by Shay Lynam
Ben let out a sigh. “Just drop it.”
I sat there for a minute as he rummaged around in his duffel bag for a clean shirt. “What were you talking to Aly about last night?” I finally asked.
He froze, his hands gripping the hem of the shirt he had on. Then he continued to pull it off over his head. “Just about what happened at Mom and Dad's.”
That was a lie. Even though I had been a bit out of it, I knew for a fact they were talking about something that happened in London. Whatever it was, it was connected to what had happened to us.
“Did Aly have anything to say about it?” I asked.
Ben pulled the clean shirt on and straightened it out. “Not really.” Lie. “Nothing I didn't already know.” Lie.
“Which is...what exactly?”
“Not much.” Definitely a lie. Ben shrugged halfheartedly. “Let's talk about it more after we get something to eat. I'm starving.” Then he disappeared out of the room and down the hall.
I sat there for a little longer. There was obviously something Ben wasn't telling me. Not just something, I guess. More like everything. I could tell he knew what was going on, at least to an extent. But why didn't he want me to know? Why was he being so secretive? It seemed like he was only talking to this Aly girl while I was left in the dark. Aly was the key. She'd played a part in this. I had to find a way to talk to her without Ben knowing.
Having been passed out the night before, I hadn't had a chance to get a good look at where I was staying. The place was small, to say the least. Everything seemed to be cramped together; things shoved anywhere they would fit. I stopped in the hallway to look out one of the barred windows at the street below. We were a few stories up in an apartment somewhere far enough away from the Space Needle that I could see it without having to look up.
“Jack?”
I turned around to find Aly standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Oh hey,” I said with an awkward wave. How long had she been standing there?
“I got the blood out of your clothes,” she said holding out the shirt and pants I had changed out of yesterday. “Now, I just need you to change so I can get the vomit off of those ones.”
I looked down at my pants to find a crusty smear down one leg. “Uh...thanks,” I mumbled taking the clean clothes and twisting them in my hands. “Sorry about that,” I said. “Last night was kind of suckish.”
“No kidding,” she chuckled. “Ben was telling me you two got into a bit of a tussle. You alright?”
“I guess.” I brought my hand up to rub the back of my sore neck. That floor wasn’t very comfortable. “I think the whiskey helped.”
“It usually does,” Aly winked then turned and started back for the kitchen.
“Uh...really quick,” I began and she stopped walking and turned back around. “How do you know Ben?”
A polite smile appeared on her pretty face. “We worked together in London.” Then she started for the kitchen again.
“Doing what?”
Now, when she turned, the smile was gone. “Oh,” she started. “Just running errands, fetching coffee, picking up dry-cleaning, you know.” Seriously, was this Lie to Jack Day?
“Is that what you're doing here in Seattle too?”
Aly paused for a second, the small smile back on her face. “No,” she finally said. “I got promoted and relocated to Seattle. Come on then. Breakfast is getting cold.”
“Right,” I muttered then gave her a half smile. “Thanks for letting us stay here.”
She just nodded and disappeared through the doorway. I followed after her and found myself in a kitchen the size of my parents' bathroom. Ben was already sitting at the tiny table in the center of the room shoveling oatmeal into his mouth as if he were starving. I sat down across from him and stared for a second, feeling my top lip pull up in disgust. After a bit, he looked up to meet my grimace.
“What?”
“A little hungry there?” I asked raising an eyebrow.
Ben narrowed his eyes at me, chewing slowly. “Yeah, so?”
I picked up my own spoon and stabbed it into the oatmeal in front of me. “Smoking like a chimney must really work up an appetite.”
“Shut up,” he muttered with his mouth full.
“You shut up.”
“Geez!” Aly interrupted. “You two bicker like toddlers.” We didn't say anything else, just glared down into our bowls. Aly glanced at her watch. “Alright, children,” she said. “I have to go to work.” Then she picked up her keys off the counter.
