by M. Billiter
The handgun was smaller than I’d expected, but it’d do the trick. I only needed one shot.
I opened the laptop and created a new document.
My lip trembled and my hands shook.
“See, you don’t have the stomach for this.”
I wiped my eyes against the sleeve of my shirt. Fuck, David was right. I didn’t have the stomach for this. I didn’t even know how to write the letter.
“If you’re determined to do this, let me write the letter.”
You’ll talk me out of it.
“Nah, it’s probably one of your better plans.”
Be nice.
“Always.”
This time when I wrote, I let David speak through me.
* * *
Mom,
I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I hope that someday you’ll forgive me. My entire life I’ve wanted to make you proud. And the truth is I’ve done things you’d never understand and couldn’t possibly forgive. Even if you did, things would change between us. I don’t want you to ever look at me differently. But I know that when you discover what David and I did, you’d never look at me the same way again. I don’t even remember some of the stuff, only that I know we did stuff that wasn’t right.
* * *
My hands shook and tears flooded down my face. I can’t do this.
“That’s because you’re not supposed to. Let me do it for you.”
I nodded. There was an odd sense of peace knowing David would handle it.
“Let’s finish the letter.”
* * *
Mom, you’ll want to think it’s your fault, but it’s not. In the genetic gene pool, Branson and I got dealt a bad hand. And the best way to play a bad hand is to do the one thing no one ever expects—fold.
Folding is final. It takes you out of the game, but sometimes conceding that you’ve lost is the hardest, most honest truth to face. I haven’t been living with the truth for such a long time; it actually feels good to know that it’s still somewhere inside me.
The other thing that no one ever thinks about is that when you fold, it allows the other player a better chance. And there’s no one who deserves a win more than Branson. He’s lived in my shadow and then Trevor’s. I was always the more popular twin, which was all Branson ever wanted. He just wanted to fit in, and I was too much of a dick to give him that. When I’m gone, he can finally have it. Branson means everything to me, and he’s been through enough. It’s time he gets the win.
I love you, Mom.
* * *
I printed the letter and placed it with the other documents that were on top of my laptop, wanting everything to be easily found. I carefully arranged my keys, wallet, and cell phone neatly beside the computer, then picked up the gun and went to the futon, the place where my life started crumbling.
I’d just closed my eyes and imagined how everything would end when someone suddenly knocked on my door.
37
Branson
When Aaron opened the door, I almost didn’t recognize him. His head was shaved, his eyes were sunken, and he was super skinny. He looked like a deranged skinhead zombie. He held a gun against his thigh as if I wouldn’t see it. As soon as he spoke, I knew someone else was doing all the talking.
“Leave and shut the fucking door behind you.”
“Aaron, I can’t do that.” I slowly took a step inside his apartment.
“Listen, fucktard, one more move and I’ll blow your brains out.”
“Just let me take a piss. I’ve been on a plane all afternoon, and you know I’ve got the bladder of a little girl,” I said.
The shift seemed to startle him. He nodded toward the bathroom, which was down the hall from his living room.
“Make it fast.”
“Yup.” I glanced at the apartment, which was in move-in or more like move-out condition. The walls were barren and looked like they had been wiped clean, the carpet had fresh vacuum marks, and a strong scent of pine filled the air. I purposefully walked past his desk and caught a glimpse of the papers on his laptop. I skimmed the first line, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
“Aaron….” I didn’t care that he had me locked in his sights.
He turned and reached for my arm, but I grabbed the printed pages before he could.
* * *
A Killer’s End
I know how this has to end.
* * *
I flipped to the page behind it.
* * *
Mom,
I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I hope that someday you’ll forgive me. My entire life I’ve wanted to make you proud. And the truth is I’ve done things you’d never understand and couldn’t possibly forgive. Even if you did, things would change between us. I don’t want you to ever look at me differently. But I know that when you discover what David and I did, you’d never look at me the same way again. I don’t even remember some of the stuff, only that I know we did stuff that wasn’t right.
* * *
David. He was real to my brother, and that made him all the more dangerous. The thing about having auditory hallucinations was that it made it really hard to focus. These voices—or in mine and my brother’s cases, the singular voice—grow so loud it makes it almost impossible to concentrate on anything other than what that voice says. Sometimes the auditory hallucination whispers, other times it comforts, but the worst is when it becomes aggressive. It made connecting with the outside world almost impossible. Having someone talk in my head completely isolated me from everyone around me. Instead of talking to others, the impulse was to talk back to the voice. Dealing with that voice on a day-to-day basis caused me to become really depressed. It was a side effect of the constant criticism. And left untreated, the voice became so dominant, it commanded me to do things I normally wouldn’t. The gun in my brother’s hand and his suicide note were proof that David’s voice had drowned out Aaron’s ability to hear or connect to anyone else—even me.
Everything I knew about surviving this mental illness crumbled inside. It was a battle I wouldn’t wish on anyone, least of all my best friend and twin. Tears streamed down my face faster than I could wipe them away.
