The trip to the airport took longer than I expected.
I got home and opened the door to the first floor. It was wrong immediately.
The room would be lively and the TV blaring.
Now it was quiet. Too quiet.
I assumed Elroy was still in my office, so I headed toward it. But nothing, he wasn't there.
I headed for the stairs next. Elroy should've been upstairs packing, getting ready to leave Chicago. The children probably knew by now.
I walked down the second-floor corridor and saw Joshua and Tasha running out of the boys' room. They looked oddly relieved to see me.
"Dad," Joshua said stopping in front of me, "Darius isn't feeling well. Help us."
I nodded and walked inside his room.
They followed.
And there was Darius, lying on his bed, the sheets twisted around him.
"What do you want with me?" he muttered, still half-asleep. As if he were talking to someone in his head.
I turned to Joshua. "How long has he been talking to himself?"
"I don't know. For a while, I guess." He turned to Tasha, who'd been silent the whole time. "Do you know, Tasha?"
"No, um, uh…" She looked down, tears forming in her eyes. "Daddy, is my big brother going to be alright?"
I went and knelt beside Darius, pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. He was burning up—way beyond normal. I stood and turned to Tasha. "Only your uncle might help. Where is he?"
Just then, Tasha trembled and let out a low, squeaky cry."Uncle Elroy was arrested," she said.
I couldn't make out her words, so I shifted my gaze to Joshua. He'd gone to pat her back.
"The cops Uncle Elroy away, accusing him of killing Fred," he said, knowing I wanted answers. "They kicked me too. My ribs hurt, Dad,"
I turned for the door. Elroy was my first priority, so I set Darius aside—for now.
"Wait!" Joshua called to me.
I turned, curious to know why he'd stopped me.
"Where are you going?"
"To Elroy. Is there a problem?"
"Aren't you calling the hospital?" he asked.
"No,"
"Why, Daddy?" Tasha cried, her voice edged with confusion.
I was lost in thought, with no answer to give. I had no intention of revealing the truth either. Not if it meant protecting them.
So I said, "Elroy can handle it."
"He's no doctor." Joshua shot back, seeing Tasha break down harder. "What if Darius gets worse by then, huh?"
"He'll handle it," I said, walking out the door.
"How could he be so heartless?" he said to Tasha, enraged, "I hate his guts."
I could hear him from the door leading to the staircase.
I ignored it and kept walking, like I always did. These kids never truly understood what survival meant.
I can't blame them, though. There are the only ones in the family who are still ignorant to the lies beneath us.
They are the embodiment of my vision of a normal life.
But it came at a cost.
They hate me, and I have to live with that.