Ruin - By N.M. Martinez Page 0,42

presented me with a tiny bit of his past, and I latch onto that now that I know what it means for him to share even that little bit of information. "Jimmy raised you?"

He turns to me with wide eyes that make him look his age. Back home, he'd be on the cusp of adulthood-- the type of guy who'd be enjoying his freedom before he became weighted down with adult responsibilities.

"Yes. And almost every day we came here."

I nod and chew my lip, taking his response as a gentle redirect away from him and his past and towards my future. "Why didn't you want to show me this?"

Brandon looks at me then away again. This time he doesn't look to the playground, just away from me and it.

"It's not safe." He exhales as he turns back. "I knew someone, the care taker here. Her name was Mary. She was a human, too."

My breath stills and I wait for him to continue telling this story from his past, expecting him to confess his love for her.

Brandon actually grins. "I did love her, but not like that. She was a little old for me. She was Jimmy's age." He gets quiet again, the grin sliding away as he says, "Jimmy loved her."

All my weight is on the balls of my feet as I lean in listening to him. When he says it, I nearly fall over.

Brandon is quick to add, "At least from what I'd seen of her thoughts, he acted like he loved her. I've never been able to read his thoughts, so I don't know for sure."

The sharing of this secret past belonging to Brandon and his brother falls between the two of us like magic, linking us, solidifying our bonds of friendship. It doesn't escape my notice that Brandon can't read Jimmy's thoughts, but I'm too interested in the idea that Jimmy could have loved a regular human girl once. I can't help thinking about his handsome face. It must have drawn in that girl, Mary, so easily.

"What happened?"

"She died." Brandon's foot scrapes on the concrete. "She was attacked here where it should have been safe."

But nowhere is truly safe. Not even the Neutral Territory. I press at my face with both hands, trying to ignore the thoughts turning back to my mother. One hand reaches out and rests against the textured wall of the old building, forcing my mind to focus on this moment even as my thoughts continue on in the background.

"So that's why you didn't tell me about this option?"

Brandon shakes his head, his hair falling low over his eyes. "I'm sure she was killed because of her tie to us-- me and Jimmy."

What do you say to that? There is nothing. It's a guilt that Brandon must carry around with him daily. And having me dumped in his lap has probably only reopened the wound.

Some quiet thought whispers, Jimmy did it. It almost doesn't feel like my thought but one whispered into my ear. Brandon said that Jimmy cared, so why would he have done it? And the answer comes on its own as I think back to our encounter with Jimmy. To cover it, I speak, not letting the thought take root and grow.

"Who did it?"

Brandon looks at me with his hair in his eyes. "Killer most likely. He's a whole other one I need to tell you about. But not now. Later."

He stands, and we start walking again, but the thought is still there. I look up at Brandon, still thinking it, while trying to shove it away. It wouldn't be productive to ask, but still it is a risk I have to take.

"Is it possible that Jimmy did it?"

Brandon's lips press together and his eyes harden. "Why would you ask that?"

His voice is low and it frightens me, but I still trudge on, my voice so tiny even in my own ears. "Because she was a weakness."

He doesn't stop, but he doesn't speak. We continue on, side by side, the lengthening shadows of dilapidated buildings stretching across the street.

"It's possible." Brandon's voice is low. Not a whisper, but a deep admission that barely makes it past his chest and out of his mouth.

There isn't much more to say on it. Jimmy's, "See you tomorrow," sticks on the forefront of my thoughts and I shiver. No doubt I will.

Thirteen

My stomach hurts from the moment I wake up. It's my last day at Brandon's.

“I'm sure he'll be by after dinner,” Brandon says.

“Henri or...”