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On a cold January day in the middle of Baltimore, two boys who should have never existed are born. There is little fanfare, no flowers or well wishes for the new mother. Her own family is a distant memory stretched across a wide ocean. The boys look small, so small, and Mary cannot help but love them. How could she not? After spending nine months growing within her, she has birthed new life into the world. In the same heartbeat, there is fear. Mary does not misunderstand the world these boys are coming into - she doesn’t pretend to assume their lives will be easy. But she is going to do her damnedest to keep them safe.
Nathan barges into the makeshift hospital room housed at the back of their mansion. Too risky for them to be this vulnerable in public, he told her. Nathan had negotiated with his boss, Lord Moriyama, to allow their boys the privilege of their first breaths. His cold blue eyes sweep over the three figures in the hospital-issued bed and he frowns.
“They’re small. Of course you’d give me two runts.”
And with that, his back is already turned and he is out the door. Mary knows Nathan would never be satisfied, that it is not in his nature. She finds she is absentmindedly brushing the still wet hair of her two boys with her long, thin fingers. Nathan is right - they are small. So small, so fragile, so innocent. The boy cradled in the crook of her left arm startles awake and looks up at her, his Nathan-blue eyes betraying none of their father’s hatred.
Mary thinks about nature versus nurture as her eyes search her son’s face for any traces of the evil he has inherited. She contemplates their futures, her twin boys, her mistakes that she knows suddenly will cost her her life. In one way or another, these boys will be the death of her.
The other babe, slightly smaller than his brother, fitting more snugly into her right arm, blinks his eyes open. He peers up at Mary for a second before beginning to cry. It is a pitiful sound, high and thin, and Mary is frozen. She is not a mother. She is a weapon, a tool, a pawn in a game that was her father’s and is now her husband’s.
As suddenly as it started, the crying stopped. Mary focuses her eyes and gazes down at her boys. The one on the left has stuck his hand into the mouth of the one on the right, a makeshift pacifier of his own body. A weak laugh bubbles out of her mouth unbidden. The sight of altruism coming from an infant, coming from her infant, has her feeling higher than the pain medicine she forced the nurse to give her.
“What names are you putting on the birth certificate?” The nurse asks gently, quietly sitting by her side. Mary knows because Nathan had chosen them already, had vainly picked them out a week after they discovered she was pregnant with twins.
She looks at the babe in her right arm. “Nathaniel William.” She looks at the babe in her left arm. “Neil Abram.”
She would let Nathan have the glory of the first names, it was his right as the master of the house. Mary was allowed the quiet secret of the middle names. William, her father, and Abram, her grandfather. They had been furious when she ran off to America, her eyes full of freedom and stars, but Mary did not know at the time she was trading one cage for another.
“I’ve got to get them weighted and measured now,” the nurse explains as she deftly rises and gingerly plucks each boy from her body. Mary feels intense pain. She feels two limbs, two extensions of herself, two too small bodies, being ripped away and is shocked when she looks down to clean white sheets and not the gore of the removal. She watches dully as the nurse goes about her duties, and lets the adrenaline come down, dragging her into a dreamless sleep.
***
Neil and Nathaniel, Nathaniel and Neil. Two boys doomed from the minute they were cut from their mother’s womb. They were small and quiet things, as if made of less than solid stuff. It paid to be unassuming in the Wesninski household for those not in the Butcher’s inner circle. The cost of being too loud, too noticeable, was seen littered on their skin in various states of healing.
On most days, their namesake did not bother with them, instead having his cronies work on their education. While Nathaniel and Neil were homeschooled by tutors bought off with promises of protection to their loved ones, wasting a few hours every day in the small library of the mansion, the real teaching happened through Lola Malcolm.
Lola was a woman made of lines and angles. A blonde angular bob brushing against a sharp jaw which continued down into a lean and wiry body. In public, she was Nathan’s secretary. In local gossip, she was his mistress. In private, she was his best body disposal method. Lola was Nathan’s carrion bird, picking at the scraps when he had finished his butchering until nothing remained.
