8: Kuya

Andrew ran out of the gym and into the street, and he frantically glanced around. Where had the slug gone? The streets were packed - as soon as the evening came, the night owls came with it, going to underground games, fixing up shady deals, disappearing into dingy motels with goodness-knows-who, peddling what you never saw in the day... For all of them, deep darkness is their morning; they make friends with the terrors of darkness. The characters Andrew had seen earlier were nothing compared to these folk. Some of them looked up at him, but he paid no mind.

He turned this way and that in the dimly blue-lit street, wondering where to go. Why had little Andrew been there in the first place? How had he gotten to the inner city? Then, Andrew blanched as he realized that he had been followed. But he was surprised that the little boy had gotten as far as the gym before getting... kidnapped. Oh, how life twisted so strangely for Andrew Calls. This, this must have been exactly how his mother had felt ten years ago.

He stepped on something sticky and smelly and grimaced, lifting his foot. Then he blinked. It was slug slime. He followed the trail with his eyes, jostling past other people to keep it in sight. Finally, he saw how it turned toward a less-crowded part of town, and he ran along it.

The trail snaked into a dark, deserted building, and Andrew dashed up the stairs after it. He slipped on a puddle on the first landing but caught himself before his face plunged into the slime. Grimacing at the smell, he continued up and up and up...

If anything happened to little Andrew, he knew he wouldn't be able to let the slug go. He wouldn't be forgive him, the damn creature. Worse, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. I should have made sure nobody followed me. If anything happens to that kid, I swear -

BANG! A bullet whizzed past his head. Andrew had turned just in time. Now, he stood straight in the doorway, stunned for a moment, the thick slimy line between his feet. He was just outside a room lit by the streetlamps outside. The windows were boarded up, and it was through the cracks that the light streamed stubbornly in. Andrew could just make out the large, pear-shaped, jelly-like body of the kidnapper as it wobbled in the shadows.

Then, he glared at the slug as it backed away against the wall, a sticky arm around little Andrew's mouth. Tears streamed out of the little boy's eyes, and a high, steady whimpering came from his throat. He was trying to wriggle out of his captor's grip, but to no avail.

"Put him down," Andrew said, fists balling tight.

The slug gave him a wicked grin replied, "Why should I?"

Andrew ignored the question; it had to be obvious. "Put him down now."

"Or else what?" the slug countered. But Andrew was sure that his phlegm-loaded voice had quavered. He took a fighting stance.

"Or else the jelly you're made of won't be held by that thick skin of yours anymore."

The slug gave a dumb "Eh?" Little Andrew whined.

Andrew stepped forward, fists still put up. "You'll be more of putty than you already are."

The slug tried to slide backward, but he found that indeed, his back was against the wall. If Andrew could see his face, he'd find that it was beginning to contort with panic. But then the slug remembered his gun, and he cocked it and pointed it to little Andrew's head. "Take another step and he's gone."

Andrew's heart sank. He'd hoped that the slug would forget completely about the gun... The little boy gave another whine, louder this time. He couldn't risk it. "Open your hands," the slug said gruffly. "That's it... Now go back to the door." Andrew did as he was told, not turning his back.

Remembering that there had to be some kind of ransom involved, he called out, "What do you want for him?" Andrew knew that to crooks, everything was for sale.

The slug gave a rumbling, phlegm-y laugh, and Andrew felt deeply disgusted. "Depends, hotshot. Why do you want him? He your kid?"

"No... Someone else's," Andrew answered. Maybe he should have lied and said yes, but he and little Andrew looked nothing alike. He could hear the little boy sniffle in the dark. He had to think fast. He had some money in his pockets and in the hem of his pants. But there was more in his coat, and he groaned inwardly as he realized that he'd left it in the gym - knowing this city, there was no chance that he could go back and find it still there, by the punching bag in the corner.

"Well, then go get that someone else," the slug said, its silhouette waving the gun.

Andrew had to be stubborn. There was no time. If he left, the slug would leave too.

"I have 20,000 credits on me," he declared. "They're yours if you give him to me."

The slug laughed again. "No way, kid. I could get 30 on the underground." Andrew frowned. Once a child disappeared into any illegal market, he disappeared for good.

"I could give you twice as much. Give him to me now, and you get 20 grand plus 40 later."

The slug was quiet, and Andrew prayed, Please, please make him say yes... To him, 60,000 credits wasn't even a month's allowance, and he used to make much more underground. But he knew that to the slug, it was big stuff.

"Ahh, it sounds good, kid. But how do I know you ain't jiving me?" Andrew remained silent. "Besides, I only talk to family."

I only talk to family. Andrew's heart thudded in his chest, and his head throbbed. He wished he could see little Andrew's face, he wished he could see his eyes. Everything suddenly seemed silent, and time seemed to slow down. I only talk to family.

"I am family," he said quietly.

The slug sneered. "S'at so?" he asked.

"Yeah," Andrew said, a little more loudly this time. He tried to stop the tremble in his voice. "I'm his brother."

He thought he heard a tiny gasp in the room, and he gulped. His heart was racing. He knew that little Andrew would have a lot of questions once they got out... If they got out. But he couldn't imagine them yet; he had to focus on saving the little boy.

"Really..." began the slug. "Tell me, little boy. Is this guy your big brother?" Andrew's heart stopped a moment. No... It was over. It was all over for the both of them now.

