My Brother's Keeper

I didn’t sleep well that night.

I woke up drenched in sweat. Afraid something happened to Pax. Whatever dream I had disappeared with the darkness left me with a growing concern in my chest. The house is eerily quiet. I glance around my room and its silent stillness. The shadows dance against the walls, and the air feels thin. Yet something is nagging me.

Pax is not safe.

I acknowledge I need to peek in on him. The messages on his phone had been so graphic I feared the worst for him. If someone had sent me messages like that, I would have been sent back to the psych ward.

Stop worrying about your broken psyche, and check on Pax!

I creep through the darkness, down the hallway, past my parents’ door, and stop in Pax’s doorway. His bed is on the far wall, in the darkest area of the room. Like a ninja, I move across the carpet and come to a standstill over his bed.

As I’m about to reach out, a car goes down the street, providing the room a little light. That’s when I notice my brother is not in his bed.

Where is he?

Pax is a good boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly. He has parents who love him, a sister who thinks the world of him, and a school full of assholes wanting to hurt him. How did my passive little brother get sucked up in the drama of my life? I’m terrified he’s done something stupid! I begin checking every corner of his room, under the bed, in the closet. My breath is labored, my eyes are burning, and I’m still afraid something horrible has happened to him.

This happens when your sister is psychopathic.

I stop moving and place both hands over my head, trying to catch my breath. If he wasn’t in his room, where could he be? My father has a gun safe in his office on the lower level of the house. Usually, it’s locked, and my dad has the decency to hide the key. However, I know where it is and don’t have to snoop around to find it. Pax is more intelligent than me. He more than likely knows where the key is as well. I start to calm, and then another panic hits me square in the chest, and all the air I was struggling to get comes out in one blast wheeze.

The guns are loaded!

Forgetting my ninja stealth, I tear down the stairs and into my father’s office just as Pax puts the key into the lock. My heart is pounding as I tackle him to the floor, tears streaming down my face.

“Don’t do it,” I plead.

His face contorted a little as tears formed.

“They won’t stop,” he replies.

His phone sits on the floor between us, and texts are still coming. I can only distinguish a few words, but they’re not pretty. I kick the phone under the cabinet and wrap my arms around my brother. The only reason he’s getting those messages is because of me.

“I can’t lose you,” I whisper in his ear.

He takes a moment or two to respond, but when he does, he grips onto me with all his might as we cry together. I never want to see those images again. I vow to myself that nobody else is going to hurt my brother.

“What are you two doing?”

We both hear our father’s voice from the doorway and jump to our feet, wiping the tears from our eyes.

“I was sleepwalking,” Pax answers with a stutter.

“Yeah,” I agree blindly.

My father stands in the doorway, looking at the two of us. I’m pretty sure he isn’t buying it. “Get back to bed. You have school tomorrow.” He rubs his eyes and lets out a loud yawn.

I walk my brother to his room and wrap my arms around his waist. He’s taller than me, thinner than me, and looks almost identical to our father. I can see some of Karen on his face, but he’s all Stephenson.

“Odette?” Pax’s voice cracks when I reach the door to leave.

I turn around to look at him. He seems so small as he stares at me with red-rimmed eyes.

“Yeah?” I answer softly.

“I love you.”

This isn’t the first time Pax has said those words to me, but it’s the first time they struck me in the heart.

“Love you too,” I reply with a genuine smile before turning off the light and heading to bed.

I spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, listening for even the slightest creak in the floorboards. Once everyone had fallen asleep, I returned to the office to lock the gun case and place the key in its proper hiding location.

While hiding the key in the top drawer of my father’s desk, I come across a file. My mother’s name is written at the top, and a thin stack of papers is inside. Most of it is in my father’s handwriting. I can make out a few lines in the dark.

LAURA SLOAN BIRTHED TWIN GIRLS IN COSCOROBA, SPECIFICALLY AT EIDER ASYLUM. THEY RELEASED HER WITH A SINGLE DAUGHTER ONE YEAR AFTER BIRTH.

THEY RELEASED ODETTE SLOAN FROM EIDER AT AGE FIFTEEN.

“Twin?” I whisper to myself.

I close the file and return it to its spot in the drawer.

My father is researching my mother, but what is he trying to find?

COSCOROBA HIGH SCHOOL

STUDENT POPULATION: 300

GRADUATING CLASS: 150

The two-story gray brick high school is near the Graylag Shopping Center. It has four large gargoyles on the roof and appears more like a prison than a school.

Tuesday’s first period is Mr. Hollingsworth’s Human Anatomy class. I sit behind Preston Stuart, the ringleader of my brother’s bullies. He’s popular, so speaking to him on any social level is prohibited.

This means I need another plan of attack. I must get Preston one-on-one, with none of his cronies flanking him. Three against one is not exactly fair.

I know Preston walks home from school. I also know halfway between the school and his house is an alleyway.

I have a plan, and I am relatively sure I pull it off.

I ditch my seventh hour to get to the alley. From there, I wait.

Twenty minutes after the last bell rang, I saw Preston coming up the street alone. My hands are clammy, but I know what I must do. When he’s ten feet away, I step out of the alleyway in front of him, forcing him to stop.

“What’s up, freak?” he says with a sneer.

“It’s Odette,” I correct him. My hands are in fists at my side. I can feel my fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my palms.

“Whatever. Get out of my way,” he demands, grabbing me by my shoulders and trying to toss me to the side.

I’m rooted, and he only moves me a few inches.

My hand shoots up and grabs Preston around the throat. I don’t mean to latch on so hard, but it forces him to stop and recognize I’m there.

Preston’s eyes are enormous. I raise him a few inches, and he is on his tiptoes, looking down at me.

