The Affliction

Chapter 1

After the birth, Anna quickly developed a habit of staying up late into the night—even though her children went to sleep rather quickly and a bit early. Sitting beside the single, large crib in her nursery, she looked down at her tiny creations and tried to smile without it hurting. For days following what should have been the happiest day of her life, she couldn't help but wonder what God was punishing her for. Gently, she reached in and ran her fingers over Murphy's thin, dark hair and perfectly formed face; then she moved to the other boy and looked away.

In her mind, she had two beautiful children who would grow up to be men. The thing was, she just knew that the day they started school, it would be hell for Connor. She didn't want that. She'd be damned if her children had to suffer any more than what the world would do to them.

Standing from her rocking chair, she leaned into the crib and kissed both boys on the cheek before walking out of the room. Determination traced her steps, growing more and more potent as she went down the dark hall of the little house to the bedroom that she shared with her husband. "Frankie," she whispered, gliding fluidly to the bed.

"Aye?" He wasn't asleep, or even near it at all. Without his wife by his side, he couldn't shake his apprehension enough to sleep. Relief oozing from his fingertips, he reached up and ran a hand lovingly through her hair. "What is it?"

"How much was that surgery the doctor talked about?"

Expensive. The MacManus family had enough money to survive and stay more comfortable than most, but this surgery was outrageous. It seemed like it was impossible to even consider. Besides that, it scared Annabelle to think about putting the boy into surgery at such a young age. It scared the living daylights out of her just the thought, but she agreed with Frankie that it was something that had to be done. So they talked it over with the doctor. Everything was gone over in one session, risks of surgery, time for recovery, and the after effects on Connor's growth. If all went successfully, Connor would come out of the cutting room with a new mouth.

The date was set for three weeks later, and little baby Connor had no idea what he was in for. Lucky little thing that he was. Frankie often picked him up from the crib and played with him. For some reason he found it quite a bit easier to ignore the deformity, especially with the knowledge that it would soon be taken care of. Besides, there was something about Connor that the man found slightly breathtaking. The strength and endurance that was the blond boy, it made Frankie hold preference. Sure, he loved both of his sons, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with Murphy, but the man found himself doomed with a favorite son.

Gently, he tickled his baby boy, loving that laugh more than life itself. He cooed baby things at him and fluffed his hair. Murphy was holding a rattle and beating the hell out of the side of the crib, but Frankie was preoccupied. Too enthralled by the amazing package in his hands, the man barely noticed his other son's ruckus. The little, dark-haired boy looked up like something confused and hit the metal bars harder with his deadly, baby weapon. The child didn't really fathom the difference between himself and his brother and as far as he was concerned that daddy above him was his daddy too.

Connor cooed delightedly for a few moments at the silly faces his daddy was making above him. It didn't last long, because he noticed something not quite right. The smile went away, he went quiet, and stared upwards as if he were listening for something. He looked downward towards a loud, obstinate whining from the crib. Then Frankie looked at him and then down to the unhappy, whining Murphy in the bed. Not knowing what else to do, the man reached down, picked up a binky and put it in Murphy's mouth.

It was painful. Hard to speak. There was sticky stuff on his talker and his pick up-er things. Seer things opened and light flowed in all around him. A mommy stood beside him. Not his mommy, but someone else's. Where was his mommy? Over there, there was a daddy, but not his daddy. Where was his daddy? What was his Murphy? He was suddenly very alone, very frightened and though he would never remember this event, he would never forget that feeling.

The mommy at his side looked at him and smiled with her talker thing. She said something to him that his hearers couldn't get. Was she talking to him? Was that daddy still there? Where was his Murphy?

His face hurt, but he didn't know why. Little, sharp, tingly things poked at the top half of his talker. He lifted one of his pick up-er things to try and get rid of the sharp things and the stickiness. The mommy stopped him, told him the all-too-familiar "no" and put his pick up-er thing back down. What a horrible mommy! He was glad that she wasn't his mommy. He reached up again, but this time the daddy came up and told him "no." Oh, bollocks! Where was his Murphy?

Suddenly, sounds he knew. Somewhere above him there were sounds he definitely recognized as Mommy. "Connor!" the voice said. That was his name. That was his mommy. She appeared where the daddy that wasn't his used to be and talked to the other mommy, the mean mommy.

This was all fine and dandy, slightly comforting as well, but…What was his daddy? and more importantly his Murphy? The pain was going away, slowly but surely, leaving more space in his small thought process to wonder about important things. "Mummf," he blurted clumsily through a dry throat. He was sick and tired of not being understood. Trying again, he attempted to mimic what he'd heard before. "Mum," he said.

The Mean Mommy didn't hear well. She asked what he'd said and he repeated himself more loudly. "I still don't…" she began.

Good Mommy patted Connor's hair and smiled at him. "What're you sayin', love? Tell mother." He calmed at her tough, but still repeated himself with just as much desperation and volume. "Murf?" she knelt beside him with her confused seers looking at him. He felt alone again, scared and needy. His Murphy wasn't there, didn't they know that that was what he was trying to say? He was about to scream. "Murph!" Mommy suddenly announced, enlightened. "Murphy!"

Connor's bump-bump thing sped up. All he did was repeat that word excitedly. "Murm," he said clumsily.

"Who's Murphy?" that was the Mean Mommy.

"His brother." His mommy smiled widely with her kind talker. "You want Murphy, don't you?"

Oh how he did. There was nothing he wanted more than that. Okay, maybe yummies were better, but he was hungry at this point. Still, what fun was yummy without Murphy there? Where was his Murphy?

Connor sat up in the hospital crib, his brother sitting directly across from him with wide eyes. They liked to look at each other, and really, what were two one-year-olds going to say to each other? Connor fiddled excessively with the edge of his little hospital, sanitary diaper while Murphy sucked on the tip of his thumb. Murphy's eyes wandered curiously over his brother's face at the dark stitched that bound tightly into his upper lip. For a moment, and only a moment, looking was enough.

Black thread marred the other's face where there used to be a crevice. Murphy had noticed, waking up every day with the strange deformity that made the other different. Now it was hidden. The skin where it used to be was pulled taught to cover it up. Why was that? Murphy liked the thing, and sometimes he'd touch it to see what it was, but now it was gone. Now, instead, there were black stitched.

After a while, as long as the miniscule attention span allowed, Connor figured out that something wasn't right with the way Murphy was regarding him. There was something strange in that curious gaze, and for the first time, Connor wanted to ask what. He wanted to know. How to express what he wanted? Pounding on the crib would only work for the parents, so how to make his brother know what he wanted something? The little person had no clue. "Murmf," he said suddenly.

Murphy jumped slightly, thin, black hair bouncing a little. That noise sounded familiar, but he didn't know why. With a scoot, he moved next to his twin and listened to him say it again. "Murmf?" It was a question, but Murphy didn't quite know what that was, so he settled with Connor needing something.

"Murffff?" Connor repeated, slowly becoming clearer and clearer the more he said it. At the moment, something in Murphy snapped into the right place. He reached up and touched Connor's face—the little black strings in his skin.

The blond boy made a face and moved back from that wandering hand. His fat, little fist flew up and knocked Murphy's away. It hurt rather there and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how to fix it. With a quiet squeak, he looked at his twin again, wondering why, out of all the times that Murphy touched him, that had hurt like that.

Nicholas: A lot of help from Becki for this. Ask her how long it took me to get this WRITTEN DOWN!!! But yeah, here is my chapter. That cleft palate thing made this make more sense. So it shall all fall into place soon...