by Shay Lynam
“Well, I don't even have one of those,” I whispered, my voice still quivering.
My brother glanced at me with a sarcastic sneer then straightened up. “Help me,” he said positioning his feet to line up with the guy's shoulders. I stepped forward and stopped at his shoes.
“What are we going to do with him?” I asked as the two of us bent down to pick up either end of the body.
We lifted at the same time and stood there holding it awkwardly. Then Ben started pulling toward the kitchen. “Let's take him out back.”
“And then what?” I asked grumbling. “Bury him next to Sparky and Mittens?”
“I thought they ran away while we were at camp,” Ben joked as we started for the doorway. “Careful you don't slip.”
As if on cue, my shoe slid on the slick floor and my legs flew out from under me. I landed on my back in the blood as the dead man's feet hit my chest. A girlish squeal escaped my throat and I tried to squirm back out of the blood but it was no use. My hands took off in different directions and I fell splat on my back again. I could feel it, warm and thick, seeping into my clothes, soaking my skin.
I screamed again, throwing curse words left and right when I finally was able to scramble back and up onto the stairs. The hair on my arms was plastered to my skin with the slimy, red stuff and I could feel it running down my back and seeping into my boxers. “No way!” I screamed at Ben as he tried to keep a straight face. “This is ridiculous! Look at me!” I threw my arms down, spattering the wood floor with dark droplets. “What are we even doing?” Now my brother let out a loud laugh before coughing to cover it up. “How is this funny?” I continued then pulled my shirt up over my head. I could feel it oozing over my ears and up the sides of my face. Then I threw my shirt to the floor where it landed with a wet splat. “You're a psycho,” I yelled, stabbing my finger in Ben's direction. I turned to go up the stairs and heard him let out one more snicker. “It's not funny!” I called back when I had reached the top.
As I stood in my old room – or rather what was left of it – I couldn't help but feel a twist in my gut. My walls had been stripped bare of all the posters of my favorite bands and pictures of my friends and family. The shelf above my bed that had once held my football and soccer trophies was empty.
I went over and sat down on my bed knowing full well that there was going to be a big red bloodstain on the mattress when I got back up. I didn't care. This place – though empty – was still full of memories. I learned how to play guitar here. Had my first kiss sitting on the edge of this bed. Written my first of many love and break up songs here – not that they had been any good. I'd spent many late night hours watching YouTube videos at my desk. Most of them involving cats or idiots hurting themselves in one way or another. My room had been my sanctuary. But now...
Now it was just a shell. Emptied of the things I had once loved. The things I had once needed. Right then though, I just needed a freaking shirt. I stood up, feeling my jeans peel off the mattress. Oh yeah. Big ol' stain to freak out the next person that saw it. Hopefully that wasn't going to be any time soon. I went over and opened my dresser not really sure if I expected to find anything.
The dresser was cleaned out. My closet was cleaned out. My desk was cleaned out. Everything that had defined me in this room had disappeared without a trace. Though I suppose that was the point. To disappear without a trace.
When I got back downstairs, both Ben and the body were gone. A blood trail snaked across the floor and disappeared into the kitchen. After following it through the kitchen and out the back door, I found my brother walking away from the shed with two shovels.
“You seem oddly calm with this whole situation,” I said feeling my teeth chatter.
“We'll talk about it later,” Ben muttered then pushed the shovel into the dirt before pulling up a big chunk of earth. “Let's take care of this first.”
Now I joined him, trying to ignore the bitter cold biting at my naked torso. “And then what?”
“Then we'll find you a shirt.”
“And maybe some pants too,” I added. “Preferably a pair that isn't caked in blood.”
As the two of us dug, my body began to go numb and before too long, only my arms ached. The rhythmic motions of stabbing the shovel into the earth and scooping the dirt out into a slowly growing pile soon had my mind wandering. I couldn't help but wonder where my parents were now. I looked down at the body we were about to bury. Were they still alive?
