Mikey's head does a slow, halting nod, but then stops. "Yeah, I'm not going to pretend here, Donnie. I don't get it."
"There's not much else to get, Mikey." Don produces his own personal phone to demonstrate."You simply type your 5 digit code and press the pound key. The lair will arm and disarm." A robotic voice above us announces: ARMED. He watches our expressions, eyes bright with excitement. He punches 5 more numbers in with is thumb and strikes the pound key. The voice booms: DISARMED. "Easy. I mean, yeah, there's a lot that goes into it behind the scenes but this is the most watered down version I can give you guys."
"Wow, thanks," I say, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice. "Not insulting at all."
"Not a problem, bro." Donnie shoots me a toothy grin. "Any questions? Master Splinter?"
Splinter shakes his head. "No, none. I believe I understand everything."
"Hmph," Mikey grunts.
Donnie ignoring Mikey's grumbling, extends his open palm. "What do you want your pass code to be?"
"I'unno," Mikey shrugs, passing his phone over. "12345?"
"Try again, smart guy. Something you'll remember."
Mikey rattles off a number Don finally accepts, then it's Splinter's turn. Seconds later, it's mine. "Now, you can also arm or disarm through my main computer here," he nods to the keyboard on the desk behind him. "Manually. But obviously that's only from the inside. This also records all the logs, so I can see who activated or deactivated it, and what time. I'll show you guys how to use that later. I'm still working on a keypad with a delayed reaction for the main entrance, in case anyone's phone is destroyed or lost. Right now, let's focus on the task at hand."
As he's wrapping up the explanation, I see it start to happen. He returns my phone and reflexively reaches out again, anticipating a fourth phone that doesn't come. His lips automatically part, his tongue curled and lifted behind his front teeth.
Oh, Donnie. There was no intruder, was there?
Don averts his eyes from us and clears his throat, glossing over his mistake. If anyone else noticed, they don't give any indication. "-Okay, everyone's good to go now. Now, I want you all to activate and deactivate the system. Leo, you go first."
ARMED. DISARMED.
"Success," I announce, searching for the source of the disembodied voice. It's kind of creepy, honestly. There's got to be speakers, somewhere. I make a mental note to ask Don about it later. "Mikey? your turn."
ARMED. DISARMED.
"Master Splinter?"
Everyone's phone buzzes and rattles; a text message for every demonstration.
ARMED. DISARMED.
"That's gonna get annoying," Mikey comments. I raise my eyebrows and glance at Don, as if to say, see? Told you.
"Wait until you hear the intruder alarm," Don says. "It'll knock your socks off."
"Oh, intruder alarm, great. Can't wait."
"After a while, you'll hardly notice it," Don promises. "Besides, I'll sleep better."
"In that case, it's well worth it." Splinter touches Mikey's shoulder. "I think we would all sleep better."
"All right, you're free to go," Donatello dismisses, shooing us away.
I stay behind after Don's presentation, watching him return to the virtual world. The screen flashes in brilliant colors as codes and numbers fill it. How did he ever become so intelligent? I wonder. We barely had anything when we were young, certainly nothing to satisfy his craving for knowledge. That's the difference between my brother and some of the top scientists in the world, though. He didn't have schooling. If something didn't come naturally to him, he figured it out on his own. It's incredibly admirable.
"Hey Don? Can I ask you something?"
"Sure. What's up?" eventually, he pries his eyes away from the screen.
"It's about... all this," I gesture around the lair. "Is this-" I quickly glance around, "-Is this about what happened to Raph?"
Don swallows thickly, sighs, and drops his eyes to the right of me. "Truthfully? Yes. We did need an upgrade, though. I just...didn't get around to it in time."
I nod gently. I understand completely. "You did everything you could."
"No, I didn't," he answers. "That's the problem."
"That's just grief speaking."
He shakes his head and meets my gaze, his features locked in a grim expression. "It's really not, Leo. Towards the end, I was so tired of fighting with him, I just... I let him do whatever he wanted. It was easier that way. Things were falling apart, and I just, I caved. And now Raphael is dead, and it's my fault."
My heart genuinely hurts for my brother. It's as though I've absorbed the weight of his guilt, now, too, on top of my own. "No, Donnie, it's mine."
"I was acting leader," he says icily. His words strike me like a spear in the chest. "I was in charge. I did this. And this," he gestures to the computer, "this is my lame attempt at making sure it doesn't happen again." He produces a weak chuckle and shakes his head.
I want to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him, but I feel drained of any energy I had. I can see the exhaustion in him, too. The way his shoulders slouch, the way he struggles to blink away the pull of pure exhaustion. I never wanted this to happen. I always wanted to protect my family, and in leaving to better my training, I wound up hurting them instead. My stomach flips violently as I try and stuff my feelings back down.
Donatello is a lot like me, and I know there's no use arguing here. I can only hope that that big brain of his will realize one day that it wasn't his fault, not really.
"I'm sorry," I murmur. "It should have been me."
"Well, it wasn't," Don replies curtly, and turns back to the computer screen.
I get the feeling that this is his way of telling me to fuck off, and decide to drop it and walk away.
Two nights later, after making absolutely sure everyone is asleep, I find myself at that very same computer. Several times a month I do this. If anyone were to find out, I don't know what I'd do. I can't explain this urge I have. Maybe I'm trying to numb myself? I can't say. I know it's wrong, but I can't stop. I continue to scroll, pausing at each photo, each more disturbing than the last. At least they should be, I tell myself, as I gaze upon the resumed human remains, their eyes rotted away and mouths screwed up in horrifying, silent screams. My pulse quickens with each photo I view. Some bones are bleached white. Others don't even look like bones anymore, more like piles of wet leaves. Others look almost perfectly preserved, as though just sleeping. Hands crossed, hands at their sides, some holding rosaries, some holding the remnants of decayed photos or stuffed animals. The morbid curiosity in me grows, bringing a sudden, unbidden lump to my throat, and I hate it. Eventually shame and disgust overwhelms me and I close down the web-page, after deleting the history, and sit in the glow of the screen.
I think of my brother.
