So here is chapter two! Sorry about the thirty day wait, I had some boring exams to attend to. Also I apologize for any unrealisticness in Matt's injury or in the 9-1-1 call. I don't know how long it takes someone to pass out from blood loss, so yeah XD. And sorry if it's a little boring, it will get better once he goes to Wammy's. Anyways, here you go:

After four days of his parent's absence, Mail Jeevas was not worried. He was not panicked or anxious. He did not stay up late worrying about where they, if they were alright, or when they would be coming home. No. He regarded the extended leave as a marvelous stroke of good luck.

He went through his day in a sleepy, relaxed haze. He woke up at nine. He ate a bowl of Lucky Charms and played on the computer and colored at the kitchen table with Crayola crayons, drawing a big blue whale. It was as his childhood should have been up to this point, minus parental guidance. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

In the afternoon, Mail was dancing around the house in a clumsy, joyful fashion to the scratchy static music of their old, slightly broken, radio. He was seeing how many times he could spin in a circle before he became dizzy and tumbled down in a disoriented heap. He could barely hear the lyrics of the song but he liked the beat and the way it filled the silence of the lonely, unloved house. Sometimes he would crank the radio the entire time his parents were away, just so he could hear something other than the sounds of his own footsteps.

At the height of his spinning competition with himself, having just broken what he believed to be an impressive record of 34 turns, Mail tripped over his own sock covered feet. His legs were then held up by the tips of his toes as his forearms absorbed the impact of the fall. He panted and then let out a laugh at his clumsiness, not even noticing that anything was wrong until he lifted his palms and turned them over.

Perhaps the adrenaline from the fall had numbed his senses, but the sharp stinging pain began when he saw the long red slash down his right wrist. A piece of clear, curved glass peeked out of his skin, grinning up at him maliciously. Drops of warm blood rolled steadily down his arms.

Mail hissed and cradled the injury to his chest. He was unsure of where to go from here. On the one hand he felt the instinct that he should pull the piece of glass out. On the other hand, wouldn't that just cause more bleeding? And it would hurt. It would really hurt. His father's beatings had not prepared him for this awful sensation. He was already feeling light headed and a dizziness that was not due to the spinning.

He panicked for what to do but an idea came to him when he looked up and saw the dark grey home phone sitting on the counter. In class they had taught them to dial 9-1-1 in case of emergency. This was an emergency, right? He could imagine how angry Daddy would be if the police showed up at their house, especially for no good reason. But the blood continued to drip and it was slowly pooling on the floor. He reached up for the phone and pressed the buttons carefully, hesitantly. 9…1…1…

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"Um…" Mail found himself at a loss for words once the female voice came out of the receiver. He tried to remember what to say. "My name is Mail Jeevas. I live at house number fifty-one on Larkson Road and I'm only six years old and my parents aren't home and I cut my wrist and it's bleeding a lot, and I'm scared and my teacher always said to call this number if something really bad happens, this counts right?" He finished in a rush, afraid he wouldn't be able to tell them everything as his eyelids began to droop.

"Alright, stay calm. We're sending over an ambulance right now. You say your parents aren't home?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Do you know where they are or their cell phone numbers so we can contact them?"

"Uh, n-no. Sorry. But they always come home eventually. Well, today's the fourth day and that's the longest they've ever been gone but they always come back!" He exclaimed.

"You've been home alone for the past four days?"

"Yes."

"And you're only six years old?"

"Um, yes?" His answer hitched into a question.

"And you don't know where they are?"

"No." Mail could hear some muffled voices through the receiver.

"Send the police and child services as well. I think we may have a case of neglect here." Neglect? thought Mail. Is that what they call it? For the past two years Mail had never given a word to what it was that his parents did to him, and now that he had it, it didn't seem to fit. It didn't sound real or right. It echoed in his ears. It was like when you hear about a misfortune that happened to someone else.

"Are you still with Mail?"

"Oh! Y-yes, but my head feels funny." Nausea overwhelmed him as he watched the red puddle expanding on the linoleum tiles.

"Alright, just hang on until the ambulance gets there. Is your front door unlocked?"

"There is a key under the mat." Mail said sleepily.

"What room are you in?"

"Kitchen." He mumbled.

"Okay, just stay put until they get there."

"Hmm…" His eyes were closing.

"Mail? Are you still with me?"

"…"

"Mail?"

"…" Mail Jeevas was lying unconscious on the kitchen floor.
_

Mail was having a very strange and vivid dream. In the dream, he was riding on the back of a great blue whale, so far out in the ocean that he could see nothing on the horizon but water. Mail had no idea how he had gotten on the back of the whale to begin with, but he had a desperate notion that he must reach the other side of the sea at all costs.

