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Age 0
Hiro was a surprise, to say the least. The Hamadas hadn't tried for another child, not since they lost their first in a tragic accident. In fact, Hiro's mother had taken every precaution she could to avoid having another child, but as his father had said, it was an act of God. Maybe this was Tadashi's way of telling them to move on. Regardless of his origin, they eagerly anticipated his arrival.
The labor was intense and much more painful than Tadashi's had been. So much so that it threw Hiro's mother into a delusional state. She swore, through harsh, panting breaths, that the translucent image of her first child stared at her from the far corner of her hospital room. His empty, lifeless eyes haunted her, chilling her to the bone. She demanded over and over again that he be exorcised from the room, and no logical words could comfort her.
It wasn't until Hiro gave his first wails of life that she finally calmed. When asked by Hiro's father if she still saw Tadashi’s apparition, Hiro's mother just stared at him with bemusement, seemingly having forgotten of the presence she had claimed was in the room.
That night, Hiro's father dreamed of his elder son cooing at his younger brother from where he was bent over his crib.
Age 1
Hiro's first word was "'Dashi", much to his mother's absolute horror. Hiro's father chalked it up to him hearing the name from a family member and nothing more. But, she couldn't ignore the way her baby would burble and smile at no one in particular at seemingly random times. The doctors had said that the behavior was normal for children his age, but that did not satisfy her.
At night, exhausted and at her wits end, she would beg her elder son to leave his baby brother alone. She pleaded with him to move on, to find the afterlife, to be at peace. The next morning, she’d awaken with scratches on her arms and a feeling of complete and total dread. The only time she ever found solace was when she held her baby close, relieved that he seemed perfectly content and no worse for wear despite the ghost that plagued him.
Age 3
It was a miracle that Hiro had survived the traffic accident at all, let alone walked away from it without a scratch. The emergency personnel couldn't believe that anyone could make it out of the twisted, broken metal that had once been an SUV, but Hiro had been found sitting patiently on the other side of the road. When pressed to answer who had helped the child out of the vehicle, in the dead of night with no one else around, he said that it was guardian angel.
Age 5
Aunt Cass had very little issue with Hiro's imaginary friend.
At first, hearing the name "'Dashi" over and over again did strike a raw nerve, but after awhile, the name became associated with Hiro's playmate rather than her long passed nephew. She would even join in on the fun.
Aunt Cass pretended to see 'Dashi while they played. She wished the two boys good night during bed time. She even kept her old mattress in the far corner of Hiro’s room for Tadashi to "use".
Still, she wondered from time to time if encouraging his behavior was healthy, especially after she had asked Hiro to draw Tadashi for her. He had looked up at her, owlish eyes glistening with something in between fear and affection. He then told her, “You won’t like it. No one does.”
Aunt Cass made her disbelief known, and silently wondered who would tell a five year-old that their drawings were not absolutely praise worthy. But, just as Hiro predicted, she didn’t like it. The ghastly white figure, splotched with red around the chest and waist, had wide charcoal holes for eyes and a deep, gaping maw posied in a silent scream for a mouth.
While Aunt Cass stared at it with wide, tear-filled eyes, Hiro looked upon the picture with a soft, loving expression. He explained that ‘Dashi was his guardian angel, and he adored him so, no matter what he looked like. Cass tried her best to push down her stomach-churning terror while she placed the picture on the fridge with a magnet, though she kept it on the opposite side where it was difficult to see.
Age 7
“Just toss it down, Tadashi!”
Aunt Cass, who had been lounging on the couch watching a television show, leaned back in her seat in response to the commotion a few feet away from her. She glanced to her right to see Hiro waving his arms enthusiastically from the bottom of the stairs. The moment she opened her mouth to inform her nephew that Tadashi couldn’t actually move whatever object he was calling for, a book sailed gracefully into Hiro’s arms, thoroughly aborting her sentence.
“Thanks, ‘Dashi!”
The child pranced around the corner and into the living room. He plopped down on the couch next to her, unaware of the cold fear that had frozen her insides, causing her to tremble. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her lungs demanded for more oxygen than she could possibly take in.
Aunt Cass decided that Hiro was far too old for an imaginary friend, especially one that seemed to have the ability to
move objects at will and emotionally manipulate her nephew.
---
Aunt Cass thought her nephew would be much more upset about the new rules imposed upon him, but he took the new set of guidelines with a surprising passivity. Hiro wordlessly nodded as she explained why Tadashi's name was made into a bad word. He helped his aunt move the old mattress into the attic without a complaint. He had even promised to never play with his best friend again, at least in her presence.
