Brothers

by Corinna Turner

  It was odd having a new family. An invisible, holy family. No doubt they were going to be visible to me pretty soon, now. What would my old family have thought?

  I’d never even known my parents’ views on God. We’d never talked about it. I guess they’d never have dared, for fear of the EuroGov. Like me and the bullies.

  Like…

  Like me and the bullies.

  Like…

  Oh. My. Flipping. Goodness.

  I’d thought that conversation was about me. But it wasn’t about me at all, was it? It was about my parents! In that conversation, I was ‘those kids’, my parents were ‘me’, too afraid to help, and the EGD, they were ‘the bullies’. How could it take me this long to figure that out?

  K had been trying to make me understand. How my parents felt. Why they failed me like that. He hadn’t pretended it was okay. But he had been trying to get me to understand.

  Perhaps I did, now. Again I saw my mum’s face as they dragged me away. My dad sitting motionless in that chair, his face that ghastly mask.

  No, I still didn’t understand how they felt. Because how I’d felt when I’d failed to stand up to a few bullies to help someone I didn’t even know very well could never compare with how they must have felt. How they would feel for the rest of their lives.

  Wishing for revenge on them would be beyond pointless.

  KYLE

  “K?” Joe’s voice was so faint, now.

  I knew he wasn’t rejecting my real name, he was simply too weak now to remember that my name just changed.

  “Yes, Joe?”

  “Can you do something for me?”

  “What?” I asked gently.

  “When you get to Vatican State, will you write to my parents? Tell them it’s okay and that I forgive them? Well…it’s not okay, but I do forgive them. Will you?”

  “Of course, Joe. I promise.” My heart swooped upwards, soaring in relief. I’d been praying and praying and God hadn’t been giving me any words…because he knew Joe was in the process of figuring it out for himself. Thank you, Lord! “Tell me their address.”

  Joe blinked, though he didn’t really seem to be focusing on anything at all, now. When I moved a hand in front of his eyes, he didn’t react. His body was shutting down all non-essentials as it fought its losing battle.

  “Um…Mr. and Mrs. Whitelow…Bob and Karen Whitelow, that is…uh…um…um…oh!”

  Joe was clearly struggling to remember and starting to freak out. “Shhhh, shhh, Joe, it’s okay. Just take your time. Mr. and Mrs. Whitelow…” I recited soothingly. “Take your time.” I wasn’t sure he had time, but panicking would only make it worse.

  Joe lay quietly for a few minutes, his breathing a little slower. Finally, he recited the address all the way through.

  I recited it back to him. “I’ll write to them, Joe. I promise. I’ll tell them.”

  “Good,” he whispered. “And…and tell Daisy I love her.”

  “I will. I promise.” How clearly I remembered the anguish in his voice that night we met, as he asked me if his sister was safe. I’m not sure he wouldn’t have given himself up, if I hadn’t been able to assure him of her safety.

  Joe’s hand twitched urgently, struggling to reach out, and his voice had gone thin and frightened. “K? K, are you still there?”

  I slipped the hand of the arm I had around his shoulders over his, gripping tight, leaving my other hand free to go on stroking his hair, and I held him as close as I could. “I’m still here, Joe. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, and God’s here. Your new Father. Or your original Father, depending on how you look at it. He’s here. He loves you so much. He’s loved you since the beginning of creation. He’s really looking forward to having you with Him...”

  JOE

  K was still there. I could feel him. He was talking to me, nice things, but I couldn’t take it in any more. Concentrating was…was just too hard. His words faded to a gentle murmur, like a fuzzy, friendly bee buzzing lovingly in my ear.

  I was loved.

  I was wanted.

  I was so completely wrapped up in K’s love that it took me a while to realize maybe it wasn’t just his love. Maybe it was my mysterious new Father’s love as well. Maybe my whole new family were around me, loving me, and that was why I felt such happiness.

  I wanted to tell K about it, but I wasn’t sure how to speak. I couldn’t seem to find my mouth; it was so far away, so very far away.

  Maybe…maybe K already knew.

  Maybe this was what he’d been trying to tell me.

  My Father loved me. And wanted me.

  And held me.

  And held…

  Held…

  Me…

  KYLE

  Joe wasn’t responding any more. His breathing had gone funny, long, slow, gasping breaths that arched his back. I didn’t stop talking, though. I talked softly, on and on, right in his ear, telling him about heaven, telling him how much God loved him, how much I loved him...

  Even when the gasping stopped and he lay still, I went on talking to him. Uncle Peter had once told me that he would speak to the dying for at least several minutes after all their vital signs had stopped. Hearing was the last sense to go, so they said, and he didn’t want them to be plunged into lonely silence at the very last. The thought of Joe being plunged into silence.

  I couldn’t bring myself to stop at all. Only a branch breaking out in the forest finally brought my lips snapping together.

  More crashing sounds. A murmur of grumpy voices.

  Soldiers.

  Finally.

  I clutched Joe, clung to him, even though I knew I couldn’t protect him now, or he me, and I waited. Waited to see whether Margo and my parents would die for a relative they’d never even meet. Not in this life. I’d never even considered leaving Joe, and I knew they wouldn’t have expected me to, but still, there was a lot at stake, far more than just my insignificant life.

  Oh, Joe… Pray for us. Perhaps he could protect me, now.