“What are we supposed to do?”
Aly looked at me, a hint of empathy in her eyes. “Just lay low and try not to kill each other while I'm gone.”
After the door closed behind her, I pushed my bowl away and stood up. “I'm taking a shower,” I muttered. “I can still smell that guy's blood on me.”
Ben didn't object as I grabbed my clean clothes off the table and trudged out of the kitchen. The bathroom wasn't too hard to find in this tiny, cramped place. Some promotion if she couldn't even afford anything bigger than a closet in this city. The water sputtered pitifully out of the shower head barely strong enough to penetrate the top layer of dried blood still caked on my skin.
What had that man been doing in our house anyway? Why were they coming after us? I thought I'd lived a pretty normal life. Nothing had happened – as far as I knew – that would warrant anyone coming to kill me. My mom taught English at one of the colleges and Dad had the car lot; pretty normal jobs. I thought the only thing that didn’t make us a normal family was the fact that Ben and I had both come from different parts of the world and had been adopted when we were babies. But I guess there was something deeper to my parents. Maybe even something dark. Maybe I didn't know them as well as I thought I did.
I squeezed a stream out of the shampoo bottle and began working at the matted, bloodied hair at the base of my skull.
Then there was Ben. If there was anyone I had been mistaken about, it was my own brother. What had he been talking to Aly about the night before? Something about someone somewhere. Something bad apparently. Something that wasn't supposed to leave London, but had ended up following him here. But that man in our house had known my name. He'd wanted both of us to come with him. So apparently, I was in this too. My own life was being threatened and Ben was still trying to keep me in the dark. I had a right to know what was going on. I had a right to know why we were being hunted.
I turned the water off and got out of the shower, drying myself off quickly and pulling on the clothes that Aly had washed for me. I looked clean, I smelled clean, but I still felt coated in that man's blood. Maybe I would feel that way forever.
Ben was still sitting at the table so deep in thought he looked like he was in a trance. I watched in silence for a bit as he held his spoon up over the bowl of cold oatmeal then let it drop in with a sick thud over and over again. The gun he had gotten from home was sitting on the table next to his hand, gleaming at me like a taunting smile. Like it was saying “I know something you don't know,” in a metallic, annoying, singsong voice.
I put my hand in my pocket and closed my fingers around the note from my dad. Aly must have taken it out to wash my pants then put it back in after they were dry. Taking it back out of my pocket, I read it once, twice, three times, then slammed it down on the table in front of my brother causing him to jump.
Neither of us said anything at first as I glared deep into my brother's eyes hoping that maybe I’d find the truth scrawled across his retinas. No luck. I opened my mouth with a click of my tongue. “You know the saying 'what you don't know can't hurt you'?” Ben nodded slowly. “Okay, and do you remember when we were younger and we were watching TV with Mom and Dad and there was that story on the news about the couple that had been murdered in their home?”
“Sure, I remember,” Ben replied, his voice still shaky from being startled.
“And then after the fact, the police found out the husband had lost his job and owed all kinds of m
oney to this other guy–”
“Yes, Jack,” my brother interrupted me. “What's your point?”
I shifted from one foot to the other. “The wife had nothing to do with it, had no idea what was going on and she still ended up dead.” Ben blinked and raised a blond eyebrow waiting for me to continue. “I kinda feel like the wife in this situation.”
“So then,” my brother leaned forward on his elbows, “that makes me the husband?”
I shrugged. “In the least awkward sense, yeah. You're hiding something,” I said narrowing my eyes. “Something big. And I need to know before you get me killed.”
“It's not about you.”
“The man knew my name,” I said. “He knew I was your brother.”
“They're coming after me,” Ben explained leaning back in his chair again. “Of course they're going to know who my family is.”
“But why are they coming after you?” I asked. “You're my family. I want to help.”
“It's too dangerous for you to get involved.
