The One Alias

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Part 10

November 11, 2004

Edmonton

Liam Lawliet, 25

Liam Lawliet passed away on Nov. 5, 2004 after a sudden illness.

Liam was born on Oct. 31, 1979 in Edmonton to Emil and Carolyn (Sands) Lawliet. He lived in Leduc as a child until the deaths of his parents.

He had traveled extensively, taking expeditions through Europe and Asia as a teenager. Liam last lived in London where he worked as a freelance information technology specialist.

He was fluent in at least four languages and had a special interest in Japanese culture from his heritage. He was an avid tennis player, had an affinity for puzzles, a strong sweet tooth, and loved detective novels since childhood.

Liam is predeceased by his mother in 1984 and his father in 1986.

Survivors include his brother; Alonzo Lawliet of Toronto and his wife Margaret, his sister; Sharona Lawliet of Calgary, and two nieces; Kasey and Amanda Lawliet.

Calling hours will be between 5 and 8 p.m. on Friday, Nov. 12, 2004 at Nicholson and Sons Funeral Home in Edmonton. Funeral and burial services will be held at St. Mary's Russian Orthodox Church in Nisku on Saturday, Nov. 13, 2004 at 11 a.m.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in his name to Child Advocacy Services of Alberta.

Alonzo almost felt dirty reading this, but he could barely pry his eyes off the page and the few hundred words he and Sharona composed in roughly an hour. Actually it was more like 15 minutes; the other 45 or so were spent bickering over every word.

It was clumsy, inarticulate prose based on purely superficial details; it reminded him of a first grader's description of their dog but this time it was about a human…it was about his little brother. There was a lot of "he told me this" and "I think he liked that" and "we might as well add that if nothing else" but nothing definite and it was supposed to define his memory.

"I take it they ran it today," Sharona said.

Alonzo looked up, giving Sharona a calm glare. She glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the road, adjusting her rearview slightly and looking in the other lane to pass the elderly lady doing around 20 km below the seed limit.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," she said. "Jesus, grandma, get the hell out of this lane!"

"I'm surprised traffic's this bad," Alonzo said, sinking back in the seat. "Not only is it a holiday it's also not even 7 in the morning."

It was Remembrance Day, only slightly appropriate for what they were doing.

"Well jackasses don't take a holiday," Sharona said. "They're probably running speed traps all up this road, that can't be helping."

"We really aren't in a rush, Sharona," Alonzo said. "Mr. Wells will just have to cool his heels in the airport, I'm sure he can keep himself occupied."

Silence resumed its usual space between them as it had since last night. They talked about arrangements almost non-stop Tuesday, then they spoke with funeral home directors and a priest on Wednesday. Wednesday afternoon they moved their headquarters from Sharona's apartment to the Sheraton in Edmonton; commuting would be a pain and Alonzo wanted to get a room ready for when Margaret and the girls arrived.

Amid all this talk simple conversation snuck out but only got in the way, though they hadn't planned for when the bulk of the arrangements were done. Silence was only left at the worst moment; the moment when this was a few kilometers and less than an hour wait from being real.

Alonzo pulled his gray jacket tighter around him, trying to prepare himself for what he would see. Sharona spoke with the funeral director and made arrangements to see something else; Alonzo agreed at first but the thought of it now ate at him. Maybe this would be a good ice breaker and an opportunity to admit weakness. Admitting defeat was healthy; holding onto it lead to bad things.

"I've got to be honest with you, I can't join you after this," he said, trying to keep the crack in his voice from becoming a sob.

"I completely understand," Sharona said with a slow nod. "This is for my peace only; remember I said it would probably be best if you didn't."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but this isn't my arena," Alonzo said. ""I'll trust whatever judgment you make and I'll follow right along. I just…I don't need to…"

"It's not going to be pretty and don't think for a second I'm not going to be having any nightmares after doing this," Sharona said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. She was too exhausted for another fight.

"But you need to," Alonzo said. They had this conversation before and only now he was beginning to understand her side of it.

Sharona nodded, finally seeing a break in the middle lane and jerking into it. Alonzo sighed hard and closed the newspaper with a loud rustle.

"How many people do you think will recognize the name," he said.

Yes, talking about it is therapeutic; keep going, let it all out.

"I think we'd be pleasantly surprised," Sharona said. "Mom and dad had a lot of friends; there were a lot of people in our neighborhood. I think quite a few people might show up."