“Aaron.” I clutched the papers in my hand and turned to the brother who was beside me my whole life. “This isn’t the answer.”
“It’s the only way to make it stop.”
For a second, I heard my brother and saw him behind eyes I didn’t recognize.
“We can figure this out. We always have. It’s always been us. We’ve seen our way through tougher shit.” I threw the papers toward the desk.
In response, he tapped his chin with the barrel of the gun, which was when I realized just how strong David was in his ear.
“Don’t let him win,” I said. “Jesus, Aaron, don’t let that bastard get the best of you. He’s playing you. He’s making you think this is your idea when it’s all his. You’re stronger than him.”
A sinister smile crossed his face.
“It’s cute that you think Aaron is strong.”
Fucker. David was toying with us.
So I toyed right back.
“Listen.” I purposefully sidestepped referring to Aaron’s command hallucination by any name. The more impersonal I could make him, the less control he had. “I get that you think you know Aaron, but you don’t. I do. You only know a part of him. But I know everything about him.”
When David remained silent, I continued.
“For starters, I know my brother sleeps best on his side with a pillow bunched up against him. He says he holds it like a football when he actually holds it the way he used to hold his stuffed Bert. He was Bert and I was Ernie. And together we were unstoppable.”
Nothing seemed to register a reaction, so I went for broke.
“Do you like me, Bert?” I held my breath and waited. Whenever things got tense between us, I tossed out that line and it was like a magic salve. It always worked.
But he said nothing.
I slowly no
dded and delved right back in. “I also know that my brother’s favorite hangover food is a five-dollar box from Taco Bell and that when he’s scared, he sings to himself. But not just any song. My big brother sings that damn Barney song that’s annoying as fuck, but it’s what he sings when he’s bugging out.”
He placed the gun toward his temple. I wiped my nose in the crook of my arm and tried to blink away the tears that blurred my vision. David could not have my brother.
“Goddamn it! Aaron, I know you hear me. I know you’re still in there.” I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, but I was afraid David would pull the trigger, and I wasn’t sure who he’d kill first.
“Do you remember what you did when Trevor returned—hell, I don’t know if he ever left—but when you realized Trevor was still fucking with me, do you remember what you did?”
I crossed my arms over my chest to stop from shaking. I was scared and mad, and I didn’t know what I was doing. All I knew was I was in a standoff between him and David. And I wasn’t going to leave until my brother returned. I wouldn’t leave until I saw Aaron’s face, not the hollowed, empty expression that wasn’t him.
“What you shared with Aaron is the past.” He lowered the gun from his temple. “It doesn’t matter now.” His voice had an edge that was undeniable. I’d hit a nerve, and Aaron’s command hallucination didn’t like it.
“It does matter. It matters to me and to Aaron and, hell, to our whole fucked-up family. It’s always been Aaron and me. It matters.”
But nothing registered. I was talking about externals when I needed to go internal.
“You saved my life. You told me I was worth saving. Aaron, I know you hear me.” I bridged the distance between us, and David’s hold on the gun tightened until his knuckles looked white.
“Do you remember how you told me that I wasn’t like dad and that Trevor wasn’t my voice? Do you remember that? Because I do. You told me Trevor was nothing more than a voice and that he wasn’t part of me, that he just coped for me when I couldn’t. But what saved me wasn’t all those great things you said but what you did.”
All those emotions—shame, regret, sorrow—from that dark time in my life rose to the surface. And as much as I wanted to push them back down, that wouldn’t help my brother. I stood before him and let my soul speak.
“When I got out of the hospital the second time, everyone wanted me to be okay, but I wasn’t, and the only person who got that was you. You knew. You knew I still wasn’t a hundred percent, so you gave up your college plans for me. You gave up everything.” My voice trembled. “Aaron, when you stayed and went to college with me to make sure Trevor was gone for good, you believed in my recovery when everyone around me had their doubts. Then you stayed sophomore year just to make sure Trevor never came back. And he didn’t. He’s gone, Aaron, and that’s all because of you.”
The truth settled in my body like a peace I’d never known. Aaron saved me, and I was the only one who could save my brother.
In a move that startled us both, I grabbed Aaron’s wrist and instinctively pivoted away from the barrel. But I couldn’t break his grip on the gun, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. My actions were automatic. Get the gun.
I kept twisting his wrist.
“Drop it!” I yelled.
“No!” David was still in control, and his grip was tight. The more I twisted, the more he held on to the gun.
What I didn’t realize was that his finger was lodged against the trigger.
In our struggle, the gun went off.
I didn’t feel anything at first. Then a burning sensation in my chest quickly grew to a hot burn that radiated through me and brought me to my knees.
My thoughts returned to our childhood and the traumatic events that brought Trevor and David into our lives. With pain searing through me, I realized another traumatic event was the only way they’d leave our lives for good.
I looked up into my brother’s eyes and saw Aaron, which made me smile. There you are.
Then everything faded to black.
