1
They knew from that day on that he would never be the same as before the shooting, and yet it was like an unspoken secret they kept to themselves. Their parents acknowledged nothing but the glory of his improvement, and the others, Sakura and Sasuke, realized instinctively what had to be done. With subtle, innocent glances, they communicated what they couldn't say out loud, what they couldn't put into words if they wanted to, except to admit that he was different; changed.
The glint was gone. They missed his smirky smile, his cockiness, and the gleam of mischief in his eyes, but with their silence that wore a cocoon around the truth -around the pain and sorrow and disappointment.
Within the week Itachi was finally allowed come back home in stable care. Their father was more like his old self then he had been before the accident. Humming, he gave his wife a kiss and instructed the kids to sit with their backs straight.
As soon as Itachi could sit up for any reasonable length of time, their mother had tied pillows to the back and the seat of her grandfather's rocker, and when their father came home back from work, he carried Itachi to the dining table and placed him on the padded rocking chair.
In that way, he was with them each evening. With his blank red eyes, Itachi appeared more confused then docile, and when he did not looked confused, Sakura saw the hardness in his glance that chilled her to the heart.
2
Seldom was he crossed, and even more seldom did he complain, but he had frightening spells when he blacked out. In the beginning, only the simplest acts made sense to him.
Did the sandwich taste good? "It's good," he'd say, staring into the distance. When he slumped back on the pillows and their mother asked if he was tired, "I'm tired," he's say, "…sleepy," as if the connection between the two words were abstract and difficult.
And when it was nine o' clock and he wasn't sleepy, she gave him medicine to put him to sleep. In time he did remember who they were and called them by their names -their father initially, then Sasuke, then Sakura, and then their mother.
It took a long time; he seemed to have dredged their likenesses from the depths of his memory. But everyday he grew a little stronger and a little more aware.
And their father's praise of him never faltered. Whenever home from work, he spent most of his time coaxing him to walk another step, to take one more bit; he urged him to speak without slurring.
"How strong you'll be," he would say. "As good as new. Now that's my good boy." As if he couldn't leave the past behind.
But Sakura thought, not for long will he be good. Not for a very much longer.
3
During those months, those slow, rainy months when the winter telescoped into the spring, Sakura gently shared her things with Itachi, even when he had no patience and tore her paper dolls or sent the toy lead soldiers she'd chosen for his Christmas present flying under the swipe of his hand.
When everyone else was out of earshot, she'd tell him about Kisame.
"I took him one of your old socks," she said, "so he'll remember you." In the chair too high for her, she sat beside his bed, talking quietly as their mother hovered nearby, or when he was finally able to walk from one chair to the couch to the doorway. Sakura stood with him. She wanted to talk to him, really talk to him, but the chance didn't come and he was very reticent about talking to her. In all those early months, he didn't think to ask what had happened to him.
"I'm hurt," he could say.
"Yes," their father would answer, "you hurt yourself. But we're going to fix it. You'll be good as new."
At the supper that summer, their mother said, "He's getting too strong for me. It wears me out just to have him lean on me. He's almost as solid as a rock.
"Five foot two and eyes of blue." Sakura said..
"You mean five foot four and eyes of red." Sasuke corrected.
Sakura only shook his head. "Doesn't rhyme." she grinned.
4
One day, weeks later, their father came home grim-faced and ushered the children out of the kitchen while he spoke with their mother.
"Was the matter, Daddy?" Sakura asked.
With his fingers, he smoothed the sweat on his neck.
"Oh," he said, preoccupied, "Nothing's much. We have to decide what to do with Itachi."
Then, for several weeks, every night, it seemed after Sakura and Sasuke had gone to bed, their faint voices rising sporadically through the joist and plaster and lath like buried hearts. On the nights she couldn't sleep, she went quietly down the landing to listen. Their voices sometimes buzzed and hummed inside the walls; only pieces of what they said came to her undistorted.
One night, their father said, "I'm going to do what the doctors said to do. Or else, before we know it, it'll be too late." And her mother replied "Not yet, please not yet. haven't you seen how well he walks? He's doing so well. Just today I was thinking we should move him upstairs. He needs more time. Give him a little more time, dear…another few weeks." A shadow came to the lighted doorway below, and Sakura slipped up the stairs.
Another night, she had to go all the way down the stairs to hear. Light glowed beneath and closed kitchen door; she inched towards it. "Doc Lasher said he needs tests and he needs specialists. Even if we can't be sure. Maybe he'll never-"
"Yeah, alright." her mother's voice. "If it's for the best."
