The Blood Between Us

by Zac Brewer

  Some of the guys from the lacrosse team were meeting down at Sheggy’s for burgers before catching the latest sequel in our favorite horror movie franchise, Psycho Slasher Chainsaw Guy from Hell: Redemption.

  Stacy smiled and said hi as I passed through the common room. She was nice. A little too nice sometimes, like we were good friends instead of casual acquaintances. But that’s just how girls were, I guess. I smiled back.

  It was amazing what four years away from my old life had done. True to his word, Viktor had arranged for me to enroll at a boarding school in southern California, just outside of San Diego. From my first week here, I’d felt lighter, happier, more at ease with myself. The move had been good for me. Hell, even my grades had improved.

  Kind of.

  For four years, I’d spent summers with friends, occasionally enjoyed a visit from Viktor and Julian. But never, not once, had I returned home or had to look Grace in the eye again. Viktor had kept that promise to me.

  As of two days ago, I’d returned to start my senior year, which meant that college, life, and the world lay before me. It was a good feeling—one of many I’d come to know here that I never could have experienced back east.

  My dorm room might not feel like home, exactly, but I didn’t have a home anymore. This campus was as good as anyplace else.

  The door to my room opened, and Connor poked his head in. “Dane. You’ve got mail.”

  Pushing my chair back from my desk, I raised an eyebrow at my roommate. Mail? Already? I had a feeling I knew what it was, but I was surprised it had arrived so early. I hadn’t even been in town a week, after a long, happy summer at Lake Tahoe with friends. “Anything good?”

  “Well, my mom didn’t send you any brownies, so I guess not.” Connor tossed the envelope at me ninja-star-style, clutching the small box of aforementioned brownies in his other hand.

  I caught the envelope effortlessly and smirked. “Yeah, but those pics she texted me last night sure made up for it.”

  “You’re a funny guy, Dane. Sleep with one eye open tonight.” We both laughed as Connor disappeared back out the door.

  I called after him, “Seriously, dude, you’re not gonna give me one?”

  My phone pinged with a text alert, and I set the letter on my desk. When I pulled my phone from my pocket, I thought it was strange that the sender was listed simply as Unknown. As I read the message, the beginnings of a headache tapped at the base of my skull, in perfect concert with every syllable of the words on the screen.

  Grace is stealing your father’s work. And you’re not even here to stop her.

  I considered not responding, or even just deleting the text. But curiosity got the better of me. I typed in a short reply with my thumbs and hit send. Who is this?

  A friend. A pause, followed by a second text. I’m at the Wills Institute.

  Heat crawled up the sides of my neck, hinting at touching my face. What’s your name?

  The response was immediate. Not important. But what is important is that your sister is finishing your father’s work and plans to take all the credit for it.

  I rolled my eyes in irritation. I didn’t have time for this. You’re full of it. And I don’t appreciate your little prank. Don’t contact me again.

  The three dots appeared, signaling that the texter was typing something. Hate it as I did, I couldn’t deny my curiosity. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more—the fact that the person kept texting me, or the fact that I wanted to know what else they had to say. Finally, the words came through on my screen. I’ve been watching her. She’s crafty. I think she’d do just about anything to have the spotlight all to herself. Don’t you?

  I did. But that didn’t mean I was going to share my feelings with a total stranger . . . or maybe even Grace herself, hiding behind the anonymity of a text message.

  The phone pinged again. Maybe even kill for it.

  I stared at the message, my head aching, my heart suddenly thumping inside my chest. I whispered aloud, “What do you mean by that exactly?”

  I sat there in my chair awhile, breathing in and out, trying to see clearly through the whirlwind of thoughts that had filled my mind. I sent another message. Who are you?

  I waited, watching the clock. After five full minutes, there was no response. I sent another. Hello?

  But whoever it was, they were done playing with me for now. They’d stirred up the kind of anxious thoughts that had kept me company for as long as I could remember, only to disappear once again.

