The Broken Read online

movie. What d'ya say?"

  Link helped Ayden get ready for bed then brought him downstairs. Ordinarily, Ayden slept upstairs in the small bedroom next to their dad's. Tonight, however, their dad was still not home. And after all that had happened, Link wasn't about to leave Ayden alone again. So he tucked him into a makeshift nest, which consisted of a fuzzy comforter placed atop a large, well-loved beanbag beside his bed and found a movie for them to watch.

  5

  The Night I Killed My Mother

  Link pressed the power button on the DVD player, waited for it to switch on, then pressed play. He flopped down next to his brother. Already intent on watching the screen, Ayden reached out and silently grabbed hold of Link's hand. Link forced back an unexpected swell of emotion. He hadn't spent enough time with his brother lately. That would have to change. As Link stared into the empty plaster above, he noticed an odd stain on the ceiling. It seemed to change shapes the more he stared at it. Disgusting. He wondered how long it had been there.

  Things might have been bad back in Pensy, but at least his old bedroom hadn't been some leaky dungeon in the basement. It had been bright and spacious with crisp, linen-white walls. Now, the only natural light in his room filtered through a pathetic, sliver of a window on the back wall. His father had protested Link's choice in rooms, stating something about it not being a suitable bedroom. But in the end, Link had won out. But this one victory hadn't changed anything. This town was terrible. They'd moved here less than a month ago, and Link had already begun to hate it.

  Ayden's laughter broke the silence. On the television, a ragtag group of firefighters chaotically scrambled up a ladder to extinguish a house fire. The scene was meant to be humorous, and for someone whose mother hadn't been burned alive, maybe it was. Link wouldn't know.

  Ayden had been too young to really understand what had happened to their mother that night, or he wouldn't be laughing now either. Link sometimes wondered how much his little brother remembered of her. Even more troubling was the uncertainty of how he would react if he ever found out that it had been Link who had killed her.

  As Link replayed the events of that night in his mind, he fought back the tears that pooled in his eyes. The stain above him shifted once again.

  He still recalled the subtle footfalls of his mother's shoes, sneaking up on him from behind. He could feel her arms wrapping him in a smothering hug. He had been washing dishes at the sink, pretending not to notice her. It was a game they played. For some reason this memory always conjured up the scent of coconuts. Perhaps it was from her perfume. Link couldn't remember. What he did remember was how long she had hugged him. He should have known that something wasn't right; he should have been a better son.

  His mom had only needed milk for the morning, but Link had begged her to pick up some donuts as well. The Benson Bakery was only a few blocks away from the supermarket, and he had been craving one of their world-famous maple bar donuts with the thick, creamy filling. Her wobbly smile and the intensity of her stare had made him feel uneasy. At the time, he had figured his mom had simply forgotten to take her meds again. Looking back on it, Link wondered if she had somehow known there would be trouble that night, that this simple errand would be her last.

  County investigators had discovered the remains of at least five bodies buried beneath the rubble of The Benson Bakery fire. Making matters worse, the only usable DNA had come up as a match for three different people, all of whom had died at least a month before the fire. None of it made the slightest bit of sense. By the time the news of the coroner's mistake had gone national, the once-proud town of Pensy and their police force had been reduced to a punch line on late night television.

  In the dark days that followed, the town was overrun with reporters. A few of these had been legitimate members of respectable presses and media outlets, but most had been nothing more than sensationalist nutjobs. They had claimed anything from a governmental conspiracy to proof of a zombie apocalypse.

  When town officials learned of Micah Hartkins's previous health problems, they had pounced on the chance to make someone else shoulder the blame. Somehow they had uncovered word of her court-appointed therapy sessions for paranoid delusions. At one point, they had even gone so far as to implicate her as a possible culprit for the blaze. Link knew better. Still battling his own grief and feelings of guilt, he knew that if any of the Hartkins family was capable of murder, it was him. Because if he ever found out who really had started the fire that night...

