Though reluctant, Theo nodded in obedience and allowed the nanny to carry him into the back seat while Timothy got in with the driver. He turned back to his brother and raised his hand in a childish wave.
"See, Theo, I am not really far from you, am I?" He smiled, and Theo smiled back, finally reassured that his brother was with him.
As the car roared to life, the rain came again, starting with gentle showers which progressed into the heaviest of downpours. Driving in this weather was foolish — the four people in the car knew that — which was why they subconsciously held their breaths. They had no choice, after all.
"Driver," Timothy called out, and when the driver looked at him, he lowered his voice until he was certain that his brother wouldn't hear him.
"For how long do you think this rain will continue?"
He was scared of the noise the rain made when it touched the roof of their car. He was terrified of seeing the trees swaying and shaking like they were about to be uprooted, and most of all, the darkness outside wasn't the least bit pleasing to behold. And if he was this scared, what of his brother?
The driver was no weatherman, but he understood the child's concern, and to assure him, he said,
"The rain should stop in five minutes."
He turned to give Timothy a warm smile before fixing his eyes back on the road.
"Why don't you go to the back seat and stay with the nanny and Master Theo?"
Timothy did not think twice before nodding. The front seat was really scary. It was as though he was being shown a clear view of the horrors outside, and he did not like that. Little wonder it was unadvisable for children to be seated there.
Because of his small size, it was easy for him to climb over to the back seat, where he immediately hugged his brother, who was waiting for him.
Timothy might be a child, but he was no fool. He knew the driver only said "five minutes" to reassure him, but he knew — as well as he knew his name — that this rain wouldn't be stopping anytime soon. It would likely last thirty minutes, or worse, an hour. But this little one couldn't handle it, not when his brother was shaking like a leaf in his arms.
He had always believed in those tales and myths about twins. Be it twin power, twin connection, or telepathy — he believed in all those things. So he thought that if he stopped being scared, his brother would relax too. If he smiled, his brother would smile too. So he began to think happy thoughts, hoping Theo would too.
It didn't take long for the giggles of two children to fill the car as Timothy began to make his silly little childish jokes that made not just Theo, but also the nanny and the driver, laugh heartily.
"You know, Theo, I hear that there's a big river where we are going. You like fishing, don't you? We could fish all day and even at night, and when it gets too hot, we can go for a swim — but we would have to be careful so the fishes don't bite our toes off."
Theo laughed with abandon. He couldn't wait till they got to their destination so he and Timothy could do everything Timothy talked about.
Sadly, mere happy thoughts and plans of children couldn't stop what the night had in store for them. Was it their fate? Or their destiny that dictated this for them? Or was it just a freak accident? A shitty coincidence?
A sudden crash shattered the children's laughter, ripping through the air like a scream. Then came another. And another. And another — each louder, more brutal than the last — until a heavy, haunting silence fell over the earth, as though some invisible force had declared the chaos over. It was as if peace had finally been restored, but at a cost too cruel to name. Even the angered sky seemed to have been appeased, its furious weeping quieting to a soft, mournful drizzle.
All Theo felt was motion — violent, disorienting. He was being tossed around like a rag doll, weightless and helpless, until a pair of arms — strong, trembling — wrapped tightly around him. He assumed they belonged to the nanny. Then... nothing. Just silence. A void.
The driver had been skilled. Trained. Experienced. But none of that mattered. The accident came anyway — unforgiving, unstoppable.
How was a child supposed to understand what death looked like?
How was he supposed to know that in that twisted, mangled wreck of steel and shattered glass, he was the only one still clinging to life — while his companions had slipped quietly, irreversibly, into the world beyond?