No More Happy Birthdays

Part 7

The truck which rolled like a shambling elephant’s skeleton into Ambrose made itself noticed by the putrid stench which hovered over it like an invisible curtain. Said foul odor wafted its way through the still air and through the kitchen window of the Sinclair house. Bo placed his mug of coffee down with a mild annoyance, shut the window, and walked to the front door to welcome his guest.
This was Trevor Sinclair. Though thinner and less intimidating than the twins, he was the eldest of Victor Sinclair’s sons and the most detached. Ever since their parents passed away, he swore himself sole human being responsible for his younger brothers, tracking their paths through all the many foster homes and ensuring they would never be apart for long, if at all. He knew how deeply they needed each other, as much as Bo would deny it. When the twins came of age to be released from the custody granted to them by the government, they disappeared back into the hidden town of Ambrose, thanks to their big brother. He knew how harmful they were, not only to others, but to themselves. The security and isolation of home kept them safe from the outside world and welcome to indulge in their own… hobbies. And though he did not agree with what the twins did in their little town, they harmed no one else except those in their territory. Trevor knew he could keep the authorities away from both him and the twins if he kept quiet and brought them a steady supply of what Bo claimed was the means of completing mama’s dream. As long as they stayed out of too much trouble, the eldest son complied.
Trevor threw the door to his truck open and immediately ventured back to the carriage of the vehicle, glancing briefly at his approaching kin.
“Do everyone a favor and hose down your fuckin’ truck?” Bo offered, his face twisted in repulsion.
“How’s my dead bodies different from yers?” The elder brother asked, opening the carriage door. He reached forward through decomposed flesh which had been reduced to muck, eventually grabbing a black plastic trash bag.
Bo snorted at the comparison. “Ours are fresh when we treat them. Yours stink like an orgy of polecats inside a cow’s ass.”
Trevor shrugged, holding the bag. “You get used to anythin’ once yer ‘round it long enough.”
“What’s that?” Bo inquired of what he initially assumed was trash. Trevor held it out for him to take, though the younger man stepped back in response.
“It’s somethin’ for yer museum.”
Brow knitted in slight puzzlement, Bo finally toke the bag into his hands and opened the top, expecting a horrid odor to escape. Instead, he was rewarded with a strange sight.
“Found it before the sun came up this mornin’,” Trevor pointed out, thumbs in the belt loops of his stained jeans. “Someone wanted it outta the way and chucked it over a bridge.”
In a dirty clump at the bottom of the bag was a dead litter of puppies. They lay motionless and curled up against one another, their white splotches bright against the black of the bag. The little ones could not have been more than a few weeks old.
“Vincent will make them look real nice for the pet store,” he muttered. “He’s been looking for something to put in the window.”
Looking up from the bag, he noticed Trevor getting back into the driver’s seat of the pickup truck, turning the key in the ignition. The scrawny man rolled down his window and sneered at his younger brother.
“Happy Birthday, by the way.”
Bo recognized the deliberate lack of sentimentality in the voice and wondered if perhaps Trevor knew about what had happened. The last time he made one of his short visits was a week ago and he had even asked why Vincent was not coming out to see him like he usually did. Bo had remained silent about the truth, even throwing a “mind your own damn business” at him.
Backing the truck out and turning to leave Ambrose, Trevor glared ahead at the road. Despite the little time in which he saw them anymore, he knew his brothers far too well. Something had happened, and though he did not press to confront Vincent himself about it, he had a good idea what the dispute had involved.
Sighing, Bo looked back into the bag, shaking it to see if there were any more puppies he had not seen before. He blinked and looked closer when he noticed something, and found himself staring for a full minute at the sight.
*
Vincent had been cleaning off one of the machines in his workshop when he heard Bo descend the stairs and enter. He looked up slightly, but never at his twin’s face, still engrossed in the work in front of him.
“Got something for the pet store window,” Bo announced as he unceremoniously dropped the bag at his brother’s side. “Trevor found it on the abutment of a bridge. Next time he shows up, you better come out and look like you’re grateful.”
Though he looked as though he was not listening, Vincent had paid full attention to everything Bo had said, and the minute the door to the workshop was closed again, he left his seat to inspect the contents of the bag. He could not help but smile a little behind his mask as he poured the tiny bodies out of the sack. Each one was practically perfect in form, pudgy with smooth short hair. Vincent had to admit it was a shame for whoever had owned the amiable little things to throw them to their demise like they did…
Then, amongst the other three furry corpses, something moved. Solitary eye fully focused on the fourth body, Vincent stared with the attention of a cat watching its prey. He could have sworn there was deliberate movement, not just gravity or a breaking of dead bones. His eye remained fixed on the tiny ball of fur and baby fat, daring the pup to move again. And just as he hoped, the small creature he had once thought to be dead wiggled, and a helpless squeak escaped his throat.
In an instant, the young man was on his feet and scrambling around the room for a box. Scooping the tiny thing up with only one hand, he placed it inside the makeshift cardboard nest, using a dirty old rag for bedding. He quickly warmed the puppy in the rag with his fingers, trying to massage more life into it. Another whimper, slightly stronger, came from the animal, and Vincent smiled, instantly taken with his new friend. Turning it over, he examined it for any wounds or characteristic features. He was not entirely certain of what body parts would be visible – or possibly not visible – on the fuzzy infant’s underside, but the animal looked to him like it would be a girl.
So fascinated and touched was he with his new friend that he did not notice that Bo had entered the workshop again, observing how his twin interacted with the pup. He finally stepped forward, a small plastic shopping bag in his hand, and he cleared his throat. Vincent looked up at what his brother had for him, wondering what could be inside and hoping the discovery of one surviving pup would not end in disappointment and sadness. When his twin held the sack out as an offer, he finally reached out and took it timidly, tentatively opening it and looking inside.
“Thought it might need some food, don’t know if this works for it,” Bo said, watching Vincent remove from the smaller bag a baby bottle and some powder formula taken from the drug store. He tapped one of the dead animals gently with his toe of his boot. “Guess it was stronger than the others. Don’t think this means you get out of your responsibilities now that you’ve got someone to look after.”
For the first time in weeks, Vincent looked up at his brother, straight in his eyes. He was allowed to keep the dog alive? As his own companion no less?
Looking over his brother, Bo could not help but smile at the way Vincent instinctively held the animal close to his chest, fingers stroking the soft fur and wiggling paws. Clearly he was surprised, overjoyed, and even grateful. The young man did not need a dog, as it would have been pointless and a liability when he had better things to do. But he had been granted the privilege of looking after the little baby animal, and taking her as his own.
“Happy Birthday, Vincent,” Bo said, and he turned around and headed back upstairs.

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The End