Quite a few people would show up to remember a six-year-old in a grown man's body.

"If it's in the paper it's probably online as well," Sharona said. "I'm sure someone else he knew will probably show up."

It was her highest hope right now; maybe a friend or old companion would show up they could bribe with dinner and drinks into telling them who their brother was. It was more likely than not; Liam had to have made some connections. Even if all those connections were overseas, maybe someone would call or email the funeral home or the church and ask about the situation.

Then again it could have been a fool's hope; maybe no one knew Liam, maybe no one even remembered him from when he was a kid.

Sharona veered into the right lane, the signs leading to Edmonton International Airport looming overhead like storm clouds.

"What time is Margaret coming again," Sharona asked.

Alonzo told her before they left but she needed to hear it…hear something again.

"Their plane takes off at 5, they should be here before 8," he said. "Mags is getting out of work early today, the kids are going to an after-school thing at church and she's picking them up from there."

"Sounds like a nice little activity," Sharona said with a smile.

Alonzo simply nodded, watching the sign for their exit coming into view.

--------

"You think that's him," Alonzo muttered, turning his head to the side.

Sharona almost jumped at the first sound of his voice. It was the first time she had heard any direct words in the past ten minutes; the passing voices and wheeling luggage of the airport put her into a lull. The complete lack of any conversation or even small talk contributed to that too until now.

She finally looked at Alonzo, seeing him subtly motion his head to the side while adjusting his glasses. She casually looked to the side, seeing who he was referring to, though a brief glance was somewhat disappointing.

"It fits the usual description but I doubt it," Sharona said. "He's probably a prep kid or even a rich missionary."

Sharona took another peripheral look, Alonzo following her gaze again at the man in the impeccably tailored hunter green suit and the brown leather briefcase. That gold watch that snuck out from under his cuff screamed money. The baby face framed by old-fashioned bronze rimmed glasses and the blow-dried mop of dirty blond hair, a style both of Chuck and Di's kids were pictured wearing, did make him look more like a boarding school brat than a certified attorney.

"Though that does seem like the type of lawyer Liam would have," Alonzo said, casually looking away.

Sharona did nod at this. There were fifteen-year-olds who were acclaimed surgeons, why wouldn't there me an eighteen-year-old attorney practicing somewhere? Then again maybe Mr. Wells had a case or a golf game that came up at the last minute and had to send a paralegal, or even an apprentice. She really would not be too happy if this was the circumstance. Mr. Wells said he had been Liam's attorney for five years, wither this was a stand-in or was older than he looked.

The young man was now walking up to them with a determined gait, shifting his briefcase to his left hand and approaching them with a smile.

"Mr. and Ms. Lawliet, I presume," he said, that accent and the tone of his voice now sounding familiar.

"Yes," Alonzo said politely. This should have been followed by "Are you Mr. Wells," but he really didn't feel comfortable assuming that.

"Travis Wells," he said, extending a hand.

Attempts to keep straight faces on both their parts were successful. Alonzo gave him a firm handshake with a "pleased to meet you."

"Mr. Wells we appreciate everything you're doing," Sharona said shaking his hand.

"No the pleasure is mine," he said. "Just know that I am here for your family during this difficult time."

"We definitely appreciate it, Mr. Wells," Alonzo said.

"I have already signed most of the paperwork and have fully cleared Customs," Wells said. "I do have a few more items of paperwork that do need to be signed, but all business should be done soon."

"The funeral home called us and said they would be a little later than they expected, though not past 8 is what they said," Alonzo said.

"Yeah they will give us a call when they are at the airport," Sharona said.

"That is manageable," Wells said with a nod. "These papers might take a while to process so the timing is perfect."

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, round brass box that looked like an old snuff box. He lifted the top, revealing an array of jelly beans inside.

"Would you care for one?" he asked, showing the box to both of them.

Sharona and Alonzo gave their respective polite refusals, exchanging a subtle glance when his attention went to meticulously picking a green and yellow one from the box. Liam and this guy must have got along great.

He popped the jelly beans in his mouth and closed the top, putting it back in his breast pocket while thoroughly chewing and swallowing the beans.

"I do have most pieces of paperwork relative to his estate, though I would prefer to go over those after services are complete," he said.

"That is understandable," Alonzo said, looking at Wells.