However, during bed time, just as Aunt Cass turned off the bedroom light with a quiet flick of the switch, Hiro ominously warned her, "He keeps saying he'll make you go away like mommy and daddy."
The next morning, Aunt Cass woke up with scratches lining her chest and back, some horrid enough to bleed through her bed clothes.
That evening, Tadashi's bed was back in the corner of the room and she bid her two boys a good night.
Age 9
Hiro's genius had been noticed by his school's officials. Due to their fear of his boredom, cleverly cloaked as concern for his untapped potential, they recommended that he enter high school. Aunt Cass agreed, hoping that the environment would emotionally mature Hiro passed his "imaginary friend" stage.
The moment he entered the dull beige plaster halls of San Fransokyo High, he was tormented by a brutishly built boy named Scott. While the rest of Hiro's peers, especially the girls, had done their best to protect their young schoolmate, they couldn't always keep an eye on him, especially since no one seemed to want to hang out with the young student for longer than the time it took to get from one class to another. After school, Hiro found himself teased mercilessly, but it had given him a thick skin. He cared little for the older boy’s racist, and frankly, unoriginal comments. They simply rolled off of him like water off of a duck.
One day, however, Scott took his bullying too far. He pummeled the young boy until nearly every inch of his skin was marred with the evidence of his closed fists and kicking feet. Hiro came home in near tears, but instead of running to his aunt's awaiting embrace, he raced up the stairs and slammed his door.
Soon after, she heard voices; not just one, but two distinct voices. The realization chilled her to the bone, but she did her best to convince herself that he was speaking to a friend on the phone.
Aunt Cass picked up her own phone and dialed the school administrators, demanding a resolution to Hiro's problem. They assured her that they would get to the bottom of the case and do everything they could to make sure their prodigy had a healthy, safe learning environment.
The next morning, two detectives knocked on her door. The moment she allowed them entry, they asked to speak with Hiro. Scott had gone missing, and Hiro was the last person to have any meaningful contact with him. They collected his simple statement (“He beat me up and then left.”) and exited the home.
Scott was never found again.
Age 13
Hiro's graduation ceremony was bittersweet. Aunt Cass couldn't help but think, as she took dozens and dozens of photos of her nephew walking up to the gymnasium’s podium and receiving his diploma, that his parents should have been the ones sitting on the bleachers in her place, cheering on their son, embarrassing the hell out of him with hugs and smooches before heading off to dinner to celebrate. The thought of Tadashi briefly flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away as effectively as she could.
That evening, after she connected her digital camera to the computer and opened the drive, she noticed a white shroud surrounding Hiro in each and every single one of the pictures she took. She couldn’t bring herself to print the photographs out, let alone frame one in an effort to further decorate her home. Yet, she didn’t have the heart to delete the photos either. Instead, she created a folder and dumped them all into it.
Age 14
School had been a traumatic experience for Hiro, so Aunt Cass had decided to allow the teen to rest for a semester or two before pressuring him to go to college. He needed the time to recuperate, to find himself, to realize his own potential, and no amount of pushing or prodding from her would assist him in doing that. She had initially been worried that this meant Hiro would constantly be cooped up in his room (with him), but the boy spent plenty of time out and about, usually in the garage-turned-lab tinkering away at a robot or three, or in the city doing whatever it was teenage boys did.
Aunt Cass even suspected that Hiro was visiting a girlfriend - or boyfriend, she didn’t judge - as her nephew sometimes sported strange bruises on his neck. Although she didn't want to think of her cute, cherub-cheeked nephew as a sexual being, Aunt Cass attempted to bring up the topics of romance, safety and protection. Hiro, however, had adamantly denied that he was in a position where such a talk would be necessary.
That didn't stop Aunt Cass from buying condoms from the local drug store and sneaking them into Hiro's room when he was out. After all, she was too young to be a grandmother.
Hiro's bruises became darker after that, but the boy made no mention of them. His behavior hadn’t changed. He seemed just as happy as ever, if just the tiniest bit closed off. Therefore, Aunt Cass wasn’t too concerned, though whoever was responsible for the damage done to her nephew’s flesh was a very precise individual indeed. Each side of his neck sported four small marks of the same size and set apart at the same distance from one another.
It wasn’t until the night Aunt Cass caught an episode of a crime procedural drama on the television, one where the victim had been strangled to death, that she realized the bruises on Hiro’s skin looked like the impressions left behind by fingertips.
