"Sadie ... take it easy." Eli instructed from just behind me, reaching around my body to pull the whisky bottle away, sparing my kidneys from a fifth overflowing shot in a matter of minutes. The last gulp of alcohol was still gliding down the back of my throat like syrup and it burned its way through my body like molten liquid as it settled at the bottom of my stomach, sloshing heavily from violent trembles that have barraged over my limbs since returning from the Crypt.
Lumiere was no better I; half a bottle of Jack Daniels later and he was pacing the room like an aggravated tiger, caged and pissed. But also ... scared. Very scared. I've never seen Lumiere so rattled as he was in this moment.
His only eye was wild and alarmed, darting in every direction while he circled the room as if he were holding consultation with every corner he approached though his audience remained silent and internal. The objects in the room said nothing, at least to my ears. But every crevice of this area held a special conversation with Lumiere, reminding him of memories he wouldn't soon forget. Memories that surrounded a particular man, a man we all thought to be dead.
Perhaps he still is. Just because there is no body doesn't mean Dustin is alive. But the walls spoke to Lumiere on whispers of premise, calling to him of auspicious favors that inspired hope of the impossible. For Lumiere, what we witnessed in the Crypt was enough. What further evidence could he ask for towards the survival of his friend, his brother? His leader?
None. Lumiere is convinced by now, and that is a very dangerous place to be. Because the only evidence against Dustin's passing is an absent body, nothing more. How can we possibly chase after a man only rumored to be alive when such rumors are only supported by something that isn't there, something that cannot be seen? There are many places to hide a body, so many places. But significantly less places to hide a living man. That is Lumiere's logic; we should search for the living rather than the dead.
But I am not yet certain and such uncertainty has brought me under the bottle where my tangling thoughts are a little less destructive because they are a little less coherent.
Beyond where Lumiere marched, Corinth leaned heavily against the wall, biting at her nails in furious haste while she burned holes in the ground with her unwavering stare. She hasn't said a word since we returned, although I can't imagine anything she or we could possibly say that might lessen the onslaught washing over her in this moment. Over us all.
Eli seemed to be the least affected, at least he displayed this sense of ease at a surface level. I suspect that his guise was only that, a mask; a blanket atop still water where currents of ungodly velocity tumbled and churned at a depth unseen by others. I've known Eli long enough to recognize his feigned serenity for the sake of Corinth, always for the sake of his beloved. Even now when the very thought of Dustin's survival had him crushed and mangled, still Eli remained composed because there isn't enough room for anyone else to shatter. Corinth has the right to break down, as does Lumiere.
Eli has more right than I and yet it is I who can hardly stand. It is I who has crumbled.
All the progress from these passing weeks, the walls I've built around myself to keep out my fear and agony now rained rampaging arrest over my heart and soul. I've sworn to be strong for those who looked up to me, but here I stand as though no progress was ever made. How is it that I hid my ruin from the world, from me as well, and still manage to fall prey to it?
I glanced towards Brandon, knowing he held the answers to all of my inquiries.
While we have been derived from sanity, Brandon took to the bench near the far wall, lounging across the squalid wood with his legs hooked on the armrest and his head braced against the back, fiddling his thumbs in his lap to keep himself busy. He's been quite patient with our deterioration since returning to the compound.
But though his expression held grim sympathy, there was a smile in his eyes. A knowing he didn't care to share with us.
And it pissed me off.
"How did you survive?"
It was the first direct utterance towards Brandon since we stepped foot back into the lobby to relay our discovery to Corinth and Eli. At the sound of this virulent question, Brandon tilted his head towards the speaker, eying me from where I stood near the bar with my arms folded across the top to hold my body steady.
Lumiere was clinging to whatever control he had left, using what remained of his strength to hold his emotions at bay even though they taunted him to let go. Corinth was trapped inside her own mind and Eli was far too busy monitoring her to place any genuine effort into an interrogation. Which left me to do so.
"You're still new here, so I don't expect you to know who the Council is or how powerful they are." Brandon said rather simply, then nodded towards the others, "But the rest of them do. Observe their reactions, their grave understanding of the situation. Oh yes, indeed they know. And they fear."
Lumiere's gaze narrowed, "You didn't answer her question."
Brandon retained a relaxed demeanor although he wore a look that hinted towards something darker, "Even for someone who has grown up hearing stories of the Council's brutality, I suppose you can't truly appreciate that power until you've seen it ... felt it." His body went stiff absentmindedly, remembering and reliving.
"So you don't know then, about how you survived?" I challenged, milking him for whatever information he might be able to offer.
