"How much do you remember about the man that took your brother?" one of the officers, the really tall and super skinny one, asked. "Do you remember what he looked like?"
Michael stayed quiet. That's what he always did. He was often mistaken as a kid who hadn't learned to talk yet, but he had. He had been told on many occasions that he had a much larger vocabulary than most kids his age. He just didn't like to talk. But Khael, Khael was someone who wanted to talk. He always spoke for Michael when he couldn't or if he noticed he didn't want to talk.
Michael's eyes burned at the thought of his brother. One of the officers shifted in his seat as he brought his non-broken leg up to his chest and rested his head on his knee. His head was starting to hurt, probably from the mix of having a fever and not having water in a while.
"Oooooooookaaaaaaaaay," the other police officer, the tiny one, said. He turned to the other man. "Do we fill out the forms now? Because it kind of looks like he doesn't want to find his brother."
Michael's hands curled into tight fists. How could the officer say that? He loved his brother! "Of course, I want to find him!" he shouted. Then he immediately cupped his hands over his mouth, remembering he was talking to the police. "My apologies, I didn't mean to shout," he mumbled disappointedly.
"How old are you?" the short officer asked.
Michael held up three fingers.
He chuckled. "I've never heard a kid your age apologize like that."
"You said you want to find your brother. We can't do that without information about the man and what he looks like," said the tall one. "Would you rather draw him than give us verbal details about him?"
He politely nodded his head. Both officers breathed a sigh of relief because they finally found a way to help his brother. They gave him a piece of paper, and, using his scratchy cast as a desk, he drew the man using crayons and colored pencils. Once he was done, he handed the finished drawing to the short police officer, whose eyes widened the instant he saw the paper. The tall one peered over the other's shoulders, trying to see.
"I'm so sorry, kid, but I doubt your brother's even alive. Are you certain that this is what he looked like?" the short one asked. The tall one frowned as he spoke.
"Yes, I'm certain," Michael muttered as he rubbed the soft, thin pale green fabric of Khael's favorite jacket. He wanted to cry and grieve over his brothers' losses, but he couldn't. He wanted to appear strong when he was moved to the adoption center in a few hours.