Age 15
Aunt Cass turned the volume up on her room’s television set to drown out the creaking sounds coming from Hiro’s bed. She kept chanting to herself that Hiro was just doing what normal teens do, working off “stress” privately in the safety of his bedroom.
Yet, she couldn’t get Hiro’s breathy moans of “Dashi! Oh, Tadashi, yes!” out of her head. She hadn’t been able to do so since she had walked by his room several weeks ago and heard her precious boy plead for his “guardian angel” to continue fucking him. She had wanted to throw the door open and scream at the ghost to stop touching her nephew, his brother, but such a notion seemed impossibly absurd.
At least Tadashi wasn’t hurting him.
Age 16
“What is this?” Hiro hissed, shoving an old picture, one with foxing around its edges, in Aunt Cass’s face.
She leaned back against the couch to get a better look at the photograph. She felt her heart stop when she finally made out the image: Tadashi. It had been taken the year before he had died, on his first day of kindergarten. He wore a blue t-shirt, brown shorts, and a bright smile. The boy stood outside of the school’s gates, leaning against the black grating with an easy-going posture.
“Hiro -” Aunt Cass started, but could say no more. She didn’t know what to say, or even how to approach the topic, but not for the lack of wanting to express the truth. She just didn’t have the heart to hurt her darling boy.
It was too late. Hiro’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. His cheeks burned. His teeth were bared in a snarl. “Who is this?”
Without much thought, the words “your brother” tumbled out of Aunt Cass’s mouth in a quiet whisper.
Hiro’s expression broke. Twin rivers fell from his flickering eyes. His mouth fell open, covered only by his trembling hand.
“That can’t - Oh my God!” Hiro cried out. He fell to his knees by his aunt’s feet. She slid from the couch and onto her own knees behind her nephew before taking him into her tight embrace.
“It’s okay,” she soothed while carding a hand through his hair. “We don’t have to understand this - it doesn’t mean he’s not your guardian angel. He -”
“No!” Hiro screeched, crumbling further in on himself. “You - You don’t understand, Aunt Cass, I-I’ve - We’ve, Jesus, I’ve had sex with him. I thought I was in love with him. He was my brother? He’s a ghost?”
Aunt Cass nodded against the crown of his head.
That night, Aunt Cass could hear shouting coming from her nephew’s room, followed by an echoing warble that she couldn’t quite make out no matter how hard she strained her ears. The exchange continued for several long minutes. She crept up the stairs to the attic-turned-bedroom, steeling herself to confront whatever was happening in her home. Just as she curled a hand around the golden-colored bulb of Hiro’s doorknob, a scream tore through the air.
Aunt Cass threw the door open, nearly pulling it off its hinges. In the middle of the room, Hiro stood. His eyes were set wide and unbelieving as he stared at his wrists. Scorch marks in the shape of handprints were etched onto the smooth skin just below the palms of his hands.
After a moment, whatever spell that had transfixed her nephew broke. He looked up not at her, but at the air surrounding him. A notch formed between his eyebrows. A grimace found its way onto his face. A fresh wave of tears fell as he screamed, “You lied to me! You said you loved me!”
Hiro was thrown back onto his bed by an invisible force. A loud “oof!” escaped the boy, but otherwise, he didn’t make any other sounds of distress. Regardless, Aunt Cass was in the process of springing to her nephew’s side, but just as the muscles in her legs tensed, a hot wave of air knocked her back with enough force to throw her against the opposite wall outside of Hiro’s room. His door slammed closed behind her.
Aunt Cass’ vision blurred around the edges before it blacked out completely. The last thing she heard was Hiro screaming, “No!”
When she awoke, Hiro was standing over her. His eyes looked hollow, but sad. The boy’s wounded lips were set in a hard line. Tracks of wet salt stained the boy’s reddened cheeks.
Wordlessly, he bent over and took her wrist into his gentle hand. He helped her stand and led her to her room. Hiro bid his aunt a quiet good night before closing the door to the bedroom behind him. It shut with a quiet click.
For the first time in nearly sixteen years, Aunt Cass pulled out her sister’s rosary from the drawer in her nightstand and prayed.
The next morning while eating breakfast, Hiro whispered to no one that he didn’t want to die. Aunt Cass assured him that he didn’t have to. She went on to explain that she had made an appointment to see a priest in the hopes that somehow he could help them with their situation.
Hiro smiled, though the expression was broken and didn’t quite meet his eyes. He glanced over at his Aunt. His amber eyes were soft and gentle. “I love you,” he whispered.
Age 17
Hiro Hamada’s grave rested next to his brother’s.