  Listen, pal. Unless you want to give me some real information, I don’t want to hear a word you have to say. So next time you feel like texting me, either include your name with the message or piss off.

  I set my phone on the desk and picked up the envelope Connor had brought me. The addresses on the front were in neat handwriting, on lines so straight that it looked as if they’d been written with the aid of a ruler. It was the handwriting of an orderly person, and despite the almost feminine curve to some of the letters, the writer was a man. Not just any man. Viktor.

  Once a month, my guardian, my godfather, sent a handwritten letter, sometimes with photos, catching me up on everything he thought I was missing out on. Viktor didn’t use a cell phone. He didn’t text or Instagram or anything that normal people did. He was one of that strange, rare breed who seemed convinced that the advancement of technology was actually contributing to the decline of polite society . . . or some such crap. He was probably solely responsible for the continued operations of the United States Postal Service. Each letter contained an update on Grace, and gently pleaded with me to consider returning to the Wills Institute. The photographs were never of my sister, just of things that were supposed to remind me of home, and Viktor only dared a sentence or two concerning her well-being and latest accomplishments. Even Viktor, who could be annoyingly persistent when the mood caught him, knew better than to push Grace on me—or the other way around. My sister and I wanted nothing to do with each other. That much was made clear on the day I’d left the Wills Institute to move to California and Grace hadn’t even come to say good-bye.

  I picked up my phone and scrolled back through the text conversation. Who had sent them? The number was marked as Unknown. It could have been anyone, although they’d acted like they’d known me personally. And had insinuated such ugly things about Grace. Not that I thought my sister wasn’t fully capable of stealing our father’s research, if she had the motivation. But would she kill for it? Was Grace capable of that kind of evil?

  I wished I was certain one way or another. I couldn’t help remembering when we were kids and Grace had gotten a new bike for Christmas. Emily from down the street had received the same bike. Only hers was purple, Grace’s favorite color, with fancy tassels on the handlebars. Grace was so mad that Emily’s bike was better than hers that she tossed Emily’s in a Dumpster and watched as the garbage truck crushed it. I saw the whole thing. Only no one believed me.

  Grace never touched her pink bike again. She just left it outside beside the garage to rust.

  I set the phone down again and ripped open the envelope. Better just to get it over with—read whatever it was that Viktor had to say. A letter, handwritten on vellum, slipped out and into my palm, weighted by something that was folded within. When I saw what it was, my breath caught in my throat. I recognized it instantly.

  It was a silver coin from Croatia, marking the 150th anniversary of the birth of Nikola Tesla. One side—the side opposite the image of Tesla’s face—had been worn almost bare. It was the coin that my father had always carried with him, the worry stone he’d fiddled with whenever he was trying to work out some detail, some problem that was standing in his way. I had assumed the coin was lost in the fire. And yet here it was, in the palm of my hand.

  I unfolded the letter and began to read.

  Dearest Adrien,

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  It does, Viktor. Thank you.

  My most recent conversation with you
r headmaster told me that your second semester grades were much improved from the first. I was happy to hear that, though I would urge you, of course, to really push yourself. As it is your senior year, it’s time to buckle down and show the world what you’ve got inside that head of yours.

  Blah, blah, blah. Grades aren’t everything, Viktor.

  He also mentioned that you’ve even begun participating in extracurricular activities. Your parents would have been proud—and I’m sure they are even now, wherever their souls might rest. Grace sends her regards.

  I’m sure she does. I’m sure that’s not at all some nicety you’re inserting here just for show.

  As usual, she has been excelling academically. She was named captain of the debate team for her senior year. I’m sure she misses you very much. It would be nice if you could extend an olive branch in the form of a letter or phone call. I fear the space between you both will only grow wider if one of you doesn’t act as the bigger person and begin the healing process.

  Some wounds can’t heal, Viktor.

  But that’s not why I’ve written to you today.

