Heaving the boxes into the house was probably the most exercise I have gotten in weeks, the stairs acting like my arch nemesis as I hoist the boxes to the empty room across from ours. I decided to put the few boxes that I chose in the room by the shadow room, hiding them until I could find what I wanted out of them. Anthony would be at least a few more hours as he was helping Mike piece together the remnants of his damaged walls.

Opening the boxes left plumes of dust in the air, soft clouds of history swirling around me in a haphazard dance. Inside were little pictures, toys, and decorations. Trains, rail cars, small landscape pieces, and a small railway station filled the first box, packed with care and sealed with newspaper cushions. It was akin to opening a box of glass jars, each metal piece wrapped with tender hands as if the slightest bump would shatter the little parts. Packing that back together, I found another box littered with photos of a lovely woman smiling as if she were never capable of frowning to begin with and a selection of family photos with the four of them huddled together in a shroud of affection. In each of these photos, a piece was cut away. Some of them were missing body parts while others had extra parts from a person outside of the picture. It wasn't difficult to guess why and as I carefully sorted them out I made a mental note to take them to the local store and have them properly cropped and edited before I used them.

Once I'd made it to the last box, I found small blankets with Anthony's name embroidered on them, some folded while others were mangled and shoved into the box. Beneath those were small toy animals, almost an entire zoo hiding inside it seemed. I made note of what I'd collected and pushed everything into the closet, stacking them all up as I formed my plan on the way to our room.

It isn't like I knew a lot about Anthony. He was kind and courteous, selfless and loyal, loved and adored by all. However, none of that told me anything else about him. We've spoken before in small detail about his family, but without any actual history Anthony was left a mystery to me. The unique sound of his whistling melodies drifted up the stairs, the heavy creak of the door opening and closing echoing around the walls. I knew his routines well enough by now that I could count his steps to the fridge, hearing the door open for a moment and imagining him pouring a glass of orange juice. His familiar gait padded across the hardwood as he took the stairs two at a time. Any second now-

"Dante!" The jump in his voice was subtle as his eyes sparkled and the shimmer of white across his teeth was revealed by a broad smile. I hardly had a chance to brace for impact as his arms whipped around me and he spun behind me, pulling me to his chest as we toppled to the bed. His mumbling baby talk was enough to force a roll from my eyes as I nuzzled my face against him regardless of his tackle. Any disgust I felt for Anthony when we first met was easily wiped away, almost as if there weren't any from the start. I could feel his hands poking random areas on my back, frustrating me enough that I looked up to glare only to be met by a pair of lips, forming to my own in the softest of kisses. How could anyone stay mad?

"Why do you not ask for a kiss or try to be kind for kisses instead of repeatedly attempting to impale me on your greasy hands? You know I'll get some kind of infection from all of the grime, right?"

When he laughs, he only pulls me tighter, turning to his side and pulling me along with him. The pressure of his face against my back wavers as he brushes his face back and forth. It's one of the most comforting of his habits, and honestly my favorite. This cuddling gives me a chance to be near him and experience his fragile innocence without watching him in an unconscious state. It's the most calm Anthony he can be. Sometimes it feels like Anthony is wound tight together and stuffed inside of his own body while at other times, he can be melted into a puddle just depending on his position.

"I like your little glares. They're cute." The hug that I'm in is intensified by a million as he breathes in, the air skating across my back and leaving a small trail of chill in its wake. When I smile I feel his soft kisses pressing against the center of my back, his lips brushing over my spine until I feel his hands wrapping around my sides and his fingers mingling between my own, holding my hands against my chest. The soft and affectionate nuzzles almost lull me to sleep until I finally feel his breathing slow and the drop of his shoulders and arms when he dozes away. I stay for a moment, not wanting to leave before I slowly and carefully drag myself from his grasp.