When Neil and Nathaniel were not being tutored, presented as the perfect sons to Nathan’s partners, playing little league exy, or trying their hardest to become wall decorations, they were at the mercy of Lola. You couldn’t be the sons of the Butcher and not know your way around a knife. Lola took pleasure in harshly correcting Neil’s grip when he hesitantly carved into a white-tailed deer.
“Now, now, Neil, I know that I taught you better form than that,” the words sickly sweet and dripping from her lips. Her hand is a vice grip around Neil’s wrist, forcing his movements to be more precise. “What do you say to your oh so generous teacher?”
Neil takes a second to grit his teeth before fading into practiced submission.
“Thank you, Lola.”
Nathaniel can’t help the small cough that bursts out of him, his body instinctively trying to get Lola’s attention away from his brother. She is nothing if not a shark in the water, smelling blood and honing into prey.
“Oh don’t worry, sweet Nathaniel. Auntie Lola hasn’t forgotten about you. Come take over for your brother, he could use an observation of your skills.” She glides her hand down Neil’s wrist and pulls the knife from him in one smooth motion. Nathaniel and Neil fluidly switch places, a practiced dance between the two of them.
“Nathaniel, show your brother how to separate the hide from the muscle. Where do you start from?”
His voice is high. He is seven years old. “The hind legs.”
“That’s right, Nathaniel. Such a good boy.” Her nails, her claws, graze his skin as she grips the back of his neck.
They spend hours in this room, until fingers turn blue and eyes are stinging with the chill. It’s a room in the basement, far away from the light of the sun. Refrigeration systems work overtime to keep the game preserved after Nathan and his crew go hunting, or the bodies preserved after the Butcher and his crew get done with their business.
This room is an assault on all five senses: harsh fluorescent lights, the thick scent of blood and the tang of bleach in the back of the throat, an incessant drone from the cooling system and the crinkling of plastic sheeting, and the feeling of cold steel and dead weight.
When Lola is finished with them, Neil and Nathaniel retreat back to their small room on the second floor of the house. It is not a home. The bedroom is sparse: two twin beds pushed against opposite walls, a small bookshelf settled underneath a perpetually locked window, a clock on the wall, a small table with two chairs, an overhead light, and a dresser filled with identical sets of clothing.
Nathaniel eases onto his bed, trying not to disturb his right side where the latest gift from Lola is already stinging. Silently, Neil pulls out the first aid kit their mother had left on his bed a few months ago. There was a note on top in her neat scrawl: Take care of each other. It didn’t say I can’t do it for you, it didn’t say I’m sorry I had to be your mother, it didn’t say You should have a different life. There wasn’t a point, and the boys knew at six and a half that this was the closest they’d get to affection.
Neil pulls out the antiseptic pads and bandages, his movements as clinical as a first grader’s can be. He kneels in front of his brother, his mirror image, and lifts up his shirt. Nathaniel is lucky, the thick material has taken most of the slash.
“Tell me a story,” Nathaniel whispers as his eyes unfocus. This is their routine.
“Once upon a time, there was a prince. He was a brave fighter and he was kind, too. He lived in a castle with his brother and their parents, the king and queen. The kingdom loved the king and queen because they were good, and they defeated evil. The prince and his brother fought a dragon and they lived to tell the tale.”
Neil goes on like that until the deed is done. There are very few children’s books in their library, ones that Nathan doesn’t know about or had forgotten. The twins have read them cover to cover countless times, so many times that those covers have come off and are easily hidden beneath their mattresses. Once Mary had been allowed to sign them up for little league exy, Neil and Nathaniel had soaked up their teammates' stories, bringing them home like precious jewels to be shared under the covers.
Nathaniel grips Neil’s hand, and Neil squeezes it back. Dinner is brought to them by one of the servants. It is lukewarm but edible, and the chef has hidden a piece of fruit for each of them in their napkins. A chunk of melon for Nathaniel, a strawberry for Neil. This act could have the chef fired, if not worse, and it makes the fruit that much sweeter as they savor it together.