"To be completely honest, I have no idea how they brought me back. The last thing I remember is laying in that cell, staring up at the ceiling," His gaze went distant and his frown deepened, "I remember how cold I felt. So very, very cold. And I remember asking myself how awful of a person I must be to die alone, in a cage, like nothing but a miscreant dog." He shook his head, ridding his mind of that image while he shivered though he tried to hide it, "When my eyes closed, I was in that jail cell. But when they opened, I was with the Council."
My shoulders slumped with his confession, "That's it? That's all you know?"
"I know more than I care to admit." Brandon told, rubbing at his arm with fingers aware of unimaginable pain, "But in reference to my death and my resurrection ... yes, that is all I know."
Lumiere's eye focused on where Brandon pinched his arm between his palm, thumb digging deep to drive away the lingering ache of torture unknown. He was surprisingly gentle but equally appalled when he asked, "What did they do to you? How did you become ..." He gestured towards Brandon with an upper lip lifting; not quite disgusted, more like bewildered, " ... this?"
Brandon humphed, laughing in mock of his own pain, "The Council isn't kind, that much we all know. So when they offer any type of gratitude, it is expected to be paid back in full. Going through the amount of trouble as they did to save me, is a favor not easy to reconcile."
He said nothing more of the torture he endured but he needn't speak of those crimes for us to understand. Hints of his past were carved into his eyes, dripping from every word he spoke and encased around every movement. I don't know Brandon like the rest of them did, I didn't grow up with him or place my life in his hands just as he might ask of me. But Corinth did, Eli did. And from the way Lumiere pitied him, it was clear there was a history between them. But this Brandon was different than the one they once knew.
This Brandon was scarred and broken.
This Brandon was dead inside.
He cleared his throat, moving on from the previous topic, "That's what I've been doing this past year, clearing my hands of the blood they so generously supplied after losing all of my own."
Lumiere rose an eyebrow, "So you've been their bitch boy?"
"No." Brandon snapped, "I've been collecting their debts, directing their commands, leading their mercenaries-"
"In other words," Lumiere smirked, "You're their bitch boy."
Brandon's jaw locked in annoyance, looking elsewhere to ignore the joy such a statement brought to Lumiere, "Anyways, I couldn't leave their service until they decided I had earned my freedom."
At hearing this, Lumiere's joy faded rather quickly and newfound hatred replaced the iris in his single glaring eye, "And what did you do to finally earn your freedom?"
"Want to guess?" Brandon didn't expect an answer and he spoke on recklessly, "My final task was to monitor the death of Dustin King and report back to my superiors when he passed."
I wouldn't have believed such a preposterous, revolting concept if I hadn't heard it with my own ears. Yet Brandon sat there as though what he just confessed was nothing out of the ordinary.
"That's demented, sick!" I assured.
"That's my job." Brandon replied, too nonchalant to take my nausea to heart, "For the past year, I wasn't allowed to see my family, wasn't allowed to have an opinion of my own. I never had a problem with being their slave but when I heard that I had to watch my little cousin die, you have no idea how hard I fought against my orders." Now he showed us his arm, rolling up the sleeve of his sweatshirt to reveal a legion of cuts from the length of his elbow to his wrist, every half inch or so, deep enough to leave scars. He sighed, "As you can imagine, their methods of persuasion are quite convincing."
"So you gave up Dustin's life to spare your own?" Corinth whispered from her corner, her voice so small one might not have heard it if the room weren't so silent. But we all heard the way her questioned cracked in the middle, the look of utter devastation in her gaze after hearing that her brother – a man she once revered – is now nothing short of a coward in biker clothing. He is not the man she knew as a child, in fact, I'd venture to say Brandon is the not the man she ever knew.
He's a stranger now.
And even he accepts that.
"I arrived with the intention of saving him." He spoke these words to his sister alone, no doubt hoping they'd be taken with enthusiasm though they were only met with disapproval. When his sister turned away from him, Brandon looked towards me, "That's why I was on the bus with you, why I went towards the Reaper's Headquarters while you came here to the compound. I was trying to talk sense to Rosen, hoping to avoid Dustin's death altogether thus rendering my task null and void." He sighed once more, "Clearly it didn't work."
"If you truly wanted to save Dustin, why didn't you help him?" I demanded, realizing too late that no one else knew of Brandon's attendance to Dustin's passing.
Though Lumiere was halfway across the room, I felt furious heat explode from his body on fumes white hot wrath, "You were there?!"
Brandon ignored Lumiere's anger with noticeable difficulty, using me as a distraction to keep his mind off the fire spitting from Lumiere's single eye, "You really don't understand how our world works." He insulted, "There are signs of power all around, you see it in the way people walk and act. In the way people kill. When I saw Rosen's fight with Dustin, I realized very quickly that he wasn't acting alone. The Council had already gotten to him, feeding him lies about Dustin's role in Katrina's death, convincing him that Dustin would someday take over the Reaper territory and merge the gangs as he always wanted."
