“Hi, James,” I say after a long delay.
He steps closer, not taking his eyes off me. “May I sit down?”
I give him a shrug. “If you want.” It has been five years since we spoke, and all I can muster is a teenager’s response.
I glance at him up and down and realize he is wearing new clothing: designer jeans, a leather belt, a tucked-in white business shirt with the top two buttons undone, and a watch that appears expensive at a cursory glance. His brown hair is wavy but neat, and he has a finely maintained bit of stubble. He is holding a thick, brown sports jacket, neatly folded in one hand.
I have never seen him like this. My memory of my brother is one of a man who takes the least care of his appearance as possible.
James pulls out the wire-frame chair opposite me and sits down with the jacket across his lap. He places both hands on the table and interlaces his fingers. His thick watch clatters against the surface of the table.
“Emma,” he says, both eyes pleading with me, “I am so sorry to hear about everything. When the hospital called me, and told me what happened, I jumped on the next plane over here. I wanted to visit you sooner, but the doctors wouldn’t allow it until now.”
The words coming out of his mouth don’t seem right. The James I know travels by bus. The James I know wouldn’t drop everything to visit the sister he despises. Was my tragedy motivating him to find me? Is the outfit all part of the act?
My thoughts are pushed aside when he leans across the table and pulls me in for a hug. The sudden action takes me by surprise. I can sense genuine compassion and warmth coming from his body. This isn’t a forced exchange in any possible way. We are two siblings holding each other tight to fight off the demons of the world. I start to sob.
“It’s okay,” James whispers into my ear. “I’m here for you.”
After the longest hug ever received from my brother concluded, I let go of him and fall back into my chair. I immediately start to wipe my tears with the sleeve of my gray jumper. I sniff uncontrollably and notice James has also been crying.
“Why are you here?” I blurt out.
“That’s a fair question,” he says, leaning forward. “And I understand your confusion. The last time we spoke wasn’t exactly pleasant.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I agree, staring at the table for a moment.
James clears his throat. “It’s stupid, really. After we had parted ways that day, all I wanted was to be angry at you, but something else happened instead: you motivated me to get my act together.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Yeah, hear me out, Emma. I realize you won’t believe this, but your readiness to give me half of your inheritance so I could start over was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me. Sure, I completely ruined the gesture by questioning your motives, but I eventually came to my senses when I realized what you were trying to do. Of course, my ego got in the way, so I figured I had no option but to do you a favor and stay out of your life.”
“I never wanted that,” I say, reaching a hand toward him. “I called you countless times, sent you emails, letters even, but you never responded.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was in another place back then. No excuses, but at first, it was for the best. I needed to get my head right before I was worthy of your attention. I guess I let that doubt carry on for too long.”
“Five years too long.”
James gives me a warm smile. It feels odd to see it. Whenever I have thought about him, I only ever pictured a sour, angered face. Was I getting my brother back after losing everything else? The world had a strange way of working.
“Enough about me,” James says. “I’m not here to ask for forgiveness or to give you excuses. I’m here for you.” He places his hand over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze.
In that moment, all I can think about is the time we have lost these past five years for no good reason. I tore myself apart after the fight, feeling so stupid. I should have known better than to offer him the money, but I didn’t know how else I could help. He had lost not only his fiancée but his future. I guess I understood loss now, well beyond a simple, empathetic lesson.
“Is there anything that you need?” James asks.
His question brings me back to the present, sending my eyes around the room as if the answer will be written on the walls. I find it hard to process the easiest of thoughts now. Was it the drugs they gave me creating the constant haze of confusion, or had the repressed memories of that night the world dances around crushed my ability to think?
“Emma?”
“No, there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. What’s done is done.”
James lowers his voice. “Hey, listen to me. You don’t deserve any of this. You remember that. What happened was not your fault, okay?”
I force in a deep breath with closed eyes. When I open them and exhale, I focus on James’s stare and grab his hand. “It’s all my fault. There’s nothing anyone can say or do that will make me think otherwise.”
I don’t regret my words as they come out. I lean back and away from James, wondering if the staff coached him on what to say. Is this just another session disguised as a visit?
I refocus on James as he tells me another reassuring bit of therapy. The doctors are operating him like a mouthpiece as they study my reaction to his every word.
After a few more minutes of it, I need to leave.
“Thank you for coming, James, but I’m starting to feel tired.”
“I’m sorry. I can come back another time that suits. You rest up and take it easy.” He stands and moves around to give me another hug. “I’ll be staying nearby. I’ve given my number to the staff. Call me anytime, day or night. I’m here for you, Emma. We’ll fight through this thing, together.”
I have nothing to say apart from my thanks. My eyes follow him as he leaves the room and fades out of my life again. Part of me wonders how real he had been. Had the stress of the facility finally broken me? Am I now officially crazy?
As if timing things to perfection, Tom shows up out of the corner of my eye and grunts something about my next session starting a bit earlier than usual. He escorts me along to Doctor Shaw’s office and drops me off like a disinterested parent.