A long silence followed. One of them stirred something; a spoon tinkled against china. Her father said, "He's been out of the house again. I checked his shoes this morning when I got up. And they were wet."
On the landing, Sakura hastened up the remaining stairs and back into her room.
But she dozed and tossed and dozed again. The house was settled into a deep plinking silence, like a well. She couldn't think what it would be like to be put away, except it was only like a room with bars in it. Every few minutes, she woke up slick with sweat. She had to tell him, warn him.
In the deepest ebb of the night, she made her way down the dark stairs, crossed in front of the window fan that rustled her pink hair and made her suck in breath, and entered the living room through the double doors, now left open. Her father slept sprawled on the couch. Sakura paused long enough to watch the slow, even fall of his breath. Then she hurried toward the white island lounger.
To hide, she knelt on back, shadowed side of it, checked the dark peripheries, and nudged Itachi's shoulder. As smooth and controlled as ball bearings, his eyes flipped open and they were like lightless eyes of an animal stirred suddenly from an alert sleep.
Placing her fingers straight against her lip, she whispered, "Sh-h-h." He started to raise himself on his elbow, but she motioned him down.
"Itachi," she said, uttering his name so low it was hardly more than the shape of her lips. "We have to go away. Go far, far away." She couldn't tell if he was listening. Like a cobalt disk, his eyes were fixed on her, unblinking and expressionless. "We have to go, Itachi, just as soon as we can. I'll let you know when. Maybe Saturday when they go upstairs to sleep. If we don't go they'll go away and put you in a place with bars in them. It's true! I heard 'em."
Though quiet, his voice was gruff like a man. "They did this, didn't they?" he said.
"What?" she murmured, "Did what?"
"Hurt me, to make me stop."
"No, but they're going to if we don't leave . So we have to. Or they'll put electricity things on us and make us talk like they did on T.V."
"I know what they did," he said, shifting his head on the pillow. "I'm trying to remember…all day." The words oozed from him, his eyes beginning to squint. "I looked in the mirror. I had to do something. And I had to do it."
"but they're going to-"
"I know what they're trying to do. I heard them." Then he said, "Look." He slipped his hand under his pillow and pulled out a crumbling white pill. His sleeping pills. "I fooled her." His mouth worked and a strange broken smile widened his face. He started to giggle. "I fooled her." And he laughed.
For the spark of that moment, he was the Itachi again, having a good time and nothing else mattered. She couldn't help it; she was laughing too. And as she laughed, she whispered, "I love you, Itachi Uchiha."
Itachi put his hands over her mouth and she put her hands on top of his, because if he stopped laughing, maybe she would too, but it was too late. Their father stumbled towards them. "What do you think you're doing? It's the middle of the night."
They looked up at him, no longer laughing.
"Well, come on. Somebody tell me."
"We're just telling jokes." Sakura said.
"Oh Sakura, you don't know any jokes. Now run back to bed."
That was on Monday.
5
On Thursday evening, while Sakura was playing hopscotch outside on the rigid sidewalks and Sasuke with his own race cars, when their mother had called them in for supper.
As they took their place in the dining room, their father sat across from her, his eyes glaring.
Sakura gulped.
"Bring Itachi in here." he barked towards their mother, who wasted no time to obey her husband's order. As she did so, their father pulled out a duffel back and dumped it onto the table. Sakura flinched.
"Guess what the neighbor found while they were cleaning up Kisame's dog house?" He was fuming, his words sawing across her nerves.
"Dad?" Sasuke called, his voice a small squeak.
"Sasuke, go to your room. Go sleep."
Once Sasuke left, her father dumped out the items in the duffle bag; dozens of guns, knives, and even a pack of cigarettes spilled out.
Keeping her eyes downcast, Sakura felt the fine prickly goose bumps nibble her leg as worry gathered in her mind. She still didn't move, sneaking up at the angry black eyes who stared back.
"Is there something you want to tell me now?"
She did not flinch; her eyes began to smart.
"Sakura, you were in on this from the very beginning. You're just as guilty as he is. Maybe more. All along you've lied to me and your mother. Now tell me don't know about this." He spat at the contents on the table, a look of absolute outrage.
"What am I going to tell all these people-all our neighbors."
A web of beamy light skimmed across her eyes. She couldn't gulp her tears away any longer. She twisted from her seat, but he caught her in midair and thrust her down in the chair.
