Thanks to those who have been letting me know what you think, as always I appreciate it :) This one may be a little slow, but it is working up to something I promise.

Disclaimer still counts for this one!

Chapter 20: After the Kill

The ride to the house was mostly quiet. Every once in a while Angel, or Bobby or Jack would make a quiet comment about the chase, and how they had thought they were in trouble with the way the car had been sliding on the ice. But the comments were brief, and no one really tried to start up a conversation. Craig felt numb. He felt as if he were missing something. The look that Bobby had given him in the mirror had been unreadable. The fact that his brothers had gone to the lengths that they had to revenge those few minutes in the store, to cause pain to the men who had killed their mother seemed unreal to him. He had known they were going to do it, but it hadn't felt the way he thought it would. There was something missing. Something important, and that nagging was going to haunt him until he could figure it out.

When they pulled up in the drive at the back of the house Bobby turned to the back seat. "Jack, you take Craig in, and both of you get showers. You take your clothes and his and bag 'em up. We don't want to take a chance on anything. I'll pick up the clothes later." Bobby turned and looked at Craig, but as before, he didn't say anything.

Angel leaned up in his seat and let Jack and Craig climb out of the car. Craig started to head to the house, walking around the rear end of the car as he did.

"Craig!" Bobby called out before Craig could move far from the car.

Craig turned and looked at Bobby. "You get yourself ready for bed and sleep in Ma's room." Bobby kept his gaze fixed on Craig. "Jack won't be able to stay with you; I need him to do something for me. So you don't come out of the room until I get you up in the morning."

"Okay," Craig nodded his head. He was sure Bobby started to say something else, but never carried through.

"Get your ass in the house." Bobby pointed to the door after several moments. "Get into the shower, now." He ordered.

Craig turned and walked to the house. He looked back as he reached the back door and saw that Jack was leaned down to Angel's window, and the three men were talking. Craig suddenly felt as if he were being sent in the house so that he couldn't hear what was being said. Bobby had insisted that one of them be with him at all times and now he was sending him into the house alone. A feeling of dread was building inside his gut; what had Stanley said in his last moments, before Bobby killed him? He had to have said something. Bobby reached across the car, past Angel and handed Jack something. Craig wasn't sure what it was until he seen a flash of a reflection from the street light, and he was sure it was the hand gun Bobby had used to shoot Stanley. It seemed odd that Bobby would give Jack the gun, given the way Jack had reacted out in the street when Bobby and Angel had approached the El Camino, beat on the two killers, and fired off their shots. Jack had been terrified, or at least it seemed that way to Craig.

The boy turned and headed into the house before anyone noticed he was watching. He found Sofi in the kitchen, standing at the microwave watching a bag of popcorn expand. The smell of popcorn usually was appealing, but after what he'd seen that night, it turned his stomach slightly. She turned to him, and smiled. "It's about time." She spoke with her heavy accent. "Where is Angel?"

Craig shook his head. "They had to do something." He muttered and headed through the kitchen to the foyer, up the stairs and to his room. He found a basket of clean clothes setting on his bed, and assumed that Sofi had been doing laundry, probably at Angel's request. Jack had done a load the night before, but he hadn't washed a full basket of Craig's clothes, the boy was certain of that. He dug through the basket until he found clean underwear, sweat pants, and a long sleeve jersey. He went to the restroom and got into the shower, wanting to get it over with quickly. He removed the bandage from his arm while the water ran over it. It was looking good, and didn't need to be bandaged any more. He heard Jack's voice from below while he was drying off. He dressed quickly, put some anti biotic cream on the healing scratch and started to take his dirty clothes to his room, to put them in the dirty clothes basket, as he usually did.

"Give me those." Jack was coming up the stairs with a black plastic trash bag when Craig walked out of the restroom.

Craig gave Jack the clothes and watched him put them into the bag.

Jack looked at him. "Bobby said for you to get to bed." Jack reminded the teen.

"Can I go get my sketch pad?" Craig asked.

Jack shook his head. "No, you are supposed to get into bed and stay there." He stared at Craig as if he were waiting for him to move towards Evelyn's room.