“Take a seat,” Shaw tells me as the door clicks shut behind me.
I take a quick glance at the clock on the wall as I sit down. One hour won’t be enough time to get me through the day.
Nine
Before.
The warnings keep coming. Threatening texts to Darren’s phone and random hang-ups to our seldom-used landline have plagued our house for the last day, carrying through to the night.
“Fucking Victor,” Darren mutters as we lie in bed. The blue light from his cell bathes his angry face as he haphazardly scrolls through the threatening words sent anonymously to his number.
“How do you know it’s him?” I ask as I put my e-reader down.
“Who else could it be?”
“I couldn’t imagine Victor doing this, though. Does he even have a cell phone?”
“No, but what he does have is an angry family. I know this is them. They think they are doing him a favor, but I’m saving all this crap for court. Maybe the whole case will be thrown out.”
I stroke Darren’s arm in an attempt to calm him down a little. “Why don’t you turn that thing off for the night?” I can feel the stress pouring through him. He half flinches at my touch.
“No, I can’t. I want every text recorded and backed up. I’m not letting them destroy everything I’ve busted my ass to build. These asshole family members of his are just after the money and nothing else.”
I shake my head. “It’s so stupid. How could they possibly think this will help?”
He shrugs. “You understand how people are when it comes to family. It brings out the best and worst in all of us.”
I agree to the back of his head before rolling over to a comfortable position. Darren con
tinues to scroll manically through his phone. I don’t want to be the one to tell him that there will be no way those texts will hold up in court without proof Victor’s family sent them. I let him funnel his anger into the task, hoping it might calm him down a little.
As I begin to drift off to sleep, a loud crash outside pulls me into an alerted state. Darren responds twice as fast as me and is already up.
“What the hell was that?” I ask. My heart pounds in my chest so hard I can almost hear it.
“Victor,” Darren said without looking back to me as he heads for our walk-in closet and reaches up to his gun safe.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
Darren keeps his focus forward as he unlocks the small safe stored at the top of the closet and pulls out a pistol. He loads the weapon with live rounds and holds it out to his side, staring me in the eyes.
“I won’t let them intimidate me.”
Before I can talk him back down, he heads for the door.
“Darren,” I call after him. He continues his determined pace and exits our bedroom, heading for the stairs.
With no choice but to follow, I leap out of bed and go after him. The noise originated outside by our bins. Darren will be moving to the side door to where we keep the garbage, so I stay a few feet back.
In the dark of the night, I stand directly behind him with one hand on his shoulder. I want him to identify where I am and not mistake me for the intruder.
We head toward the door as another clang makes us stop in our tracks.
“Come on, assholes,” Darren whispers as he continues to creep up to the door. I don’t follow as the reality of the situation freezes me in my place. The handle begins to jiggle as Darren comes to within two feet of the door. He raises the pistol and pulls back the slide, turning the gun from a threatening object to a deadly tool.
The door springs open. Darren reaches out and grabs at the intruder, pulling them inside a moment later.
“Whoa, Dad, it’s me. Put down the gun!” Frank yells as Darren presses him up against the wall, knocking over a lamp in the process. The material wrapped around its shade stops anything from breaking. I quickly find the nearest light switch and flick it on.
Darren lowers the pistol and activates the safety before slapping the weapon down on a small table kept by the door.
“What the hell are you doing out there?” Darren asks. “I thought you were trying to break into our house. I could have shot you.”
Frank’s brow twists up as he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Darren yells as he gets closer to our son. “Bullshit. You’ve got about three seconds to tell me.”
“Whatever,” Frank mutters as he glances away from his father.
“Don’t you ‘whatever’ me, Frank. This is serious. Now tell us what you were doing sneaking into the house at one in the morning.”
Frank lets out a sigh as he continues to avoid his father’s gaze. “I was hanging out with some friends, okay?”
“On a school night?” I ask over Darren’s shoulder. Frank had already come home from a friend’s house at nine, getting dropped off at our front door. Now we discover he had sneaked out once we’d all gone to bed.
“With who?” I ask.
“None of your business.”
“Is that right?” Darren says. “Well, son, I think you’ll find that it is entirely our business. Consider yourself grounded until further notice.”
“What?” Frank says as Darren grabs the pistol and walks away from him. “That’s not—”
“I don’t want to hear it. You’re grounded. Now go to bed.” Darren doesn’t wait for a rebuttal and heads back up the stairs.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask Frank with crossed arms.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. What does it matter, anyway?”
I resist the temptation to fall into another argument with him. “Well, it stops now. Your father is going through some tough times at work and doesn’t need this nonsense on top of everything.”
“Tough times?” Frank asks. “What do you mean?”
I let out a huff as I debate how much to tell him. We are usually upfront about most things with our son. I stare him in the eyes. “Your father lost his big contract after Victor broke his spine on-site during a fall. He is now suing the business.”
