The Hive

Chapter 12
Epilogue

September 20th Entry

Decided to start keeping a journal. Eleanor said it would help "structure my thoughts." I think she just wants to make sure I'm not losing my mind. Well, we'll see.

Today Benji learned to tie his shoes. Or rather, re-learned. He sat for half an hour with his tongue sticking out in concentration, puffing like a little steam engine. When he finally got it, he beamed as if he'd made a great discovery.

"Lu, look! I did it myself! Like a big boy!"

"Like a big boy." The irony is that not so long ago, he was tying my shoes when my hands shook after another "conversation" with Hart.

I didn't tell him that. Why would I?

September 25th Entry

Another nightmare. Third one this week. Same "sad man" again.

"He was sitting in a dark room again," Benji told me, pressing close. "Looking at some glowing box. And his face was so... empty."

A laptop. He's dreaming of himself at a laptop.

"Why doesn't he go play?" Benji asked. "Why doesn't he call his friends?"

"Maybe he doesn't have any friends," I answered.

"That's so sad. I'm glad I have you!"

He hugged me and fell asleep. I lay awake until morning, thinking about how memory lane is a one-way street. Thank God.

October 2nd Entry

A new "guest" arrived today. Carla, 28, had a panic attack right on the doorstep. I greeted her, as usual.

Benji tagged along. While I showed her to her room, he brought his teddy bear.

"This will help!" he declared seriously, offering the toy to the trembling woman. "When you're scared, you can hug it. Lu taught me that."

She took the bear, pressed it to her chest. Started crying.

Then Benji took her hand:

"Don't cry. It's nice here. Everyone's kind. And the honey tastes good!"

I cringed at the last phrase, but Carla smiled through her tears.

That evening Benji asked:

"Did I do good? Did I help?"

"You did very well, little one."

"I'm a good helper! Just like you!"

Just like me. God, what am I turning him into?

October 18th Entry

Eleanor called me in. Monthly "progress evaluation."

"He's stabilized at age five. Perfect for family placement."

I nearly knocked over my chair.

"We agreed..."

"Calm down. I'm just informing you of options. There's a wonderful couple in Vermont. Elementary school teachers who lost their son..."

"No."

"Lukas, think about what's best for him. A real home, school for special children, friends at his... developmental level."

"He has a home. Here. With me."

She was quiet for a long time, then nodded.

"Fine. But the offer stands. In case you change your mind."

I won't change my mind. I can't. He's all I have. And I'm all he has.

Selfish? Yes. But I accepted long ago that I'm not the hero of this story.

October 31st Entry

Halloween. Benji's first Halloween (that he remembers).

Sara made costumes—I'm a pirate, he's a bee (of course). We went door to door asking for candy.

Eleanor gave us a whole basket of sweets. And gave me a strange look—almost envious.

"Enjoy it," she said. "Childhood only comes once."

Or twice, if you're lucky. If you can call it luck.

Benji fell asleep in his costume, hugging the candy basket. I pulled off his wings, covered him up.

My little bumblebee. Forever stuck in the hive.

We're both stuck. But sometimes being stuck in the right place isn't so bad.

November 5th Entry

Benji's birthday. Not his real one—he forgot that. We chose a new date—the day he "woke up happy" (his words).

Sara baked a cake. Amelia gave him a drawing. Even Robert mumbled something that sounded like "congratulations."

Benji made his wish for a whole minute, squeezing his eyes so tight that wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

"What did you wish for?" Amelia asked.

"Secret! But it's about Lu!"

In the evening he confessed: he wished I would never become "the sad man from the dreams."

I promised. It's easy to promise a child the impossible.

November 23rd Entry

They took Michael. Or rather, he left with "mommy and daddy." Happy beyond belief.

Benji walked him to the gate, waved until the car disappeared.

"Lu, will someone take us too?"

My heart clenched.

"Do you want to leave?"

He hugged my leg tightly (now he only reaches my waist).

"Only if you'll be my daddy! Or mommy. Or just Lu. Is that okay?"

"We'll stay here. Together."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

He beamed. And I thought—"forever" means something very different for us than for normal people.

December 25th Entry

Christmas. Benji's first real Christmas (the others were erased along with his past life).

Woke at four in the morning to someone shaking my shoulder.

"Lu! Lu! Santa came! I heard him! The bells were jingling!"

Sleepily, I led him to the tree in the living room. Sara and Eleanor had outdone themselves—a mountain of presents under the tree. For all the "children" of the Hive.

Benji froze in the doorway, eyes round with wonder.

"Is... is it all real? Santa knows where we live?"

"Of course he knows," I answered, feeling a lump in my throat. "Santa knows where all the good children live."

He rushed toward the presents but stopped halfway, turning back.

"Lu, did you write to Santa? Did you ask for anything?"

"I already got everything I wanted."

"What?"

"You, silly."

Benji blushed, ran over, hugged me with all his might.

"That's the best present! But still, you should have something too!"

Turns out he'd secretly made me a gift—a clumsily molded clay figure. Two people holding hands, the smaller one wearing a crown made of matchsticks.

"It's us!" he announced proudly. "And the crown is because you're the king of big brothers!"

I'm sitting here now, holding this ridiculous figure. Benji fell asleep under the tree hugging his new fire truck, covered in glitter from the tinsel.

"King of big brothers." If only he knew that his king is just another lost boy who learned to pretend to be an adult.

But maybe that's the secret—we're both pretending. He pretends he was always a child. I pretend I was always an adult. And in this game, we both find what we were looking for.

Merry Christmas, diary. The first of many identical but always magical ones.

January 10th Entry

Taught Benji to play chess. Or rather, tried to.