  Enclosed you’ll find your father’s coin. I’m sure you understand the significance of this item, and I thought that you would greatly appreciate it.

  And I do.

  It was the strangest thing. I thought for certain that the coin had melted in the lab fire, but the other day, as I was tidying up some of the files given to me by Mr. Sheldon, your parents’ lawyer, I found the coin in the bottom of one of the file boxes. I can only guess that your father dropped it inside without realizing. I hope this is a happy accident for you and gives you something solid to hold on to as you reminisce about what a brilliant, compassionate, trustworthy man your father was.

  It means a lot. Thank you.

  It was good to see it, to hold it in my hand. It somehow brought Allen closer to me just by touching it, so I hope the coin has the same effect on you. The coin, of course, is yours for the keeping—just as your mother’s locket now belongs to Grace.

  I realize that your senior year classes will begin on Monday, Adrien, but I implore you. Transfer back to the Wills Institute.

  Not a chance, but thanks for asking.

  Spend this final year before college in the same school as your sister. It would do this old man’s heart good to see you at least attempting a relationship with her. I’m sure that your parents would have wanted better than this for the both of you. Once college begins, I fear that the space between you will grow into a chasm.

  It already has.

  Please call me after you consider this, so that we can discuss it. I have further information that may affect your thoughts on the matter.

  Not likely.

  I would have called you with that information first, but I wanted you to have your father’s coin in your hand when we speak.

  Wait. What?

  Take care, Adrien. Of yourself and your sister.

  Fondly,

  Viktor

  I dropped the unfolded letter on my desk and leaned back in my chair, my father’s coin cupped in my left palm. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, gathering myself. It could only be bad news. Viktor almost never asked me to call.

  With a deep breath locked inside my lungs, I punched in the code to unlock my cell phone and pulled up Viktor’s landline. By the time I put the phone to my ear, it was already ringing. A feeling of dread had crept into my chest, but I wasn’t certain why. Absentmindedly, I began to rub the coin with my other hand.

  That familiar, warm, confident voice came over the cell. “Viktor Cadswell speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Viktor. It’s Adrien.”

  “Adrien, my boy. How are you? How are things on the sunny West Coast?” Viktor sounded pleasant. Almost too pleasant, like he was laying it on thick.

  “Good. Things are good.” I glanced at the pages of his letter on my desk and wet my lips before saying, “I just got your letter. You said to call?”

  “Of course.” Viktor cleared his throat. Maybe he was buying time. Maybe it was nothing. “I want you to know how very much I dread having to tell you this over the phone, Adrien. But it seems there’s no other way at the present time. Do you have your father’s coin?”

  Suddenly, what was left of the air inside my lungs felt heavy and thick, like a fog. “Yeah, it’s right here.”

  “It always helped him in times of stress. I’m hoping it will help you, too, when I share this news with you.”

  I squeezed the coin between my thumb and forefinger. “Viktor, what is going on?”

  There was a pause—one that seemed to stretch out over the afternoon like a large, unexpected cloud on an otherwise sunny day. “Well, I suppose there’s no easy way to say this. Months ago, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I didn’t want to worry you or your sister at the time, but now the doctors say that it’s advanced to the point where it is inoperable and otherwise untreatable.”

  “Viktor . . .” I sat up straight in my chair and listened to my breathing for a bit before speaking again. In. Out. In. “Are you saying you’re dying?”

  The words had left my mouth, but they didn’t feel real. Viktor couldn’t be dying. There had already been enough death in my life. Enough pain. Enough loss. It had to be some kind of misunderstanding.

  Viktor’s tone was still warm and kind, but suddenly he sounded like an echo of the man I had always known. “We’re all dying, my boy. It’s just that my time seems to be growing shorter than several others’, yes.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m . . . I’m so sorry.” The final word cracked as it left my lips.

