Odion Biobaku stared at the kitchen knife in his hand and wondered if murdering his twin brother was the answer to his problem.

He shook his head, returning the knife inside the drawer. Slitting Apollo’s throat wouldn’t have worked. The bastard would’ve sensed him coming from a mile away. Probably. Odion exited the kitchen and darted up the stairs. A brisk tingle spread across his arms as he approached their closed bedroom door. Apollo’s energy pulsated through the walls. Odion took in a set of deep breaths, his stomach twisting into a series of pretzel knots. Steady your nerves. Stay strong!

Telling yourself to “stay strong” and being strong were two completely different things. Much easier said than done. Anyone who could murder their foster parents the way Apollo did …

Odion shook the memory from his head again. As much as he tried to forget, moments like those never left you. Instead, they followed you to the grave. And, if Odion’s nightmares were anything to go by, Apollo was going to destroy everyone around him—and quite possibly the world.

Each nightmare started with fire engulfing the city of Sauga and ended with Apollo bathing in the heat of the flames, smiling as if proud of what he’d done, the charred remains of innocent civilians all around them.

Odion scrubbed his hands through his dreads and down his face to pull the imagery out of his mind. Whether Apollo wanted to acknowledge it or not, it was his fault it took several months for Ontario’s Association of Children’s Aid Societies to find their second foster parent, Marcella Rosenbaum. It was a miracle she even decided to adopt them, given the report about Apollo’s mental instability and behavior from their social worker.

Odion reached for the knob and turned it slowly, poking his head inside. Apollo’s chest rose and fell as he slept, his headphones resting over his ears. Odion cringed at the classical music blasting through them. How could someone so cold-blooded listen to such calming music? He snapped out of his thoughts. There wasn't any time to figure that out. He needed to find Apollo's journal.

Odion tiptoed inside, stepping over piles of empty juice boxes scattered around the room from last night, along with the empty cereal bowl he’d forgotten to wash. Since the curtains were drawn, the dimmed salt lamp resting on Apollo’s bedside table emitted an orange glow, giving the room an ominous dungeon feel as if he’d performed some sort of demonic ritual before falling asleep.

Odion shifted his eyes around the room as if searching for gold. His journal’s gotta be somewhere around here. He took a peek under Apollo’s bed and found nothing. He then slinked his way toward Apollo’s work desk against the wall and dug through each drawer as if he’d misplaced a winning lottery ticket.

He stumbled upon a photo of himself locked in Apollo’s arm after their Under-10 football league championship win. Odion recalled moments from that game being down by two goals with only ten minutes left on the clock, and Apollo came back to score a hat-trick, earning them the trophy. Of course, Apollo’s winning goal was all because of the killer pass Odion made to him from central midfield. Had it not been for his assist, they very well could’ve lost the game. A faint smile tugged on Odion’s lips as he placed the photo back in the drawer. It was crazy how he and Apollo were the only seven-year-olds on that squad. Those were the days when Mom was alive, and life was normal.

Odion turned and snuck his way around Apollo’s bed, spotting something looking like a notebook sandwiched underneath his leg. That’s gotta be it. Odion’s left pocket vibrated. The notification jingle that alerted him about Marcella’s arrival beeped from his iPhone. A pair of keys clinked and jangled from outside the entrance doorway no sooner after.

“Odion, is he awake?” Marcella’s voice boomed from the entryway as she stepped inside.

“Nah, not yet,” he said, glancing at Apollo before escaping into the hallway.

Marcella thundered up the stairs and hobbled toward the room out of breath, the meat on her arms flapping back and forth as she marched past Odion. “Apollo Kingsley Biobaku!” She ripped the headphones away from his ears, and Apollo sprung upright in fright. “You mean to tell me since I left for my doctor’s appointment, you’ve been here fast asleep? Fetch us some milk from the supermarket, and clean up this pigsty of a room. Now!”

Odion stepped off to the side, allowing Marcella’s wide body to exit the room. She mumbled about Apollo’s laziness as she stormed down the stairs. She wasn’t lying. If Apollo wasn’t writing in his journal or browsing YouTube videos on the PC down in the basement, he was snoring up a storm. Terrible habit he developed. Odion shook his head, watching Apollo untangle his dreads one by one.

“I don’t even drink milk. Why can’t you get it?” Apollo asked, putting his squared glasses on. He shook his head to allow the rest of his locks to come free naturally, some of them slapping across his face.

“She never asked me, that’s why.” Odion contorted his face into disgust. “It ain’t gonna kill you if you do some shit for us from time to time.”

“Except I’m the one who’s always doing shit for you from time to time,” Apollo said, biting off the end of the sentence.

Odion scoffed. “Aww, you mad? One more time ain’t gonna do you no harm.”