"Dustin would never." Lumiere seethed.
"It doesn't take much to set paper men aflame. One little push was all the Council needed to turn Rosen into their attack dog. He did their dirty work without anyone ever questioning his intentions." Again those emerald eyes befell me and one might have thought his stare was curious rather than accusatory, "Until you, that is."
"Me?" I blanched.
"Do you not remember the way you insulted him, the way you belittled him in front of his men?" Brandon – dare I say – seemed quite impressed, "Although it was already too late for Rosen to abandon his plan, you certainly made him see a different light that night. Not enough to change his course of action but enough to make him think. And for men of Rosen's intellect, thinking is quite dangerous." Brandon chuckled to himself, "And saying how Katrina would hate him, nice touch I must say."
I felt bile rising at the back of my throat, whiskey rising once more to coat my tongue like leather in my mouth, "I didn't tell him those things to make him think. I only wanted to give Dustin a chance-"
"And because of you, that chance was presented." Brandon informed plainly, less concerned with my motives and only interested on the end result, "Rosen was going to kill Dustin either way, you just made it a spectacle rather than a slaughter."
My eyes burned at hearing him talk so carelessly of the events that night, "And Rosen dying, was that part of the Council's plan too?"
Brandon gave a halfhearted smirk, "If the Council doesn't plan for it to happen, it doesn't."
I swallowed, "Ever?"
His grin broadened, "Ever."
Corinth, pretty much idle thus far, became mortified the longer she listened to her brother speak, "But why did they want Dustin dead?"
Brandon shrugged, "Even I don't know that, but I do know arrangements have been made. They need Dustin for something, something important enough to merit his own death as a cover."
I staggered sideways with dawning dread, "Because if everyone thinks Dustin is dead, no one will be looking for him." I choked on these words, "No one will interfere."
"Exactly." Brandon said, hiding his obvious surprise behind smug arrogance, "Not as dumb as she looks folks."
I made a face that certainly offended him, he probably thought the sneer I made just then was a result of his insult. In actuality, I was simply trying to keep my stomach's contents from garnishing his lap. Then again, he thoroughly deserved it.
"But how did they pull this off? We were there when he died, we were at the funeral. We buried him with a hundred witnesses." Corinth looked so pale now, no doubt feeling as sick as I was, "How could they have fooled us all?"
Brandon shrugged again, "My service ended the moment Dustin stopped breathing, what happened after that was done without my knowledge. I'm assuming the man in the casket was merely a well adapted cadaver, made to look like Dustin so no one would notice. Then once the body was buried, I wouldn't put it past the Council to send someone here to dispose of any evidence."
"No. It wasn't a cadaver." Lumiere was livid by now, at a loss of grasping reality and falling deeper into the web being spun furiously around him, "I saw his body. It was Dustin."
"Perhaps you're mistaken. After all," No one missed the glint in Brandon's stare, "Your vision isn't what it used to be."
That boiling tension crept forth yet again though this time it wasn't between the reunited siblings. This time it was crackling between Brandon and Lumiere like bolts of lightning, almost visible as sparks of blue and red flashed between them from friction.
Lumiere's jaw locked and he replied without missing a beat, "With two eyes or one, I can identify my brother. Unfortunately for you, it does not matter with how many eyes you look. You'll never find the other two sets that searched for you before death."
Brandon said nothing in response, but his face twisted. Disturbed. Jarred that Lumiere would say such a thing. I knew not of the history they shared but by now it is clear, something horrible happened between them.
Something that shatters the bonds of brotherhood.
Brandon cleared his throat and looked away, "Whatever you saw in that casket upon burial was not your precious leader. At one point it may have been, during the funeral and procession. But I guarantee you that the man you carried into the mausoleum was not of noble blood." Those final words seem to rip through the others with unprecedented velocity, "It's not so sacred now, is it?"
But it couldn't be that simple ... someone's death couldn't be that simple.
My voice trembled and I put no effort into hiding my fear, "The Council couldn't really do all of that ... could they?"
"The Council has more power than you can possibly imagine. When compared to their past actions, faking someone's death is a mere parlor trick. A trick they have performed many times before and no doubt will perform many times again." Brandon couldn't have been more serious when he lowered his tone to nothing more than a whisper, "Yes, faking a person's death is no challenge for the Council but bringing people back from the dead is the their specialty."
I couldn't believe something so derisory. Everyone else may choose to live in a fairytale but my feet are rooted in the real world where happy endings aren't authentic and the dead stay in their graves.
"You say this Council is powerful, but even they can't bring someone back from the dead. It's just not possible, there must be another explanation." I concluded.
"Silly girl. Bringing the dead back to life is only the beginning." Brandon proclaimed, "Killing Dustin was only the preliminary round. The real game has yet to begin."