  Link involuntarily clenched his jaw, refusing to surrender to the memory, and for a time, relished his bitterness. And to think, it had all been caused by his desire for a stupid donut. As was so often the case these days, Ayden pulled him from his thoughts. This time it was his little brother's laughter that brought him back into the present. Link watched Ayden's merriment and, before long, discovered that he too was smiling. He wondered what he would ever do without his baby brother around to cheer him up. The mere thought was almost more than he could bear.

  On impulse, Link drew in closer to his unsuspecting brother. When he was only a few inches from Ayden's face, he pounced on top of him. He roared like a lion as he hugged Ayden tightly to his chest.

  Ayden let out a squeal of delight. "Again," he pleaded. "Do it again!"

  Link pulled his brother in close and squeezed even tighter. This time he also stuck a finger in each of Ayden's armpits and began to tickle. "The tickle monster is here to get you, Bug!"

  6

  The Drive-by

  Early Thursday morning, Link had trouble waking up. It took him a while to figure out where he was. That meant no dreams ? or more specifically, no nightmares. These days, uninterrupted sleep was a rarity. He looked over to where Ayden had fallen asleep the night before and saw the folded comforter on top of the beanbag. Their dad must have carried him up to his room.

  It was a perfect time to run. Just the thought of it was enough to make Link grin. Most people were still fast asleep in their deep, comfortable beds. Those who weren't busy preparing for the coming day. Most people dreaded the early mornings, but not Link. This was his favorite time of the day. It was his escape from everything, his retreat into the quiet. The calm he could get from a morning run helped him cast aside everything he wished to forget and erased his problems as easily as the parked cars he passed on his jog.

  Link enjoyed looking at the houses while he ran. Each new home was a canvas that revealed the owner's innermost thoughts. With each house he passed, Link painted a visual image of the people inside. Occasionally, he would pause by a house that truly intrigued him.

  It was during one of these breaks that a gnarled voice hooted from behind him. Link whirled around to discover an aged woman with a dirty brown shawl draped over her shoulders. The woman hobbled toward him with a determined, yet turtle-paced, walk.

  "What do you think you're doing!" she hollered. "This is private property! Nothing concerns you here. Go on, get! I don't want you hooligans messing around here anymore. Understand?"

  Link turned to make sure the lady was talking to him. What on earth was she so worked up about? Too stunned to respond, he decided to ignore her and resume his jog. He didn't even bother to look back. Whatever the old bat's problem was, he wanted no part of it.

  The encounter had been weird, but it didn't take long before he was once again lost in his own thoughts. Again he replayed the events of the previous night. None of it made any sense. What was Ayden's deal? He'd been acting so bizarre lately. Caught up in his thoughts, Link continued to run, but he soon forgot to look where he was running.

  Big mistake. Without warning his face smacked the massive lower limb of an oak tree. The impact catapulted his head back then whipped his skull to the cement with an earsplitting thump. His feet dangled in the air for a split second before they followed the rest of his body into an agonizing heap in the middle of the sidewalk.

  For a few seconds, Link lay where he was, staring past the massive branch into the light blue-gray o
f the heavens above. Dazed, he felt the onset of swelling in his cheek and upper forehead. The dull throb grew more intense and rapidly spread to the rest of his head.

  Still wobbly, he carefully steadied himself as he tried to stand. A bike pulled up behind him along the shoulder of the street. Before he could navigate the murky seas of his blurry vision, a vague but familiar voice said, "Sweet moves, Weasley! I give you an eight. The form was good, but the landing totally sucked." Kaylee began to cackle. Even through his damaged sight, Link could see her face contort into a self-satisfied sneer as she rode by.

  How could such a wicked girl come from such a tenderhearted mother? He shook his head in irritation and immediately paid the price. An intense burst of pain lit up the side of his face. He made a mental note to avoid any sudden movements in the near future and began his journey home. This time he would have to walk.

  7

  A Visitor

  Later that same morning, Link breathed a sigh of relief as he watched his father leave for work, thankful that he hadn't asked many questions. At the moment, Link didn't think he could stand another of his dad's infamous "silver lining" speeches. He closed the blinds and walked to the kitchen in search of some fresh ice for his face.

  It took some time, but Link finally made