***
The only time the boys ever come to life is on the exy court. Mary puts them in matching outfits, save for the bandanas meant to keep their curls out of their faces. Neil’s is a navy blue, and Nathaniel’s is a forest green. It is on the court that they learn how to smile, how to laugh, how to talk to other children, and how to use their bodies to take up space and not just shrink inwards.
The boys didn’t know that the only reason they were allowed the luxury of the sport was preparing them for the Moriyamas. They were too young to understand the fragile power dynamics of the mafia, and their father’s place at the right hand of Kengo Moriyama. Neil and Nathaniel didn’t know yet of Tetsuji and Riko and Kevin, of their impending life as property of the Ravens. They were as blissful as pigs not knowing they were being raised for slaughter.
Nathaniel, or rather William, is trained as a backliner. Neil, or rather Abram, is trained as a striker. They play off each other with a drive and connection that has their coach whistling and telling Mary that with training and dedication, they could go pretty far with this sport. Mary does not tell the coach that they have to, there is no other option. Instead, she smiles her public smile and agrees.
With the help of long sleeves and high collars, there is no chance of any scars showing, and the boys are free to interact with their teammates. Mary has made it clear what they can and cannot say, practicing their lies in the back of their family’s large black bullet-proof SUV. The other children handle their quiet demeanor with all the grace and aplomb that six- and seven-year-olds can handle.
“I like your matching bandanas!” A small girl tells them during a water break at their second practice. They are sitting on benches in the inner court, the sounds of their teammates running around and laughing echoing against the plexiglass. “My name’s Heather, I was on the team last year, too.”
William and Abram exchange a timid glance.
“You guys are quiet. Can you not talk? My baby brother can’t talk yet,” Heather goes on to say between bites of an orange slice.
Abram breaks first. “They’re not matching.”
“What?” Heather scrunches up her face, her first statement already forgotten.
William speaks up next. “The bandanas. They’re not matching. Mine is green, his is blue.” He points between them as he states this fact.
Heather throws back her head and laughs. “You guys are silly. Do you want to see these cool rocks I found outside?”
Again, Abram and William share a confused glance between themselves before nodding in tandem. Heather leads them over to her backpack leaning against the wall of the inner court and pulls out some pretty cool rocks from an inner pocket.
Hours later, sitting on booster seats in the back of the SUV, Neil and Nathaniel are tired and buzzing, one friend and two cool rocks richer.
***
Seven turns to eight turns to nine turns to ten. Nathaniel and Neil grow up surrounded by blood and violence and greed. Their birthday each year is an excuse for Nathan to show off his progeny to gangs he worked with in Baltimore. He would have them play a little game for entertainment. Neil would stand with his back against the wall while Nathaniel would throw knives in his outline, and then they would switch. If they missed, or if the knife didn’t stick, Nathan would laugh and pinch their arms while guiding their next throw.
Exy continued to be the bright light in their lives. William and Abram had long since moved away from Heather and her cool rocks. Nine teams had hosted the twins by the time they hit double digits, all in different leagues or age groups. Mary would lie about their age or experience or anything else that would get them on the court with the least amount of questions.
Abram and William never played for separate teams, always working together with the same quiet ferocity Mary had first noticed on the day of their birth. William would block the other team’s striker to allow Abram the ball. Abram would help William up after he was tackled. Their teammates, normal children with normal families, would try to make friends and be met with twin blue stares and closed lips.
They only left a team early once. The Downtown Deers had a dealer who was quite the bully for a nine-year-old. He refused to let the boys exist in their quiet ways, and would pick and pick and pick at them. During one practice, the bully had made the mistake of insulting their mother. Before he had even finished his jab, Abram’s fist was sailing towards his face.
Mary had beaten both Neil and Nathaniel for that outburst, but the worse punishment was pulling them from the team. Instead of practice, they had extra lessons from their tutors until the next season would start.