“Holy shit,” Frank said.
“Hey, watch the language. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make things worse.”
“Sorry,” he says. I’m not sure if he is apologizing for the cursing or the late-night sneaking. Either way, the conversation can wait until morning.
“Go to bed. You’ve got school in the morning, in case you forgot.”
“I’m going.” He groans, heading for the stairs.
I shake my head with a smile and remember stealing back into the house when I was his age. My father only caught me once.
Before I head back upstairs, I check that the side door is locked. As I reach for the knob, I hear what sounds like an idling car. For whatever reason, the noise prompts me to open the door a touch and spy outside.
Out in the cool of the night, I see an old sedan from the seventies with a lone driver idling on the street in front of our house. It doesn’t belong to anyone in the neighborhood, nor have I seen it before. A figure inside puts the vehicle into gear and drives off in half a hurry without any lights on.
“Frank,” I mutter to myself, wondering who dropped him off at this time of night. I shake my head and shut the door, locking it a moment later. I head up to the bedroom and run into Frank as he is brushing his teeth. I wait for him to finish and ask him about the car.
“So, who was that dropping you off in the middle of the night, huh?”
He wipes his mouth as a crease forms across his brow. At that moment, he looks exactly like his father. “What are you talking about?” he asks me.
“Don’t play dumb. I won’t add anything to your punishment or tell your father if you spill the beans right now.”
Frank shakes his head. “I didn’t get a lift home. I rode. I swear it. You can ask anyone or check my bike, even.”
I cross my arms, using my limited range of Mom poses, but he doesn’t budge on his stance. A sudden prickle of fear runs down my spine when I realize something: Frank is telling me the truth.
Ten
The next morning, I stir from a half slumber feeling worse than when I went to bed. Every hour, I woke up and pretended to go to the bathroom so I could peek out the window of our bedroom to the street below. I didn’t spot any more idling cars for the rest of the night.
I roll in my bed and realize Darren has gotten up an hour earlier than usual. He has a lot on his mind to deal with, and the business never lets him take a minute off.
I head downstairs to see if I can make Darren some breakfast or fix him a coffee, but he is already rushing out the door.
“Honey?” I call after him. He’s got his keys in his mouth and both hands overloaded with paperwork, coffee, and his bag. He sees me calling and sets enough items down on the small counter by the front door so he can spit out the car keys. With raised eyebrows, he waits for me to speak.
“Were you going to say goodbye to me?”
He closes his eyes with a wrinkled brow and lowers his head. “Sorry. I’ve just got so much to do today. I didn’t mean to take off without a word.”
“It’s okay,” I say as I walk across to him. I place a hand on his chest and lean up to kiss him on the cheek. He looks at me with tired eyes, and I realize he has somehow aged a couple of years over the last week.
“We’ll push through this,” I say. “One day at a time.”
He smiles at me half-heartedly, lifting only one corner of his mouth. “What if we don’t? What if we lose everything? The business, the house. It all could go if this gets ugly.”
“We won’t let it get ugly. Maybe we need to reach out to Victor and talk to him without any lawyers or family members in his ear. H
e always seemed like a reasonable guy to me.”
Darren nods. “Yeah, he was. He was like family. Out of all the guys I’ve hired, he was the last one I’d ever expect to do this, but I guess losing your livelihood will do that to a person.”
I force a smile. “Just work through today, honey. We’ll talk more when you come home tonight. I’ll make you something nice for dinner so we can grab a head start on a relaxing weekend.”
He wraps his spare arm around me and pulls me in tight. “That sounds perfect.” He kisses me on the cheek and holds me for a moment longer. “I better go,” he says. “I’ll be home by six.”
I watch, standing in the front doorway, as he gathers his things again and heads out to work. His cell rings before he reaches his truck, forcing him to juggle the phone out of his pocket and fumble his way into his work vehicle.
I shut the front door and turn the knob to push the deadbolt into place. I’m usually not so worried about locking every single door in the house, but after seeing the threats sent to Darren’s number and the creepy driver in the middle of the night, I’m starting to become quite paranoid.
I let out a huff, knowing I still have to go to work today. The task is probably a nice distraction to have, but I am less than motivated to head back upstairs and prepare for the day. I still have three hours before I need to leave, so I think about going to the gym once Frank heads off to school.
Of course, I will first have to face the angst my teenage son will no doubt be directing toward me when he comes down from his room.
Breakfast with Frank is more awkward than normal. Whenever Darren grounds him, I am the one who has to enforce the punishment. That means Frank’s anger will be directed at me.
“Did you do your homework? Or were you and your friends too busy sneaking around in the middle of the night?”
Frank mutters something under his breath as he eats his cereal. I move closer to him and lean down to his lowered eye level. “Well?”
“I’ll do it before I leave, okay?”
I let out a sigh. “That’s not how homework is supposed to be done.”
Don't Let Me Die: A gripping psychological thriller Page 4