But his skin wasn’t hot now. My baby brother was freezing cold. His eyes were strange—glazed over. But he kept looking at me, and I began to rock, like Mama used to do. And I sang, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, just like my mama used to do. It hurt my throat to sing. I was so thirsty, but I sang to make Isaiah feel better.

I wanted him to feel better.

“Twinkle twinkle little star… how I wonder what you are… up above the world so high… like a diamond in the sky…

But it didn’t help.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered when I stopped singing, and heard a crackle in his little skinny chest. But Mama had asked me to look after him, to protect him.

So I began to count. I counted his breathing, and all the time I never looked away from his tiny face. “One,” I whispered, as he took in a slow deep breath, “two,” I continued, hugging him closer to my chest. “Three,” I counted, but his breaths were slowing, “four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…” I noticed that Isaiah’s arms had dropped, his skin was ice-cold, but his eyes were still open and looking at me. Then I waited for him to breathe again. I counted, “eleven…” and I waited. And I waited some more. But nothing was happening. My body started to shake. Isaiah’s dark eyes were unmoving, his body was too still.

I moved my arms, trying to get him to breathe. But he didn’t move. “Twelve,” I whispered, desperate for him to reach twelve. My arms began to twitch. But Isaiah didn’t move. I started to rock back and forth like I’d seen my mama do with him when he was in her arms. “Twelve… please… get to twelve…” But when I moved, his thin arms fell to his side. His head tipped back, eyes still wide, but he no longer stared at me.

Isaiah had gone… just like Mama...

He’d left me too.

I’d hurt him… I’d made him leave me too…

I snapped my head round, and my eyes were blurred remembering little Isaiah. I blinked away the water in my eyes. Suddenly, Maddie’s crying face was in front of mine, her arms cradling my head. “My touch killed him, Maddie,” I confessed in a whisper, and wrapped my arms around her.

“Shh…” Maddie said brokenly, as she rocked my head in her hold. “You did no such thing. It was your father. He left you there to die. Your brother was ill and he left him with you. With no medical help. You did not kill him, Flame. Your touch did not harm your brother or your mama. It was your father’s neglect.”

Maddie leaned back. “But he didn’t reach twelve. Eleven. It was always eleven. Eleven slices on my back, and then eleven breaths from Isaiah. Why is it always eleven? Why did he always count in fucking eleven’s? I can never get the number eleven from my head. Everything’s eleven.”

Maddie held me close, then said, “I do not know.” I dropped my head, and Maddie said, “It was such a beautiful name. Isaiah.”

I inhaled a breath. “My name was Josiah,” I confided, for the very first time in my life. “Josiah William Cade.”

Looking up, I watched a tear roll down Maddie’s cheek. Her fingers stroked down my beard and her lips parted. “Josiah William Cade,” she whispered and she leaned in to press a kiss to my lips.

“I hate that name, Josiah,” I spat.

Maddie nodded her head. “I understand, as I too hate my name, Magdalene. I am glad you shared your birth name with me. I am happy you shared it all. Because now, Flame, we know all there is to know about one another. Everything. All is bared.”

Feeling drained, I laid my head back, bringing Maddie to my chest. The room was filled with silence. I tried to block out the memories again. But I couldn’t. They wouldn’t go. Then as my eyes closed, I felt Maddie kiss my chest. She whispered, “I love you, Flame.”

I sucked in a breath, and squeezed my eyes shut, the images disappearing. I held her closer, unclenched my jaw, and whispered, “I… Maddie... I love you too…”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Maddie

When morning broke the next day, the light filtered through the thin curtains at the window. I blinked open my eyes, and I instantly felt warm. Two large arms were holding me tightly and my cheek was flush against the warmest of skin.

And I smiled.

And my heart swelled.

Flame. I was sleeping beside Flame. And better still, he was sleeping with me. He was sleeping… in a bed, as he deserved. I closed my eyes, listening to his rhythmic slow breathing, and I felt content.

I lay, staring at the light filtering into the bedroom, and thought back to last night. To everything. Prophet Cain freeing us, seeing Flame arriving to take me home, his kiss on the bike, then making love, Flame stopping, but both of us finding a way to push on through. My stomach dropped when I recalled him explaining about his brother, his mother, and that awful man he had for a father. It was no wonder he deeply believed his touch could hurt. His mama had taken her own life, probably due to his father’s ill treatment, and his brother had died through neglect. Being told he was evil was all he had ever been told. And he was so much more. So much more than he believed himself to be.

I thought of that first day he woke in this cabin. Believing someone was behind me, preparing to hurt me. And Flame had distracted him, to save me. Distracted him by staggering weakly to the hatch he had built into his floor, where he had proceeded to pleasure himself and cut himself at the same time.  Though there was no pleasure in this act. And I now knew he relived his father taking him each and every night, administering the slices to his body in his father’s stead. He had grown up believing that his release must be brought through pain. His release—just another expulsion of the evil living within his body.