***
“Pack your clothes, we’re going on a little trip.” Mary states as she turns on the light to wake the boys. She drops two duffel bags on the table, one navy blue and one forest green.
“Where are we going?” Neil asks, blearily rubbing his eyes.
Mary looks at both of her boys. She thinks they look angelic in this state, halfway to consciousness. Their whole lives they have been training for this moment: on the exy court, in that dark refrigerated room, at the dinners Nathan threw. She hopes that she has done them justice as their mother, and she knows that she never could have.
“West Virginia. Your father has business there, and he’s decided that we all need to make an appearance. Do you both remember what you’ve learned about Lord Moriyama?”
Nathaniel makes a small noise as he stretches the sleep out of his body. “Yes, mother. Do not speak unless spoken to, do not look anyone in the eyes, no sudden movements, and always follow father’s instructions.” Mary roughly ruffles his hair in an infrequent display of physical contact, and to signal that he has answered correctly.
“We are leaving in one hour. You’ll shower and have breakfast in your room, and then we will be on our way. Do not make us late.”
And with that, Mary is out the door to prepare herself. Neil and Nathaniel trade between busying themselves around the room packing, and getting ready for their trip in the bathroom. When both boys are done, a servant brings them a small breakfast of eggs and buttered toast.
“What do you think we’ll be doing in West Virginia?” Nathaniel asks after a bite of scrambled eggs.
“Maybe we’ll get to play with Riko and Kevin,” Neil responds with a mouthful of toast. Their father had told them about the sons of exy last year, planting seedlings of their future. Nathan, for all his power, knew that he was not at the head of the table, and could not pass the Butcher name down his family line. “Do you remember what father said? It would be fun to play against the best.”
“I wonder if they’ll think we’re any good. I keep getting caught up when passing on my left side.”
“You just have to remember your foot placement.” Neil looks up at the small clock on the wall. “We still have a few minutes, do you want to go over it?”
With breakfast finished and possessions packed, the twins use the small open space next to their table to work on their footwork. Before they know it, their mother is back in the doorway. She doesn’t need words to let them know their time is up, so they grab their duffels and follow her into the hallway. Nathaniel and Neil do not know this is the last time they will ever see their bedroom.
Mary, Neil, and Nathaniel are driven in one car, followed by Nathan and his inner circle in an identical black SUV. They stop once for lunch and bathroom breaks. Each boy is chaperoned by one of Nathan’s people. Lola stays with Neil, while her brother Romero trails Nathaniel. Neil trips on his way out of the bathroom, and Lola uses this as an excuse to add a new line to his skin. A morbid smattering of tally marks for every time she was feeling cruel.
The entourage makes it to Edgar Allen University in a little over six hours. Nathan, Lola, and the rest of his crew head off to the tower on the east side of Evermore, their exy stadium. Mary, Neil and Nathaniel follow suit-clad security personnel through the main doors and into a small locker room. The boys are walking so close the edges of their athletic shorts brush together. Is it a magnetic pull? A fear of being apart? A necessary safety measure to not step out of line? Who can say.
The clashing of sticks and rebounding balls can be heard as Neil and Nathaniel change into their gear. Mary looks on, her expression firm as they tighten each other's straps and grab their racquets.
“Remember your lessons. Kevin and Riko are the best, you are not to talk back to them. You are to be on your best behavior.”
Nathaniel and Neil nod back in matching practiced submission.
“Yes, mother.” “Yes, mom.”
One of the security men leads the three of them into the court. Number one and number two, brothers by bond, a master and his dog. Riko and Kevin look up from their drill as the number of players doubles in size. Coach Tetsuji Moriyama pauses their play and beckons the twins with his cane.
“Who is who?” Coach Moriyama says as he points between the boys.
The twins look to their mother, who nods, before answering truthfully.
Riko takes off his helmet and pushes his bangs out of his face. “How long have you both been playing? What positions are you?”
Neil speaks first. “We’ve been playing for three years. I’m a striker, my brother is a backliner.” Nathaniel nods in affirmation.
