I wrap a blanket around his shoulders and kneel to look at him. Behind me, Theo stacks logs into the fireplaces.
“What happened?” I sign.
Oliver studies me for a long time. “I don’t want to go back there,” he finally says. “I want to be a ghost, like Theo.”
My heart clenches, and I glance back to where Theo is stoking the fire with a match. It flares bright, the flames licking through the ashes.
“You can’t be like Theo,” I say aloud. I want him to hear it.
Theo’s back tenses, and I turn to look at Oliver again.
“Why not?” His eyes are big and sorrowful.
I breathe out. “Because you still have your whole life in front of you. Ghosts—ghosts have to die first.”
Tears shimmer on Oliver’s lash line. “I don’t want to go back to them,” he signs furiously, and I know I need to get my first aid kit to tend to the cuts on his knuckles. I also don’t want to leave him alone. “Don’t make me go back.”
“I won’t,” I say quickly.
“I want to stay with you and Theo!”
I feel Theo’s presence behind me, like a shadow falling across the room. He must have signed something I don’t see, because Oliver says, “You promise?”
I jerk my gaze over to Theo. “What did you tell him?”
Theo’s eyes fix on mine. “That I will always protect him.” Something flashes in his expression. “Same as I would you.”
I think about how quickly he found Oliver, tracking him through the snow and the cold. All that killer’s intensity, all that focus, narrowed in on the one thing that mattered.
Six months ago, Theo shattered my heart into pieces, and I hated him for it. Now, I can’t ever imagine hating him again.
“I have a first aid kit in my kitchen,” I say slowly. “Can you bring it to me? So I can patch up Oliver's hands?”
He nods, his eyes searing into me. Then I turn back to face Oliver, still snuggled down in this blanket. “Tell me what happened.”
Oliver’s expression darkens.
“Please.”
Theo walks into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy and ominous, the way they were that night six months ago. For me, at least. I’m not so sure those footsteps sounded ominous to Oliver. “I need to know what to tell your social worker, Sofia, so I can try and convince her to let you stay with me.”
I have no idea if it’ll work. But I have to try.
Theo steps back into the living room, holding the first aid kit. Oliver glances over at him and takes a deep breath. “They were mean,” he signs slowly.
“Your foster parents?” I take the kit from Theo and pull out some wet wipes and a tube of antiseptic.
Oliver nods, although he doesn’t meet my eye. “They told me I had to learn to talk.”
My throat tightens. “Not with your hands, I assume?”
He nods while I whip the blood off his fingers. “What did they do?” I ask once I’m done.
Oliver looks over at Theo again, who nods a little.Go on.
“They would make me do these exercises,” Oliver says. “And when I couldn’t do them, they would yell at me. Just like my parents did.” His eyes shine with tears, and I squeeze the roll of bandages in my hand. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to ask him to tell me. Maybe I’m making it worse.
But then Oliver says, “And sometimes, they would lock me out of the house at night. In the backyard. It was cold and scary, and they wouldn’t let me come in, no matter how hard I knocked on the door.”
