Hours and hours passed and he didn’t stop. The light was still on upstairs, but I hadn’t heard my poppa since he left us down here. I was hungry, I was thirsty, but he never came back.

And Isaiah got worse.

When I leaned over, he was looking at me, but his breathing had changed. It was deep and slow, but his dark eyes, eyes like mine, were looking up at me, his thin arms reaching out.

My stomach ached as I said, “I can’t touch you… I’ll hurt you…” But he kept on crying. He kept on screaming until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

My hand fisted into balls as I fought the flames inside. As I prayed to God that they didn’t hurt him. But my poppa had been gone so long that I didn’t think he was coming back. Then Isaiah’s breathing became shallower, but I could still see him looking up at me. And I had to hold him. He was scared and hurt… like me.

I had to hold him.

Holding my breath, I let out a scream and reached forward, picking him up in my hands, then I cradled him in my arms.

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.”