Fight for a Living

by Sophia Schmidt

  Derek got a scholarship and obtained a bachelor's degree in chemistry, soon followed by a master's in biochemistry. Carl was doing well too, he had already got his engineering degree, ready to study for his master and already had a steady relationship.

  Despite being really happy for his little brother, it was really a painful thorn in Derek's side. He had always been the more socially inept between the two and never managed to get into a stable relationship, not even in college.

  Derek had no problem talking to girls, the issue always lied in him being picky and ended in his inability to trust. He had had many crushes, but never fell in love.

  At the beginning, he put the blame on his bad luck, always finding shallow or idiotic girls. After finding more than one good girl, he put the blame on his dark past.

  When confronted with Carl's happy relationship, he could only blame himself. While Carl had suffered almost the same things, he got out much stronger and purer than Derek.

  Derek was just too scared of being hurt again to let any relationship grow above a certain level and that was an enemy that he could not just beat up.

  Derek accepted the first decent paid job he got, working on the night shift of a big chemical company in the Q&A department.

  Carl had confided to Derek that he was going to propose to his girlfriend, as soon as he got his master. Hence Derek needed money, because he only had two years to save enough to give his little brother a decent wedding.

  Derek did not like his current job, but it was a way to start his working career and filled his curriculum. Also it was well paid and he resolved to use the company's insurance to seek psychological counseling.

  He knew he had problems and wanted to work them out. Derek consulted several doctors before finding someone he was able to work with and after several months, he felt he was finally starting to make some progress.

  Alas, such happiness was not bound to last.

  Chapter 3: Prologue (3)

  It was a Friday evening and Derek was getting prepared for work.

  He was still stuck doing Q&A because the pay was too good and no matter how many times Carl said he wanted a small ceremony, Derek was sure that whatever they planned to spend, it would at least double in the end.

  It was a goddamn wedding. Things were supposed to be blown out of proportions, at some point. That's just how they work.

  Derek was adjusting his shirt when the smartphone rang on the notes of "Night on Bald Mountain", the pre-set ringtone for unknown numbers.

  Derek McCoy, who is it?

  Mister McCoy, this is the Saint Joseph hospital. The female voice sounded worried. This together with the word "hospital" sent a shiver down his spine.

  Is Carl McCoy your brother? Derek could almost hear her biting her nails.

  Yes, what happened?

  He was involved in a car accident and is in serious condition. You should come here as soon as possible. The doctors need you since you are his healthcare proxy and the patient is unconscious.

  A car accident?! Derek yelled while rushing out of the door and looking for a cab.

  We don't have any fuc**ng car! What the hell happened?

  I'm sorry, I am not at liberty to say. The doctors will explain it… Derek hung up on her. He had no time for useless babbling, only for a goddamn cab.

  Every second in traffic was torture and when he finally arrived, it was too late.

  The surgeon and a police officer explained to him that Carl had been run over by a drunk driver. The culprit had run off, the police were still looking for him.

  A bystander had immediately called 911, but because of a traffic jam caused by the accident, it took hours for the ambulance to arrive.

  So when Carl reached the hospital, he was already in critical condition. He had multiple fractures, a ruptured spleen, and internal bleeding, requiring immediate surgery.

  Derek had been called while Carl was just entering the OR.

  They had done their best to save him, but Carl had lost too much blood, so there was nothing they could do. They offered Derek their condolences, but all he could hear was white noise.

  Let me see my brother. He begged.

  The body was covered by a sheet, only the head visible. Derek could still see traces of blood on the face of his little brother.

  Derek gave his number to the police officer so he could be updated about the investigation and then returned home.

  The culprit was quickly apprehended thanks to the traffic cameras. It turned out to be a kid, barely seventeen years old, that had stolen his old man's car and then got drunk and high with his friends.

  Derek lived the months before the trial in anguish. The damned DA had decided to prosecute him as a minor and the even more damned judge had granted him house arrest. All while his little brother, his Carl, was dead because of him.

  How could they do such a thing? Derek would yell and argue with anyone willing to listen to him. "Why all this talking about the rights and the future of that little sh*t? What about my brother's rights? What about his future? Carl has none because of him! What kind of justice is that?"

  Derek visited the DA office multiple times, expressing his outrage and demanding them to ask for the maximum sentence. They were always kind and accommodating and promised him that they would not forget about Carl.

  When the day of the trial finally came, Derek's world died one more time.

  The DA and the defence attorney had come to a settlement.

  Since Chris Wainright, this was the name of the murderer, was still a minor and it was also his first offense, he had accepted going to rehab and doing six hundred hours of community service.

  If Chris managed to complete his rehab program and did not commit crimes in the next three years, then he would be a free citizen with no criminal record.

  Derek was too dumbfounded to even be angry. When the session was over, he just walked to the DA, and asked a single question with a muffled voice.

  Why?

  Then, with their most kind and accommodating tone, the DA assistants explained to Derek that Chris was just a kid from a good family that had made a dumb mistake.

