“Liam are you in there?” mom asked while knocking on the door. “Honey, I am going to the agent's house. Do you want to come with me?” When I didn’t reply she knocked on the door a few more times. “Alright, your breakfast is in the kitchen. I am going, bye.” she said and left the house. I was still holding onto the hope that she might not sell this house. But I guess it was pointless. My mouth watered at the thought of food. I hadn’t eaten anything since last night and it was impossible for me to even get out of the bed. But still, I didn’t feel like going downstairs so instead, I slept for a few more hours.

The sky had turned pink with the hint of golden when I woke up. I found myself lost in colours all the time. They took me to a world that was completely mine. My hands went to the sketch book kept on the table as I marvelled at the beauty of the sky. The way the light hits the cloud, the dispersion of light, it always unlocked something in my heart. Maybe it was freedom. I desired the freedom of the clouds, but they too were tethered to winds. They were free to take on the sky but it was the wind that carried them. Who would they be without it? Everyone was tied to something or the other. Just like Mr. Morris tied to his memories. It had been a long time since I held a brush in my hand. Though I had been longing to do so. My heart skipped a beat at the smell of paint. It was a familiar ache. I tried to keep myself away from colours as much as possible. It was exhilarating to be around them and not be able to paint. But the thought of my mother looking down on my work terrified me. She didn’t like when I even talked about painting. I looked up at the sky and saw a familiar face formed in the clouds. Maybe I was going crazy or it was just my imagination running wild. After all, it had been a long time since I held a brush.

My eyes went to Mr. Morris’s jacket that was kept on my chair. Regardless of what my mom would say I went to return it. I had been in the same clothes since yesterday. I showered and changed into a fresh navy blue shirt and tan jeans. After locking the doors and the windows I left the house. Mr. Morris’s house was merely a fifteen minute walk from my house. The cool wind ruffled through my hair. It tickled against my neck as a little shiver ran down my body. I jogged so that I would remain warm. I reached Mr Morris’s house and I saw Matt walking down the street. He was wearing a navy blue sweater and black jeans. “Oh you made it back. Thought you were still in the woods.” he said mockingly as he passed by. He had the same look on his face when he left me in the woods. I felt the similar urge I had felt back then. It was like a parasite had taken over my mind. It took everything in me to stop myself from hitting him. My nails were digging in my palm as I slowly walked up to him. “Aww, are you angry?” Matt said.

My fist collided with his face as pain shot through my arm. Punching really sucked,though the pain was worth it. He was staring at me in disbelief as blood gushed down his cheek and onto the ground. His face was more than enough to dim the pain. I thought he would retaliate in some form but he was more astonished than I had anticipated. I left him on the ground and went to Mr. Morris’s porch. It took him a minute to answer the door. He was wearing his signature grey robe. I was greeted by a faint smile. “I was expecting you. Do you want to come in?” he asked. I looked back at Matt, he was still holding his cheek. There was vengeance in his eyes. I knew he wouldn’t let this go but I couldn’t be less bothered about him. With one last look I went into Mr. Morris’s house and Matt disappeared from my sight.

The inside of his house was in better condition than I had expected. Most of the stuff was partially burned, but there were a few intact pieces. The walls were bathed in charcoal and there were still some hints of smoke. The contrast of black and white gave the house a mystic touch. Stairs were a little wobbly, creaking at every step. I dreaded at the thought of them breaking. But Mr. Morris walked on them comfortably. The floor upstairs was pretty much unharmed apart from one wall. It reeked of destruction. A portrait of Mr. Morris’s family was hung on that wall but it was burned. The faces of Claire and Martha were burned and only Mr. Morris’s face was visible. We sat in the living room where he offered me a cup of coffee but I politely refused. “Mr. Morris, thank you for everything you did for me yesterday. I am sorry I took this with me.” I handed him his jacket as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“So you told your mother that you were with me.” he said. My heart stopped for a moment. Did she do that again? But I already knew the answer. “I did tell her and she always does this, she never listens to me. I am sorry for whatever she may have said to you.” I said. He gave a small chuckle which lit up his face. He looked good when he smiled. “Don’t sweat it kid, she didn’t say anything to me. It was just an assumption.” He must have been a great detective and this is what he got after years of service. A house of broken dreams and aspirations. “Why are you so angry with your mom?” he asked. The urge to dig into my nails presented itself but I held myself back. Mr. Morris could sense I was a little uncomfortable. He had this amazing ability to see right through people. “I am sorry for asking that. I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that.” he said. “No, it’s nothing like that. It's just that my mom always expects me to behave in a certain way. It feels like I can’t be myself in front of her.” I said. “Then why don’t you tell her how you feel about this? I am sure she would understand.” Mr. Morris said. If me saying anything would have worked I would have done it a long time ago. But how do I explain this to him? “It's not that easy Mr. Morris.” I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. I closed my eyes for a second, a moment was enough to bring everything back.