I pull on some warmer clothes before stepping outside into the brisk air. Making my way through town, I tow my my list behind me. I stop at the bakery first. Josh and Sally are probably the friendliest today as we chat about the cold and Josh's irresponsible spending habits before settling on the layout of the cake for the party. The idle small talk dwindles down until I'm ready to be on my way, Sally shooing me out the door with her apron.

"Don't tell Anthony, but Josh got him a new camping set for Christmas!"

With a wink she sends me on my way and I meander down the sidewalk to the diner. I make it a point to remind Mike to tell all of his customers when everyone should be at the diner for the party. Mike dances between the customers to pull me aside, "Are we still having it here? I thought it was going to be at your house."

"I wanted to have it here because I decided on a big surprise and a crowd of people could uncover my surprise early. Speaking of which, I need your help getting Anthony out of the house . . . "

As I delve into the details, Mike nods and smiles, clapping his hands at one point and expressing his surprise at my thoughtfulness. It puts me more at ease as he slaps his huge hand against my shoulder in a thunderous clap, "Say no more, Dante. I'll busy him up for hours."

I guess the good thing about small towns is that you don't have to worry much about invitations because word of mouth is faster than even a phone call here. I wave goodbye to Mike and step out of the doors as he turns to some of his older female customers, chatting with them about the fire in the gym.

When I've finally given all of my duties out, I visit the furniture store, picking the largest dark ebony table I can find and hauling it with great effort into the trunk of my car. I'll have to put it together in the room and lug it up the stairs piece by piece, but the excitement stirring in my heart greatly outweighs the struggle I'm having to endure.

On the ride home, I roll the window down, basking in the bite of the cold air and waving my hand around. Once I'm home, it's getting dark and I hustle upstairs, getting comfortable before wedging myself back under his arm. I'm hoping he never realized that I was gone because I don't want him to go searching for any gifts. When he begins to stir, I pretend to be asleep, snuggling back closer and letting my jaw slack for added effect, silently applauding my acting. It isn't until he turns back and falls into sleep again that I finally let my eyelids drop like heavy blinds on the world.

---

The dream I'm in can't necessarily be called a dream as nothing is happening. I'm well aware of my dreamlike state and yet I can't be fully aware of my surroundings. There's nothing except darkness shrouding me, even hiding my own image of my body. No matter the direction I run, there's nothing I can meet beyond the rising panic in my chest and the weight on my lungs like breathing sand. I feel around me, frantically waving my hands in the dark until I hear that voice. It's sharp like knives, cutting through the suffocating emptiness in an almost furious desperation. "Danteee."

All I can do is run, sprinting in any direction that sounds like it's running away, but the farther I run away from it, the closer I find myself until I stumble into a body. The expressionless face and blank canvas of the dark figure doesn't need any characteristics for me to recognize that dangerous chuckle ringing in my ears. In an attempt to escape I careen backwards into a cluster of hands groping and snatching at my clothes and limbs, jerking me to and fro in a malicious whirlwind of hate. The echoes of my name turn more sinister by the moment as the hands multiply, clawing up my body and gripping my throat like a vice. I'm drowning in the bitter taste of flesh and blood as I fight to come back to the top, but I'm forced to what can only be the ground, weighted down by hundreds of zombie like hands.

What shakes me awake is a frantic Anthony, his eyes wide and his hands at either side of my face. As soon as the glaze leaves my eyes he's pulling my face into his chest, dragging my body into his lap as I struggle to recollect what just happened. My throat is raw and my chest aches while I lean into him, his hands drawing soft caresses along my shoulder as he hums that it will be okay. There's a hammering in my head that won't leave until I finally stand and trudge to the kitchen. He's following me with a worried face, but his words are lost in the doorway while I'm pouring water into my favorite glass. Ticking comes from the little clock on the wall as we stand in silence. What the hell is up with this dream?

Once I can clear my throat again, I attempt to flash a casual smile to lighten the mood. "I told you I might scream sometimes."

His face blanches before he can recover. "You-you said it like it was during-you're so-that's not funny!"