I trust him less with every syllable he produces. I hardly believe in ghost stories and these frightening tales of the Council will be no different. Men are only that, they are not gods nor do they possess such divine powers as returning life to a corpse.
Without a body, it's difficult to determine the accuracy of Brandon's report. I am still not convinced that Dustin is alive but if he is, the Council must have intervened in some way before the conclusion of Dustin's battle with Rosen. If Dustin truly died that day at Reaper headquarters then his missing body might mean that the Council took it for whatever delusional schemes might be. But if he's alive, then he must have been alive this whole time. I've heard of drugs that slow the heart enough to mirror death.
Could this be a manifestation of what happens when powerful people meddle in lives that are not their own? If the Council drugged Dustin to fake his death, I wouldn't put it past them to kidnap him while the rest of us were preoccupied with mourning. If that's the case, that means Dustin has been alive this whole time, suffering on his own for weeks because-
Wait ... weeks?
My eyes narrowed, "If your service to the Council ended the moment Dustin supposedly died ... why has it taken you three weeks to come forward with all of this information?"
Corinth lifted her head from where it had been buried in Eli's shoulder, and Eli himself stiffened at my question. I saw Lumiere's face wash over with unrealized deception, none of them had considered the missing time of Brandon's recent activities.
Brandon hung his head to hide his grin, he has been expecting this question, "A story for another time, my dear."
"Dodging again, huh? Fine." I cut back, "Riddle me this; why do you want to save Dustin so badly after being the one who allowed his death in the first place?"
Brandon's eye twitched, "I have committed many sins in the name of earning my freedom, and for that I accept what's coming to me. But Dustin is still my cousin, I was there when he was born, I watched him grow up. I gave my life for him." He became quite still, thoughtful, "It seems only right to use my second chance at life to restore his."
Lumiere's suspicion dripped into his question, "And how exactly do you plan on saving him?"
"Well that's why I came here, why I approached Sadie first. I figured out of you lot, she'd be the most willing to believe me." He tossed me a look, mostly comprised of disappointment and provoked bother, "How wrong I was, eh?"
"So you have a plan?" I continued, ignoring his previous statement because I was one smug statement away from breaking his nose all over again and then bludgeoning him to death with the largest, rustiest pipe I could find, "You have a plan to save Dustin from this Council?"
"Of course. Find Dustin, save him, run like hell." Brandon declared simply.
My mouth actually dropped open, "That's it?"
"I'm not the strategist your dear Dustin is, alright. I plan as I go and it has worked for me so far." Brandon informed.
"Oh really? Tell me again how you got your throat slit open?" Eli inquired.
Even Corinth cracked a grin.
"Wow, tough crowd." Brandon mumbled, "Listen. I figure a few of us will infiltrate Council headquarters, save Dustin without being detected, get the hell out of there, and hopefully stay under the Council's radar until we figure out how to get them off our backs. Or-" He stopped himself before finishing.
"Or what?" I prompted.
He thought over his plan with a finger against his chin, "Or we die. I'd say we have ..." He did some sort of calculation in his mind, "A fifty percent chance of making it out alive."
Lumiere chuckled and met Corinth's confident stare, "I like those odds."
"Aye." She answered, "As do I."
"But we have to leave as soon as possible, we have already wasted enough time with having to convince you all and there are a few stops we must make along the way." Brandon explained, standing from the bench and rubbing his hands on his thighs.
He did that once before, while down in the mausoleum. The motion wouldn't have stuck out in my mind if it weren't for the way he did it, as though he were slicing his hands against nails in attempts to scrape the very skin from his palms. How odd, I thought.
While lost in my mind, I realized the others had carried on the conversation and suddenly Corinth seemed quite worried. She grabbed onto Eli's arm, "What are you talking about, don't be crazy!"
"Someone has to stay here." Eli insisted.
Corinth stood almost a full foot shorter than Eli but her height was bartered by defense and that made her tower, "Don't you want to go?"
"Of course I do, Dustin is my family too." Eli took her cheeks in his hands, caressing the soft area below her eyes where dried tears still shined on her skin in the dull light. He smiled at her, more gentle than usual but never short of that unwavering obsession; of his unconditional love for her, "But you heard Brandon. The group has to be small, undetectable. We can't all go, someone has to stay behind."
"No one has to stay behind." Corinth argued, borderline hysteric, "We should all stay together."
To anyone else she may sound unreasonable but I understood her panic. She has spent everyday with Eli for years, facing dangers and avoiding catastrophe while so many others fell before the blade of those same transgressions. But together they survived. When the smoke clears and the gunfire stops, they always remain. The thought of leaving him behind – of not knowing – scared her.