The morning the letter had come, I was getting ready to go on a run. I'd been doing that every morning. At least since Ben had gone to London. The envelope was just lying on the floor in front of the door when I'd come out of my bedroom. Maybe it was something from the apartment manager about rent, or something else from someone else about something else. I hadn't thought too much of it. Though maybe I should have. What I hadn't expected was to find my name written in the familiar, messy handwriting of my father.
I'd stuck the letter between my teeth and gone to the fridge to take out a pitcher of orange juice. Then I opened the envelope containing the letter that would make the glass pitcher slip from my hand and shatter on the ground. I bet the floor was sticky and covered with ants now. I hadn't wasted any time after that throwing clothes into a bag and running out of the apartment.
Once in the car, I'd driven aimlessly for a while, still in shock at what my dad had written to me. Where did he want me to go? Where could they be? Somehow I ended up at the car lot. Maybe my subconscious was hoping there was some sort of clue there. When I'd gotten inside my dad's office, I immediately saw the note and box of keys lying on his desk. “The least we could do” it had said. Then I'd noticed there was a message on the answering machine. I'd hit the button and put my head in my hands. My dad's voice crackled over the speaker. “Jack,” he'd said causing me to lift my head again. “Sea-Tac, eight twenty two, Sunday night. Delete this now.” Click.
Ben threw his shovel down causing me to snap out of my stupor. “Alright,” he said clapping his hands together. “I think it's deep enough.”
The two of us rolled the body to the edge of the hole and let it drop in. It didn't take near as long to fill it back in and then replace the grass, but by the time we were done, the entire upper half of my body was aching. While Ben took the shovels back to the shed, I trudged inside, tracking dirt through the kitchen, living room and then up the stairs.
“What are you doing?” Ben called from the bottom of the stairs.
“I'm taking a shower,” I replied and turned into the bathroom. There was nothing more that I wanted at this point than to get some feeling back into my body other than this burning ache in my muscles. I just wanted to scrub until I finally felt clean. Though I'm sure no amount of water was going to get this blood off my hands. Or backside.
I heard my brother's feet pound up the stairs as I opened the cupboard in search of a towel. “We can't stay here,” he said appearing in the doorway. “There might be more of them.”
“So they're coming after us then?” I asked craning my neck to look on the top shelf.
Ben leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms. “It seems that way,” he said.
I slammed the cupboard doors shut. “It seems that way?” I spat. “It seems to me like you know more about this whole stupid situation than you're saying, Ben.” My brother's mouth snapped shut. Whatever he was going to say was now locked up tight behind his teeth – maybe never to be let out again. A look flashed across his eyes that I'd never seen before. It seemed to be a mix of familiarity and confusion which doesn’t make sense, but there’s no other way to describe it. “Do you know what's going on?” I asked feeling myself calm down.
Ben turned around. “We need to go,” he said. “You can put something of mine on.”
Now, I followed him back downstairs and out the door. “So where are we going?”
Ben got into the trunk and grabbed a black hoodie and a pair of jeans out of his bag. “I met a girl in London,” he said slamming th
e trunk closed again.
I started undoing my belt, not even caring that I was going to be standing in my underwear for anyone to see. “We're going to London?” I asked tripping out of my jeans and pulling Ben's on quickly.
“No, moron. She's here.” He threw the zip hoodie at me annoyed and held his hand out to me. “Take this.” It was dark, but the moonlight glinted off the metal of the dead man’s black gun. I took it hesitantly and put it in the back of my pants without saying a word. “We'll be safe with her. I think,” he continued then got into the driver's seat.
“You met her in London?” I asked once I'd gotten in on the other side.
“That's what I said.”
I put the hoodie on quickly and zipped it all the way up. “So does this have to do with something that happened while you were there?”
Ben put the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. “I'm afraid it might.”
“And if it does?”
“Then we're screwed.”
