Micheal Pierre Rousseau stands outside the New York police department, wondering what the Hell he's doing here. There's no was he'll be able to tell and officer what he can barely even think about. He already told a counselor, isn't that enough?

"Just walk in there, find an officer, tell him what happened, and get out. It's that easy." He says under his breath, hoping no one will notice him standing outside and come make sure he's okay.

He takes a lungful of air, lifting his foot and taking a step forward, planting it firmly on the floor in the station. He forces himself past the two large doors that each have half the Presidential Seal on them. He looks around nervously, wondering if it's not too late to change his mind and walk back out.

Before he can decide, he notices a tall burly man walking towards him with a stride that says 'I'm the boss' and dressed in a dark blue button down shirt and black pants. A police officer. As the man approaches, Michael searches for a way out but finds none.

"Can I help you son?" The officer has a southern drawl, obviously he's not native to the city.

"Um..." Michael pauses nervously, debating whether accept the mans help, or decline and say he was just a tourist from China and was a bit confused. "Y-yes sire. I spoke to a counselor and he told me to come here and talk to an officer."

"Well I'm free for the moment, why don't you start by telling me your name, son." The man means business, no games. His tone says as much.

"Michael, sir. Michael Rousseau."

"Okay, Mr. Rousseau, please follow me. We can talk somewhere a little more private." The officer says, turning and walking towards a door at the other end of the room.

Michael is lead into a room filled with more bustling cops, some on the phone aguing with bosses, or uncooperative suspects or witnesses, other speaking to victims and family members quietly. Some were sitting at their desks, drinking coffee and doing paperwork.

The officer leads him past this room to a door labeled 'interrogation 1' in small black letters. "Just have a seat in here, Mr. Rousseau. Then we can get started." He says, walking in a gesturing to the chair facing the door, on the other side of the metal table in the center of the room.

"Yes, sir." Michael replies nervously. When he sits, it engulfs the room in screeches from the metal chair sliding against the concrete floor, followed closely bu=y the identical sound of the officer sitting across from him.

"I'm detective Mark Sanders, son. You may address me as Detective Sanders." Michael nods his head, feeling small and hopeless in this room with his back to the double mirror.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, Mr. Rousseau, why don't you tell me why you're here." Detective Sanders says, placing his forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together.

"Well...I should probably start at the beginning. It's not a short story though. It's not a happy one either" Sanders nods, indicating that he's listening. Michael sighs and launches into it without hesitation. "Ever since I was 4, my dad's been a drinker. My mom died around that time, and it really hit him hard." Michael pauses, looking down at his hands under the table. "He started beating me and my older sister, Lucy. It used to be only once in a while. But then, I don't even know how but it ended up being everyday. She tried to protect me, to take the blunt of it, but he'd always lock her in the attic and come after me." He sighs as tears form in his eyes and begin a quick decent down his face. "But the worst of it started about three weeks ago. Lucy left in the middle of the night. She wanted me to come, but I didn't want to slow her down. I had a sprained ankle. She said she would come back and get me out of there, but I just planned on leaving before she could get herself in more trouble." He sighs again, bringing both hands up and scrubbing them over his face angrily. "I was getting it all ready, gonna leave that night when she showed up two weeks later. She fought with my dad, and he slapped her. Hard. I wasn't going to let him hurt her like that anymore, so I jumped in and kicked him in the leg as hard as I could. `It just made him angrier though, so my sister grabbed a knife." More tears make their way down his cheeks and land on the cold metal table as he looks up at Detective Sanders. "He got it away from her and he...-" Michael can't continue, he's overcome with regret and he lets his head fall to the table as sobs shake him violently.

"What did he do, son?" Detective Sanders asks, his voice soft and understanding now.

"He stabbed her, right in the stomach! I couldn't stop him, it happened so fast!" More sobs rock his body. "She told me to run, to find help but I didn't want to leave her! I did everything I could but then it started getting infected, but he wouldn't let her out of his sight so I could take her to a doctor." He's sobbing and hiccuping and he can't see three feet in front of him from the tears in his eyes. "I ran away tonight and came here because I don't know what else to do! I told my counselor, and she said I needed to come here. I don't know why she didn't just call the station, but she didn't." he stops again and wraps his arms around himself tightly" "And now my sister is at home, dying and I'm here just crying. I'm supposed to be strong for her! For the flutterbies, because I promised!" He sobs, pulling his hands to his chest, pulling his arms around them and holding tight as he buries his face in his knees.

"Can you tell me the address?" Sanders asks urgently.

"2748 Miler Avenue." Michael hiccups out between sobs. Sanders walks out the door, shouting for another officer to get an ambulance and team down to Micheal's street ASAP. "Wait! Detective, tell her that it was me. Tell her I sent you, she won;t accept help unless it's from me. Tell her not to0 forget about flutterbies."

Two days, and about three major surgeries to get the whole infection out, Michael sits by his sister's bed. The doctors said she may not wake up, her body was too eaten away from the infection. He's praying for her to make it, because she's all he has left in this world.

She stirs, opening her eyes slightly but closing them against the bright white of the room. "Lucy? Are you okay?" Lucy turns and opens her eyes once more to see her younger brother sitting there with tear stains on his face.

"You did it, baby." Micheal nods, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

"I did, I had to. You're all I have left." Her brows knit at this, and her eyes dull a bit. "What? What's wrong?"

"It's time, Micheal. I can't stay in this world any longer."

"No, Lucy I need you! Please don't go!" She sighs and brushes her thumb over his hand.

"It's time ti fly. You'll make it, you always do. You're so strong! I have to go. Just like the flutterbies in the winter. It's time to fly." her heartbeat begins to slow, and he lets out a strangled sob, leaning over and resting his head on the bed beside her.

"I love you, little brother. Never forget it." The heart monitor continues to slow with each beat and his painful sobs emanate through the room, drowning out the sound of her still heart on the monitor. He'll get through this, for the flutterbies.