But the thought of possibly losing him as she has lost everyone else, left her in pieces. A broken warrior, eroded from constant sorrow and depleted of strength after placing so much belief into someone and still have that someone get ripped away from her.
Like her father.
Like her brother.
Like Dustin.
Corinth can't lose anyone else, especially not Eli. I have seen what happens when one of them leaves the other and the very sight is still seared into my mind like a weltering blister that never heals. If it were up to me, or Corinth, they'd never be apart again.
But sometimes decisions get made for us, whether we want them to or not. That's the nature of life, of our life as Tribe leaders.
Before Corinth finished, Brandon was already shaking his head, "The less the better. If I could convince you and the eyepatch over there to stay, I would. But I know you guys would never, so you're lucky I'm letting the two of you tag along." He ignored Corinth's glare, "I said I wanted a small, stealthy kill squad, not Dustin's entire Inner Circle."
"But-" Corinth began.
Eli hushed her with a lingering kiss, breathing her in and leaning into her touch, using that bond to make promises none but the two of them could hear. Brandon looked away, as did I to give them privacy. But Lumiere watched, his only eye vacant with guilt, and he sighed in shame at tearing them apart.
"Someone has to watch over the Tribe while you all are gone." Eli whispered against her lips, "Members will be returning soon and someone has to be here to help them adjust to the changes we've made around the compound."
Lumiere took in a deeper breath and approached them, "I should stay, Dustin left leadership to me and it's my duty to care for his people." He didn't want to say those words, he didn't want to give up his chance to see and save Dustin. But as acting captain, it is his responsibility to put the Tribe above all else. The Tribe comes first, the Tribe always comes first.
Though he would never admit it simply because Brandon said it, Lumiere has indeed grown into his role as leader.
But Eli saw his gloom as the rest of us did and shook his head firmly, "No. You have to go, you need to go. The Tribe can function without you but he can't." Eli took hold of Lumiere's shoulder, "Dustin can't, not without you."
"I suppose the kid is right." Brandon inserted, endowing a rich smile laced with smug pomposity towards Lumiere, "Perhaps you'll see something we won't."
One more joke about Lumiere's missing eye and I'll-
"Even with one eye, it's easy to see how much of a dick you are, buddy." Lumiere grinned back.
Before another round of insults could be made, I jumped between them and took hold of Lumiere's arm, peering up at his eyepatch in concern, "Are you sure you're up for it? It's only been a few weeks, you're still healing." Even now I remember the sight of his blood spraying against a full moon, ghoulish red as dark as black against the purity of that iridescent light. The memory was still fresh, so the injury must be as well, "I've been letting a lot slide since you think being leader takes precedence over your health but this ..." I didn't want to say it, he didn't want to hear it, "It might be too much."
Brandon observed how closely Lumiere and I stood, sharing personal space rather than having our own. It has been that way since Dustin's passing. Corinth and Eli understood our fusion, realizing there was only one way both Lumiere and I survived the death of our leader. But the way Brandon glared was as though he viewed treachery.
Betrayal.
Lumiere didn't notice the scrutiny we now fell under and tapped the patch over his face with a lanky finger, "This is nothing compared to what Dustin faced, what he's facing right now. If he can survive death, I think I can survive a simple road trip."
"Perhaps it isn't the trip you should fear, but the destination instead." Brandon suggested, gaze still locked on where my hands curled around Lumiere's forearm, "I'm sure Dustin won't be thrilled to hear that the two of you have grown so ... close ... during his absence."
My cheeks flushed with heat at the hidden accusation in his words and Lumiere cocked a head in confusion before dropping recognizing eyes on my hands. But he gave a short laugh, chilled by affront disregard, "You should know better by now, Brandon ole boy. Although I don't expect you to understand-" Lumiere's eye went sheer with hatred, "Not all of us can be loyal, can we?"
Brandon humphed, pretending that Lumiere's taunt went unheard. But as Brandon called out weakly for us to prepare ourselves for the trip, I detected the grisly sorrow in his voice and in his eyes. In his overall posture as well. Shoulders slumped and he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, heading for the front doors and disappearing beyond them into the night without another word. Lumiere stared after him, there was no sympathy in his gaze.
No mercy.
"We should get ready. Pack a single back with only necessary items." Lumiere instructed. Eli accompanied Corinth to her room and Lumiere started off down the hallway, stopping only when he realized I wasn't following, "Aren't you coming?"
"I'll be there in a second, I have a make a quick phone call." I said.
Lumiere's expression eased into the one I enjoyed most and his boyish charm took precedence over the blemishes left by his anger and pain, "Tell the kid I said hi."