Chapter two
A crowded bar in Seattle was the last place I expected to end up, though I can't say my spirit didn't lift a little at the thought of how perfect a drink sounded right then. The place was busy to say the least. It took me a second to remember what day it was as I tried to make my way carefully through the crowd. Ben didn't seem to care about being polite. Or maybe saying “excuse me” just wasn't on the forefront of his mind at the moment. Either way he cut through the middle of the room, shouldering his way past couples and an intimidating looking group of guys. A few eyed him menacingly when he caught one of their shoulders. Ben didn't notice though. It probably helped feeling the cold, metal power of a handgun hugging his back protectively. He was untouchable. The black one under my own jacket was cutting into my skin like an invisible bad guy was pressing it into my back. How is a person supposed to act when they're concealing a deadly weapon?
We made our way through the crowded room and Ben took a seat at the bar. I slumped down on the stool next to him and buried my face in my arms, paranoid that someone could see the gun hidden under my baggy sweatshirt.
I felt naked, exposed like there was a giant neon arrow over my head. If I turned around, I'd find every eye on me. Every mouth gaping open in a silent scream. He's got a gun! He killed a man! No! I'm innocent, I swear!
“What'll it be?”
I looked up to find the bartender standing in front of Ben. He held up two fingers and mumbled something I couldn't quite hear. Not long later, a frosty tumbler of whiskey was set down in front of me. My brother picked up his own glass and clinked it against mine. “Cheers,” he muttered then tipped his head back. The ice clacked against his teeth as he downed his drink in one gulp. I followed suit, feeling the alcohol burn its way down my throat and set my stomach ablaze. Two more and I was finally beginning to feel less exposed.
“You're still a bottomless pit I see,” a woman said from the other side of Ben.
I leaned forward a bit so I could see her. She was blonde, older, good looking and had a hint of a Scottish accent.
“I've been practicing,” my brother replied tipping back his third glass. “I think we're in trouble, Aly.”
So this was the girl. She leaned forward to make eye contact with me. I turned my head so I was staring down into my glass. I must have looked pathetic.
“Trouble, how?” she asked Ben after a bit.
This was good whiskey. Down the hatch it went.
“There was someone waiting for me at my parents' house.”
The woman – Aly – sighed heavily. “It's finally starting here,” she whispered.
“What's starting?”
I don't think either of them heard me. Their voices began to melt together leaving me to stare down at the slowly thawing ice cubes in the bottom of my glass.
“You alright, J?”
I tilted my head to the side so I could see my brother with one eye. “Hmm?”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Let's get you another drink.”
Another glass of whiskey landed on the bar in front of me. Down it goes. Five. Six. Eight?
I lowered my head back down so the rim was cradling my face and I breathed out through my nose so the chill from the ice cooled my skin. Closing my eyes, the bar, the people, the conversations around me all disappeared and I was standing ankle deep in thawing ice cubes and watery whiskey. I pulled Ben's hoodie tighter around myself.
Can I just stay here? I thought to myself. Even though my shoes would get soaked and the legs of my pants were going to get wet, couldn't I just stay in this glass until the diluted alcohol seeped deep into my skin and replaced the blood flowing through my veins? Sure it was cold. Sure the glass was filling faster as the ice melted, but couldn't I just stay down there instead of having to deal with everything? I didn't want to have to face the fact that I'd never see my parents again. I didn't want to think about the very real possibility that my brother and I were going to die. I just wanted to feel my feet go numb from the cold.
“Everything that happened in London,” Ben said from somewhere far above me, “You think they're coming here? I thought I'd be safe in the states.”
“No one is safe, Ben,” Aly replied. “That's kinda the point.”
I've heard that when a person is dying from hypothermia, they just lie down and fall asleep. Then it's all over. Could I lie down in the water without drowning and just drift off to sleep? That sounded nice. I just wanted to sleep. Maybe I'd float down the watery whiskey river and then when I wake up I'd be somewhere nice and warm. Away from Seattle. Away from everything that had happened. Away from my brother. The one who killed a stranger by shooting him – pop – right in the forehead. My brother, the murderer.