“I'm already involved!” I shouted hitting my fist on the table. Ben clamped his mouth shut so the muscles in his jaw stuck out. “Dad said we need to stay together,” I said stabbing the letter with my finger. “We need to take care of each other. That's what he said, Ben.”
“I know,” my brother finally sighed. “I know. I was just hoping you wouldn't have to get dragged into this.”
“Well, I've been dragged through and thrown into this head first so I think it's time you start telling me what's going on.”
“Alright, alright,” he muttered and covered his face with his hands. I sat down in front of my own bowl of rock hard oatmeal and waited for him to say something. Slowly, he slid his hands down his face, pulling the skin around his eyes and mouth down into an unpleasant scowl. “Where do I start?”
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. “London.”
Chapter three
Ben stood up and walked over to the coffee pot sitting on the counter. After pouring himself a cup, he leaned on the counter and tapped on the mug with his thumbs thoughtfully. I sat there eying the gun on the table waiting for him to start. Instead, he brought the mug up to his lips and took a swig of coffee. He drew his mouth up into an ugly grimace then spit it back into his mug.
“Ack!” He coughed and poured the coffee out into the sink behind him. “Isn’t there anything in this place that hasn’t expired?”
“Ben.” He met my glaring eyes.
“Right, sorry,” he muttered and joined me again at the table. “I didn't go to London to study abroad,” he started.
“Then what did you go for?”
Ben sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I guess I just wanted to get away,” he shrugged.
“From what?”
“Life isn't as easy for me as it is for you,” he said, his voice hinting at irritation. “I just needed to get away, alright?”
I leaned back in my chair putting my hands up defensively. “Alright,” I muttered. “Sorry.”
“Anyway,” he continued. “I'd saved up some money so I was able to get an apartment while I was there. I met this guy, Chris, and he and I split rent and food and stuff and he got me a job bartending at a pub down the street from our place. Things were going well for a few months.”
“Well, what changed that?” I asked him.
Ben put his head in his hands again. “I left work early one night and came home to find Chris dead on the floor.”
“Oh,” I said shocked. “Well…yeah, I guess that changes things. How'd he die?”
“Shot in the head.”
“He was murdered? Do you know why?”
Ben gave me an exaggerated shrug. “I haven't the slightest idea,” he cracked throwing his hands up. “To this day, I still have no idea.”
“Did you ever find out who killed him?”
“Yeah,” he nodded his voice still high with anxiety. “Cuz the guy was still there.”
My jaw almost hit the table. “And you're still alive?”
“I was hoping maybe he hadn't seen me. Like maybe I could get out of there without him knowing I'd come home early, but then when I tried to leave, I got shot.”
“You got shot?”
Ben pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to his shoulder to reveal a puckered white scar. “Yeah and I hit my head on the door and it knocked me out,” he said rubbing his forehead like he was remembering. “And when I woke up again, there was a gun in my face and the guy with his finger on the trigger said that I was going with him or he'd kill my whole family and then me.”
By now I had scooted myself to the edge of my seat and my elbows hurt from pushing them into the tabletop. “So what did you do?”
“What else could I do?” Ben shrugged sadly looking down at his hands. “I went with him.”
“Well, what did he want?”
He lifted his eyes again, just barely so he was looking at me through his hair. “He wanted me to work for him,” he muttered and pushed his bowl of oatmeal to the edge of the table.
“Doing what?” I asked. My brother stared at the bowl in silence. Why wouldn't he just answer me directly? “Doing what, Ben?” I repeated.
“Tracking people down and making them disappear.”
“What?” I asked. “What does that even mean?”
“He made me kill people,” Ben replied steadily.
I stared in silence for a moment, my mouth hanging slightly open. I was about to say something, but what was I about to say? My mind was drawing a blank. What could I say? How does a person respond to that? How many people can say their brother was an involuntary murderer?
“And the people I had to take out...” He shook his head covering his face with his hands. “They'd never wronged me. I didn't even know them. They weren't bad people.”