Once he turned the corner at the end of the hall, I took a seat at the bar and pulled out my phone. There was only one number listed under my recent FaceTime calls. I clicked on it but didn't need to wait long. The phone rang only twice before a connection was made. My screen was filled with the rosy cheeked face of a young boy sporting warm brown hair and bright blue eyes sitting just above a button nose littered with a flock of coffee bean dimples.
My lips curled upwards at seeing him and the weight over my heart lifted just a little, the way it always does when I find time to talk with my little brother, "Hey Toby, how are you doing bud?"
"Sadie!" He called out happily, the phone shaking in his hand as he laughed, "I was actually just about to call you, you'll never guess what happened at school earlier today! Go on, take a guess!"
The excitement in his tone was enough to bring a smile out of me that I haven't worn since the last time we spoke, a smile seemingly reserved for Toby and only so, "Hmh, let's see ... you started a food fight in the cafeteria and now there is spaghetti lodged in the ceiling?"
He broke into contagious laughter, "Come on, Sadie. You can do better than that!"
I missed his laugh, "Spare me the humility of another awful guess, what happened at school today?"
"It was Career Day and one of the doctors who came to talk to us was Dr. Neilman!"
Wow, that actually was a surprise, "The doctor who worked with you through chemo?"
Toby nodded, a little too excited but I didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise, "Yeah! I talked to him for a bit and he told me there is a Young Scholars program that lets kids shadow doctors so they get an idea of what it is like to work in healthcare. And you want to hear the best part? He said he would put in a recommendation for me if I keep my grades up!" Toby was bouncing up and down, practically throwing the phone in sporadic directions, "I'll start middle school in the fall so he says I should focus on school work for now but once I get into eighth grade, he said I can start shadowing him early since I'm already so familiar with the hospital!"
Unbelievably exciting, while being equal parts heartbreaking. Toby will be turning ten soon and he already knows the hospital floor by floor, room by room. No child should spend so much time in a place where even most adults avoid. However, such knowledge has provided Toby with this opportunity. An opportunity most would kill for and he received it in exchange for the past several years of misery and illness. If anyone could take such an awful circumstance and turn it into a something so positive, it was my baby brother.
I recognized the sharp sting behind my eyes, usually brought by sorrow and remorse but now coerced from an uncontainable joy only acquired through overwhelming exultation. But Toby mistook my tears for sadness and the smile I loved so much slipped away from his face, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't even ask if you were busy. I should have waited to tell you-"
"No, no, I'm not busy. I'm just so happy for you." I quickly explained, anything to get that smile back. And once he understood that I was indeed happy, that smile returned and it brought with my own by tenfold, "Toby I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks." He said, now sheepish. But that didn't stop him from expressing his own excitement, "I've been thinking about it all day and I think I've made up my mind ..." I could practically feel his eagerness through the phone, "I think I want to be a doctor when I grow up."
Is that my heart pounding so loudly in my ears?
"Toby, that's great!" I encouraged, fighting so hard to keep those tears at bay for my brother's sake. How could someone who has been through so much pain and strife manage to look at the world with only optimism and hope? Toby is a true miracle.
He readjusted the phone and sat a little closer to the screen, "You think so? I mean I know it's going to be a lot of work and a lot of money-"
"Don't you worry about that." I nearly ordered. The one flaw of my brother is that he is too considerate for his own good and I knew his next words long before he spoke them.
"But dad has already paid so much for my medical bills." He shrugged, glancing down, "I don't want him to have to work more."
That was the major difference between my brother and I. He idolized our father because he has always treated Toby as royalty, catering to Toby's every need and desire. If Toby wanted something, that object was attained before the day was out. But I never envied him for that because after all that Toby has endured, he deserved a little pampering. Even from someone as vile as the man who gave me life.
While Toby sat high on his pedestal, I resided somewhere far below him, in the dirt and the shadows. My father wanted his first born to be a son but was gifted with me instead. Perhaps he would have been able to accept my existence if his next child had been a strong, brawny, strapping boy but then Toby was diagnosed with cancer and my father placed that blame on my head. I took the good genes, I shouldn't have been born, I screwed over my brother and damned him to a life of sickness.
At least that what I overheard my father telling my mother almost every night.
But my mother was my guardian. She opposed my father's beliefs with rationality, always coming to my aid in defending my innocence. She knew, as most of the world did, that biology is an odd phenomena and even taking all of the proper precautions can lead to someone like Toby getting sick. It's a matter of chance rather than choice.
My father never accepted my mother's resistance but he respected her enough to be civil. I never had a close relationship with my father but we were able to at least tolerate one another. There were even times when I thought he might actually enjoy my company.
Then my mother passed away and everything plunged into harrowing misery. It was quite clear from that moment forward how my father felt towards me, how he despised me. I was nothing more than wasted space to that man, someone to bend to his will because I didn't know better. I did his chores, cleaned his house, took care of his son while he spent most of his days at the courthouse where his lawyer friends reminded him how triumphant and fortunate he was to have a good job. And a good family.
