"Any improvement from yesterday?"

Hale jumped with surprise and looked up from the book. He shook his head at the figure lingering in the doorway, saying, "How long have you been standing there, son?"

"Long enough to determine the book you're reading. 'To Kill a Mockingbird'? But why kill a mockingbird?" Forest asked, crossing his arms and leaned against the door frame. "Oh, it doesn't matter anyway. How are you doing?"

"That's what the author was wondering. Why kill a mockingbird because they are innocent. You might want to read it sometime for practice. You haven't touched a book in months."

"That's not exactly my top priority," Forest said in defense, frowning. "Now, how's your leg, Dad? Any signs of infection?"

"It's a beautiful book-"

"Dad!" the boy interrupted with annoyance. He stepped further into the room until he was beside the bed in which his father occupied. "I need to know if it's getting better. You can tell me, or I can take a look for myself."

"No, I'm fine. It has been four days since the incident, son. And in another couple of days, I'll be completely healed," Hale insisted, sitting up in bed, and closed the book. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

"It's fine. It's my fault, anyway, so you shouldn't be sorry." His son forced a smile. After a pause, he said, "We're careful, so you needn't worry."

"Normally, I go with you three for hunts, and I just want you to know I am proud. You've been brave without me being there, and, although it only happened twice, I've seen independence in all of you. Go and tell you sisters that, will you?" The boy nodded after a short moment, puzzled by the sudden change of mood.

Dismissing himself, Forest was hesitant as he advanced down the hall. Am I really going to tell them that now? It'd be so random. But the boy had yet another question, one that was far more significant and in need of an answer: Was Dad lying? He never acted this way. Shaking his head, the boy suddenly felt ridiculous for even considering that his father had just lied to him. Of course, the man would say if he had an infection.

"Forest?" Hearing his name, the boy, confused, returned to the room. "When I do get better, we are going to get that medication of yours. How many more pills?"

"Enough for six days..." Rather than advising against the trip, he only nodded, a weak smile on his face. "Okay, I'll be ready by then." And he left without another word for the place he had last seen the twins: the living room.

"Hey, stop it!" he heard Winter plead.

"No, let me see. You have nothing to hide, anyway," Autumn said back.

Concerned, he hurried to the room. His fear disappeared immediately when he took in the scene, the boy realizing that there was no real trouble. Autumn, holding her sister's notebook out of reach, used her other hand to keep Winter's angry-self away. Dad says they are independent. Well, I say otherwise.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Give it back, or you'll be sorry. Don't test me," Winter warned, her tone serious. Eyes hard, she stepped back with a frustrated sigh before crossing her arms.

"You act like there's something bad in here, but how? We are together all the time and have been our whole lives. You've got no secrets, and yet, you seem to be hiding something," her twin stated, the notebook still out of her sister's reach, and she shook her head. "I don't get it."

"Well, maybe there are some things you don't know about me. We all have secrets, Autumn, so don't act like you're special. Now, I will tell you one last time: get me back my notebook."

As the boy watched his sisters' bicker, they didn't seem to notice his presence; they were too absorbed in their argument. Although it was so far a verbal fight, Forest wouldn't be surprised if it was to soon turn physical.

Denying her of the object, Autumn simply shook her head. "I won't. I can't," she said, but a subtle tone of hesitance came out. The girl's confident demeanor soon disappeared and was replaced by a look of defeat. "Here, take it.It would be best if you didn't punch me over something so small. Although I'm still confused about your desperation, I am sorry. Dad exacts better of me. Of us." Saying this, Winter wasted no time in claiming her notebook, relieved when it was finally in her possession.

Taking a step forward, Forest cleared his throat noisily, and, after earning his sisters' attention, he said what his father had requested of him. "Dad told me to say this, so here it is: he's proud of us. I wouldn't be telling you this if he didn't ask me to, and he seemed quite persistent. That's all. Now, go ahead. Carry on."

There was an undeniable look of question on each of their faces, and, underneath the uncertainty, was guilt. Taking a moment to observe the twins, he turned to leave when one spoke up.

"Does he have an infection?" Locking eyes with Autumn, hers held fear, and the boy only shook his head. "What were you two talking about anyway to lead to that? He's never that sweet, brother."

After a brief pause, Forest said, "You should pack. We're leaving in a few days for my medicine." Ignoring the reluctant expressions of the sisters, he turned for his room, an upset frown beginning to form over his face.

Shutting the door, the boy let himself sink against the structure and hugged his knees. Before Forest knew it, he was staring at the pills on the end-table. The sight a painful one, he immediately cringed away. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and a single drop slithered down his face, another soon following. And another. He swiped at them with a sleeve, frustrated, but it was of no use. Others only replaced the tears, and, finally, he gave up.

I keep making things worse.

Despite meaning well, he had shot his father in the leg not a week ago, and the blame was his entirely. The boy couldn't deny that, and he wouldn't. But his distress went deeper; there was more than just that mistake that saddened him. His illness. Every month he was reminded of his disease, and, even though it seemed to be going for good, still, he managed to complicate things. They were going to leave for yet another trip because of his epilepsy, as they did every month. However, it wasn't just the fact that it was an exhausting challenge to travel there and back, but that it was a dangerous one. Walkers lurked around every corner; his family risked their lives' for him repeatedly, and the boy wouldn't know what to do if something were to happen to them.

'Epilepsy is not a disability.' That's what his mother used to tell him all those years ago, but wasn't it? Tears streamed down his cheeks steadily, but Forest barely noticed. Instead of being blessed with a new sibling, both the child and mother had met an unfortunate end. Remembering that tragic day, he continued to weep until, minutes later, he heard a sudden call of urgency.

"Get over here, kids! Hurry!" his father ordered, unmistakable panic marking his words.