There were grey clouds in the sky, and Mail could hear rumbles of thunder signalling the beginning of rain. But when it began, it was not ordinary rain at all. It was red. Drops of red rain fell from the sky and mixed with the dark water, staining it. Mail's heart started to pound with dread as he watched the entire sea take on a violent shade of deep, bloody red.

The whale stopped swimming, refusing to take him any farther. Water shot up out of its spout and sprayed over the expanse of its blubbery skin. It made it quite slippery and Mail found himself sliding backwards. Terror rose up in him and he let out a shriek, clinging on to the whale's tail with all his might. No matter what, he knew he mustn't touch the red water. But the whale was not having it. It pulled its tail upward so Mail was hanging in the air, his little fingers tearing away from the corner of the tail. He screamed when he felt the cold and heard the splash. He was sinking. He kicked his legs and flailed his arms, but he was still sinking.

He opened his eyes under the water, and stared up at the light piercing through the rose colored waves. He found himself feeling less horrified and more sleepy. But a noise stopped him from descending into slumber. A noise he would never expect to hear in the middle of the sea. It was a quiet, yet incessant. Beep…beep…beep.
_

When Mail's eyes opened he found himself to no longer be in the middle of the sea. However the beeping had seemed to follow him, as he could hear it in the background. Where, he thought, is all the water? He was lying in a bed that certainly wasn't any colour of red. There were white sheets, white walls, and a white tile floor, and all of it smelled much too clean for his liking. And then there was the beeping. Beeping…beeping… monitor! Now he understood. Hospital. He was in the hospital.

Mail looked down at his right wrist. A light thread ducked in and out of his skin. He ran his finger over it, feeling the small bumps of knots. He had never had stitches before and he had always though they would hurt, but he could not feel them at all. He propped himself up on his pillows to have a better look at his surroundings. How long had he been here anyways? It seemed to be sometime in the evening, if he could judge by the faint light filtering through the gauzy curtains.

"Mail?" A soft voice drew his eyes to the door. Before he laid eyes on the nurse, for a brief moment, he had thought the voice was his mother's and was hit with a pang of longing. "I'm Nurse Broud, how are you feeling?"

"I'm…" Mail really wasn't sure what he was feeling at all. His injury didn't cause him any pain but he had never been in a hospital since he could remember and he had already decided that he didn't like them. But he settled with "fine." Nurse Broud gave him a gentle smile.

"You have had quite the day Mail. That was some fall you took. We've removed the glass and stitched up the wound, but we think it's best if you stay here for now while the police locate your parents." All Mail really wanted to do was go home and sleep in his own bed that didn't smell like Windex, but he supposed that other grownups might not understand that he could take care of himself.

"Okay," He said. "But when will they find them? Will they come and see me?"

"Hopefully soon and of course they will! I'm sure they'll be quite worried about you." Mail found these words to be doubtful. His mother had never taken him to the doctor for the bruises and cuts from Daddy, so why would she care now that he was in the hospital? "Are you hungry Mail?" This question brought him to the sudden realization that yes, he was starving. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

"Yeah."

"Are you feeling well enough to come with me down to the cafeteria and get some food?" Mail looked down at himself uncertainly. It appeared that the nurses had changed him into blue pajamas and a white robe, and while they were nicer than his unwashed jeans and t-shirt he wasn't sure if he should go out of his room in them.

"It's alright. Most of the patients wear pajamas and I've even brought you some slippers." Mail considered this and slowly pushed himself out of the bed, slipping on the soft shoes. Nurse Broud offered him her hand and he reluctantly took it. It was soft and warm, just like her voice, and she once again reminded him of how his mother used to be. He decided that he liked Nurse Broud even if the rest of the hospital seemed unappealing.

Once in the cafeteria Nurse Broud got him some spaghetti and a carton of milk. He devoured them quickly and peered across his table at the other doctors and patients. There were people in wheel chairs, and casts, and there was a man with a white patch over his eye. Some of them seemed happy, and the rest seemed bored. Some of them moved in such a slow dreary way that it made him sad just to watch them. How many of you, he thought, are dying?

"So," said Nurse Broud. "You're in grade one huh? How do you like it? What school do you go to?"

"Oakdale Elementary. And it's alright. It's pretty boring though." Mail had always found his schoolwork to be entirely too easy. However he figured it was only because he was young. Perhaps if he had any friends at school he would of liked it better but other kids didn't seem to like him very much. When their parents were around, they would keep them away from him and say something about him coming from a bad family. Mail could agree that his family wasn't the best, but did it really make him a bad person too?

"Nurse Broud?" Mail and she turned towards the newcomer behind them. It was a tall middle aged police officer who looked quite tired and uncomfortable. He had large bags under his grey eyes and his had drooped to the side of his head like it couldn't wait to fall off. An overweight woman with curly brunette hair stood behind him. She stared at Mail intensely which made him squirm in his seat. "May we speak with you for a moment?" Nurse Broud's face drained of colour.

