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Vigilant

By Sara Davison

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Luke’s eyes widened at the sight of the knife.
“Hold out your hand, like this.” His older brother Ben held up his palm.
Luke’s breath came in short gasps as he lifted a pale, shaking hand into the air over his crossed legs.
“Ready?” Sliding one hand under Luke’s to hold it still, Ben moved the knife until it hovered over the soft flesh of Luke’s palm.
He swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes locked on the sharp tip of the jackknife.
“Look at me.”
Tilting his head up to meet his brother’s stare, Luke sucked in a breath as the knife
pierced his skin.
“All done. See?”
Luke looked down at the drops of blood rising to the surface of his skin and trickling into his palm. The movement of the knife caught his eye and he watched, fascinated, as Ben sliced a small cut into his own hand and snapped the blade shut before dropping it onto the floor. In the glimmer of light from their bedroom that shafted through the slight crack in the closet door, Ben’s forehead was wrinkled in concentration. Luke suppressed a nervous giggle.
Ben held out his hand.
Luke pressed his palm to his brother’s, the blood a damp and sticky warmth mingling between their clasped hands.
“Now repeat after me. I, Luke ...”
The grim tone of his brother’s voice squelched any desire to laugh. “I, Luke ...”
“Do solemnly swear ...”
“Do solemnly swear ...”
“To lay down my life for my brother.”
Luke looked up, his eyes narrowing in confusion.
“It means you have to be willing to die for me,” Ben explained.
Luke hesitated.
“I’d do it for you in a minute, Luke. We have to take care of each other.”
He nodded. That much he understood. Even though his brother was just ten, three years older than Luke, Ben was the only one who’d ever taken care of him. “To lay down my life for my brother.”
“And to always be there for him, no matter what.”
Luke repeated the words, a powerful feeling growing inside him, like a balloon expanding in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew the words they were saying to each other carried a special magic. When Ben repeated the words, the feeling grew so strong that tears welled in his eyes. Turning his head, he wiped them away quickly with the worn-thin sleeve of his train-covered pajama top.
Ben squeezed his fingers. “Now we’re not just brothers, we’re blood brothers. That’s even better, stronger. It means we’ll always be together, and we’ll always keep each other safe, okay?”
“Okay.”
The front door slammed. Panic swept over Ben’s face, but he pushed back his shoulders, trying, like Luke knew he always did, to look brave.
“Ron … no!”
Ben’s grip on Luke’s hand tightened as their mother cried out from downstairs.
“Out of my way!” The sound of a fist smacking flesh hurt Luke’s ears, as if he had taken the blow himself. He winced. A kitchen chair crashed to the floor.
Their mother didn’t make another sound.
Ben pushed onto his knees. He didn’t look scared now, he looked mad.
Luke’s heart sank. “Ben, don’t go. You can’t help Mom. When you try, it makes things worse.”
His brother’s breaths came out in short, angry gasps, but he didn’t leave, only peered through the small crack in the closet door.
Luke tugged on his hand. “Maybe someone will come and help us,” he whispered.
Ben whipped around to face him. Closing the fingers of his free hand around Luke’s upper arm, he shook him. “Stop saying that. No one’s coming to help us. You know that. No one ever comes. It’s just you and me.”
Heavy boots tromped up the stairs.
Ben let go of Luke’s arm and raised a finger to his lips. Luke nodded. If they were really quiet, their dad might not find them. Maybe he wouldn’t come into their room tonight. Sometimes he left them alone and went into his own room. Luke slid the hand not clutching Ben’s behind his back and crossed his fingers tightly.
The bedroom door flew open. Luke’s stomach tightened. A cry rose in his throat, and he bit his bottom lip hard to keep the sound inside.
“Where are you!”
Objects clattered off the walls. Luke jumped as something heavy thudded against the door of the closet. Still holding his brother’s hand, he pressed against the wall behind him. He and Ben didn’t have a lot of clothes, and what they had they usually tossed over a wooden chair in the corner of their room, so only bare hangers hung from the rod above their heads. Make us invisible. Make us invisible. He held his hand in front of his face. Blood dripped down his wrist. His throat tightened. No one ever answered his plea, or prayer, or whatever it was. Ben was right. They were on their own.
Their father flung open the closet door so hard it crashed against the wall. “There you are.”
The smell of whiskey filled the air, so strong Luke’s eyes stung.
Ben shrank back beside him as his dad’s arm clawed through the air.
“Get out here!”
“Ben!” Luke cried out in desperation as his dad grasped his brother’s arm and yanked hard. Luke held onto Ben’s hand as tightly as he could, but his dad was too strong, and Ben’s fingers slid from his. Luke doubled over and buried his face in the stained, threadbare carpet. The musty smell clogged his nostrils. His thin shoulders shook with sobs.
“You come when I call, do ya hear me, boy?”
Luke squeezed his eyes shut at the sharp smack of a hand against bare skin.
His brother cried out.
Luke pushed himself upright. Something cold and hard pressed into his stinging palm. His hand closed over it. The jackknife. He stared at it for a moment then swiped the tears off his cheeks with the knuckles of his trembling hand.
His fingers tightened around the handle of the knife as he fumbled with the blade. We’re blood brothers now. It means we’ll always be together, and we’ll always keep each other safe.
Luke pushed back his own shoulders, trying to make himself feel brave. The knife helped a little. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to his feet.
Across the room, his dad swung a clenched fist and smashed it hard into Ben’s face. Ben staggered backward, and his head cracked against the metal footboard of the small cot. He fell to the floor with a hard thud and lay still.
The knot in Luke’s stomach grew tighter as blood seeped slowly into the carpet beneath his brother’s head.
“That’ll teach ya.”
Ben moaned and tried to roll over.
Their father aimed a boot at his face.
“No!” Luke sprinted across the room and raised the knife. Before his father could react, he swiped the blade as hard as he could across his dad’s arm.
“What the ...?” Curse words filled the air.
Luke skidded to a stop. A line of blood crawled across his father’s forearm. He didn’t see his dad’s other hand shoot out until strong fingers gripped his small wrist. Pain slithered up and down his arm like a writhing snake. The knife fell from his hand, taking with it the small amount of courage he had mustered. He stared into his father’s dark, wild eyes.
“I’ll kill you, you little ...”
Letting go of Luke’s wrist, his father wrapped large, calloused hands around his neck.Luke struggled to breathe but couldn’t draw in air. His father increased the pressure until black spots shimmered in front of Luke’s eyes. His hands raked empty air. The room spun around him.
Suddenly, his father’s grip loosened. Luke dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. Holding his throbbing throat, he looked up. His father had grabbed his neck with one hand. His bloodshot eyes bulged. The bright red on his cheeks and nose faded to white.
Luke pushed against the carpet with both feet and scrambled out of the way as his dad crashed to the floor. He stared at the jackknife protruding from his dad’s neck. Slowly, Luke lifted his head. Ben was on his knees at their dad’s feet. Blood trailed across the carpet.
“Ben …?”
Pain-filled eyes met his. “Luke,” Ben whispered, his voice ragged. “You okay?”
Luke nodded then leaped toward his brother as Ben started to topple forward. He was too heavy for Luke to hold, and he struggled to lower Ben to the floor and over onto his side.
“Ben! Wake up.” Luke shook him by the shoulder.
Ben didn’t open his eyes.
Luke sank to the floor beside him. Grasping his brother’s hand, he pressed it against his own blood-stained palm, rocking back and forth. Tears slid down his cheeks, dripping onto their clasped fingers.
His brother was gone and so was the magic. He was completely alone.

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