Her mother brought Itachi into the dining room, with Itachi in front. In an oversized hoodie, plaid boxers, and his pirate baseball cap, the boy looked like any other strappling thirteen-year-old, except for his cold, blank eyes.
Immediately, he saw the jumble of weapons on the table and sauntered to a stop.
"Itachi," their father said, "have you seen any of this before?"
Sakura saw the realization flicker on his boyish face. Almost imperceptibly his expression drew tight -his jaw muscles clinched, his brows peaked slightly as he squinted, the rekindled hate flowed in his eyes.
"I've been trying to remember." he said under his breath.
"Oh, you remember, all right. There's nothing wrong with your memory." And he slapped Itachi's face with the flat of his hand so hard that it made a loud pop and Itachi stumbled and fell.
"Daddy don't hurt him," she cried, "Don't hurt him! He didn't know any better."
The bile in her throat was so sour it burned. She tried to cover her mouth but couldn't in time, vomiting into her hands and in front of her dress. Everything blurred. Doubled over, she retched and vomited and blindly stroke the air. She didn't know when her mother came or where she came from, but she was there, holding her at the waist and forehead.
"That's it. Get it out. Let it all out." the room and side of her mother's face swarmed out of Sakura's focus. She couldn't find Itachi.
6
Sakura couldn't remember being taken to bed that night or how the two hearted-shape pillows from the sofa came to be under her head.
She awoke in her petticoat as Itachi lifted her in his arms.
Nestled upright against his chest, she put her tired arms around his throat and shoulder into a loose hug.
"Are you okay, Itachi?" she murmured.
She could feel him nod against her hair.
"What time is it?" she asked, her voice as droopy as her eyes.
"Almost daylight." he said.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked. Slowly the room wheeled; she nodded against him lightly as he walked. Still blinking with sleep, she glanced down the slope of his shirt, seeing the cuffs of his pants and the slide of the carpet beneath them.
"Far away." he said. Blades of cut grass were stuck on the back of his shoes.
Sakura batted her eyes hard. "Pooh," she moaned, still woozy. They went back for it; he turned and stooped and she caught the stuffed animal's ear with her fingers; they turned again.
The door to her room rasped as it opened and they went though it, with Sakura jogging gently against him. They crossed the top stairs.
"Are we going now?" she said.
"I'm taking you to a safe place." he replied.
The pictures in the stairwell loomed up and passed beside her as they went down the stairs. "One last thing I got to do," he said, "then I'm coming for you." He turned on the hallway landing and went on down and she bounced with him, the top of the stairs receding and curving away with every downward step.
"Something smells funny," she said, "like gas." Her voice snagged and bumped on his shoulder. "I think I smell smoke."
"I got it ready to blow," he said. "Everything's fixed. It's already started."
"Why?" she asked, still yawning, fighting back sleep.
"Is Sasuke comin' with us?"
"He's alright, he's here."
As they cut though the foyer, he dropped almost to his knee and they moved down and up like a climbing ladder.
"Put this around you." he said, and covered her with a quilt.
"It's wet." she whined.
"That won't matter." he said.
She squirmed under it, shrinking from its icy chill, and she felt it run wet on her cheek. She wiped at it with her hand she kept around his shoulder and saw a large stain. It took a moment for her to realize it was blood.
"Oh Itachi, did you hurt yourself again?"
They went though the kitchen. "It's not so bad," he shrugged, "just a nick."
She tried to twist forward and sit on the perch of his forearm, but he held her pressed tight with his hands between her shoulder blades.
"But it's getting on me. All over my petticoat."
"Then we'll have to take it off."
Later, she could remember him telling her to cover her mouth with wet quilt as they went though the basement door and he turned sideways in the doorway to swing the door shut with his elbow.
Sasuke sat cowering in the corner, where Sakura rushed alongside him. The air was mottled dark and hazy in the basement -one lonely cricket chirped along with the methodic gringe of his shoe.
She peered over her wet mask.
Great swarming coils of smoke hung between the black studs.
7
In the last few minutes of the night, as the warm rising dew eddied and idled on the ground and Kisame lumbered from his open pen, an explosion emptied the air like a massive spontaneous eruption.
At approximately four-fifteen that day, it was concluded that four bodies were discovered, two adults and two children, the adult's body charred and undeniable, already deceased.
Sakura was admitted to the Luther Memorial County Hospital in stable but guarded condition with second-degree burning on twenty percent of her body.
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