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in this car,” he said. The boy didn’t argue, just nodded glumly. His father was right, he didn’t belong with them. He belonged where his mother was. There was no place for him in the family anymore. He stayed by the side of the road as he watched his father slide into the car and sit between his brother and sister. His father didn’t even look back, just closed the door, stared ahead and lifted his pocket flask to his mouth.
    The boy held the rose in his pocket, curling his fingers around the thorny stem. It bit into his flesh and he welcomed the pain. Someone in the distance yelled his name. He glanced up at the woman, a friend of his mother’s. She didn’t speak to him. She knew, too. They all did. There he was, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed child who had killed his mother. He knew what they would be whispering about him. They all knew it. He rubbed the scar across his arm. It seemed to throb with the reminder of that one bite that had changed his life.  It knew, too, what he had done. His mother’s friend opened the door for him, motioning for him to get in. He did so without looking at anyone.
    Even when the car stopped at the cemetery, he knew his place - behind everyone else. No one spoke to him. No one ruffled his hair as they did with his brother, or stroked his back as they did with his sister. They simply forgot about him. Everyone said their goodbyes before him. Even people he didn’t know. Women and men who acted as if they had known his mother for years, yet he didn’t recognise their faces. He’d almost stopped at the sign on the gate. For one frightening moment, his father had glanced back at him, and he had thought he would stop him from entering.
    Humans only , it had read. Only he wasn’t anymore. He wasn’t one of them in any way. He was Other .
    When they were all gone, the boy knelt down on the felt covered ground. His small hand shook as he placed his single rose with the others. He didn’t whisper his tearful goodbye to her. He didn’t deserve to grieve for her. He just left the flower and walked away.
    At the house, he sat on one of the chairs in the dining room, keeping himself out of the way. He was quiet in the corner. No one had to look at him. No one had to bother with him or offer him condolences. He could feel their stares as they walked past. “That’s him, he’s the one.” He knew that’s what they were thinking. He knew what awful thoughts crossed each of their minds, but he deserved it. He’d seen enough slaughter that the Other-kind had committed, that he knew.
    One thing wrong, one more reason, and they would kill him. He wasn’t going to give them reason, though. Not yet. Not until he found the boy who had done this.
    His grandmother was the one he watched. She was the one he would miss from his Human life.  The one he was sorry for. She busied herself, refilling and cleaning away plates and glasses. But he saw her sometimes. She’d stopped and plucked the tissue out from her sleeve, dabbed her eyes and then carried on. He wanted to tell her more than anyone else just how sorry he was. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.
    Even when everyone had left, the boy stayed in his seat. His legs had long since gone numb, his stomach aching with its empty rumbles, a hunger like he had never felt before. But he didn’t move from his chair. He even ignored the need to use the bathroom. He didn’t want anyone to realise he was there. He wished he could be like a ghost and simply vanish. That would be better for all of them, wouldn’t it? If he just went away and they never knew. They’d probably not even go looking for him.
    His brother and sister had long since gone to bed. His father was in his study, in an appointment with Jack Daniels. The dining room was in darkness, and the boy stayed in the shadows, forgotten.
    He didn’t know how long had passed. Maybe it was an hour, maybe it was the whole night. The door opened and light from the hallway filled the room, exposing