He saw a few baggage handlers directly over the attorney's shoulder pushing some sort of cargo across the floor. Wells looked back, giving Alonzo and now Sharona a full view of what they were handling.

Alonzo got one glimpse of the rectangular wooden box and averted his gaze in an instant, looking at Sharona and seeing an expression of concern flashed in his direction. Sharona looked back onto the floor, seeing the box wheeled beside a desk in the terminal and the handlers looking in their direction.

It was a standard international crate on an airtray; the obvious shape was getting a few second takes from passing travelers.

This was officially real now.

Sharona took a careful look at it, wondering if his hair flattened out in flight and hoping he looked like he was sleeping.

She could just see him walking toward her, one duffle bag in his hand and leaving the gate while biting his thumbnail. She would run her hands through that thick hair, give him a huge kiss on the cheek, and tell him about things they could do for the weekend.

Now he had just passed the gate, but there would be no smiles or hugs from him. She would welcome him nonetheless. This time he was coming home for good, not flying in and flying out to whatever his hectic life awaited him. All that was left now was peace and a permanent rest back in his old home like he had wanted. That was one thought that made her smile a little.

The sound of "Ode to Joy" coming from Alonzo's jacket pocket made her shift her gaze. Alonzo glanced at both of them while pulling his phone from his pocket, one pained look going to Sharona as he turned around and checked the number.

"That's them," he said with a forced smile while taking a few steps away.

Wells looked at her with his own polite smile, his whiter complexion communicating more sympathy than words ever could.

--------

"You don't have to watch this," Sharona muttered to Alonzo.

Alonzo didn't look at her like she had hoped, eyes remaining on the hearse driver and his assistant wheeling Liam's temporary coffin to the black car in the parking lot. The driver stepped to the front and opened the back doors before reaching down and taking a grip on the side of the box. Sharona saw their lips moving but really didn't want to hear what they were saying.

"Did you frigging hear that," Alonzo whispered. "'I got no problem with skinny guys.' Jesus Christ, we're standing right here. After they get this done...."

"You're going to stay standing here and let them do their job," Sharona said. "They've probably got five or more other corpses of all makes and models waiting for them after this job and probably five more to haul out tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. You do their job for a while and don't tell me you wouldn't be cracking jokes."

Alonzo wanted to say if he were doing their job he would have more respect, but then he didn't even want to think about doing a job like that day after day. Just watching this was hard enough.

The two workers lifted the crate, giving various directions to each other as they maneuvered it inside the hearse. At last the crate was in and the doors slammed shut, leaving Liam's casket in view from the back window.

Turn around, Alonzo; Sharona was screaming at him in her mind. Jesus Christ turn around, look away.

Alonzo just kept staring at the hearse, watching it back out of its space and start pulling away. He had this look on his face like he wanted to chase after it, though his usual professional demeanor put that urge in check.

He finally turned around and looked at her but only when the hearse was out of sight around the terminal. Sharona took a few steps closer to him, glancing over at Mr. Wells off to the side though he also looked more interested in the departing hearse and the jelly bean case in his jacket.

"Are you going there now," Alonzo whispered, glancing at Mr. Wells as well though not seeming to care what he was doing.

Sharona nodded.

"In a few more minutes, I'll give them a head start to get things settled," she said. "Why don't take Mr. Wells out for breakfast, or maybe go out and get coffee. It might be a nice gesture."

"I think it might be a nicer gesture if we take him out together later, buy him lunch," Alonzo said.

"I might be a little while and he just stepped off the plane. I think it might…"

"Sharona," Alonzo's smile slowly straightened and his voice took a nervous edge, "I really don't want to be alone with that guy right now."

"Alonzo I really don't want you to be alone right now, period," Sharona said.

She fixed him with an almost scolding glare. Alonzo took a hard breath and looked up at a departing plane.

"I told Anne and Pat I would call them," he said, "Give them the word on when services were finalized."

Sharona stared at him, really not sure of what to make of this. The thought of losing track of her last brother scared the hell out of her, especially a brother who once sought therapy by way of too many glasses of what looked good at the time. There really wasn't a damn thing she could do right now; he was a grown man after all and with a lot more people to answer to if he slipped up.

