Page 24 of Queen of Madness

Oh! That’s the new guard. Ezekiel. What is he... oh, that’s right. I remember Trick saying he lives in the neutral. I must say hi. He seems kind. I bet he would say thank you.

But I’m late. I have to go.

Just as I blink, the big man disappears inside the tiny little house, taking his long, dark shadows with him. It’s a wonder he fits in such a small thing.

KANE.

The old sign by the window shakes even though he closed the tattered door with a gentle hand. Kane. Kane. I know that name. How do I know that name? I knew it before today, right?

I’m not sure, but I have no time to ponder how. I’m late.

And time is of the essence.

“Ilike that, Onyx.” Trick points one of his long, pale fingers to the logo I’ve been doodling all afternoon. “It looks like Kilo’s birthmark.”

Before I can respond, Kilo appears from seemingly nowhere, bouncing in the middle of where we’re sprawled out with art supplies on the Persian rug. “Where?”

A high-pitched giggle slips past my lips as I push him up and over onto an unsuspecting Trigger. “Hey, watch it!”

The boys spend the next few seconds wrestling as I lean against the edge of the couch and spectate. Limbs flail, tangle, and thrash while they all grunt hushed obscenities. Being such newbies in the world of defense and fighting, their skills are still very much lacking, and it’s entertaining to watch. Kind of like watching three fish in a shallow bucket of water, all trying to suck in the last droplets of water.

I’ve known the three newest additions to the family for a year now. The blond Swedish twins, Trick and Trigger, and the albino, Kilo, were all kids to single women who my parents weren’t able to save during a trafficking deal. With no other family and their… medical conditions, my mom knew they’d get lost in the system and suggested they be brought home with us. And I’ve been so grateful for it.

It’s been amazing having friends at the house to suffer the same tutors and lessons, to fight and play with. To sneak around the estate at three in the morning and smuggle glasses of cookies and bowls of milk back upstairs. And yes. I said it right. Bowls of milk. And glasses of cookies.

Being with the three of them has reminded me that while I may be more mature and educated than ninety-percent of other twelve-year-olds in the country, I’m still a kid.

My mother seems to notice it too and has stopped fussing when we sometimes become distracted while gardening and play hide-and-seek instead. My father doesn’t grumble when we come in long after the sun’s rays have faded into the horizon and we have mud staining the bottom of our soles to the tips of our noses.

But also, they probably don’t care because the boys deserve any moments they can get that’re full of light when all they ever knew is darkness. And not just any darkness. What they experienced was the kind that seemed everlasting. The kind that sucked the air from the room, from your skin and lungs until your body was on fire and you were begging for death.

“Kill me, please. Jag ber dig.” I beg you.

“No, you are going to make it through this.” I try my best to soothe him, brushing his matted hair from his moist forehead.

Trigger’s head shakes so violently, I think it’s going to break. Hot tears stream down his face, mixing with the snot as tremors shake through his frail body. “Please, Onyx.”

“You can’t leave your brother. He needs you, Trigger.” I know it’s probably not kind to hold something like that over his head, but I want him to fight it as hard as he can. He only has to make it a little longer. Cat says if they can make it through the four days, they will live.

It’s been two. They’re already halfway there. “Just a little longer. Stay with me, Trig. Please.”

I force my eyes away from my new friend, shielding him from my own traitorous tears burning around the edges. On the opposite side of the room, his twin brother, Trick, has puked himself to sleep, while my mother and father are currently restraining Kilo from banging his head through the wall again.

Out of them all, Kilo is hurting the most, and I think it’s because he was addicted the longest. From what my mother tried to explain, even as a baby, he had drugs in his system from his mother, so she knew his fight was going to be the hardest.

His thrashes and screams echo through the estate, and when he begs for his mother… It’s all I can do not to ask my father to send an army to kill every last one of the Murphys. But I know better. He’d say it’s not our job. That we do the same thing every time we sell a drug to someone not knowing who’s going to use it. That while these boys’ stories are sad, they are not the only ones.

Between the pure hatred that coils my insides to the physical ache in my heart, I feel... powerless. There’s absolutely nothing I can do more than sit with them when all I want to do is take their pain away. But to them, I’m asking them to fight a battle I can only see but not feel. I’m asking them to allow this agony to rip them apart, making the seconds feel like hours, and the hours feel like days.

I make a promise to myself as I watch Trigger finally succumb to his cramping stomach and retch over the side of the bed into his bucket.

When they make it out of this, and years later, when I’m in charge of everything, we will kill them all. Every last one.

Visions of sweat-covered beds and vomit-filled toilets flash through my mind. The first week of their stay here was the worst. All of them had a heroin addiction that stemmed from before they were even ten. Sniffed in their little noses when their mothers had fallen asleep.

I still very much intend to kill every last Murphy there is, but for now, designing the Embros Hearts logo with my boys is a step. We finally got the majority of the foundation set up and now we need to make a logo of sorts.

Mine resembles Kilo’sbirthmark. He once told me in secret it was a scar but one he’s proud of, so I decided to incorporate it. It’s shaped like a sad tree—tall, thin, with fans of long stringy branches.

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