Inert
Of each member of their family, it was Lenny who was the most active, the one who seemed to be everywhere and into everything. Lenny could not see two people talking without wanting to know the topic of their conversation, could not see an interesting stranger without wanting to make their acquaintance. Although David tried his hand at charm, and the twins' darkly brooding charisma attracted their share of attention from outsiders when they chose, they all knew that Lenny was the one who could reel in affection and trust from others without expending any effort in doing so at all.
Still only a preteen, Lenny was always in motion, wanting to play games and pranks on his siblings and on anyone else who crossed his path, always certain that they were not just willing, but excited to join him. Lenny's daily interactions with his siblings was a whirlwind of throwing balls and giving playful thumps, ruffling hair and darting out of sight before they could retaliate. Only from Lenny would the twins tolerate such teasing, and only from Lenny would David and Francis accept it with a measure of grace, even smiles.
Lenny was movement and action, motion and activity. It was the essence of who he was, and his noisy, busy presence was a large part of what made him Lenny to his brothers and his sister.
So for them to see him lying unmoving and unspeaking in his bed after his shooting, to see his eyes closed and his limbs motionless at his sides, the only faint motion about him being the faint rise and fall of his chest, was like seeing him dead already, because none of them could conceive of a Lenny who could lie so still.