He did say he would call his foster mother Anne and let her and her partner of 25 years, Patty, know when his brother's arrangements would be made. It was the one time hearing about them didn't turn her stomach. The two were some of the sweetest ladies she had ever met; they still lived in St. Albert, just a highway ride away, and ran their bake shop. The fact it was painful to even hear about them was more Alonzo's doing; Alonzo's way of talking about them as if to shove his more "normal" upbringing in her face, or so it felt.

Alonzo absolutely needed them right now and Sharona needed to know he was at least in the phone presence of a responsible individual. It should have been ridiculous to think he needed babysitting, but in her mind he absolutely did. She also had someone she could call later and ask if Alonzo really talked to them and how he sounded when he did.

"I am going to hold you to that," she said.

Alonzo nodded; he got the message loud and clear.

"I personally would prefer to get to my hotel and have a nap," Wells said from the side. Sharona and Alonzo looked over and saw he was now within centimeters of them. "It was a rather arduous flight."

Sharona and Alonzo exchanged a quick glance. Alonzo was now a little nervous of what he heard but then they weren't exactly doing this in private. Sharona couldn't have cared less.

"Of course," she said.

"Perhaps later this evening I could take you to dinner, break as little more of the ice as it were," Wells said with a polite smile.

"I think that could be arranged," Alonzo said. "My wife and kids will be here around 8, maybe something before then."

Sharona just nodded along, wanting this little chit chat to be over so she could get her next plans underway.

"Splendid," Wells said. "I already have a car rented so I can get myself to the hotel."

"I'm going back to the hotel too," Alonzo said casually, feeling Sharona's glare cut through him.

"I'll take you back," Sharona said.

"It's fine, I'll just grab a cab," Alonzo said, not even looking at his sister before walking across the parking lot back to the terminal.

Sharona stared at him, her stomach tightening.

No, he's an adult, he knows his responsibilities; she told herself. I can't be there to baby-sit him and no, I can't start getting paranoid either.

"I assume you are going to the funeral home," Wells said.

"Yes," Sharona said with a hard sigh. "I have to make a few more arrangements before tomorrow."

Travis nodded, watching her reach into her purse for a pack of cigarettes. She looked positively harried; they both did. Clearly he had just been dropped in the middle of something, but that really wasn't his business and L wouldn't have wanted him to make it his business. Then again L didn't operate like any normal human being, but that was all past tense now.

"Just give me a call when you get an idea for a time," she said, opening the pack and taking one out.

"I certainly will," he said, taking a few more steps away. "And don't hesitate to call me for anything either."

"Thank you," she said, sincerely relieved he was remaining so polite at least in appearance.

She unlocked the driver's side door and practically threw herself in the seat, pushing in the lighter while closing the door.

Travis turned around and walked in the direction of the terminal. A nice nap and some brandy sounded good right about now.

---------

They had painted the walls a shade of dark blue that went nicely with the wood paneling of the hallway. It was décor not typically seen in a funeral home, which made the atmosphere more comfortable.

Sharona glanced at Mr. Nicholson, one of the sons in Nicholson and Sons, walking beside her before turning her gaze down the hallway. She wanted to make a remark on how nice their potpourri plug-ins smelled, but it might sound like a back-handed compliment. The undertone of candles and embalming fluid hung in the air with the scented oil; she would know those smells anywhere.

Funeral homes weren't supposed to smell like hotels and despite how much this place was dressed up it wasn't exactly a bed and breakfast, or at least their clients weren't eating. Somehow this made a smile threaten to break loose. Liam would be disappointed they weren't serving any chocolate chip pancakes in the morning; she could just see his hint of a pout at the news.

"Will you want a few minutes alone with him," Nicholson said softly as if any word above a whisper would break her.

"Yes," she said, "if that's okay."

"It most certainly is," Nicholson said, rubbing his bushy grayish-black moustache. "As I said before he was very well preserved. Traditional burial practice in Japan is immediate cremation and I have heard embalming is not common. I assure you, your brother was in excellent hands."

Sharona nodded, but she prepared herself as best she could for what she was going to see. It wasn't going to be the sight of him curled up on the couch sleeping; he was dead, that was it. If he looked a little closer to normal that would help this next step, but she was taking it regardless of how he looked.

The last time she saw him was in August of 2003; she couldn't just put him in a box and send him away after that time. She also didn't want her last view of her brother to be when he was caked in make-up and in a suit. He made no instruction as to how he wanted to be dressed when buried, though maybe seeing him would give her an indicator.