  He had a brilliant future ahead, Chris had already been admitted at Cal Tech and this was his first offense. Also, his parents had hired a great lawyer and the judge would likely be unwilling to destroy Chris' life.

  Despite their expectations, Derek did not make a scene. Derek's fire was extinguished, he had no more tears to shed.

  In the following months, Derek lived by going through the motions. He kept following his routine like nothing had happened, his brain still refusing everything that happened in the last half year.

  The only thing that made him feel alive was the constant headache that had started shortly after Carl's death. According to his doctor, it was a stress related symptom. With all that had happened, Derek had just been swallowing aspirins and paracetamol like they were candies.

  The pain never did go away, instead it was getting worse. Derek finally found the strength to get a serious check-up and once again bad news was waiting for him.

  According to the full body scan and the follow-up biopsy, he had stage two pulmonary cancer.

  But I never smoked in my whole life! Derek exclaimed more amused than scared.

  Indeed, it's odd. Doctor Monroe, his oncologist, was quite puzzled.

  She was a good-looking Hispanic woman, maybe five years older than Derek. In different circumstances, he would have probably asked her out.

  You told me you work for a chemical company, right? Derek nodded.

  Such an aggressive cancer is too uncommon to be a coincidence. My personal opinion is that their ventilation system failed. You and God knows how many more people have been breathing poison for quite some time.

  But we wear masks the whole time we work with the chemicals and, speaking for myself, I follow the safety protocols to the letter. My colleagues always mock me for it! Derek was still in disbelief.

  "Then maybe the
masks are cheap pieces of junk. Or maybe the lab or the storage, if not both, have leaks. These corporate scumbags only seek profit.

  It would not surprise me in the least if they cut from the safety budget to put more dividends in their pockets."

  Doctor Monroe was too outraged, even in his catatonic state Derek could tell there was more to it.

  Doctor, what are you hiding from me? He asked, looking her straight in the eyes for the first time.

  She nibbled on her lower lip for a while before answering.

  Between you and me, you are not the first case from your company. I have already reported it to the Department of Health and to federals. If I were in your shoes, I would get a good lawyer and sue the soul out of them. You'll need a lot of money for the treatments.

  I agree on the lawyer, but I refuse any treatment. I'll just take palliative care.

  Doctor Monroe jumped from her chair.

  Do you realize that without the proper treatments you have six months, a year at best to live? Also, as I have already said, your cancer is really aggressive. We need to start as soon as possible if we want to have a chance to beat it.

  The situation was dramatic, but Derek found all those "we" words hilarious, so he could not refrain from chuckling.

  We barely know each other, doctor. So we have nothing to do other than go our separate ways. Derek said to her with an icy tone.

  What do I have to live for? I have no family, no loved ones. My little brother's ashes are all that is left to keep me company. I could die tomorrow and I would not give a s**t!

  They parted on bad terms, but she still gave him her number, in case he changed his mind or simply needed to talk. Derek called his old shark lawyer and explained everything.

  Years had passed but they would still send each other Christmas cards.

  Derek had kept tabs on him, just in case. He now had more grey hair than before, but was still a first-class shark.

  Derek stopped going to work and started spending his money without much care. He would go to all the fancy restaurants he had always wanted to try, bought the suits he always dreamed about and only ate his favourite foods for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

  Derek would spend most of his days playing games on his brand-new gaming PC and revisiting all the spots that held significance for him and Carl.

  Then, twenty-four days after the diagnosis, he had an epiphany.

  Chapter 4: Fall and Ascension

  It was a night like any other since he had quit his job. Derek would wear one of his new suits and wander off into the city, to see what would kill him first, the cancer or a random crazy head. When he got bored or simply exhausted, he would then take a cab and return back home.

  Derek was walking with quick strides, high on his medications, when he saw him: Chris Wainright. He was holding a bottle of liquor, poorly-hidden inside a paper bag, from which he would drink in big gulps.

  Chris was talking and laughing loudly with a teen girl that was showing a lot of skin. She held a joint, taking big puffs, until the two of them traded and got into a car.

  It was a custom-painted muscle car. Though not the same Camaro that Chris had used to kill Carl, it was even bigger and more expensive.

  In that moment, Derek wanted to puke blood. How could he possibly have forgotten about that little b*astard? Had his cancer really screwed up his brain so bad for him to be willing to let such a loose end slip?

  The tires screeched and the car moved, almost running over a woman that was crossing the road in the process. The skimpily dressed girl rolled down the window, yelling insults at the woman that was still frozen in fear.

  Derek could almost hear the couple of idiots laughing. Gritting his teeth, he called a cab and started to plan his final act.

  First, he started to stalk Chris on all social networks, learning all his routines and habits. Then Derek began to follow him and planted a GPS tracker under the Camaro so he'd always know Chris' exact location.

  Simply skimming through Chris' Chirper, he found at least fifty violations of the parole deal. While following him, Derek took many photos of Chris abusing alcohol and drugs.

  However Derek had no intention of submitting the evidence to the police. What could he possibly gain from that? Chris would just get another slap on the wrist and then start being more careful.