He never once agreed with them.
I have never blamed Toby for being dad's favorite, I have never condemned him for having the decent homelife that I never did. We both had our hardships; Toby fought the demons inside his body while I fought the demons living in our house. Different battles, separate adversaries, but similar trials only in the degree of immorality we faced as individuals.
Toby defeated his demons, and I suppose I have defeated mine. Or at least traded them in for demons of a different sort.
"Don't feel that way, Toby. We'll find a way to make it work, you can count on it." I promised, pledging a vow to myself, my brother, and the universe that somehow I would put my brother through medical school. Even if it cost me more than I could ever afford.
I'd gladly live out the rest of my days in debt if it meant success and ease for my brother. He has earned that much and more, even if I only give him half.
He shrugged it off, swatting away the subject, "It's still a few years away before I can even start shadowing Dr. Neilman. Who knows, things might be completely different by then." I wanted to assure him that it wouldn't be but he continued on before I had a chance, "Anyways, what's up with you? Why did you call?"
I made a mental note to get back to our previous conversation but I had a purpose for calling Toby, one that might be slightly more dire, "Well I need to tell you something. Can you swear that you'll keep this a secret, from everyone?"
Toby's face dropped, wonderfully interested, "Everyone? Wow, must be super important."
"It is, more important than the time we had to laugh at Aunt Mary's jokes so that she'd bake us chocolate cake for breakfast when she came to visit." I explained. Toby nearly fell out of his chair after grasping the severity of this situation if it was more important than all of those unexplainably painful afternoons with Aunt Mary, "Dad already went to bed right?"
Toby nodded quickly, "Yeah. You told me not to call you or answer any of your calls until dad is sleeping." He repeated it just as I had told him, locking it to memory.
"Good job. Okay you ready?" I asked. He set the phone down on his desk in front of him and folded his hand in his lap, already knowing that when he gets too excited he has a tendency of knocking things over. He made sure to distance himself from anything substantial then gave another nod. I sucked in a deep breath, swallowed the accumulating saliva in my mouth, and spoke the three words I haven't been able to bring myself to say with certainty, "Dustin is alive."
When Toby didn't move, I thought the screen was frozen so I waited for the connection to grow stronger. But the longer we sat there, I realized the screen wasn't frozen. Toby was. Eyes wide and trapped in thought, mouth shut tight, hands clasped in his lap. He didn't move, didn't speak. If it weren't for the shifting images from his television in the distant corner of the room, I would have thought his entire room had been stuck in time.
"I thought you said he died." Toby's sentence came out as half statement and half question.
When I called Toby for the first time, the day after Dustin's funeral, I told him everything that had happened since leaving him. Of course, I had to cut out a majority of the details to sustain a PG rating for my brother. But he still understood the brutality of Dustin's passing and he took it hard.
He even started crying, for a man he only saw once but a man he strived to be.
Toby thought Dustin was the strongest man on earth and Toby began worshipping him even though he knew very little about him. But knowing that I was happy with him, and based on the fleeting image of Dustin and I escaping the wrath of my father, was enough for Toby to concoct an illusion – a fantasy – where Dustin was a hero of the most worthy kind.
When Toby heard that he died, it broke Toby's gallant creation. And in some ways, though he has yet to tell me, I think Dustin's passing also broke some of Toby's faith.
Because if a man as strong as Dustin couldn't survive this world, what hope was there for the rest of us?
"He did, at least we thought he did. But there's a possibility that maybe he didn't." I'm confusing even myself, "Does that make sense?"
It took him a moment to respond, "Yes ... but if he's alive ... where is he? Shouldn't he be with you?"
Don't cry Sadie, not in front of Toby. Not now.
"We don't know why he isn't here with us, but we're going to find him and bring him home." I clarified.
"So ..." Toby's eyebrows dipped low, his telltale sign of hard comprehension after hearing undesired information, "Does that mean you're leaving?"
I knew this was going to be hard but I didn't expect the look in Toby's eyes to affect me so greatly, "Yes. It does." I added quickly, "But only for a little while, I think."
"Where are you going?" He asked.
"I'm not sure." I confessed and even if I did know, I probably wouldn't tell him. The less he knows, the better. In case we get ourselves into serious trouble, "But I'll check in with you whenever I can."
He suddenly realized my concern for his comfortability and shook his head, "I know you're worried about me but I'm fine here. School keeps me busy and Dad usually works when he gets home. Sometimes we watch a movie or walk around the neighborhood but for the most part, he stays in his office. So don't worry about me, just focus on getting Dustin back."
"But Toby-"
"I promise, Sadie. I'll be okay." He smiled to prove his notion.