"Why can't I just get my pad, and then I'll go right to bed?" Craig asked.

"Because that wasn't what you were told to do, that's why. Don't think that because Bobby's not here that you don't have to listen." Jack spoke with a warning tone to his voice, one that Craig wasn't used to hearing from Jack.

Craig turned and went into his mother's room. He turned to close the door.

"Leave it open." Jack called as he walked into the restroom. "Get your ass in the bed."

Craig pulled the blankets back on the bed, and crawled across it to lie next to the wall. He was tired, but at the same time he was feeling anxious and knew there was no way he could sleep. He stared at the ceiling above him, while his mind went over the day's events. That morning things had been so different, it felt a lifetime ago. He should have felt relief that the men who murdered his mother were dead. He should have been satisfied with the fact that Stanley Miller, the man who had held a gun to him, and pulled his pants down, grabbing him the way his father had grabbed him so many times when he was little, was dead. But there was something in way Bobby had looked at him, something in his voice that told Craig nothing was okay. He felt as if there was something else that needed to be done, and he wasn't sure what it could be. His brothers were going to take care of the car, and apparently clean up any loose ends that might be dangling out there for the police to tie them to the shootings on the street.

Five minutes later Jack was walking down the stairs, and Craig was sure he heard the front door open and close. He sat up in the bed and listened for a moment before getting out of the bed and walking to the window to look out. Bobby's car was sitting on the street, idling. Jack walked to the car and handed the bag to Angel through the window, and then turned and walked down the street in the opposite direction the car started moving. The boy watched for a few minutes, to be sure Jack wasn't coming back before walking out the door, down the stairs, and to the living room. Sofi was still in the kitchen. She was now talking on her cell phone. Craig was careful to move quietly so that she wouldn't hear him. He moved to the dark dining room, where he had left his sketchbook on the table. He found the pencil, but the book was gone. He swallowed hard, not sure where it could have gone. He looked on the floor, thinking that perhaps it had fallen off of the table. Then he looked at the table, and realized it had been cleaned off. He walked back to the living room, hoping that Sofi had put the book in the desk drawer. He opened the drawer as quietly as he could to find the book wasn't there. The drawings he had given his brothers were still in the drawer, but the pad was not with them. The next thought that came to mind was that maybe Sofi had put it in his room. He felt a panic building up inside of him. He silently moved to the stairs, and made his way back upstairs, to his room. He looked on the dresser, then in the dresser drawers, but found no sign of the book of paper that held so much of him inside. He looked under his pillow, then under his mattress. He was about to go back down the stairs to ask Sofi outright if she had put the pad anywhere but when he reached the top of the stairs he was sure he heard Bobby's voice in the kitchen. He moved quickly to his mother's room and got back into the bed. He prayed Bobby hadn't heard him moving around. He rolled onto his right side, facing the wall and waited for any sounds of Bobby coming up the stairs. He lay there for a long while, listening, but never heard any other hint of any of his brothers being in the house. He was starting to think it had been his imagination when he finally heard heavy feet on the stairway. He heard Angel's voice, quiet, and then Bobby's whispers. Moments later he heard the floor creaking next to the bed. He didn't turn to see who it was. He closed his eyes and prayed that if it was Bobby that he wouldn't check to see if he was awake or asleep.

The shower started running a moment later, and Craig could hear footsteps moving out of the room. He assumed Angel was in the shower, and Bobby had been in the room with him. He strained his ears to listen to for any voice, or movement. A few times he thought he heard voices, but they were faint and he couldn't tell who it was talking. He worried about his sketch pad. His brothers wouldn't have taken that, would they? They knew it was private, they knew he didn't want anyone else looking at it. How could he explain some of the drawings that the pad contained? How could he answer the questions that his brothers would surely ask if they looked through the scenes that were depicted in that book? Some of the worst memories of his life were hidden in those pages. Though the pad of paper was not the only one that existed, he'd been drawing since his real mother had been killed. He had many sketch pads and some of the earlier ones contained most of the more frightening scenes, the more questionable scenes. But the book he'd been working in contained that one picture that he didn't want his brothers to see. The one that he'd started Thanksgiving night, the one that had made him itch. Though his brain couldn't quite recall the sketch it's self, he knew he didn't want his brothers to see it. He didn't even want to look at it; he just wanted to keep it close.