Kevin takes off his helmet next. The two on his cheek is smudged from sweat. “Riko and I are strikers, we don’t need a third-”
Riko raises a hand to cut Kevin off. “You will play backliner,” he points to Neil, “and then you will play striker and Kevin will play backliner.”
Coach Tetsuji agrees, and the scrimmage begins. The twins are no match for Riko and Kevin, but they try their best. Over and over and over they practice their blocks and passes and advances towards the goal. As the time passes, Neil and Nathaniel relax into the movements, there may even be a hint of a smile on their lips. The four boys compare footwork and trade positions for a couple hours, taking only short breaks, before there is a major interruption.
Lola comes out of the east tower, following one of the Moriyama men. He whispers something into Coach Tetsuji’s ear, and he ends the game. All eight of them follow the two Moriyama members back up and into the east tower. They are led to a conference room on one of the top floors. Neil and Nathaniel look out the floor-to-ceiling tinted windows as they step into the space, catching their breaths in tandem. Neither of them had ever been up so high.
Neil first notices that there is a large conference table that is pushed up against one of the walls, and Nathaniel first notices that a plastic tarp covers a beige carpet.
“Hello, boys.”
The Butcher is standing on the tarp, ax in one hand and towel in the other. There is a man lying awkwardly on the floor in front of him, and he is not moving. Neil gently, quietly, barely bumps Nathaniel to remind him to breathe. The whiplash of sports-induced joy to father-induced panic has knocked the air from his lungs. Mary places a hand on both of their shoulders. It is both a comfort and a command to be still. Kevin and Riko are guided by Tetsuji to the other side of the room.
“We have another lesson for you all today,” the Butcher sneers at the children, “and it is what happens to people when they don’t follow directions. Don’t worry, you will have plenty of time for more exy tomorrow.” He nods at Kevin and Riko.
The man in front of the Butcher is slowly cut into pieces, his blood pooling on the tarp. Tension fills the air like electricity, like any sudden movement could cause the room to catch fire. Mary’s grip on the shoulders of her sons gets more and more firm, until she feels them trying their hardest not to wiggle out of the pain. She knows at this moment she must make an impossible decision.
The Butcher wipes his blade on the towel and lets out a short but manic laugh.
“It is done. You can let your brother know that the message will be sent, and he should not have any trouble with this family moving forward.”
Tetsuji simply nods, and leads his charges out of the room. The Butcher does not acknowledge his family. Instead, Lola and Romero lead the three of them to a room on a lower floor where the crew has set up as a makeshift home base for the trip. Lola shrugs off her jacket and wraps it around one of the chairs. Mary makes silent apologies and prays to a god she does not believe is real.
“I’m going back up to help the boss with disposal. You watch them.” Lola tells her brother before heading back upstairs. Nathaniel tugs on his mothers sleeve, and she bends down so he can whisper in her ear.
“I have to use the bathroom.” She nods. Her heart is breaking in her chest.
“Romero, could you take Nathaniel to the bathroom? I’ll watch Neil.”
“Of course. Come on kid. Let’s make this quick.”
Mary, without thinking, pulls Nathaniel into a quick and tight hug before letting him follow Romero out of the room. Once the door is closed, Mary puts her ear to it and listens for the elevator to ding.
“Neil, listen to me. We are leaving. We cannot take your brother, he has to stay here.”
“Mom, what are you talking about? What do you mean we’re leaving Nathaniel?” He whines, growing upset. Mary slaps him.
“Listen to me! We have to go now.” She rummages in Lola’s jacket for the car keys before yanking Neil by the arm. He is crying, wiping at the hot tears with his free hand. Inside, he is screaming. Screaming for his brother, his twin, his mirror image. His head hurts and his arm hurts and although there is no gash, Neil swears that he is being ripped in two.
They race out of the door and down the stairs of the east tower, towards one of the SUVs and a freedom that neither of them would know the cost of until it was staring at them in the rear view mirror.
Nathaniel and Neil do not see each other again for eight years.