But he saw that the slug had to relax his grip on the boy before he could answer. Before either of them in the dark room could open their mouths, Andrew cried, "Run, Andrew! Hurry, come to me!" And like the slippery, wriggling little boy he was, Andrew Hawkins scrambled out of the slug's grasp and ran toward him.

The slug, caught by surprise, fired into the air, and the little boy screamed. But he got on his stomach and began to crawl quickly to the doorway. He was so low that the slug couldn't reach him; it was an effort to bend at the waist. Soon, he was in the hall, scurrying toward Andrew, where he waited, crouching by the stairway.

Andrew scooped him up into his arms, and they ran. The slug was following, sliding steadily along, gathering speed and firing after them. The only thing that hindered him was turning at the corners; if it went too fast, it would lean too heavily on the railing and fall for sure. Adrenaline coursed through the boys' veins as they ran; the older one had to make sure that he kept hold of the younger, that he ran fast enough, that he ducked in time, and that he didn't fall in the process.

They were almost there; they were nearing the first landing when - "AH!"

Little Andrew screamed as he watched the older boy's face contort in pain as he slid on the bottom step, and they fell slowly, slowly, slowly, like a kite returning to the ground. He scrambled away, and he saw that like a kite-tail, blood was coming out of the bigger boy's side like a long, red, red ribbon. His face was hot and wet with tears, and he was bawling as he looked fearfully up at the slug.

The slug grinned menacingly as he slid toward him, and little Andrew cowered and buried his face in the bigger boy's chest in an effort to hide his face. Then, there was another yell and a CRASH! and when Andrew looked up, the slug had fallen through the railing. There was a heavy thud, and the creature was dead.

Andrew Hawkins cried and trembled, but he didn't make a sound except for sniffles in the dark. He felt that he was so lost and terribly alone. He didn't know where he was, he wanted to go home, and he wished that he had never followed big Andrew. But it was just that he wanted to know where his new friend was going, and if he was going to come back and maybe play some more and eat cookies and be pretend spacers and stay and - and -

He whined as he laid his head on the bigger boy's chest. His heart was still beating, and the little boy pressed his tiny hand over the wound. He closed his eyes as blood spurted out from in between his fingers; they were both helpless to help each other.

Then, warm and comforting, Andrew Calls's large hand covered the little boy's, and he whispered, "Hey... Hey, it's okay. It's okay..."

Little Andrew whimpered. Andrew tried to lift his head up, and he saw that he'd been shot all right. Perhaps a few of his ribs were broken, but the wound wasn't fatal... yet. If he didn't get to a hospital soon, he would die from the loss of blood. His heart sank as he remembered where he was and realized that this prospect, just like his vision, was getting dim. He closed his eyes as tears sprang into their corners. If he died now, they both would be goners. He tried to whisper something comforting to the little boy, though in his heart he knew it would all be over soon...

"Cry all you want, Andrew. I'm here for you..." Though not for long, I guess...

And the little boy sobbed and answered, "But you're - you're gonna die! I'll be all by myself!"

Andrew gave a feeble, rueful laugh. He could feel his strength seeping out of him through their fingers. "You're smarter than you look, Andrew... Just as smart as - as Mama..."

Mama... There was no hope of going home to her now. He'd been about to make up his mind and turn back; he'd have liked to have been part of that little family, to have been a big brother to the twins. He'd have liked to say sorry, and tell her that he loved her, and tell her that he still wanted to be her son...

"I wanna go home," whined the little boy. His tears streamed out steadily like tiny rivers in the darkness.

"Me too, squirt. Me too..."

He'd never see Alison again. He'd thought of waiting another year till they were both eighteen, and then her parents wouldn't be able to touch them. They would have built their own home, and she would be at the center: smiling, radiant, beautiful, and his.

They were silent after that, except for tiny little sniffles, and Andrew stroked the little boy's head with his other hand. Then, softly, sadly, little Andrew asked, "Are you really my brother?"

Andrew Calls squeezed Andrew Hawkins's hand. "Yup. Micha's too," he answered, just as softly, just as sadly.

"How come?"

Andrew sighed as the memory of his mother crying filled his mind. He tried to hold on to her as she faded... "We had the same Mama," he replied.

"How come she didn't keep you?" asked the little boy.

Andrew felt pained. "She wanted to. But a man took me away." How strange, to find Simon bleeding on the floor and be in the same position just one month later...

"Was he a bad man?"

Andrew bit his lip. "Not really. Just... sad. Very sad. And lonely..."

"Is that why you're here? You came back?"

Andrew tried not to cry out as he remembered - just this morning, he had been shooting to kill Jim Hawkins, this little boy's father. What could he say now?

"Is that why you came back, Andrew? To see Mama again? To be my big brother?" the little boy pressed.

"I - I don't know. I can't - say..." Andrew was suddenly filled with cool, like a trickling flood throughout his body - was it all in his mind? But it wouldn't be long...Andrew knew that he had done some terrible things in his life, and he wanted forgiveness. He wanted peace. God, if it's all right with you, maybe you can give it to me...

They were silent. "Andrew?" whispered the little boy. "Andrew?"

There was no reply. Little Andrew sobbed silently, and he looked at the big hand covering his, the hand that was slowly relaxing... "I kinda wanted a big brother..."

Author's Note: Once again, a Filipino chapter title; kuya means "big brother". Also, there is a verse from the book of Job quoted somewhere here; see if you can find it. I won't say anything more - see you in the next chapter...