Marcella’s heavy footsteps plodded toward the kitchen, with the faucet turning on shortly after. “Why are there plates still in the sink?” She stormed back into the entryway. “I swear to God, Apollo, if you don’t get your ass down here and come wash these plates, it’s going to be me and you. Don’t make me come back up there. Bring your bowl too!”

“It’s not my bowl,” Apollo said, walking toward the edge of the stairs.

“Excuse me, young man, what did you say?” Marcella climbed halfway up the steps, slicing Apollo with a glance that could’ve easily cut through refrigerated butter.

“It’s not my bowl,” Apollo repeated. “It’s his bowl.” He gestured his head back toward Odion.

Marcella looked at him for a moment, twisting her face into a nasty scowl. “I don’t give a horse’s ass whose bowl it is. When I tell you to do something, you do it! Do I make myself clear?” Apollo looked at her, venom boiling in his eyes. “Do I make myself clear, Apollo Biobaku?”

The air in the hallway gradually became heavier the longer Apollo remained silent. Don’t try anything funny. Odion balled his hands into fists. Attacking Apollo would’ve been suicide, but he wasn’t going to stand there and let him destroy the place because of a scolding.

“Sure.” Apollo tilted his head to the side and shrugged, descending past her a step at a time.

Marcella grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. “Don’t ever talk back to me like that again.” She pointed her chubby finger in his face. “Go wash those plates like I told you to and hurry up with that milk.”

Odion’s heart marched to his throat as the anger brewed across his brother’s face. Apollo worked his lips, no doubt contemplating something dastardly. He cut a killer glance at Odion before eventually making his way downstairs. It’s moments like those Odion had to be on his toes because there was no telling what Apollo was up to. But his journal will!

Odion raced back to the bedroom and took a quick peek behind him to see if anyone was coming. He yanked Apollo’s journal from his bed and began flipping through its pages, hoping to find some answers as to what kind of sorcery Apollo was able to conjure up and where he acquired such power. Odion stopped on an entry that caught his attention.

What's the purpose of life? I don't think anyone in the Universe knows the answer to that question, but I'm almost certain it doesn’t stand for Living In Fear Eternally. Fear of going outside because of the dangers that lurk around the city. The fear of socializing because of the nasty things people often say about me. The fear of failure because disappointing Ma (rest her soul) is something I couldn’t live with. And my personal favorite, the fear of becoming something people don’t recognize the monster people think I am.

I’ve always thought my purpose in life was to save the world. A little ridiculous, I know. I blame it on all the comics I read (Bionic Man and Black Shadow I’m looking at you). Ma used to mention something about a great power Odion and I had within ourselves, and that it was our destiny to make the world a better place. I never really understood what she was referring to by that and it’s my fault for not asking her when she was still alive.

After she passed away, life seemed pointless. Still seems pointless. She was the only person who ever cared about me. I’ve never received that kind of affection from Marcella or Odion and he’s supposed to be my brother.

I’m only sixteen years young and already feel lost with no sense of purpose or direction in life. A routine day consists of school, listening to music, journaling, and being berated by Odion and that witch of a woman. I’m regarded as the ‘bastard child’ while she looks upon him like he’s the greatest thing since the creation of the Internet. Oh well, I’m quite used to it by now. They say some things never change. Besides, I have no right to complain. There are people out there in far worse conditions than my own. To complain about my situation means that a part of me wants to be heard by others, but by doing that, I’m implying that what’s currently going on in my life is of any importance. To express what I mean in mere words is next to impossible, so I won’t bother, especially since my eyes are closing on me.

Odion snorted. Some of the lies told in this journal entry were outrageous. Apollo’s purpose in life wasn’t to be berated – whatever that meant – by him or Marcella, and she most certainly didn’t believe he was the greatest thing since the creation of the Internet. It was also highly doubtful she viewed Apollo as the “bastard child,” as he put it.

Odion continued to flip through some more pages unable to find anything that would explain those recent paranormal occurrences: bedroom light flickering, the door opening and closing on its own, even the short line crack on their window. That wasn't there two weeks ago so what the fuck was going on?

Apollo's footsteps trudged back up the stairs and Odion quickly returned the journal across his bed just as he’d found it.

Apollo didn’t say a word or even attempt to look at him once he’d made it back to their room, throwing his hoodie on before grabbing his headphones and Sony MP3 player. Odion could tell he was fuming inside by the way his brows loomed over his eyes and how the muscles at the sides of his jaw bulged through his cheeks.

“You sure you wanna bring those with you?” Odion gestured to his MP3 player and headphones. “It looks like it’s gonna rain any minute now.”

Apollo ignored him, going into his drawer and storing his wallet and house keys in the pockets of his beige chinos. He placed his headphones around his ears and bumped Odion out of the way, slamming the door shut. Odion stared at the door for a long moment and couldn’t help but think that one of these days, Apollo was going to be the death of him and everyone close to his heart.

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