48.
Emil came home with a black eye and a broken nose. He looked at my mother apologetically and walked to his room like a man on death's row. He was staying with us for three days, to stay away from home, to find solace somewhere.
My mother age me a hard look, motioning for me to go ask what had happened. I stared at her indigently. "I think he needs time alone." I said.
She scowled. "If he ever needed someone to talk to, it's now. Go, Berwald." She said.
I stood, setting my novel aside. I tried to muster up a look of hatred, but managed nothing. I went towards the room Emil had vanished too, taking a wet towel along with me. I heard muffled sobbing from the room.
Gently pushing the door open, I entered. Emil looked up, his eyes wide. I mutely walked towards him, sitting down. I set the wet towel against his face and dabbed away the blood. Mother was preparing something for his black eye. Probably a salve.
"What happened?" I whispered.
His eyes, wide and terrified, stared at me.
He didn't respond. Old haunts were rising in his gaze. His face was smeared with tears, blood, and dirt. I mopped up as much as I could. A new wave of tears erupted with a strangled sound in his throat. I wrapped an arm around his shoulder, trying to collect him, to keep him with us. He wept into my shoulder, holding me tightly. He was so young.
And I was too late.