  “Say you’ll come home, Adrien. I have maybe six months, perhaps a year on the outside. Come back to Wills. Let me spend time with you and Grace before my time is cut irrevocably short.” He was serious, but so calm. So eerily calm. How long had he known that he was dying? Clearly long enough to come to terms with it. Did he hurt? As he sat there, thousands of miles away on the other end of the phone call, was he in pain? Was he suffering? Were there pills in labeled bottles all over his nightstand? Tubes in his nose and arms? Nurses watching him day and night? Why hadn’t he told me sooner?

  “When am I supposed to come home? I mean, I want to see you, but—”

  “There’s a red-eye flight that leaves at eleven tonight. If you think you can make it to the airport in time, we can send for the rest of your belongings later. I’ll speak to both headmasters this afternoon. I will sort out all the details. Just come home. For Grace. For me.”

  There was no way. I loved Viktor, but I couldn’t face Grace again. Not right now, and definitely not for an entire year. He was asking too much. A few weeks, maybe a month, tops. That was all I could handle—if I could handle that. I knew I was being selfish. Viktor was dying, and I was fretting over seeing my sister. But I’d built a life in California—one I didn’t want to leave.

  My eyes welled with tears that I refused to let fall. Swallowing them down, I said, “For you, Viktor. Not for Grace. But I want to get back here as soon as I can. It’s important.”

  In true Viktor fashion, he didn’t argue. He merely said, “Thank you, Adrien. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow. See you then.” Hitting the button on my phone to end the call, I put my head back and closed my eyes. Viktor was dying. The closest thing I had left to a father figure—the man who’d stepped in to care for Grace and me when we needed it—was dying.

  I looked down at my phone. That’s when I realized—I’d been so blindsided by Viktor’s news that I’d forgotten about the texts. And now, not ten minutes after an unknown number had begged me to return to Wills, I would, in fact, be returning to Wills. What kind of messed-up coincidence was this?

  The door opened once more and Connor stepped inside. The box he’d been holding before was now open, and half the brownies were already missing. When he caught sight of me, he said, “Dude. You look like your dog just died. What’s up?”

  At this, I stood
, grabbed my old military surplus duffel from the closet, and began cramming clothes inside it. “I’m going back east. Just for a month or so. I have some family stuff to deal with.”

  Connor’s jaw dropped. “What? When?”

  As I packed, I made sure not to make eye contact with Connor. We’d been best friends since my second year here. It would be hard to leave him. But it was important. “Tonight. I have to. I have no choice.”

  Connor dropped the box of brownies on my desk in frustration. “You could have warned me sooner that I was going to need a new roommate this year.”

  I grabbed my cell phone charger and shoved it in the bag. “I’ll be back in a month. We’re walking down that aisle with polyester dresses and cardboard hats together, dude. Don’t worry about it.”

  But even as I told Connor not to worry, the fear that my plans would get derailed increased. One month. Long enough to say goodbye to Viktor—and to say good-bye to Grace for the rest of our lives. I hated to admit it, but there was a small part of me that was looking forward to the day when Grace and I would no longer have to pretend we were family.

  Way too early the next morning, I walked out of security at the airport and pulled the buds from my ears, disconnecting from the mellow sound of a band called Blur. Viktor himself was standing there waiting for me. He was dressed in a three-piece navy suit and polished black shoes. No tubes. Nothing remotely sick-looking about him. The only difference in his appearance from when he’d come to visit last year was the slight hint of gray hair at his temples. He smiled as I approached. I nodded, unable to bend my lips in a way that would seem even remotely happy, and not just because I was totally exhausted. “Viktor.”

  “Adrien.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and squeezed, his smile brightening. “It does my heart so good to see you again. I trust your flight was pleasant enough?”

  “Yeah. I slept through most of it.”

  I looked around, trying to keep my movements cool and casual, even though inside I was feeling anything but. My heart wasn’t beating so much as vibrating in my chest because of my nerves. “Is Grace here?”