chapter twenty-one:

Caelum didn't cry.

He didn't cry as he called his mother's relatives, telling them in vaguely remembered French about his mother's death.

He didn't cry as he made arrangements for her funeral and her repass.

He didn't cry as he got his brothers dressed and ready, or when he led them to the front church pew, telling them that he would be back later.

He didn't cry as relatives and friends came, all donning that ugly shade of black, the colour that sucked up happiness like a sponge.

He didn't cry as he, his father, his grandfather, and a few of his mother’s brothers carried her casket to the front and laid it down.

He didn't cry as a choir sang, both in English and a few lines in French. His mother was very close with the church staff. She had been attending the church since she came to America in the early 1990s. She was involved in all the events and used to teach Sunday school for the little kids.

Caelum didn't cry as speakers came up, co-workers giving stories of his mother’s work, patients treated by her, families changed with her help. He listened quietly, holding Castor's and Pollux’s hands.

He didn't cry as he stepped unto the stage, giving his own speech. His words were determined, business-like, and assertive. He spoke of stories his mother told him of home, the French she taught him when he was younger. He talked about her faith, how she loved her family, how she loved his brothers.

How she had loved him.

He didn't cry as he walked back to his seat. He didn't cry as the ghost stepped on stage. He hadn't seen her in years. Her eyes looked sunken in, her body strengthened by years of work. Her skin darkened from hours in the sun, her hair in long, locks that was pulled into an intricate bun. Her caramel coloured eyes found him. She gave the slightest smile.

Caelum didn't cry as he returned it.

Caelum didn't cry as he helped bring the casket out of the church. He didn't cry as he went to the burial sight, an area just outside the city, on a big hill. He saw the several hundred of other bodies, just as still as hers. Some of them had gravestones that were crumbling and forgotten with time. Others were fresher with flowers on the grave.

Caelum didn't cry as the pastor blessed the body one, last time, giving a prayer of his mother as he lowered her into the ground.

He didn't cry as they dropped purple lilacs over the grave ― his mother's favourite.

He didn't cry as they pushed the dirt overtop. He didn't cry as the guests began to leave. He didn't cry as he lingered, staring at the grave. He didn't cry as his brothers were silently led away by Dorri and Sarah.

He didn't cry as someone came beside him and took his hand. He didn't cry as she pulled him into his chest. He didn't cry as she began to gently stroke his hair.

Caelum did cry as she whispered to him. “It's okay, Cally. It's gonna be okay. . .”

The tears felt as if he had been holding them in since the beginning of time. They felt hot as they slipped past his cheeks. They felt strange as she gently rubbed them away. They felt wrong as his tears mixed with her own.

Then, someone was calling her. She pulled away, looking at him in his eyes. Caelum felt the tingling sensation on the back of his neck. He didn't look away. He wanted to take in her face, he wanted to see her again. He wanted her to stay.

She was an adult now. She could stay with them. She could take care of them.

But that was a fool's dream and he knew it. The chances of her getting a job would be slim. And even if Dorri and Sarah hired her, she wouldn't be earning enough to take care of all three of them.

Caelum was reluctant to leave her. A small part of him turned back into the nine-year old that listened to her tell him fanciful stories to help him sleep. A small part of him wanted to hug her and have her call him 'Cally’ one last time. He wanted her to stay.

But, rational thought took over ― it always did. He released her, wiped his face. “Goodbye, Petra,” he said, before turning to go. If he stayed any longer, he wouldn't be able to leave.

° · ° · ° · ° 

Caelum sat silently during the repase as everyone gave him their condolences. Even their father had been there, accepting teary handshakes and forlorn faces.

He supposed nobody knew about the 'incident’ with him and Caelum. He didn't mind though, he was tired. He didn't have the energy to talk to him.

He saw Peter slide beside him, smiling gently at Caelum. It helped a little, to see that smile. He had lost his mother's smile. At least he still had his.

In his hands was a steaming mug. A tea bag was floating inside. He gently nudged it towards Caelum, not saying a word. Caelum gave a small smile, accepting it. He took a gentle sip, the green tea working it's way, soothing him.

“We can go upstairs,” Peter suggested. “Tell Dorri and Sarah that you needed to take a break.” Caelum considered this for a minute, before shaking his head.

“I need to be here. Besides, my brothers are upstairs sleeping. It's been hitting them hardest.” Peter nodded, understandingly. They were the ones who witnessed the murder. Caelum found them with his mother's blood on them.

“What'll happen to them?” He asked.

“Foster care,” Caelum said, sipping his tea. “Unless my father’s sister wants to take them in. I don't know what my mother had in her will ― if she even had a will ― if this ever happened.”

“And. . . what about you?” Caelum knew Peter had been thinking about it a lot. From the way he said it to the nervous glances he took at his hands. His eyes were scrunched in concentration ― probably from trying not to stare at Caelum.

“They'll try to put me in foster care, too.” Peter's eyes got a bit sadder, and suddenly, so did Caelum's. “I'll see if I can get independency. That way, I can stay in the city, with Sarah and Dorri.”

“If you can't?”