I can hardly contain my cackling as he turns a brilliant shade of crimson, stumbling over his sentences as he wrings his hands. Once the atmosphere lightens I feel like I can breathe again and I pull him into the living room to start a fire. He sits beside the fireplace, his back against the brick like usual and I realize that he barely touches most places in this house. Outside of the kitchen, he only rests either on the bed or by the fireplace. It's piqued my interest enough that I toss a soft inquiry about it his way, but he simply smiles, denying showing favoritism to any particular part of the house.

After the room is warmed up, I build a pallet in front of the brick flooring that gives distance between the fire and the wood before curling into the blankets. "Anthony, will you tell me about something you remember from your brother?"

It takes some time before I hear him speak and when he does, it rumbles out in a half growl half whisper, barely audible by the crackling right beside me, but I hang onto every word nonetheless as he stares emptily at the floor, twiddling his fingers together.

"He was a good kid. He wasn't very old, but he had a passion to be a conductor. Everyone thought he was so cute and he was. He had a light in his heart that would never go out." His pause is louder than his words as the shine across the bottom of his lashes glimmers in the low light.

"He could tell you the name of every type of train, build them from scraps of paper and metal he found around the house. He'd ask our mom to help him put together set after set, hauling his animals from one side of the board to the next. He called it freeing them, takin' them from zoos and building habitats between the train tracks for them to live." The crack in his voice sounds like a shrill croak as the glimmer trails down his cheek and disappears against the curve of his lips.

"What was his name?"

There's a pause in the whole house like every appliance and every room stilled to hear his answer, but was met with the crushing silence that continued on. I couldn't press any harder as I watched his lip bow and his head fall, his hands covering what tears didn't make it all the way to his chin. When I reached up, he willingly took my hand and we stayed like that for a long time before he pulled away. It was an empty motion filled with the absence of life and everything that came with it. He leaned around to the bin and tossed another log into the fireplace, watching it slowly blacken before it began to burn. Once he'd made sure that the fire would stay going, he took his place between my shoulders, falling asleep quickly and snoring faintly against my shirt.

It felt like hours before I could sleep again and when I did, I'd be haunted once again by the same dream.

---

When light began to shine through the windows, I rolled over and shielded myself. I noticed Anthony wasn't there and staggered into the kitchen to find a sheet of paper taped to the refrigerator.

dante went to help mike be back around dinner

I grimaced at the lack of punctuation before I stretched. It's time to put this place together. I staggered up to the shower and spent more time just standing in the hot water than actually washing, regretting it as the water ran cold.

It took an hour just to drag the individual pieces of the table upstairs, much more to put it together. By the end of the two and a half hour long squabble with tiny screws and small pegs and the four pages of vague instructions, it was finally all in one piece and a little bit bigger than I expected. After pushing the huge table into place, I used Anthony's story to piece together what might have been an example of how the train set and all of its animal passengers might have looked like. I used rocks and false moss to build a small forest, placing the animal figures around casually as if they were roaming freely between the trees and shrubs that had been collected from what I can only assume was a beautifully blossoming pine tree, the cones painted and covered in moss to imitate natural trees and shrubs. It took me much longer to figure out the tracks and how they clipped together before I could place the trains and station around the edges and through the scenery.

By the time I had finished the entire setup, it was almost six, giving me just an hour or two before Anthony would arrive home. I pulled all of the blankets together, assuming they were all of his baby blankets. It was cute to see that he had kept them after so long and even cuter that he used them to protect these precious trains and small figurines from damage. I picked up the photos I had gotten framed and edited and I began hanging them around the room, building almost a shrine of his family around this one extra room. This would be Anthony's room where his family could stay with us. I pulled the futon from the side of the room and pushed it against the wall, tossing the blankets over the back of the couch before putting the finishing touches on the wiring of the train set as I flipped the switch. To say it worked was a serious understatement. It was more like it woke up from a deep slumber, brightening with the white lights that covered the little trees and the miniature lampposts along the tracks. It was similar to watching the first flicker of life sparking behind the eyes of a newborn child.