“What’s up?” Steven asked.
“Those your parents?”
“Yep. If you could call them that.” Steven forced a laugh of disappointment. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m supposed to keep you company,” the boy said, punching Steven in the arm playfully.
“Company? I’m not alone; my parents are here.” Steven directed his focus back to his parents.
“No, your parents are there. They can’t even see you.”
“Am I fully dead?” Steven asked, confused by that one statement.
“Nope, you’re just like you thought—in between.”
“Whew—cool. So why else are you here?”
“I’m just like you. My parents were domvies, too.”
r /> “Dummies?”
“No, domvies—domestic violence parents.”
“So you’re in a coma, too?”
“Nope, I wasn’t so lucky,” he said, sadly walking to the window, waiting for Steven to follow. “I’m all the way dead.”
“Your dad?”
The boy shook his head slowly. “Mom’s aim was a little off with the knife. It slipped past Dad and landed right here,” he said, pointing to his chest. “She was trying to protect herself from him.”
“Wow, my dad had a gun tonight. It was an accident also.”
“Yeah, I know all about it. There are a lot of us floating around here.” Michael frowned. “My mama had an order of protection and everything, but that was just a piece of paper. We should’ve gone to one of those shelters or something.”
“Was your dad on drugs?”
“Naw, he was just… mean,” the boy said, hesitating, trying to find a polite way to put it.
“Well, at least my dad had an excuse,” Steven said proudly. “He was on drugs.”
The boy chuckled, his hazel eyes twinkling. “Doesn’t make you any less half-dead now, does it?”
Steven winced, realizing the boy had a point. “What’s your name?”
“Michael,” he said, extending his hand. “Michael Roberts.”
“I’m Steven Santos,” he said, shaking it. “So, how long do I hang around up here?”
“Depends on you. Just like your parents are making choices, you’re supposed to make some also. You can stay here for a while or you can go back when you’re called.”
Actually, the more he thought about it, Steven didn’t want to go back—in between was safe.
“How many are there like you?”
Michael frowned, his mind winding with confusion. “Like me?”
“You know, kids that were killed in domestic violence accidents.”