Chapter 7

He must have fallen asleep. If he was waking up, he must have fallen asleep. Don's first action was to check Charlie. Still sleeping, but the blankets were still there. He must be less restless. Don next checked the corner, and felt disappointment. There had been no more visits by the Bucket Fairy.

He sat up on the bed and crossed his legs. At the same time, Charlie stirred, lazily opened his eyes. He saw Don looking at him and smiled.

Don smiled back. "Feeling better?", he asked, hopefully.

Charlie started to sit up, winced when he automatically tried to push up with his foot. Don hurried to help him, broke open the last bottle of water. Charlie took a drink, and handed the bottle to Don. As Don was drinking, he watched his brother. At first, he seemed confused. His eyes moved all over the room. He sat up a little straighter on his own, cleared his throat.

"Where's the door?", he asked again. His voice was still raspy, but better. If he could get him some food and give him some of the pills, Don thought, maybe that would help even more.

"Can't find one."

The pupils of Charlie's eyes suddenly seemed larger, and too late, Don remembered his brother's claustrophobia. "It's all right," he hurried to assure him. "There must be one, I've just got to find it." He leaned forward to check Charlie's fever, but the shadow coming at him pushed Charlie over the edge. Startling Don, he shoved him aside, used his hands to raise himself into a standing position against the wall.

"There's no air!" His voice was frantic.

Don stood and tried an approach again. "Yes, there is, Charlie, we're fine. We're okay."

Before he could reach him, his brother hopped out of reach, turning to face the wall. He began banging his fists against it. "Just open the door," he begged, "I won't try to leave! Please!" He turned back toward Don, began ripping the gauze off his arm. "It's too hot. G-d, it's too hot."

By now Don was close enough to grab Charlie's arm. "Stop it, Charlie, don't. Just breathe. Look at me. We're all right." But he could tell from the wild look Charlie threw at him that he was already beyond control. With strength Don didn't know he had, he tossed his brother aside again, began hopping down the wall some more. He was still ripping at his arm.

"Open the door! Open the damn door!"

Don chased him across the room, remembering an earlier time when this had happened to Charlie. They had been kids, about 7 and 12, exploring the neighborhood, and found an open manhole. Don had dared Charlie to climb down, then had slammed the lid over the hole, intending it as a joke. When he heard his brother screaming, he tried to lift the lid again, but in his panic could not. He'd had to run away, find an adult. By the time he could get to Charlie again, his brother was curled up in the inch of water at the bottom, in a near-catatonic state. He'd been claustrophobic ever since, but avoided his triggers so well, that it was easy to forget. Don remembered, now, though.

He faced his brother, saw fresh blood trickling down his arm. He was hurting himself. Don drew a deep breath, drew up his courage, drew back his fist, aimed for Charlie's chest, and just as he let fly, Charlie began to slide down the wall. He connected solidly with Charlie's nose.

Charlie's hands flew up, and he dropped to his knees. Don dropped to his, reaching out to steady his brother. He saw tears in his brother's eyes. "Oh, shit, Charlie, shit, I'm sorry…"

Charlie dropped his hands, revealing the blood that poured out his nose, coursed down his face and rolled off his chin. He looked at Don, eyes focused now. "Ooo summa biii," he croaked. "Ooo bro by dose!"