CHAPTER 1 – DON’T TELL THEM
My brother was hiding under the kitchen table when I found him.
For three seconds, I didn't recognize him.
Daniel had folded his six-foot frame into the narrow space between two chairs, his knees pressed against his chest, his hands locked over his ears.
His glasses were on the floor.
Or what was left of them.
One lens had cracked into a spiderweb.
The other was lying near the refrigerator.
There were dark bruises around both of Daniel's upper arms.
Not random bruises.
Finger-shaped bruises.
Someone had grabbed him hard.
Very hard.
“Daniel?”
He flinched so violently that his shoulder slammed against the underside of the table.
“Hey.”
I immediately lowered my voice.
“It’s me.”
His eyes found mine.
Daniel was twenty-seven, but right then he looked exactly like the terrified nine-year-old who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.
His lips moved.
“Don’t tell them.”
I crouched several feet away.
“Tell who?”
“Don’t tell them.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t tell them.”
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
My mother entered the kitchen.
Her boyfriend, Mark, followed her.
Mom didn't look frightened.
She didn't look concerned.
She looked annoyed.
“Oh, thank God you're here, Rachel.”
I stared at her.
“What happened to him?”
Mom folded her arms.
“He had another episode.”
“Another?”
“A violent one.”
I looked back at Daniel.
He was trembling beneath the table.
Mark stepped forward.
“He attacked me.”
He raised his right hand.
There was a thin scratch across his wrist.
I looked at Daniel's arms again.
Five bruises on one side.
Four on the other.
Then I looked at Mark's tiny scratch.
“You're telling me Daniel did that?”
“He lost control.”
Mark shrugged.
“I had to restrain him.”
Something inside me went very still.
Daniel hated confrontation.
He hated shouting.
If two strangers argued in a grocery store, he would abandon his cart and walk outside.
Once, when a waiter spilled soup on him, Daniel apologized to the waiter.
That was my brother.
Mom sighed.
“You don't live here anymore, Rachel.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You haven't seen how difficult he's become.”
Daniel whispered again.
“Don’t tell them.”
Mom's face tightened.
“See?”
She pointed at him.
“He's been doing that all afternoon.”
I crawled closer.
“Daniel, can I touch your hand?”
He waited.
Then slowly held it out.
His fingers were ice cold.
“I'm taking you to the hospital.”
Mom stepped between me and the door.
“No.”
I stood.
“What?”
“He doesn't need a hospital.”
“He has bruises all over him.”
“Because Mark had to stop him from hurting somebody.”
“Who?”
Silence.
I looked from Mom to Mark.
“Who was Daniel trying to hurt?”
Mark's jaw shifted.
“Me.”
“Then why does Daniel have nine bruises and you have one scratch?”
Mom's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Not fear of Daniel.
Fear of me asking questions.
I picked up Daniel's broken glasses.
“Get your shoes, Danny.”
Mom grabbed my wrist.
“You're making a mistake.”
I pulled away.
“No.”
I looked directly at Mark.
“Somebody already did.”
Twenty minutes later, Daniel was sitting beside me in the emergency room.
The nurse photographing his injuries stopped after the seventh bruise.
She looked at me.
Then at Daniel.
Then back at me.
“Has anyone reported this?”
“Not yet.”
Her expression hardened.
“I think someone should.”
Daniel began rocking.
“No police.”
“Danny—”
“No police.”
His breathing accelerated.
I stopped.
“Okay.”
He stared at the floor.
Then whispered something I almost didn't hear.
“Tablet.”
“What about your tablet?”
“Room.”
“You left it at home?”
He nodded.
Then he said four words that changed everything.
May you like
“Tablet knows what happened.”
And suddenly, I knew I had to go back.