“You don't know why you had to kill them?” I asked now staring down at the gun lying on the table.
Ben took his hands away from his pale face again, any color completely drained away making him look sick and tired. “I was just given a gun and orders to either kill a person or bring them somewhere. Whatever happened to them after that, I don't know.”
“So where does Aly play into all this?”
My brother carefully picked the gun up off the table causing me to tense up automatically. Get a hold of yourself, Jack. You aren't about to be killed by your own brother. Though maybe I couldn't really be sure...
“She was in charge of the list of targets,” Ben said pulling me out of my inner argument. “We would meet up somewhere or she'd send a text telling me what to do next.”
“So she was working with them?” I felt my hands clench into fists as anger welled up in my throat like bile. “And now we're staying here in her apartment.”
Ben shook his head. “It's not like that,” he whispered. “Aly didn't want any more part in this than I did.”
“Sure, that's what she tells you,” I muttered.
“It's the truth,” Ben said sternly.
“Then why is she still working for them?” I asked now locking eyes with him and clenching my jaw. “Isn't that why she's here in Seattle?”
“I don't know, Jack,” he said irritated and dropped the gun back down on the table. “I didn't ask who of her loved ones they threatened to kill.”
I shut my mouth and clamped down hard on my bottom lip. The pain made the churning in my stomach calm down a bit. “You don't know her story,” I finally said through gritted teeth. “But you're sure we can trust her?”
Ben looked at me confidently. “Yes.”
I let myself relax a little bit. If he was sure, then I guess she was okay. On the other hand, my own brother had failed to mention anything about being a killer. Sure I hadn't seen him much in almost a year, but we had talked. He’d come home for Christmas. You'd think he would have mentioned something about it. Or at least looked a bit distraught.
“And now someone's coming after you?” I asked tapping my fingers anxiously o
n the table top.
Ben’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “I guess,” he muttered. “I don't know why though. I thought he was done with me.” He shoved his fingers up and into his hair, staring down at the gun on the table. “Now he wants me dead. After everything he put me through...”
“Who's he?”
Ben looked up at me. “I don't know,” he said. “I never actually met the man in charge.”
“Maybe Mom and Dad know something and that's why they left.”
“That's got to be it. What are the chances that there's more than one screwed up thing going on in this family?”
My brain was turning to mush like the oatmeal in front of me. I'd almost forgotten about it. I pulled the spoon out of the bowl and half the oatmeal came up with it. “Do you think it has something to do with us being adopted?” I asked watching the mush slide slowly off the spoon and plop back into the bowl. Disgusting. I shoved it away trying not to gag.
“Could be,” my brother said. “But what are the odds of that?”
I shrugged. “I'd say the odds are pretty good.” Then I nodded at the gun on the table. “So whose is that?”
“It was Dad's,” Ben replied picking it up protectively.
“I didn't even know Dad owned a gun,” I muttered
“He would've shown you eventually and taught you how to shoot it.”
Now, I looked back up at him. “He taught you how to shoot?” Ben nodded. “Well, why you and not me?”
“Because I'm the oldest.”
“Yeah, by three months.”
“Then because I'm the favorite.” I threw him a sarcastic sneer. He didn't notice. “Dad just hadn't gotten to you yet,” he added.
“Or maybe he didn't think I needed to learn.”
I'd lived a pretty non-confrontational life. I'd done well in school and had kept to myself for the most part. The few friends I had were good kids. Ben, on the other hand, had always been a bit of a troublemaker. Sometimes he would just leave and we wouldn't see him until a few days later. One time he'd been gone for almost two weeks then came downstairs one morning to join us for breakfast. He'd just sat down like nothing was wrong. I'm pretty sure that was the first time he had come home with a black eye, but not the last. My dad and Ben liked to argue a lot too. Nothing too scary. But it didn't make sense why the troubled son would be the apple of his father's eye. Maybe I was missing something.