Fallen

“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say,” the young boy chattered, “I ‘spose it sucks the sound out, huh? What do you think, Cas?”

Casper shoveled out another heap of dirt, adding it to the growing pile beside them, “I think you wonder too much, Eden.”

He looked up at his older brother, “What are you diggin’ that hole for?”

Cas sighed and tossed his shovel to the side. He wanted to scream at the boy, take him by the shoulders and shake him senseless. How could he be so unaware?

“We have to bury Hildee.” Cas replied coldly, “Remember?”

Eden frowned, his gaze lowering to the hole. It was only about three-feet deep, but that’s all they really needed. Hildee was their mother’s Yorkshire Terrier, an old girl she had inherited after her estranged father passed away. Sometimes, Cas thought she loved that dog more than she loved them. He didn’t blame her.

He knew she would be devastated, but he had a few days to rewrite the story. Cas would tell her that she died sleeping in her little dog bed, comfortable and warm. Of course, Cas hated lying to his mother, but sometimes it was needed. She’d be gone for three more days, that was more than enough time.

“Mama said when you bury something, it goes up into space,” Eden recited, “So Hildee will be in space.”

Cas shook his head, “She said they go to heaven. Heaven and space aren’t the same.”

“You don’t know,” Eden huffed.

It was quiet as he lowered the cardboard box into the grave. Both brothers sat silent, staring at the makeshift coffin. There hadn’t been much left of Hildee, not after what happened.

The poor thing had been disemboweled, strewn around the kitchen in a macabre display. There, in the midst of the gore, was Eden— bloody and grinning.

“Do you understand what you did?” Casper asked his brother.

Eden looked down at his feet.

Cas picked up the shovel and sunk it into the loose dirt, scooping it onto the box in one swift motion. The tension was heavy between them, but he kept shoveling.

“I’m really sorry,” Eden murmured.

“How many times did I tell you to leave the animals alone?” Cas snapped.

He gripped the shovel tighter, hands nearly shaking. His knuckles paled.

Eden sniffed, a soft whimper leaving his throat. As if a switch was hit, Cas no longer felt resentment towards his brother. He wanted to comfort the child, hold him close and apologize for ever being angry with him. He was just a little kid, he didn’t know what he did.

Right?

“Hey, hey, come here,” Cas set the shovel down and reached out for his brother, “You know what you did was wrong, right buddy?”

Eden sunk into his chest, blubbering and sobbing like little kids do, “U-uh-huh,”

Cas rubbed his back, “Then it’s alright. You just have to be gentle, okay? Remember the bunnies? When we learned how to pet the bunnies nice?”

Eden nodded and wiped his nose, finally calming down and pulling away. His black eyes glistened under the setting sun. His white-blond hair blew in the evening breeze, picturesque against the golden grass below them. Their mother loved his cotton locks; they were so vastly different from their fine black strands.

He’d always known that Eden was different, ever since she’d brought him home. He was newborn, covered in soot and his hair was singed, but he didn’t cry. He just looked up at them with his wide, coal-black eyes: searching, analyzing, learning.

Cas had asked her on multiple occasions where Eden came from. She mostly brushed the question off, appalled that he would even ask, but after a particularly rough day, she drunkenly explained that he came from the stars.

She took him by the shoulders and shook him, fear in her eyes, “You can never let them know, mijo, never. They will take him away from me.”

He promised her, more-or-less to calm her down, and put her to bed. They never spoke of it again. Sometimes, Cas wondered if he’d dreamed their conversation. He knew better than that.

“M-maybe, when I’m big a-and go to space, I’ll see Hildee and I can say sorry,” Eden offered, throwing handfuls of dirt onto the filled hole.

Cas nodded and sighed, “I’m sure, buddy.”

As they began to walk to their farmhouse, Eden spotted a firefly and chased it onto the porch.

“You go ahead and get in the house,” Cas told him, “I have to put the shovel in the shed. Put on a movie for us.”

The boy gasped, “Space Rangers!”

He hurried inside, slamming the screen door.

As Cas walked to the shed, he could feel the anger rising in him again. Acid rose in the back of his throat, threatening to bubble over and spill.

He knew that as soon as he walked into the house, it would be like nothing ever happened. Eden had that effect on people, and that’s what scared him most of all.