No, those weren't the only reasons why she wanted to do this; her professional instincts were begging for one look. The autopsy and basic preparations had already been done; she just needed to see surface details for herself before they mad him presentable. This was what she was really holding on to even though it pained her to admit it.

There was the one thought she tried to push away amid all the preparations and all the reasoning; this was going to be the last time she would see her brother the way he was. This was going to be the last moment she would ever have alone with him.

No, maybe that was the wrong thought. She would see him again tomorrow at the wake, though this time it would be in a much warmer environment and surrounded by at least one other person she could hold onto maybe more. It would be the beginning of a celebration and not a moment of cold reasoning walling away surging emotions.

She glanced at Mr. Nicholson again, who just kept his eyes ahead. Small talk might be considered in bad taste and she could respect him for that, though things were too quiet.

Sharona looked down at the gray carpet and the brown wood paneling against it.

A part of her memory was now looking at a shiny green linoleum floor, white wall on the sides broken by aluminum support bars. Her new shoes were slipping on the tiles, she was afraid she would drop the small potted flower in her hand.

She looked at her hands, seeing them empty. The floor was carpeted again. She gave another glance to Mr. Nicholson and thought of something to ask him just to break the silence.

Alonzo was on the other side of him; they made this almost a race until dad grabbed them both by the shoulders and told them to slow down. Other people were here, some sick people who would not want to get knocked over. They were close to the room anyway.

"And we just turn around here," Mr. Nicholson said, lightly touching her arm to guide her around the corner into another part of the hallway. She hated it when older men thought they could touch a woman in any way and it was acceptable.

She pulled a few inches away from him, but now the idea of being touched by anything was disgusting. It was now that Sharona realized she was shaking.

"You guys excited," dad said.

Sharona didn't remember what she said; it was probably an inaudible squeal of some kind.

"Now when we get in, I don't want you guys jumping all over mommy," dad said. "She's very tired.

"Can we hold him, daddy," Alonzo said, Sharona soon asking the same thing while jumping up and down.

"I think you can do that, but not for long; he's very tiny and you're kinda small yourselves."

"I'm not small, I grew remember," Alonzo said somewhat indignantly.

Dad just patted him on the head for that and continued on.

It looked like they were on the other side of the building now, the disappearance of the carpet, exposing sealed wood floors, and the door at the other side was a prime indicator of what the next room was. Mr. Nicholson took out a set of keys from his pocket and put one in the lock. He then stopped and looked at Sharona.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked.

"We'll find out," she replied.

Nicholson nodded and slowly pulled the door open. The smell of formaldehyde and cleaning solution met her nose immediately.

Sharona lingered around the corner for a moment, but slowly peeked into the room.

Mommy was sitting up in bed wearing a blue flowered nightgown under a blue bathrobe. She must have hurt her hand because there was a bandage over it, maybe she would ask her later but there was more pressing business.

The usual table was right in the middle of the room, empty and impeccably cleaned. Nicholson walked to the side and a metal wall with small doors all over it.

The business was beside her and a squirming blue blanket visible from over the top.

She froze for a moment, her stomach tightening. A few breaths later she took those few more steps forward.

"We got you a flower, mommy," she said, raising the little blue pot high.

"I'll take that," dad said, carefully lifting it from her hand. She pouted a little.

"Your job now is to go say hi to your little brother," mom said.

Sharona's head whipped in the direction of the cart.

Nicholson stopped at one door and opened it with a creak, a white sheet now peeking out from the blackness of the cooler.

She slipped into a position, Alonzo going one side, her going the other. They slowly moved forward, eyes locked on that blue blanket and the shape of a little leg kicking under it.

She could almost see those huge feet laying upright under the sheet. He slowly pulled out the tray, revealing a fully covered form. Nicholson gave her another glance as if fully preparing her. She simply nodded.

He nodded back, grabbing the end of the sheet.

Mom leaned over and pushed a little of the blanket aside.

The first thing she saw was that mane of black hair, thick and wild as always.

"He's got a lot of hair," Alonzo said, almost in wonder.

"I thought babies were bald," Sharona said.

If any of them wanted to argue the point, the words were sucked out of them when they inched closer and saw his face.

Sharona closed her eyes for a second; her heart was pounding in her ears. She took a few deep breaths, clearing her head, calming down. She wouldn't burst into tears, she wouldn't faint, she wouldn't go hysterical.

At last she opened them, looking right down where she was before.