“We shouldn't be talking here,” Aly said. “You better come home with me. It'll be safer there.”
“Come on, J.”
No, I want to stay down here in this glass where it’s safe. I'm finally beginning to get used to the cold.
“Jack.”
I felt a hard tug on my arm and I was pulled away from the bar, away from my frozen sanctuary. Everything was a blur. Even though my feet weren't numb anymore, I couldn't seem to control them. I suppose the seven or eight – nine? – shots of whiskey had something to do with that. There were so many things, so many people now to run into; I felt like I was pushing my way through a can of moshing sardines toward the exit.
Outside wasn't any better. The night air was bitterly cold, unlike the air back in my cup which felt comforting like a big snowman bear-hug. This is what I imagine it feels like to hike to the top of a mountain where the air is so thin, you can breathe in and breathe in and breathe and still feel like you can't inhale deep enough.
Everything was a contrasted blur. Neon signs and blinding white streetlights interrupted the black as I was pulled down the sidewalk. My feet slapped the concrete hard with every jarring step. I wanted to tell my brother to slow down. Just hang on a second! But my tongue was too big in my mouth to form the words I needed.
I began to fall backward toward the sidewalk – Oh man, this was going to hurt – and landed instead on a cushy leather seat. Ben cursed under his breath. “Geez, Jack, pick your feet up.” I lifted my feet up and he shoved me further across the bench seat so he could sit down next to me. “No more whiskey for you, buddy,” he muttered and slammed the car door beside him.
“Buddy,” I repeated under my breath feeling my lips tingle as I formed the word sloppily.
I put my head against the window as we pulled away from the curb. Now, the blurs zoomed by faster making me dizzy. My stomach churned like my insides were stuck in a blender. Any minute now the lid was going to fly off and the contents were going to spew out everywhere. Any second now...
“Agh! Jack!” Ben screamed as everything around me turned to nothing.
* * *
Ahhh myyyyy heeead...
“Did something...when you left?”
Myyyy stoommmmaaaccchhhh.
“...I
thought....lost my trail...wasn't coming....the US.”
“That...never the plan...whole world...”
“...Whole world?...don't understand...”
My eyes creaked open slowly. I was lying down in a dark room. Soft yellow light filtered in from a streetlamp outside the open window. I could see two figures, one standing out on the fire escape, the other sitting on the ledge. Two trails of smoke drifted up from cigarettes in their hands and intertwined for a second before disappearing into the air. With a groan, I rolled over onto my aching stomach and tried to push myself up. The whispering immediately stopped.
“J?”
I groaned again in response. Ben got up off the ledge and walked quietly over to me. I caught a glimpse of the glass of water in his hand as he held it out to me then I shut my eyes again trying to squeeze out the pain hammering in my temples. “Drink this,” he said and touched the cup to my hand. I wrapped my fingers around it and blindly brought it to my lips. The water was cold and refreshing relieving my parched throat and my queasy stomach.
“Thanks,” I croaked then set the glass down in front of me and promptly passed out again.
* * *
This time when I opened my eyes, the headache was almost gone, though my insides felt like a pumpkin after getting its guts carved out with a spoon. I rolled onto my stomach with a groan and hit something. My brother groaned back and stirred pushing me onto my back again.
“I don't remember mentioning anything about wanting a cuddle buddy,” I muttered bringing my arms up to cover my eyes. “Unless I started talking in my sleep again last night.”
“I knew I'd moved to London for a reason,” he grumbled in reply and got up off the floor.
I sat up resting my elbows on my knees. “Was smoking the only stupid habit you picked up while you were there?”
“After last night you aren't allowed to judge me.”
“You're the one that kept buying me drinks,” I retorted.