“When I was ten years old our family took a road trip to Washington. My brother Dylan and I were in the back seat playing a video game. He was seven years older than me so we didn’t have a lot in common. But we both loved video games. Both of us were very competitive at them, always at each other's throat. We were fighting that night too, it was exhausting. I hardly remember what it was about, it all seems so insignificant now. We got in an argument and things escalated quickly. Soon everyone in the car was shouting over one thing or another. Dad was already worn out from the drive and the fight made everything worse. It was mayhem. I was shouting at the top of my lungs till my throat began to hurt. Dad looked back for a moment to calm us down but he missed a turn. He tried to make it but the car flipped.

For a brief moment the world was upside down. When the car hit the ground it was as if a tank had exploded. There was glass everywhere and the air smelled like gasoline. I heard my dad scream, my mom was lying unconscious besides him. Dylan wasn’t moving either. Blood was running down his head. I tried to reach him but I couldn't. The sight of him lying there plunged my mind into chaos as I burst into tears. I tried to jerk myself free from the seat belt but it only scraped my skin. It had somehow coiled around me. My mother looked fine but Dylan was losing a lot of blood. It was piling up in front of my face.

The next thing I knew I was being pulled out by my dad. He yanked the seatbelt and carried me out of the car. I felt safe for a single moment in his arms but, leaving Dyaln felt like a crime. Dad assured me he would get me out but his cold face didn’t give me much hope. He was as terrified as I was. I looked back and saw dad trying to help out Dylan but he was stuck. There was a piece of glass in my dad’s thigh but he charged through the pain. There were tears of hopelessness in his eyes. I could sense that agony in my heart as well. Dylan was stuck and unconscious. Dad was trying his best but he had another problem to worry about. The leaking gasoline was swiftly moving towards the engine. I shouted and told my dad to hurry up. He froze for a second but got back on his feet in an instant. He picked up mom and carried her to me. She was in my arms and I tried to wake her up. I remember my trembling hands at the sight of my unmoving mother. I shouted but there wasn’t any response from her side. I looked up at the car and saw Dylan’s face. It had gone pale. He was lying in a pool of his own blood. My heart began thumping at a blistering pace. I wanted him here with me. Dad was trying his best to get there with a torn leg but it was in vain. I looked at Dylan one last time as if to etch his face in my mind. The car exploded knocking dad to the ground.

My screams were lost in that fiery explosion. All I could see was his pale face. My last memory of him was a fight. I kept looking at the burning car. It was long before the police and the firefighters came at the scene and took us to the hospital. Dad had second degree burns and mom was still unconscious. They took them both into the Emergency room while I waited restlessly out in the hall. I was hoping that Dylan would walk through the doors and tell me everything was alright but he didn’t. After a few hours the doctors informed me that they were okay. A wave of relief washed over me. In that moment it felt like there was some hope for this family. I went into the ward to see them but by then my world had already been plunged into a spiral. My mom was inconsolable when she heard the news of Dylan’s death. His ashen face appeared in front of me whenever I closed my eyes. The days leading up to the funeral were quiet. None of us talked to each other. Mom kept to herself, dad was constantly breaking down in the garage. We were at his funeral when mom finally broke down.