He moves pieces however he wants, makes up his own rules. The knight jumps across the entire board ("because he's magic!"), pawns can move backward ("they changed their minds!"), and the king and queen absolutely must get married at the end of the game.

"That's not how you play," I tried to explain.

"Why play by someone else's rules?" he asked with such sincerity that I had no answer.

We play by his rules. Chess. Life. And you know what? His version is more fun.

January 28th Entry

Carla (the one with panic attacks) has fully regressed. She looks about nine now. She's become best friends with Amelia, they're inseparable.

Today she came up to me:

"Thanks for the bear on the first day. It really helped."

She didn't recognize me as the one who gave her the tour. To her, I'm just "Lukas, Benji's big brother."

Strange to realize that to all of them, I only exist in relation to him. Lukas-who-takes-care-of-Benji. And you know what? I'm fine with that.

I've finally found my role. Not the failed accountant. Not the potential suicide. Just a big brother.

February 15th Entry

That dream again. But now with more details.

"The man was trying to write something," Benji told me. "He kept hitting the buttons, then erasing, then hitting them again. And then he cried and drank something bitter from a bottle."

Benjamin Wilson's last night. The one before the letter came.

"I feel so sorry for him, Lu! Maybe I should draw him a friend?"

We drew together. It came out as two figures—one big and sad, one small and happy, holding hands.

"Now he's not lonely!" Benji declared and hung the picture above his bed. "Now he knows someone loves him."

If only he knew he was drawing a self-portrait. Or an epitaph. Or both.

March 3rd Entry

Benji is sick. Just a common cold, but I can't sit still. He's so small, fragile. The fever makes him seem even younger—clinging to me, asking for "water," sucking his thumb.

Sara says it's normal. During illness, regression can temporarily deepen.

I've been sitting by his bed for two days straight. Reading fairy tales, singing lullabies (badly, but he likes it), changing compresses.

"Lu," he whispered tonight. "You're better than mommy."

"Why?"

"Mommy in dreams always goes to work. But you're always here."

He remembers mom. Not her face, not her name. Just the feeling of leaving.

I promised I'd never leave. Easy to promise when you have nowhere to go anyway.

March 20th Entry

He's recovered. Races around the garden like a meteor, I can barely keep up.

Today he climbed a tree ("I'm big and strong!"), fell, scraped his knees. Cried so loud the whole Hive came running.

Blew on the wounds, applied bandages, comforted him. Standard big brother procedure.

"All better?" I asked when he calmed down.

"Uh-huh. You're magic!"

Not magic. Just learned the right way to blow on children's wounds. The physical ones, at least.

April 5th Entry

Eleanor hinted again about a family for Benji.

"They sent a letter. Very touching. Ready to take both of you."

"Both?"

"Brothers are rarely separated. They could arrange it as a double adoption of special needs children."

Tempting. A real home. Real... parents? But.

"What if they realize I'm not a real child?"

"You've changed, Lukas. Physically, you're completely a child. Behavior... adaptive. If you wanted, you could pass for a teenager with developmental delays."

"If I wanted."

"Or you could let him go alone. Give him a chance at a complete family."

That evening Benji climbed into my bed (now it's a daily ritual).

"Lu, we're happy here, right?"

"Would you like to live in a real house? With a mom and dad?"

He thought about it, then shook his head.

"I have you. That's better."

Decision made. We're staying.

May 10th Entry

They're taking Carla tomorrow. Benji drew her a card—a house, sun, figures holding hands.

"So she won't forget us!"

She won't forget. Rather, she'll remember two strange boys from a dream before real life. And that's right.

Some things are better remembered as dreams.

June 1st Entry

First day of summer. Benji woke me at six in the morning:

"Lu! Summer! Can we swim?"

Sara set up an inflatable pool in the garden. Benji splashed around all day, lips blue, but stubbornly insisting:

"I'm not cold!"

Taught him to blow soap bubbles. He puffed out his cheeks, tried with all his might. The bubbles came out tiny, but he rejoiced at each one:

"Look, Lu! Rainbow!"

By evening he was exhausted. Sat on my lap wrapped in a towel, hiccupping with happiness. Sunburn on his nose.

"Lu, everything's magical in summer, right?"

"Right."

"And we'll be together all summer?"

"All summer."

Fell asleep just like that, in the towel. Carried him to bed.

My summer boy. For him, it will always be the first day of summer.

July 7th Entry

Summer. Benji collects flowers and various grasses, making a herbarium. I help with the labels (his handwriting... let's just say doctors would be jealous).

"This is for the sad man!" he announced. "When he comes, I'll show him. Pretty flowers make people happy!"

He's still waiting to meet the ghost from his dreams. Doesn't understand he's already met him. That the sad man dissolved into himself, leaving only a shadow of memories.

I help with the herbarium. Write neatly: "Summer Flower Collection by Benji and Lukas, Summer of the New Life."

Let there be something beautiful for the non-existent guest.

August 15th Entry

Anniversary. Exactly one year since Benjamin Wilson crossed the threshold of the Hive.

Benji doesn't remember. For him, life began "when I woke up happy."

I sit here writing while he snores beside me. Smiling in his sleep.

You know what? Maybe he's right. Benjamin Wilson died a year ago. Benji was born—a boy who has a brother, a home, and a whole life of identical happy days ahead.

Is this a tragedy? Probably. Is it salvation? Possibly. Is it our reality? Definitely.

And we've learned to live in it.

Because sometimes a fairy tale is the only truth we can bear.

Lukas Martinez, big brother, keeper of dreams, co-author of a rewritten story

P.S. Benji just mumbled in his sleep: "Love you, Lu."

And you know what? That's enough. To justify everything. Or almost everything.

We're staying.