Carter
7.
I woke with a start. Shaken out of sleep by the sound of my phone ringing on the bedside table. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, still half-closed, I sat up and blindly searched for the incessant ringing.
On the last ring, I found my phone as the screen went dark. I didn't recognize the number on the other line, and I didn't bother to redial. Instead, I stood, the cool air hitting my skin making me shiver.
The moonlight streaming through my window had me strolling back to my phone. I hurried to pull the hoodie over my head, goosebumps prickling my arms. The numbers swam before my bleary eyes.
2:35 am and now two more missed calls from the mystery number.
That meant I'd only gotten an hour of sleep. I pressed the phone to my ear, sighing.
"C...! I wasn't sure if I'd actually get you to answer. I—I...I want you to know something: today I was walking across the street, and...and I think I—"
At the sound of my childhood nickname, and the slurred, yet familiar voice, I cut Thomas off.
"Thomas, what are you doing?" I made sure to keep any emotion from slipping into my voice, couldn't let Thomas know just how much his name made me feel—drunk or not.
"Why are you so mean?" His voice whispered, so low I barely heard him. "Get off of me!"
Voices on the other end caught my attention, and I stood from the edge of my bed. The sound of a car horn sounding in the distance.
"Where are you?" I asked. "I'm coming."
I knew I would regret this.
"There's a lot of people here, C, and they're trying to steal my jacket—they keep saying—"
Shuffling and grunts could be heard on the other end, along with distant shouting.
"Tell me where you are, Thomas." My voice sounded harsher than I intended.
Silence fell over the phone, and I pulled it from my ear, sure that my brother had hung up, but I called his name just to be certain,
"Thomas?"
"I'm-I'm in...police, C. Just look for police." I could hear the defeat in Thomas's voice, and silence rang through once again. I hung up.
It was more or less a blind search. I had no idea where Thomas could be—there were plenty of bars and traffic and blinding lights that made it difficult to know, or see exactly where I was going.
I didn't see any police, and I continued to drive aimlessly for what felt like forever. I found myself driving down alleys, driving several times around the block. I was a good ways from my home now, and as I came through Harlem, I held my breath as movement caught my attention, followed by muffled shouts.
Parking, I stepped out of my car, glancing around warily. No police. The sounds grew louder, angry words and a slew of curse words that had me running toward the sound.
The flickering white light that illuminated the dark alley held a figure slumped against the wall. He was speaking rather loudly, angered obscenities that made me hesitate.
I tried to push away the images that surfaced in my head, the scenes that threatened to walk me in the opposite direction.
"Thomas?"
Even though it was dark, and the flickering light barely shedding enough to see, I knew it was Thomas, a shadow cast over his sunken features, as if he'd been here for a long while.
And then I noticed the blood that stained his face, the front of his shirt. A shift in the light and Thomas was suddenly angry, features contorting to that of something close to fury.
"Get away from me," He clumsily stood to his feet, spitting blood onto the concrete with a humorless laugh. He stumbled a few steps back. "Thought I'd lose you if I lied."
I glanced around the quiet alley, the streets holding nothing but a single car that passed by, one I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't looked. There was no police.
"Let me take you home." I said, staring at my brother.
Thomas was barely recognizable. The childhood brother I had once grown up with was nowhere to be found. The impeccable, no-stray-hair in sight version of Thomas was replaced with a drunken, haphazard person I barely recognized.
"No, I'm not going anywhere with you."
Slowly, I came toward Thomas, as if to reach out to reel him towards me, but the anger that flashed in his gaze and the way he lifted his hand as if to hit me made me flinch away.
"Touch me and I'll hit you."
Fear welled up inside my chest as I took a step back, willing my pulse to calm as it jumped into my throat. The feeling was so familiar I felt the bile rise to my throat. The images that raced through my mind were on full display now and found myself gasping for breath as I turned from my brother.
"Thomas," I said, my voice quiet. If I spoke any louder, I was sure my voice would crack.
I glanced over my shoulder, Thomas had gone utterly still, head hung as if realizing what had happened. When our eyes met, he took a tentative step toward me.
"I'm—I'm sorry, Carter." Thomas held out a hand to prop himself up on the brick wall, the rise and fall of his chest clearly visible.
The apology did nothing to calm my racing heart, not with Thomas's gaze still focused on me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and my mind barely registered the thud as I shrunk away. Back toward the safety of my car.
When I looked back, Thomas was on the ground, holding his head and struggling to lift himself upright. I sighed, holding my trembling fingers together as I forced my way back.
He looked up at me when I held out my hand, swiping at his mouth. I did my best not to look at the vomit strewn across the ground, and instead, kept my face emotionless as I helped Thomas to his feet.
I did my best not to let the fear I felt show on my face as I started toward my car, keeping my gaze firmly on the road ahead of me. Unmoving, unspeaking, I clenched my fingers over the steering wheel as Thomas mumbled apologies in the seat next to mine.
The smell of bile and alcohol that stained the air didn't make me feel any better, swallowing the lump that rose to my throat.
"Where do you live?" My voice sounded shaky, but whether Thomas noticed, he didn't say.
Unlike me, Thomas didn't bother to hide his fear.
"Rebecca can't know!" He let his face fall in his hands, shaking his head slightly. "No, no, no, n—argh!"
His fist collided with the dashboard, and I flinched. The car became filled with bitter, incoherent words—ones that had my knuckles turning ghost-white as I gripped the steering wheel.
Thoughts raced through my mind. Ones that had never resurfaced since the day that Thomas left. But all these years later, I realized that I still felt the ebb of his disappearance in every silent question I dared not to ask, and not sure if I even wanted to know the answer to.
I couldn't keep the cold in my voice as I said, "where do I take you?"
The thought of taking Thomas back home made my heart pound in my chest. Reliving the nightmarish hell that was my life was not something I wanted to be reminded of when my home was supposed to be a safe haven.
"C?"
The ignition came to life at my command, drowning out the emotions that wrapped their fingers around my throat, threatening to close over—I wished they did—and looked over at Thomas, swallowing hard. I suddenly hated that nickname.
"Nobody else knows that I drink. N-Not this bad." Thomas leaned his head back against the headrest, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers poised over his temples.
Taken aback, it was nearly impossible to hide the surprise that I felt. I was almost afraid to ask, "For how long?"
Thomas paused. He drew his fingers along his face and lifted his gaze to mine.
"Since I was fifteen."
With my sharp intake of breath, Thomas's eyes fell back to his lap. I willed my breathing to calm, but the fear inside me was nearly unbearable. Suffocating.
"Where did you go?" My voice was shaky.
A beat of silence.
"How did you get that scar?" Thomas replied, his own low and thoughtful. A hint of an edge
We both stared. I knew Thomas could see my fear, and he knew that I could see the familiar way that he balled his hands in the material of his shirt.
When Thomas opened his mouth, I turned on the radio and spun out onto the road.