She lashed out at dad and blamed him for not saving Dylan. Dad was filled with self-hatred. I could see it from his eyes. They fought everyday and shortly after the funeral they got divorced. My custody was given to mom. We left this town and moved to the city. Since the day I stepped foot in our new house, I was Dylan in the eyes of my mom. She tried to find her lost son in me. She even dressed me the way he used to dress. She changed my toys, my books, she even snatched away my colours. The thought of him not being here with us ached me. I had a few of his old things and I used to hold them every night. I used to be so annoyed by his laugh but now I want to hear that sound more than anything. Not just that I missed every bit of his anger and scoldings. I never played any video game after the accident. I was helpless and angry. Angry at Dylan for leaving us, leaving me. Every morning the kitchen table was empty and I had my food in silence. I hadn’t felt this helpless before. That’s when I realized my mother must have been going through the same thing if not more. I tried my best to ease her pain, to be like him. I did whatever she asked of me. But it was never enough. I could be myself at dad’s house though. He had set up a drawing board for me along with my favourite colours. I was always eager to go to his house. But one day mom saw a smear of paint on my sleeves and my visits to his house got scarce. She took the reins of our lives. Deciding what to eat, what to do and now she is selling this house. The house where Dylan and I grew up. The place where we -”

I couldn’t say anything more. I choked back my tears. It took me some time to regain my composure but Mr. Morris looked unaffected by my story. He had the same reaction as he did to all the things. I don’t know for how long I had been sitting on this. He was the first person I had ever told about all this, though his reaction was not what I expected. It was cold and distant. I gave into the urge and dug into my nails as I felt the stress being released.

“Liam, I can’t imagine what you went through but I do understand your mother’s condition very well. She was a parent who lost her child. I was just as hopeless as she was when I lost Martha and Claire. I am not saying what she did was right but I know how that feels. Everything she did was because her judgement was clouded. She can’t see that her actions are hurting you. All she sees are the memories of the child that she raised. Someone she imagined growing up and fate took that away from her. But she has those same dreams for you too. If she realized that her actions are taking away her second child too, she would stop. It is your job to remind her that. It shouldn’t be, but unfortunately it is. Those who live in a broken family grow up too quickly. Just talk to her.” he said. “I have tried everything Mr. Morris. We just had a big fight yesterday. She doesn’t get me anymore. She just wants me to be Dylan. Don’t get me wrong I miss him every second of my life. Whenever I see a football or Scooby-Doo he comes to my mind. Even when I held a brush yesterday I could see his face. He loved my paintings. I would give anything to have him back but I can’t be him all my life. How am I supposed to tell her that?” I asked. “Listen to me Liam.” Mr. Morris said. I understood every word he said carefully though I doubted if they would work or not. But I had no other option. I had to get my mom back. I missed the lady who sat hours as a statue for my portraits. The woman who held me when I was feeling down. I listened to him for another half an hour before I left for my house. Today was the day this war ended.

The door to the entrance wasn’t locked which meant mom was home. I went straight to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She was sitting on the kitchen table wearing a pink nightgown with a teacup in her hands. Dark circles loomed under her eyes and it looked as if she was going to collapse. “Are you okay mom?” I asked. She looked up but didn’t answer me. “What were you doing at Morris’s house?” she asked me. It took me a second to figure out that it was Matt who ratted me out. “I went to return his jacket.” I said. “You could have asked me to do that, why did you go there?” she asked again. “He won’t eat me mom and besides, I enjoy his company. Why can’t I go see him?” I asked. “That is why you don’t go there.” She said while pointing at my bitten nails. “He is dangerous and creepy, Liam. He burned down his own house. Why do you think of me as your enemy? I don’t want you to get hurt that’s all.” she said. “Do you know anything about him, mom? How can you say he is dangerous if you have never even met him?” I asked. She was numb. “Do you know he used to be a cop? And that cost him his family. He lost his wife and only daughter in that fire.” I said.

She looked horrified when I told her about Mr. Morris. But more than that she looked guilty just like I was. Maybe she finally got how similar the two of them were. “You can meet him if you like for the time being. But keep in my mind that we won’t be coming back here again. This will be the last time you will meet him. Are we clear?” she said. “Mom, I don’t want you to sell this house. We don’t have to move back here but you can’t just throw this away. I won’t let you.” I said. I knew I crossed a line but that was the only way. “What did you say, Liam?” she said in a firm tone. “You are not selling this house mom.” I replied. “I am going to say this one time. I am selling this house and that’s it. We are not having any more discussions regarding this.” she said. “No mom, we are having one. You can’t make this decision unilaterally. I love this house and I have memories of this place.” I said. Her eyes were enough to strike terror in me but I wasn’t going to back down today. “These memories are holding you back,” she said, “I am trying to get rid of them for you. So that you can become something.” She was shouting now, enunciating every word. “No mom, you aren’t doing it for me you are doing it for yourself because you don’t want to face the pain. It has been seven years since Dylan’s death yet you feel trapped and helpless. I miss him too mom and I feel that pain too but avoiding it isn’t an option. For how long do you expect me to be both Dylan and I?”