38
Aaron
“Branson! No!” My ears rang with a deafening sound, and I couldn’t hear. But in my deafness, I scrambled toward my brother, who was kneeling before he fell sideways and hit the floor hard. His body started violently jerking.
I turned him on his back and pressed my hands against his chest that oozed with blood. “Bran, it’s me. Stay with me.”
His eyes opened and closed.
“Stay with me.” I pushed harder against the wound, but blood seeped out of his chest fast—too fast.
“Hold on, Branson. Don’t leave me. Please. Branson, stay with me.”
My hands shook. Phone. I need my phone. With one hand on his chest, I reached behind me toward the desk, grabbed my cell, and glanced at the screen. It was dead. Fucking David.
“Hey, stay with me. I need your phone.” I carefully reached beneath him to his back jeans pocket until his cell was in my hand.
I slid open the emergency screen and punched 911.
“Help.” My body shook when the operator answered.
“Nine-one-one, please state—”
“My brother’s been shot. Please hurry. We’re at 100 State Street, apartment 713.” I knew Branson’s phone would ping our location to the police because it was an app I’d added to his phone so we could always find him. I left the call open but tossed the phone aside. I didn’t want to speak to anyone but my brother.
I pulled him against me and pressed my hands against his chest. I could barely feel his heartbeat.
“Branson, come on, brother. Don’t do this. I’m back. He’s gone. David’s gone.”
His eyes flickered open, and I swear he smiled.
“Hey! Stay with me.”
But his eyes closed again.
“Branson!” It didn’t matter how loud I screamed my brother’s name. He never responded.
I didn’t know how long it took for the police and paramedics to arrive, only that by then, it was too late.
When they approached us, I refused to let go.
“You don’t understand. He’s my brother.”
“We’ll take care of him now,” one of the paramedics said.
My tears fell on my brother’s cheeks that were cool against me. I tried to keep him warm, but it wasn’t working. One of the last questions he asked me deserved an answer.
I gently kissed the side of his head and whispered in his ear. “Do I like you? Of course I like you, Ernie. You’re my best friend.”
Epilogue
Aaron
* * *
One Month Later
* * *
The funeral for my brother was held in Wyoming during the middle of the week. Something about not wanting to ruin a Friday or some shit like that. It was a beautiful service that felt like it would tear me in half. What would I ever do without him?
So many people turned out for Branson. He would’ve been so surprised. He never realized how many people loved him. My God, he was so loved.
My mom cried, but I’d find her smiling a lot too. Neither Branson nor she deserved any less than my best at the funeral. So when it was my time to speak, I said all the things I wish I’d said more often when my twin brother was alive.
“I want to thank everyone for being here today,” I began. I held on to the sides of the podium, hoping it’d keep me from falling.
Little Jack and Carson sat beside my mom in the church. They looked up at me with such hope, like somehow I’d be able to give Branson back to them. But I couldn’t, and I knew I was a poor substitute for the brother they loved. The brother we all loved.
“Wow. If Branson could see this,” I said to the crowded church and swallowed hard. “Well, he wouldn’t believe it.” I rubbed my chin, but it didn’t stop the trembling.
My mom leaned forward like she was gently pushing me on.
I cleared my throat.
“I was born first, which I never let Branson forget,” I s
aid to light laughter. “But Branson did everything first. He walked first, he spoke first, and when he saw the high dive at the swimming pool, he learned to swim the length of the pool so he could be the first to go off the high dive.” The memories of our summers swimming were as vivid in my mind as if I were there. “My brother was fearless. Nothing scared him. I may have been born first, but Branson was the leader of our pack.”
I lowered my head. Tears fell on the wood grain and slid down just as soon as they landed. It was as if Branson were wiping away my mess—again. I smiled. Okay, Bran, I’ll get it together.
“So, we all know my brother suffered from mental illness. He owned it. He never shied away from letting people know that he had battled some pretty dark demons. But what many don’t know is how many people my little brother saved by his honesty.”
My fist came to my mouth, but it didn’t stop me from crying. I took a deep breath. God, get it together. Branson deserves your best. I brushed my nose in the crook of my arm and didn’t care if my suit jacket was stained with snot. I cleared my throat.
“I didn’t even know how many people he’d helped until he died. Our house phone hasn’t stopped ringing with messages from classmates and guys he met in counseling who credit Branson for helping them stay in the fight.” I smiled. “That’s so much like him, to help someone, to cheer them on and keep them going. Man, he was a really great guy.”
I wiped my eyes, but everything was blurry.
“Branson was the strong one. He was the brave one. He knew he had a problem and got the help he needed. I didn’t.” I shook my head. “I was so afraid of being locked away in a hospital that I hid my symptoms from everyone, including myself. When Branson showed up in Ohio, he knew. He knew I was in worse shape than even I knew. But even when I threatened him, he stayed. He wouldn’t leave me.” My shoulders shook, and I was losing my hold on the podium. I couldn’t imagine a world without Branson.