“Then. . . I'll have to go.” It was a tough pill to swallow and Caelum wasn't sure he wanted to even consider the option yet. He was going to do everything he could to keep himself here.

“Oh. . .” Peter looked sad. Caelum didn't like that.

“Don't,” he said, closing his eyes for a minute. “Don't look like that. Everyone been sad today. Please. . .” he couldn't take that look. He wanted one positive thing, one positive person, even though all this dark clothes and murmured apologies and tears. He needed Peter to be happy.

“Okay,” Peter nudged his shoulder and Caelum looked at him again. He was smiling, it wasn't his big, bright, sunny smile. But, it was one that cared. One that Caelum knew he could rely on.

Caelum smiled too, “Thank you.”

“Algol!” His back went rigid. He turned sharply to see his father standing a few feet away from the booth where they sat. He turned to Peter and gave a semi-annoyed, semi-disgusted glance. “We need to talk.” From the way he said it, Caelum knew he didn't want Peter in the room.

Caelum moved immediately to stand, but Peter grabbed his arm, “Wait,” he warned. He was worried ― the last time Caelum was left alone with his father, he returned with broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and a beaten up face.

“It's fine,” Caelum assured, despite being a little worried himself.

“Cael, please,” Peter wasn't letting him go. He kept looking between his father and him, as if memorizing his features in case something was out of place when he returned.

“Algol,” his father growled in a low tone that made his stomach twist into a sharp knot. He pulled his hand from Peter's and stepped away. His father led him outside and down the street. Caelum was tense the entire way. He kept watching his father, as he led him to a side alleyway.

Caelum reluctantly followed. His father watched him, dark eyes glaring. “Your mother’s inheritance includes about twenty grand in assets.” Caelum's eyebrows rose. $20,000 could do a lot for him in the future. He didn't know she had this much money. “You're going to use it to bail me out of jail.”

Caelum frowned, staring at his father. “

Pardon

me?”

“You heard me, boy!” His father snapped and Caelum immediately took a step back, swallowing hard.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and his father’s eyes narrowed.

“Someone's gonna contact you in a few weeks,” he snapped. “You're going to collect the inheritance, then put it in my name so I can get out of jail.”

“How much is the bail?” He asked.

“Are you listening to what I'm saying!?” His father snapped. “Did I say you can ask questions!?” He advanced on him, sneering angrily. “This is why your mother is dead! Where were you when she was shot!? Why weren't you with her and the boys?!” He grabbed him by the collar of his black button down shirt he had borrowed from someone.

“I–I was at work!” Caelum defended and he immediately knew that was the wrong thing to say.

“‘Work’!?” He snapped. “You're still at that goddamn job after I told you!” He raised a hand, bringing it down on his face. Caelum yanked himself away, stumbling back and hitting the side of a garbage bin. He held his stinging cheek, anger bubbling in him. “I said to quit that job! I said to get that scholarship! Why can't you do what you're told!?”

“Someone had to work!” Caelum snapped back furiously. “Someone had to bring money in! What was I supposed to do?! You were in jail, mom couldn't pay for all three of us! I had to! I couldn't stay in that school!”

“You're making excuses!” His father growled, pointing a finger at him. “You're too lazy to go to school, you're too lazy to take care of your mother! I leave for a few months and this―!” He gesticulated his arms, wildly referrering to the scenery around him. “This is what happens!? I raised you better than that, boy! I didn't raise no idiot! No 'minimum wage bum’!”

“Well, I didn't ask for a father who doesn't know how to look after his kids!” Caelum said, fury rising in him. “You were gone! I had to pay for everything! I had to work for everything! And now you want to come back and tell me to give you the money mom earned!? What did you do?! Where were you when she needed you?! Where were you when we needed you?!”

Anger infested him like a swarm of bees. He glared at his father, shaking with rage. “You've never acted like a father! You've never treated us like we're your kids! We're nothing but paychecks to you!” He snarled at him, a fire in his eyes. “Why should I give you the money? I should just let you rot in that fucking cell!”

His father was fast. His hands were at his throat, squeezing the air out of him as he slammed his back into the wall. Caelum gasped, trying to breathe, his eyes wide and staring at his father.

If he was a swarm of bees, his father was a hive-full of hornets.

“Don't ever talk to me like that, boy,” his father said, his voice eerily calm and even. This terrified him, his calmness. His father was choking him and he wasn't even raising his voice.

Caelum’s mouth gaped for the air it wasn't getting. His eyes wide, staring at his father. “You are going to give me the money. You are going to get me out of jail. If not, I'm going to beat your ass so bad the police won't be able to recognize the bloody mess I leave behind. Is that clear?” Caelum nodded, clawing at his throat. His father was squeezing tighter and tighter he couldn't breathe. Dark spots were coming across his vision.

“I said, is that clear!?” He snapped, squeezing tighter, his nails driving into his skin.

He was going to die.

“Y. . . Ye. . . Y. . .” He couldn't get anything else out. His arms went limp, his head feeling heavy and eyes filling with tears.

His eyes rolled into his skull his mouth no longer moving to bring in air.