As expected, her stomach jerked at the first sight, but she quickly calmed and merely started to observe.

Liam's eyes were closed, his expression peaceful…no almost blissfully so. She swore she saw a hint of a smile.

His skin was that grayish blue complexion typical of a corpse, the circles around his eyes now profound. She couldn't tell if that was an effect of death or if the circles had gotten worse in the past year.

"Could I be alone with…" she started.

"Of course," he said, moving away from the cooler.

She walked further up, eyes locked on Liam and hearing the faint shuffling of Nicholson's loafers across the floor until they disappeared with a door closing.

The quiet almost assaulted her ears but the faint whir of the cooler's motor was more than welcome.

Sharona inched closer, now directly over him. One hand slowly reached out, one finger lightly caressing his forearm; skin ice cold but still relatively soft. She looked at his arm, seeing a puckering wound inside his elbow.

Sharona fell into business mode, gently grabbing his arm and moving it further in her direction to get a better look at the wound.

Japanese doctors and EMT's tended to put the IV line on the inside of the forearm. Her eyes trailed across his bare chest to the incision and the line of staples down the center of his chest. They used a butterfly incision, maybe thinking it would reveal more about his condition.

She looked carefully, seeing a few more small puncture wounds from repeated injections by a cardiac needle. Another inspection showed the usual burns from attempts at defibrillation. They worked hard to try to bring him back. He was gone anyway but she had to applaud them for trying. She would have to find out what EMS service responded to him so she could write them expressing her appreciation.

It was only now she realized he had the same physique he did last she saw him at the cabin on Lake Ontario, and that time she did see him with his shirt off. He was still very thin, though with excellent muscle tone. There was no atrophy, no further emaciation. If he wasn't that healthy before it didn't look like he deteriorated at all.

One other nagging question remained, one that had been in the back of her mind since last summer that she had to have the answer for now. Sharona pushed back the sheet a little more on his torso, exposing that long scar she saw across his side.

It was definitely a surgical scar in the position for the kidney, but it was that little scar beside it she had to get a better look at. Liam told her he had been in an accident; this scar told otherwise.

She gently lifted his side more in her direction. The other, smaller scar was indeed there around his ribcage. Her thumb and index finger measured the size; a few millimeters of difference could determine if it was a small incision for a scope or the width of a knife blade.

It too wide to be for a surgical scope, it was the perfect width for a thin blade. She crouched down a little more, getting a better look at the scar despite the dark room. It was a little deeper, as if it has been pressed in altogether and not slowly cut in.

Sharona bit her lip and let out a sigh; Liam had been stabbed. The small scar was from the initial stick, the other scar was to repair the damage…and she only knew this after examination and not him telling her. No, he didn't just keep it from her; he outright lied about it.

She could completely understand Alonzo's frustration now, maybe even his resentment but she didn't want to go that far. She could be angry at him as much as she wanted for this one little thing, possibly everything, but there was really nothing anyone could do about it now. The circumstances were final.

Sharona would have almost welcomed a pile of more lies from him; at least he would be able to speak them.

Her clinical control was slowly slipping, her hands taking more of a shake and her eyes slowly trailing up his body.

Somehow he actually did look like he was sleeping; his face was completely relaxed, mouth in a small smile. She could tell by the small contusions at the corners of his mouth he had been intubated and coroners didn't try to manipulate facial expressions. His face must have relaxed into that expression when the tube was taken out.

His little mouth gave a wide yawn, eyes blinking open and looking at the two strangers leaning over him.

Her hand fell to her side, crawling out and slowly wrapping around his. She lifted his hand up, both of her hands now wrapped around it.

She carefully put a finger out, lightly touching that little palm. Tiny fingers wrapped around hers in a tight grip.

She was clenching his hand now, staring into that peaceful face. She swore she saw his eyes flutter a little, but she knew better. He was completely still, cold. She felt no pulse on his wrist, no twitching of muscles.

One hand broke free and moved to his face, the side of two fingers gently caressing the side of his face and moving into his hair.

"Hi there," she whispered. "I'm your big sister."

He smiled a little in response.

The back of her throat was tight, the hot pressure of impending tears behind her eyes. She carefully ran a hand through that thick hair.

"Welcome home, little brother," she whispered, her voice cracking with a sob.

She leaned into the basket

Placing a kiss on his cheek as the tears poured down.