The sound of Bobby's voice in the hall brought the boy out of his thoughts. He heard the man walk into the restroom, and then the water started running. Craig listened as Angel and Sofi went to Angel's room, and then Jack walked to his room and closed his door. Ten minutes later Bobby walked into the room and closed the door, without turning on the light.

Craig couldn't stand it anymore. He rolled over onto his back and turned his head to look at Bobby. "What time is it?" He asked quietly.

Bobby looked at the clock. "It's almost twelve. Get to sleep." He sat down on the edge of the bed and stretched. Craig could make out in the dark that his brother was wearing long johns and a t-shirt.

"Can I go get my sketch pad?" Craig asked quietly.

Bobby turned and looked at him. "I said to get to sleep."

"But I…" Craig started to argue.

"No. I said go to sleep. Don't test me right now." Bobby sounded calm, and his voice was quiet. He sounded tired. "The fucking pad wont' go anywhere between now and morning." He lay down in the bed, blocking Craig's only avenue of getting off the mattress.

There was quiet for a long while. Craig finally rolled onto his right side again, deciding that it wouldn't do any good to argue with his brother at that moment. He could hear Bobby's breathing slowing, and becoming shallow. He closed his eyes and prayed he'd be able to sleep, now that he knew all of his brothers were in the house. He tried to convince his self that his brothers hadn't had a chance to get his sketch pad. It had been on the table when they left earlier that evening, and the only person who had been in the house until they got back had been Sofi. She had to have put it somewhere when she straightened up. He would have to wait and look for the book in the morning.

That nagging that had been eating away at him since Bobby had given him that look in the car was still there, though there didn't seem to really be any reason for it. He was sure if Stanley had said anything to his brothers before they killed him that Bobby would have brought it up by now. His brother wasn't a patient person, so he wouldn't have been able to hold anything back if he knew anything more than what Craig had told him. That's what he was trying convince himself into believing. As he started to drift off to sleep, he told himself he would just have to wait until morning to find out anything for certain.

The next morning Craig woke early to find Bobby standing at the dresser, wearing a pair of jeans and no shirt. He was looking in the mirror at his left arm. "Fuck. "He muttered.

Craig sat up, noticing right away what Bobby was looking at. His brother had been bitten by some dogs the day before, and the skin around the marks looked an ugly red, sthe ame as his own arm had looked the morning before. "You should put something on that." The boy muttered.

Bobby looked over at him. "Get dressed." He spoke normally, and he didn't seem to have that look in his eyes like he'd had the night before. That made Craig feel a little better, and the fact that he'd slept decent for a period of time helped even more. He felt as if a pressure was lifting off of his chest, until he remembered that he hadn't been able to find his sketch pad the night before. He almost asked Bobby about it, but it was obvious his brother was concerned about his injury that had gone untreated for a full day, and thought better of it. He got out of bed and found some of his clothes were folded neatly on the chair against the wall and started dressing quickly.

Bobby sat on the bed and started pulling on his socks and boots. He looked at Craig. "You never seen anything last night, remember that." He spoke carefully.

Craig looked at his brother. "I know." He spoke quietly.

Bobby nodded his head. "Good. We were at Jerry's. Jerry and Camille had us all over for dinner, and we ate there. They both already know. You fell asleep there and we had to wake you up when we came home."

Craig nodded his head. "Where did I fall asleep? I don't remember." He muttered. Was this what Bobby was worried about last night? Was he worried that Craig would screw up and tell someone what he'd seen and what his brothers had done?

"On the couch in the family room," Bobby stood as Craig finished dressing. Bobby stopped at the restroom and gathered some medical supplies before leading the boy down the steps.

When they got downstairs Angel and Sofi were already in the kitchen. Sofi was making a pot of coffee; Angel was sitting at the kitchen table. The two of them were talking quietly, but Sofi didn't sound happy.