I wanted to believe him but it wasn't in my nature to give up my concern for my brother, "Are you sure?"
This time he didn't hesitate, "As sure as the sun will rise."
My heart stuttered.
Our mother used to say that, because sunrises were her favorite. Actually, everything about the sun was her favorite; sunrises and sunsets, sunflowers, sunshine. She liked the light, the warmth, and the promise of a new day. I remember so many afternoons coming home from school and finding her on the porch, reading a book with the sun kissing her graciously. It was those days in which I could have sworn I saw her glowing, radiating, from her long golden hair to the bright red polish on her nails. Everything about her was bright and inviting, always lovely in a way only few women ever procure.
And when it came time for her to travel from this world to the next, she did so during the crystal light of a breeching sun; rising over the horizon with rays that stretched over the length of the land. Wrapping around my mother, guiding her, as though even the sun would mourn her passing.
Though I see visions of her in my smile, sometimes I fear that I am losing her. Losing my similarity to her. I once cherished the blonde curls that wound down my back like ribbon of the finest color because it wasn't just my hair, it was my mother's hair. It kept her alive for me, in me, even when her memory faded from my mind with each passing year. But like the rest of her, those fair locks have been stolen from me by a monster, chopped off and reaped by the wind.
"Stop thinking about it, Sadie." Toby commanded softly, knowing all too well where my mind had taken me upon hearing my mother's words from Toby's mouth. He leaned a little closer, as if we might be able to sit with one another even though we were hours apart, "Think about only one thing at a time. Think about saving Dustin."
"I'll never stop worrying about you, Toby. That's my job as an older sister." I informed lightly, adding a laugh to convince him that all was well.
"I know." Toby didn't argue, "I'm okay with that."
"I will let you know as soon as we get back, you can even talk to Dustin if you want." Not a total lie. But whether Toby and Dustin converse is debated entirely on the condition of Dustin when we find him. I won't ruin Toby's image of Dustin with scars and bruises and blood.
"Talk to you soon, sis. And Sadie?" Toby paused, prolonging our conversation a moment more before he whispered, "I love you."
"Love you too, buddy."
The call ended and finally I let a single tear slip from my eye, letting that tear release the crushing sensation which had taken siege over my chest. I hate not being with Toby, I hate that he is growing up without me. But my dad takes care of him better than he ever took care of me, it's safer for Toby there. It's safer as long as I am nowhere near him.
"Interesting conversation."
Across the room, leaning on the entrance doors from where he had returned from having his cigarette, was Brandon. He wasn't smirking or smug in any way. He was somber. As if he too recognized the feeling of being far from a sibling. Maybe he understood, probably better than anyone, but one similarity doesn't make us friends. Or acquaintances.
"Don't." Was all I said and he accepted my demand.
"You should go pack your things." Brandon suggested, nodding towards the hallway where everyone else was preparing.
I tucked the phone back into my pocket, "I don't have anything to pack. Corinth will bring me some extra clothes I'm sure."
"Right." Brandon stated. Thankfully he didn't bring up my outsider status yet again but by the way he stood awkwardly against the door, I knew he wanted to.
The silence stretched on between us and became deafening. I could feel it crawling along my skin, licking up my arms and causing the hairs to stand on end. When I finally couldn't take it, I sighed and asked, "So where are we going on this road trip?"
"To Council headquarters." Brandon answered.
I rose an eyebrow, "Which is where?"
"The Big Apple, baby." Brandon said with a grin, tossing an object in my direction that shined in the light above us. Through a clumsy flail of limbs, I managed to catch it and when I looked down, I saw something small folded safely between my palms. It was a mere quarter, a display of American currency; George Washington's head fitted on one side with the Statue of Liberty on the other. When I looked back to Brandon, I found that he was mocking me with mischievous eyes, "New York, the city that never sleeps."
I examined the quarter again, "That's where Dustin is?"
Brandon pushed off from the door and started a slow stroll down the darkened hallway, whistling to himself. He stopped only once, glancing up at the lineup of photographs hanging above the hallway arch, each a picture of past leaders. Brandon's father was hanging there, as was Dustin and his own father, and now Lumiere as well. A long line of men determined to protect the Tribe by any means, even if it costs them their lives.
For most of them, it has.
I cleared my throat and tried again, "We'll find Dustin in New York city?"
Brandon didn't look at me and continued on his way, his deep voice reaching me in smooth tones from where his body had already disappeared down the hall into darkness, "We'll find much more than that in New York city."
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If I apologized for every time I'm late somewhere, I'd never say any other words besides "I'm Sorry" so we'll just take care of that now ... I AM SOOOO SORRY!!!! I am posting sooo late but I hope this is enough to hold you over, think of all the possibilities that could potentially happen ... oooo ... ahhhhh ...
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