Fatal Designs

Close Brothers

Edward Astbury gripped the pencil tight as he scrunched up his nose, totally focused on his brother. "Please hold still, Ray." He rested his back against the steel chair in Ray's dining room, colouring in the rounded cheeks and adding bushy eyebrows. He sketched the finishing touches to Ray's shoulder-length blonde waves and placed the portrait face up on the table. "It's done."

Ray let out a sigh. "Finally. Let me see."

Edward passed it over the table and sat back with squared shoulders, waiting for his brother's opinion. It hadn't been the first time he'd drawn for Ray, who never kept still. He had drawn Ray dozens of times, attempting to improve on each one. Drawing portraits and landscapes was his creative outlet, and he had sold his work to friends and family over in England. "What are your thoughts?"

"I love it, man," said Ray. "This one's better than the last one you did. You have a real talent. I should pay you this time. How much do I owe you?"

Edward put up his hand and shook his head. "Complimentary, Ray. I only charge those who are overseas, given I have to pay for postage."

"Thanks, man. You are too kind."

"I know." Edward deadpanned then flashed a cheeky grin.

"So tell me about this woman, Lian, we're working with? What's she like?" Ray was a self-employed carpenter and Edward an architect; they were working together on Edward's next project.

Edward pressed his lips together. "I only met her once but she seems pleasant enough. She has a few designers working for the company, but I believe only one of them is coming on board."

Ray nodded. "I'll appreciate the change. My last job was a ball-breaker, so I'm sure this new home we're working on will be a breeze." He rubbed his hands. "I like us working together, bro. It's been too long since that last project."

"It is better late than never, I suppose. That seven-year break between us was harrowing."

Ray looked down at his fingers, picking at his cuticles. "How many times do I have to damn well apologise, Ed? Don't you think it's time you got over it?"

Edward ignored the stinging comment. He pushed down his pain. Edward was only nine years old when Ray left him alone with their parents. He had missed his brother.

Edward got up and swung open his fridge, picking up two bottles of orange juice. He handed one to Ray, who fumbled with it and spilled some on the floor, stopping to wipe it down with a paper towel. He poured the other one into a glass for himself.

They carried their drinks through the open-plan dining room into the living room with its beige two-seater sofa. A thin, black-patterned rug covered timber floors. The house featured high ceilings and bay windows overlooking the Williamstown Beach. A 65-inch TV sat against the opposite wall, and a bookshelf in the corner displayed books on design and the modern structure of commercial and domestic buildings.

A close-up framed portrait hung on the wall, showcasing a woman's heavily made-up eyes and long eyelashes. It was a drawing of Ray's ex-girlfriend, Mary, who had broken up with him a few years prior due to a misunderstanding. It had hurt him like hell as he had loved her with all his heart. Mary had left him a note and walked out of his life. He had attempted to rekindle their relationship, but she refused.

Edward reached for the remote and switched to the news. "It is unbelievably tragic. These murders. Two of them so close to each other and both in the local community. I wonder if it's the same perpetrator."

Ray scratched his neck as he leaned forward on the couch. "They are bad." He started coughing. "I need a drink." He tossed down his juice and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Are you all right?" asked Edward."

"I'm fine. Just a tickly throat. Nothing to worry about." He leaned back against the couch and placed his right leg over his left. "How about one of those British shows? Give you a taste of home, Ed."

Edward sometimes missed his hometown of London, but he'd been in Australia for the past twelve years—since he was sixteen, when his father had been offered a lucrative position as a stockbroker. He missed his old friends and the culture but his home now was Williamstown, Victoria.

"I would rather watch the news. I am curious about these two missing women whose bodies were found locally. The latest is this poor woman who died from drugs but was missing for two weeks. There has to be more to that story."

Ray averted his eyes. "Too dreary for me, man. What does it have to do with you? Crimes happen all the time."

"Why do you always do that?"

Ray grimaced. "Do what?"

"Avoid the reality of life. The statistics show—"

Ray put up a hand. "Oh, leave the stats, man. You and your damn facts. Can't we just take a breather and watch a British show? Enough of the downer of the news."

Edward loved his brother, and they'd been close given their family situation, but he was curious lately about why Ray had become ultra-sensitive to the news. The more Edward thought about it, the more he realised that Ray had been angrier and more distracted lately, but every time Edward asked about it, Ray brushed it off.

"Sure, Ray," Edward said and changed the channel. Something about Ray's reaction to the news nagged at him, but he decided it was best to let it go instead of risking a fight.

Edward glanced at the time. He had a date to keep and excused himself from Ray's, hurrying home.

Once he arrived at his townhouse, he placed his keys into their usual kitchen drawer. Swinging open his fridge door he stared at its contents: left-over pasta, assorted lunch containers for the working week, fresh fruit and vegetables, assorted cheeses, and a carton of eggs. Selecting a small container, Edward filled it with fruit and cheese.

The clock ticked the time and Edward ensured that he left precisely in eight minutes to be there in time. Collecting the container and a small bottle of wine with two glasses, he opened his back door and stepped inside the garage. A motorcycle and helmet stood beside his car. It had been a gift from his late fiancée, Evanthia. The memory tugged at his heart and brought to mind her beautiful smile, kind eyes, and open heart.

Edward tucked the fruit, glasses and wine into the seat's case and climbed on. He pulled on his helmet, leaving the garage with the roaring engine of the motorbike. His whole world eased away as he rode towards an overarching gate and breathed in the mild, fresh air. He got off the bike, gathered his belongings, and walked the grounds, surrounded by lush trees and flower beds with their rustling leaves and petals in the cool breeze. The freshly-mowed grass smelled sweet and sharp. The loose stones and rocks created a path as he walked further to his destination. She always waits for me. He sat down by Evanthia's gravestone, pulled out a cloth from his jeans pocket and cleaned off the dust. His heart ached as he picked up his bottle and poured the wine into a plastic glass. He drank up. "I know you wanted me to love again, Evanthia, but no-one will ever be you. No-one will ever belong to me like you did. I miss you so much,. I know you only want me to be happy and find love again, but I have to admit...I'm too scared to love again. I don't know if I'll ever get over you, my darling."

Edward bowed his head and spent an hour by her gravestone, He dug into his container of fruit and ate a piece of rock melon in honour of his beloved. Would he ever be able to move on?