Page 4 of The Dire Legacy

He said he used to have them before he caught the bug, but they disappeared shortly afterwards.

And now they’re back.

“I’m fine, babe. Just the little one rolling around a bit.” She gives a tight smile to my dad before looking back at me. “Angie, I’m afraid the only way to pump up the healing factor is with a blood transfusion from someone with hyper healing. And Jenny is the only one I know of. That's why they took her to Chicago.”

A rock settles in the pit of my chest.

Dad leans back and stretches his arm behind Mom’s chair. “Have you let him touch you?” Small lines appear at the corners of his eyes when he peers at me.

“Um. No. But he wouldn’t even if I asked him.” My cheeks heat up under his scrutiny. He’s staring at me like I’m ten and just got caught stealing a cookie.

“Come with me.” Standing abruptly, he walks out of the room towards their bedroom.

When I look at Mom, her face is pale, but she gives a slight nod before turning to the toddlers to her right.

Why do I feel like I’m in trouble? A heavy weight of doubt drags my footsteps behind him. He pushes the steel door closed behind me as I step through. It used to be a staff lounge before the virus, but today I feel like I’m being locked away in a cell like a convict.

“I need to show you something. There’s a reason why everyone is so adamant about the rules with him.” Dad runs his hand through his dark blonde hair as he sits down at his laptop.

“Yea, I know about that one time when we were kids. Tommy Porter screamed for an hour after stealing one of Mikey’s gloves and putting it on.” That’s when the rule went in that Michael or his mom were the only ones who took care of his stuff. He has his own completely self contained living quarters because of it. No cross contamination.

“Sweetie, it’s worse than that.” He flips his computer around to show me the screen. On it are two kids, one dark haired and one blonde. They look like they’re around three years old.

Stepping closer, I can see the tips of the brown headed boy’s ears. Pointed, just like Michael’s.

“Is that him? He was so cute! Who is the other boy?” He looks like he could be one of my siblings, but I’m the oldest, and Michael is a couple of years older than me.

Silence answers me.

He leans with his elbows on his knees and his jaw tight. Rubbing his callused hands together, he looks at me with a pained expression.

Wait, are those tears in his eyes?

“Dad?”

“That’s your older brother.” The words sound like they were stuck in his throat as he chokes them out. “His name was Liam.”

All the air is sucked from my lungs. Collapsing back to sit on the foot of their bed, it takes me a moment to regain my breath.

“I have an older brother?” A million questions fight in my head to be asked.

Dad’s chin drops to his chest. “Had.”

“What the fuck?” It just slips out. I don’t think he even noticed.

Still with his eyes on his hands, he begins quietly. “When they were three, you were just a baby. Everyone tried so hard to keep an eye on him. We’d all been stung by him when he would touch us. Jenny was especially diligent. I think she knew the dangers.”

He wipes his face and leans back until his head is tilted all the way to look at the ceiling.

I’m trying to remember a time where I’ve ever seen him struggle so much.

There isn’t.

“Michael has those pores on his hands that seep out that stinging shit.” His fists clench like it's his own hands that are toxic. “And, well, it can be hard to keep gloves on a three year old.”

A pain between my eyes draws me to pinch the bridge of my nose. Why do I have a feeling I know where he’s going with this?

“They got in some sort of childhood squabble. Before any of us could stop them, they were wrapped up wrestling around on the floor.” When he looks at me, his blue eyes shine with tears. “I’ll never forget Liam’s scream before he died, Angie. It still haunts me.”

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