Aliens on Aventine Hill

The Fourth of July [Part 3]

Gray's eyes were open for a long time before he was truly awake.

Soft summer sunlight and the sounds of the forest drifted in through the open window. Gray didn't remember having opened it, but that didn't mean he hadn't.

He would've been content to lie there forever, but his headache eventually spurred him into motion. Four days had passed since the Fourth and the wound felt as sharp as ever—but it was Saturday, and that meant a moment's respite. A waypoint.

He grabbed the T-shirt hanging from his bedpost and sniffed it, remembering too late that he'd last worn it to the hospital. It still smelled like hospital—that mix of antibacterial soap and artificial lavender overshadowed by the sharp sting of antiseptic. That same smell still clung to his skin.

Gray thought again of Arnold, small and vulnerable, in the hospital bed, in the dark. Small and vulnerable and far from the man he'd known in life. Peaceful. He was almost sorry to have seen him. Almost, but not quite.

He pushed the guilt out of his head as he crept downstairs into the living room where his brother was crouched in front of the TV. The little boy's eyes bored deep into the screen even though the picture had dissolved completely into static snow.

"You'll hurt your eyes," Gray chided him, fiddling with the antennae on top of the television set. The picture slowly came into focus, and Roman leaned back towards the TV as the episode of Scooby Doo resumed.

Gray smiled, tousling his brother's hair, and moved towards the kitchen, only for Roman to ask, "Are you going to visit Arnold today?"

He winced, hiding behind the doorframe as he looked back at his brother, "No."

It had been the same question for four days now, but the conversation never went beyond this . Gray was fine with that. He didn't want to be the one to explain, though it was probably better that he did. Who else was going to? He opened his mouth, struggling to find the right words, only to find that he didn't have to say anything at all.

Roman turned back to the television set, watching as the gang unmasked the villain—"And I would've gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids and your dog!"

Gray sighed and sat down beside little brother, wrapping his arms around him in a bear hug. It was the little things that gave Roman away: the look in his eyes, the way he held his breath, this particular form of silence.

Gray held him there, safe and secure, chin tucked between Roman's head and shoulder as the little boy's eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the television screen. Gray saw the question before it tumbled out of his brother's mouth:

"Who killed him?"

Gray stared at Roman, unsure of how to answer—and frustrated that neither television nor experience had served to demonstrate the inevitability of death.

"Nobody," he answered after a long time. "It was just Arnold's time to go."

"Go where?"

The young man paused again but said in spite of himself, "Heaven."

Roman stared up at him, searching for something, but Gray let his brother out of the embrace and changed the channel to NBC for The Woody Woodpecker Show, Roman's favorite.

"What are we gonna do now?"

"We'll be OK," Gray replied with more surety than he felt.

The boy turned back to the television, and his elder brother leaned back on his arms with a heavy sigh. A moment later he pushed himself to his feet and wandered into the kitchen, glancing miserably at the flock of unopened envelopes gathering on the island and the mountain of dishes growing in the sink. He cleared them away enough to get the kettle under the faucet.

As he filled it, his gaze drifted out the window and down the grassy slope stretching from the back of the house to the riverbank. The yard seemed so different in the daylight, but that river was still sinister, dark and twisted.

Even through the glass, he could hear it. Whispering. Murmuring. What am I gonna do now? No matter how many breaths he took, he just couldn't get enough air in his lungs to answer.

A soft hand touched him from behind and he jumped. Roman jumped back too. Gray stared at him for a moment, lowering his hackles and looked back to the overflowing kettle in the sink.

Gray offered his wide-eyed brother a tired smile, "You snuck up on me."

Roman stood on his tiptoes to look out the window and looked worriedly back at his brother, but Gray shook his head, "I'm alright. It's just a headache."

He saw his little brother's gaze pause on the scar on his temple, and Gray quickly covered it with his hand, pretending to tuck some stray hair into place. Roman nodded, looked away and then asked, "Are we going to the funeral?"

Gray felt the blood drain from his face.

"Do you want to?"

The little boy consulted the stuffed wolf clutched to his chest and contemplated. Gray turned his back, waving a hand, "Don't worry about it."

"What if I want to?"

Gray froze.

He looked back over his shoulder at his brother, who stared up at him with wide blue eyes. Roman had been to a funeral before, Gray thought. He had been younger then, yes—and ignorant of what had really been going on—but he had been far more focused on how stiff and uncomfortable the suit had been, how long and boring the ceremony was, than on...

Gray covered his face with one hand, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Roman frowned, shoulders slumping as he hugged the wolf tighter to his chest. Their father had been hungover; their mother had been in the ground. Gray's back was turned. Roman stared up at it; his brother had been unreachable then too.

It was not a happy memory, that day, but it had been a chance to say goodbye.

Gray let out a long, aggravated sigh, "I don't know, Roman. I'll think about it, ok? I might have work, and I don't necessarily know who's organizing it, or..."

His expression softened as he met Roman's pleading stare, and he surrendered, "But, if you think about it and you decide you really want to go, then maybe..."

The little boy glanced down at his stuffed wolf with satisfaction but scowled as Gray tousled his hair, "But for sure we need to go to the laundromat and grocery store."

The younger pouted: Do I really have to go? The elder's eyebrow raise was a firm affirmative, but the smile was kind as he scratched the stuffed animal behind its ears, "Don't worry; Lupe's not getting out of it either."

So it was that not two hours later the three of them piled into the car, two brothers and the stuffed wolf.