“Leave my brother alone!” I snarl at him.

Preston appears shaken for about two seconds before his fist shoots up and whacks me in the left eye. It isn’t the first hit I’ve taken, but the first one that hurt. It takes me off guard, so I lose my grip, and he pushes me to the concrete, pinning me with his knees as he takes two more hits and spits in my face.

“Maybe I should message you and not your pathetic little brother.” Preston stands up, kicks me in the ribs, and walks away as I wipe his saliva from my cheek.

Jokes on him. I’m not allowed to have a phone.

Ultimately, my plan failed. My worst fear is the target it’ll paint on Pax’s back. I don’t matter. Nobody is going to care that he punched the crazy girl. I wipe my nose and growl when I pull my hand away to find blood.

“You okay, kid?” a man behind me asks.

I look up at an unnaturally tall man with white hair and gray eyes standing at the end of the alley. He wears a black hat, white suit, black square-toed dress shoes, and a silk tie. He’s far too overdressed to be hanging out in abandoned alleyways.

“Yeah,” I reply, pushing myself to my feet.

My ribs hurt, and the left side of my face is throbbing. I’m far from okay, but I don’t need a stranger pointing it out.

“Sweetheart, you are covered in blood. Come inside. Let’s get you cleaned up.” The man places his hand into the light, and without thinking, I take it.

He drags me down the alleyway and through the last metal door on the right.

I’m hastening to keep up with his long strides, tripping a few times over invisible objects. He keeps whispering to himself and digs into his pockets for what I assume is a set of keys or a weapon.

I know my fate is sealed — so much for trying to help Pax. I should have let Preston finish me.

Stop being so over-dramatic. The dark voice in the back of my brain snarls.

We reach a broken door, and the man stops, releases my hand, and forces the lock to open with a few finger gestures.

I take a deep breath to accept my fate, but the blow to the head never happens. Instead, he turns on the lights, illuminating a shabby apartment. There is only a couch and recliner in the living room, the walls are peeling, and it smells like mildew.

“Have a seat. I’ll grab the first aid kit. That lip is going to need some tending to.”

He points to the couch and leaves the room. I hear him rummaging through cabinets until he cries out with delight and returns to the room with a large red box.

“How much of that did you see?” I ask as he drops to his knees in front of me.

“All of it, dear. What were you thinking?”

He dabs at my lip, applying only a tiny amount of pressure.

“I wanted him to stop picking on my brother,” I reply with a sigh.

“What did he do to your brother?” the man asks as he dabs at the blood.

I tell him about the text messages and finding Pax in our father’s office.

“I figured if I got one good scare, he would leave Pax alone.” I close my eyes because I know I’m about to cry, and the last thing I need is for a stranger to see me at my weakest.

The man frowns. “You had good intentions. I can see that. But threatening a boy twice your size in a dark alleyway wasn’t the smartest move. What would you have gained if it were successful?”

“One less person bullying my brother.”

I can tell by his narrowed expression that my explanation is not satisfactory.

“What about your happiness?” he asks.

“What about it?” My retort sounds more confused than it should.

“Would hurting that boy make you a better person?”

His question throws me off. I know the answer is no, but this little nagging piece of me screams yes.

“I’m Odette,” I say as I try to hold out my hand.

“Soren,” he replies as he grabs a cold pack from the kit and hands it to me for my eye. He seems disappointed that I did not answer his question.

“Why are you helping me?” I question him as he stands to shake my outstretched hand properly.

“Was it not the right thing to do? Should I have left you on the street bleeding? I saw what that boy did to you. And before you ask, I saw what you did to him.” He takes a seat on a red recliner halfway across the room.

“Oh,” I mention, blushing.

Soren sits there and looks at me. I know he’s reading me. I’m sure he can tell I’m not quite right in the head. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. A silence settles between us. With the cold pack placed to my face and him crossing and uncrossing his legs as he looks me up and down.

“Do you think you can do it?” he asks, and I jump.

“Do what?” My eyes dart around the room.

“Could you have killed him? I’m not saying that was your intention, but more of a formality. He would have either passed out or died if you had maintained your grip.”

Soren’s question causes my body to go rigid.

“Why would I do anything like that? I only wanted him to leave my brother alone.” I’m stammering for the words. I had not wanted to kill Preston, or had I? He wasn’t wrong. The way my hand latched around his throat did seem more homicidal than I intended.

“I saw the whole thing, Odette. I know you have it in you.” Soren smiles mischievously.

“Do you know who I am?” I whisper.

“You are Odette Sloan, offspring of Donald Stephenson and Laura Sloan. Should I continue?” He raises an eyebrow.

The color drains from my face. My voice quivers as I ask, “How do you know me?”

“Don’t sit there and act like it’s a huge secret. This is a small town with the same population for the last decade. I know you have been through some trauma. Therapy isn’t working, and while you don’t want to admit it, you wonder what murder feels like. With everything going on at school and home, who would blame you.” Soren places his hands on his knee and kicks his leg out.

“That doesn’t mean I wanted him dead,” I whisper.

“No, indeed it doesn’t. But your grip on young Preston’s neck would have suggested otherwise. So, I ask you the one question you deny yourself to answer. Could you have done it?” He motions for me to place the cold pack on my eye again.

I ponder his question for far longer than I should have before asking, “What do you want from me?”

He knows everything about you. He knows you’re not innocent. He knows what happened all those years ago.

“Nothing, my dear Odette. I want you to have a happy life, but I also don’t want you to let those carnal urges go to waste. One day you will answer that question,” Soren says with a sly smile.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You will,” he replies with a smirk.

The conversation ends, and I black out.

Stupid Preston must have given me a concussion.