She was spellbound hearing those words. The veil which was covering the darkness had finally been lifted. She sat down as my words began to sink in. I ran upstairs to grab the box that had been sitting in the corner of my room and kept it in front of her. She began to ruffle through the contents of the box. “You haven’t seen his stuff since the accident, have you? Mom, you crave for a fresh start, you want the pain to go away but you never faced it. You can try to escape it but it will always haunt you. No matter where you go you will always be running away from a part of yourself. The part where he resides. Selling the house to get away from the pain isn’t an option. All it will do is tarnish the memories you have left of him. Mom, don’t you remember how many times we fell right there. The way we fought all the time. Remember once we dug the backyard, boy were you mad at us.” There were tears in her eyes. “This house is a part of me mom, and so is he but I am not him and I hope you get that. The last seven years have been difficult for both of us. But what made them worse was the fact you didn’t care if I was here or not. All you wanted was Dylan and I was just a medium to get that. I wanted to be there for you but it killed me, when you saw only one thing in me. You had another son mom, someone who loved you just as much as Dylan. But you didn’t want him. I was never enough for you, all my life I grew up thinking that I wasn’t good enough. That no matter how much I tried I will always be his replacement. I felt ashamed of being myself in front of you. You were my biggest supporter and then one day I was dead in your eyes. I can’t live like this anymore, and neither should you. You never mourned him, mom you never let the pain out. You blamed dad, you changed me, but you never accepted the truth. It’s time you do that.”

It felt like she didn’t hear a word I had said. She was sitting like a statue. But her hands were moving across Dylan’s blanket. “He used to wrap himself in this whenever it was cold,” she said, “and when that didn’t help he would run up to me and get in my blanket. His small feet were so cold. He used to rub them against my legs. Your dad would tickle him till there were tears in his eyes and he would hide behind me, ‘Mommy save me!’.” She picked up a football that was kept in the box. “This was from the first game he ever won. Do you remember us cheering for him in the stands? Later that night he snuck back into the school to get this. He signed it and gave it to me. He said I will always be his first fan.” She remembered the story behind each and every object in the box. Tears rolled down her face as she sobbed at the sight of his things. She sank to the floor and began to punch her fists into it. I held her but it didn’t seem to comfort her. She was shaking and it broke me to see her cry but I knew it was for her own good. Her skin was getting hotter by the minute and she was trembling all over. I gave her water but she only choked on it. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. I saw myself in her as her nails dug deep in her fists turning them white. “He was my baby and he should be here.” she shouted. It was after a minute when I felt tears rolling down my face. Seeing her like this was one of the worst possible things. Eventually, she stopped crying and wiped her tears and saliva from her face. She drank a glass of water and she held my hand.

“I am sorry Liam for everything I put you through.” she said. In all honesty I was expecting a little more. But her eyes spoke of the loss she felt. Overwhelmed by emotion, by guilt, pain and anger. Years of darkness can’t be erased by one conversation. As much as I wanted her to be the mom she once was, I knew it wouldn’t happen over night. She needed time, but was I willing to give her that? “Liam, I wasn’t a good parent but if you can forgive me and give me a second chance I would love that. Will you?” she asked. Hearing these words cleared every speck of doubt in my mind. Of course I would give her time, I would give her anything she wanted. I had been longing to be at peace for so long. It would take some time to be whole again but I no longer felt torn within myself. I was still angry at her for missing my childhood. But she was already wrecked with that guilt. This was a start. A start of a new beginning. A start towards a better relationship with her. I had read somewhere once that life was all about second chances and I wasn’t going to waste this one. I rushed into her arms. Her embrace was enough for my body to relax, my heart to be alive and my soul to be at peace.