  Derek didn't have the luxury of time, nor the willingness to do what the so-called justice system said he should.

  Less than a week later, by checking Chris' Bookface page, Derek learned of a rave he would show up to. Derek double-checked his equipment and jumped into his new car, a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

  The best car to hunt monsters with. The rave was "secret", hence it would take place in some run-down, abandoned location.

  Derek followed Chris closely and as soon as they were away from traffic cams, he ran into the Camaro from the side, forcing Chris to halt.

  As soon as Chris stepped out of the car, Derek took him down with a stun gun and then quickly proceeded to check if the Camaro had more passengers.

  It seemed to be his lucky night, Chris was driving alone. Derek searched him and crushed every electronic device he could find: bitfit, smartphone, even Chris' keychain.

  Derek tied his hands and feet and ball gagged him. Then he destroyed his own smartphone and the GPS tracker, tossing everything out of the road.

  Then he moved Chris into the trunk of the Impala and headed toward a party for just the two of them.

  Derek drove to an abandoned warehouse in the old industrial area. He had already gotten rid of the lock and chain that kept the big metallic doors closed, replacing them with his own.

  Inside the warehouse were two chairs, both bolted to the ground, a bucket, and several water tanks.

  Derek opened the trunk. Chris had regained his senses so Derek tased him again, then he took Chris to a chair and started tightly binding his arms and legs to it.

  Finally, Derek splashed him with a bucket of water, forcing him to regain focus.

  Hello, Chris. My name is Derek McCoy and you killed my brother. We need to talk. Derek said, standing over him.

  Chris tried getting out of the restraints. While commending his efforts, Derek violently hit him in the groin with a nightstick. The pain paralyzed Chris.

  Where was I? Oh yes. The last time we saw each other was during your farce of a trial. Do you remember me? Chris's panting intensified.

  Good. Let's get straight to business. Derek took two digital timers out of the car, setting the first to thirty minutes and the second to two hours, forty-four minutes and sixteen seconds.

  Then he pulled out a gun and double tapped Chris' liver. His scream was muffled by the ball gag, but the shots echoed loudly in the empty warehouse.

  Derek started both timers simultaneously then came in close, checking the blood. It was dense and black, a clear indicator of a crushed liver.

  Now, before the real pain settles in, I need you to take a good look at the timers, they are really important. Chris was crying and screaming, so Derek had to splash him again and pull him by the hair to get his attention.

  The first timer marks how much time you have left. After it rings, even if someone should miraculously break through that door and rescue you, you would be dead anyway. You have only so much time until your system gets flooded by toxins unfiltered by the liver to the point that no transplant can save you. The second timer is a surprise. We'll get to it later. For now, your only task is to stay awake and savour every moment of pain like Carl did.

  The time flew, Chris kept screaming through the ball gag and soon the first timer rang.

  Chris started sobbing even stronger, sometimes stopping only because he was overwhelmed by the constantly rising pain.

  Derek would speak to him no longer, he would just pace back and forth, occasionally checking the second timer.

  Every time Chris fainted, Derek would splash him and force him to stay awake before refilling the bucket.

  When t
he second timer rang, Derek finally spoke again.

  I have bad news and I have good news. The bad news is that I lied before. I thoroughly researched liver injuries and with such a crushed liver, you had no hope to begin with. Even if I had shot you in front of the best hospital in the US, unless they had a compatible liver at hand, you would have died. I wanted to give you false hope, as happened to my brother while waiting for help. The good news is that you just suffered as long as Carl did. I may be many things: unrelenting, vengeful, a liar, a murderer, but I am also fair. So your suffering ends now.

  Derek pointed the gun to Chris' head and double tapped him.

  Then he pointed it to his own head.

  Little brother, I'm coming. Wait for me.

  He pulled the trigger one last time.

  While Derek's body was still falling, his consciousness was bathed in light and he felt like he was pulled toward the sky.

  After months of grieving, a whole lifetime of misery and pain, Derek felt that all his traumas and hatred were fading away.

  Derek had never experienced such bliss. In this new form, he felt no negative emotion. He was in peace at his past, unafraid of his future.

  Derek was enjoying a present that he felt could lead to endless possibilities, there was no right and wrong, success or failure. He would simply be, no strings attached.

  That intoxicating feeling lasted until he suddenly woke up, alive and breathing.

  All his negative emotions returned, plunging him back into despair. Derek cursed inwardly while trying to focus his eyes. Maybe it was because of the shot to the head, but his vision was blurry.

  "So much for the perfect plan. Some idiot must have rescued me and somehow I survived the journey to the hospital. I am still alive. I still have cancer. I am still alone." - But when his eyes finally cleared up, they strongly disagreed with his reasoning.

  Derek was in some kind of huge metal corridor, surrounded by dead bodies. Alien dead bodies to be precise. They were all wearing some kind of full-body armour that resembled some kind of sci-fi space suit.

  Where the f**k am I? What the hell does this mean? He screamed while trying to get up only to fall back to the floor.