"Y-yes, of course. Mail, could you wait here for a few minutes?"

"Okay." Mail whispered and watched her walk with them until they were out of ear shot. He was disturbed to see her fluctuating expressions during the conversation, especially without the words that went with them. She went from upset to angry to stressed and back again. She even seemed close to crying for a moment. He was even more unsettled when the police officer and the woman came back without Nurse Broud. He could feel an unpleasant churning begin in his stomach.

"Mail, I'm Officer Brian and this is Mrs. Woods from child services. Would you mind coming with us back to your room so we can talk about some things?" Mail wanted to ask what those things were exactly, but something told him not to.

"Where is Nurse Broud? Did you find my parents?"

"Nurse Broud had to step out for a moment and your parents well…" He and Mrs. Woods exchanged a look. "We'll tell you about that once were in your room." Mail swallowed and got up from the table. Mail had lived through bad things his whole life, but bat news had never been delivered to him. He had no idea what it could be.

Once they were back in his room, Mail sat on the edge of the bed and placed a pillow across his lap, hugging it as if it could protect him from whatever was coming next.

"As we have gathered Mail, your father was in prison for theft until you were two years old, correct?" Mail had not known it was for theft but he nodded.

"And your father also had some problems with drugs and alcohol didn't he?" Mrs. Woods asked. Mail nodded again. "Sometimes Mail," she continued. "Drugs and alcohol can make people act strangely. Sometimes it can make them do bad things. Did your father ever do anything mean to you?" Mail's pulse pounded in his ears. Thousands of memories flashed though his mind. Memories of rolled down sleeves in summer, and of having to wear shirts in pools. Memories of fists against flesh and of purple and blue skin. Memories of hands holding his head under water and memories of words. Words that hurt. Words like worthless and stupid. Threats. 'Don't you ever tell anyone,' a harsh voice whispered in his ear. 'Or I will kill you.' Mail's hands shook. His face went white.

"It's alright, Mail. You can tell us. It's safe to tell us, no matter what he said." Mail looked up at Mrs. Woods and tears began to well up in his dark blue eyes.

"Yes," he barely spoke. "He hits me… and other things." Mrs. Woods nods knowingly.

"Mail, we have some difficult news to tell you about your parents. You may be confused about how you feel about this with your relationship with your father but…" Officer Brian trailed off.

"Mail, your parents got into a car accident. Your father, he was driving drunk you see and…" Mail's mouth fell open.

"Is Mommy at the hospital too? Is she okay? Did she…" Mail thought about everything he knew about car accidents. He would often play car chase games on the computer and, more often than not, his car would crash. When you crash you lost a life, and if you lost too many lives you died. His eyes widened. You died. "Did my…"

"Mail, your parents died on impact with the other car. I know this may be hard for you to understand, but there wasn't any pain at all." Mail sat in silence, unblinking. It all felt too unreal. Was he supposed to cry? It was his mother but… he would never be hurt by his father again. But without his parents what was he supposed to do? They had never taken care of him but was he supposed to live in that big house alone for the rest of his life? He didn't have any relatives. He was… he was a… orphan. The word was foreign and strange. And his Mommy… he never had a chance of getting her back now, the real her. He would never hear her soft voice reading to him, ever again. To his own surprise, Mail began to cry.

"What," he sobbed. "Am I supposed to do?" Mrs. Woods pulled some tissues out of her pocket and handed them to him. She began rubbing his back, but he shrugged her off. He didn't want to be comforted by anyone but his mother.

"Mail, after your parent's funeral you're going to be sent to an orphanage that your parents had written in their Will. You won't stay there forever of course, you might be transferred into the foster care system soon, or you could even be adopted. Perhaps this is all too much for you to take in right now. Would you like us to get Nurse Broud?"

The sentences all sounded muffled and far away. It was dreamlike and his nightmare about the whale earlier even seemed more real. They had asked him if he would like something. What was he supposed to like? His mother was gone. His father could never hurt him, but it was at the price of his mother's life.

He did not weep for the lifeless ghost he had known for the past two years, that hollow shell held no resemblance to her. He cried for the woman who made him soup when he was sick. Who twirled her in his arms with the radio turned up as she did the dishes. Who didn't stop reading or singing to him until he fell asleep. For that in a child's mind is the very definition of love. The opposite of what his father did to him. And now that she was gone, with no possibility of returning, Mail felt that no one could ever hold such strong love for him again. Any kind of love for that matter. But of course, as always, Mail Jeevas was very wrong. Very wrong indeed.

So what did you guys think? I know that wasn't a very good chapter but I wasn't really sure how to get this story moving along to where I want it to go. Anyways, please review, criticism is always appreciated .