"Stop bitchin', and just listen." Angel spoke calmly. "Jerry's, we were at Jerry's until about eleven thirty." He noticed Bobby and Craig in the dining room, and the medical supplies Bobby was setting on the table. He stood and walked in.

Bobby looked at Angel. "I need you to help me with this." He held up his arm and showed it to Angel.

"How is the leg? You were bit on the leg too." Angel asked as he walked over and looked at the bites. There was also a cut down the front of Bobby's hand. "How the fuck did you do that?"

"My leg is fine; and what can I say, the son of a bitch had sharp teeth." Bobby glanced at Craig, who sat down at the table. "Your fucking sketch pad is in the living room, under the couch cushion." He informed. "You can go get it now if you want."

Craig was surprised by Bobby's words.

"I put it there before we left last night. I didn't think you would want it on the table with miss 'La Vida Nosey' in the house." He explained. "You can get it and come back in here."

Craig felt a wave of relief sweep over him. Somehow just knowing where his most personal possession was hidden made him feel better. He'd been worrying about his brothers looking in it, and now he felt almost guilty that he'd not trusted them. They had trusted him, and he had lied to them. They hadn't done anything to make him believe he couldn't trust them, yet he still found it hard to give it to them. Part of him felt guilty for both not telling his brothers the whole truth, and for not having enough faith in them. At the same time, he still shuddered at the thought of telling them about his father. If he told them about that man, and what he'd done to him when he was small, then it would make it all real again, and he was terrified of that. Besides, there was really no reason to, as long as that man didn't try to cause any problems now that Evelyn was dead. The fear of the state coming in and taking him away wasn't as strong as it had been days before. Maybe it was because his brothers hadn't blamed him for not doing anything to stop the murder of their mother. They wouldn't wash their hands of him and kick him out, or send him back to where he'd come from. That had been the real fear, that his brothers would want him.

"Well?" Bobby sat in the chair at the end of the table, giving the boy a look.

"It's okay. I don't need to get it right now." Craig spoke quietly.

Bobby shook his head as Angel looked at his injured arm.

"Sofi can fix this up better than I can. She's used to patching up her brother." Angel smiled and turned towards the kitchen. "Sofi, come here." He walked to the kitchen and a few minutes later Sofi walked in, giving Bobby a look.

"What did you do now Bobby?" She asked.

Bobby sighed, obviously not very happy to have to rely on Sofi to doctor his arm up. "Dogs," He tried to sound casual.

Sofi rattle off something in Spanish and sat down in the chair opposite of Craig, so that she could see Bobby's arm. She grabbed some gauze and alcohol and started cleaning the cut.

Craig watched Sofi work while Bobby seemed to stare out into space, obviously losing himself in his own thoughts; at least until Sofi hit one of the bites with the alcohol soaked gauze. He jerked her head around to look at her. "Ahh!" He cried out.

"Oh Bobby, you are such a pussy." Sofi scolded. "It should be against the law for people to keep their dogs some place where people like you can get to them." Sofi started bandaging the arm tightly.

"Hey ya all, police in the house!" Angel called out from the kitchen at that moment.

Craig felt his stomach turn to ice. Instant fear seemed to take over him. Why would the police be there so soon? How could they know?

Bobby looked at Sofi. "Get me something to cover my arm." He ordered. "Quick."

Sofi jumped to her feet and moved away.

Bobby looked at Craig, "Come on, get on the couch." He stood; grabbing Craig's left arm and pulling him out of the chair after him. Sofi met them in the living room with a black robe covered in flowers.

Bobby gave Sofi an irritated look, but pulled the robe on and tied it around him. He motioned for Craig to get on couch.

Craig moved to the far end of the couch, next to the end table. Bobby sat down next to him, and pulled his injured arm around him. "Just relax and keep your mouth shut. They won't talk to you." He spoke quickly.

It seemed an eternity before Craig could hear the back door slamming shut. He leaned into Bobby, hearing Green's voice from the kitchen. "You mind if we come in?"

Panic stabbed at the boy's stomach. He was sure this was going to be it. His brothers were about to be busted, and he suddenly felt that if they were, it would be his fault somehow, though that didn't make any sense.