step without feeling overwhelmed by memories he didn't even know were there. It was so different from Sarah's death. That had been expected, they had time to say goodbye. They even had time to try to accept what was coming. But now his soul was struggling with the unacceptable idea of letting go of Alex, a child who had so much to do, so much to see and so much to give.
Paul looked around. Suddenly he could remember everything. A scraped knee here, a bit of innocent mischief there, over there something that was once new and exciting. Everywhere, the boys laughing, playing and even fighting.
He tried to distract himself with simple chores, with things that had to be done, such as feeding Kyle and tucking him in. The boy was exhausted, that much was obvious, so Paul put him to bed, and he even managed to read him a bed-time story. But even after the boy fell asleep, Paul couldn't bring himself to let him out of his sight.
While he watched his son sleep, Paul was finally free to try to analyze some of his own feelings. Entering the boys' room had been devastating. For years he had unsuccessfully tried to get his sons to pick up after themselves, but their room had always reminded him of a battlefield after a particularly gruesome confrontation, with the fallen remains of loyal toys scattered as far as the eye could see. While Kyle slept, Paul picked those toys up, to bury them in a chest by Alex's bed, in a funeral that somehow seemed to be more fitting than the one he had endured a couple of hours earlier.
It was strange, almost funny: in his mind, it had always been the boys' room, but now that it was only Kyle's, Paul had to struggle to keep himself from thinking of it as Alex's room.
And yet, in spite of everything, and no matter how painful being in that room was, regardless of what he called it, he felt better there than he would feel in his own room. What Paul dreaded the most was the image of the bottle of pills that he knew he would see as soon as he walked in there, even though a part of his brain recognized that the bottle was no longer physically there. Ever since the accident happened, Paul had been deliberately avoiding going in there, turning everything, even his desire to comfort and protect Kyle, as the boy twisted in the grip of a dream, into a mask to hide his own cowardice.
And so there he was, in the middle of the night, holding a frightened little boy in his arms. Surrounded by the ghost of another little boy... and of his own failure.
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