  The soldiers passed quickly. When they’d gone, I closed Joe’s sightless eyes, and then I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I clung to Joe some more and sobbed out my anguish. My guilt. I knew he was in a better place now. I knew he wouldn’t regret his lost life now he stood in the presence of God. But life was still a precious gift and his had been snatched from him so cruelly.

  And I’d failed to prevent it.

  I managed not to howl or scream like I wanted to. Good thing too, since more crashing around in the distance finally dried up my tears. For over three hours, I lay motionless beside my little brother, listening to the occasional sounds of passing—and increasingly bored—searchers and praying like crazy.

  Finally, silence—or normal forest sounds—fell over everything again. I crept out and listened and looked. When finally ready to stake my life on there being no one around, I returned to Joe.

  Though I hated doing it, I searched his pockets, his backpack, absolutely everywhere, for anything that might give away even the slightest clue about my identity. Then, crawling, I dragged him as far into the crack as I could, right to the back. He was small for his age. Thank God for that or I couldn’t have carried him so far last night.

  I propped his backpack under his feet, not his head—he’d have gotten the joke, though I don’t think he’d realized that I understood exactly why he always claimed my legs made a more comfortable pillow. Wrapping his foil blanket around him as a silvery shroud—fit for a beloved child of God—I knelt beside him for a few more long minutes, trying to tear myself away. Trying not to let the grief and guilt tear me apart.

  Are you…are you trying to make sure I’ll be happy to come to you, Lord? The very Kyle-centric thought floated through my mind. Silly. And no offense to Joe, it would take more than this to make me relish the prospect of Full Conscious Dismantlement.

  But…

  I was the worst, lousiest excuse for a big brother ever. I mean, what sort
of big brother lets their little bro get killed, for pity’s sake?

  At least…at least I could be pretty jolly sure Joe was with God and happy there. He’d looked so peaceful at the end, a smile on his face. It was just slack and empty and dead now, but I’d never forget his happy little smile.

  How could I have let this happen? Unstoppably, I found myself running through my every decision and action, hunting for the fatal error that had brought about Joe’s death…but I couldn’t find it. Every choice I’d made, I would make again, if only I did not know…

  I struggled to force the guilty thoughts back. After all, before the end of his short life, Joe had come to know God and, though I wasn’t sure he’d had time to properly comprehend it, I was pretty sure he’d come to love him too. And that was the ultimate purpose of life, right? He could have lived another hundred years, driven a thousand trains, but if he’d not achieved that, his life would’ve been totally wasted.

  I mean, his slipping away into God’s loving embrace here today was only a tragedy in a worldly sense. Spiritually…spiritually, it was his triumph. I had to hold onto that truth; refuse to let the guilt devour me. I had done everything I could, and in the eternal equation, it had been enough.

  Just not in the physical one. Joe, I’m so sorry. I knew he was okay—more than okay—but…just now all I wanted was my little brother back.

  So mostly I was just feeling sorry for myself, wasn’t I? Selfish tears, no lie, that.

  “Goodbye, little bro,” I whispered, at last. Placing a kiss on his cold forehead, I tucked the blanket over his head and fetched a sturdy branch.

  It took more effort working on the earth walls than I expected, but finally they gave way. I ran for it, but the landslide swallowed me up, and for several long, choking, crushing, roaring, head over heels moments of turmoil and terror I thought I was joining Joe, for certain.

  But when the dirt and dust settled, I found that my head and upper body were free of the dirt. I’d reached the stone-sided section again—almost. Digging myself out uninjured, I knelt to pray for a few minutes in front of what was really a very fine tomb indeed, on the scale of some ancient barrow or something—Joe would have appreciated that intriguing comparison. Best of all, from my point of view and that of my family, it was quite invisible from outside. Hopefully the EuroGov would never find him. Ever.

  I might never find the place again, either, and that wasn’t such a happy thought. But I knew the life expectancy of an underground priest in a EuroBloc parish, so if I did indeed have a vocation, I was unlikely to ever be back here looking. I’d probably be speaking to Joe face-to-face inside a decade.

  So, finally, shouldering my backpack, I checked one last time for any trace of our presence and went on my way. Alone.

  Although I was trying to stay alert, in case there were any stray searchers still around, I couldn’t stop the tears trickling down my face as I walked. Big and strong, Joe? Is that really how you saw me? Not so much, huh? I’d lost plenty of people I knew—most of the assistant priests and religious sisters who’d ever come to Salperton, for starters. But nothing had hurt like this. Even though I’d only known him three weeks, Joe really was my little brother.

  This was all the EGD’s fault. That vilest of institutions. They would kill my sister, if she didn’t make the grade, and they’d as good as killed Joe.

  Their ideology is evil. Pure evil, Lord.

  I’d meant what I’d said to Joe. If I ever got a chance to do something to bring them down, I’d do it, whatever the risk. If only someone could bring them down.

  Weird. Why did my sister suddenly come into my mind, in a way that suggested the Holy Spirit’s agency? Surely Margo couldn’t bring down the EGD, could she? My little sister? Very eloquent and passionate, certainly, and, to be honest, able to outshoot Bane or myself with Bane’s air rifle, but still. How could she? Surely Bane was the one people might follow, one day, if he ever calmed down enough and used his head instead of charging in without thinking about the risks?

  But…maybe if Margo was going to do something to fight the EGD, it meant she was going to pass her Sorting! My heart tried to lift, but…the thought simply rang false.

  So, what are you saying, Lord? Margo’s going to fail her Sorting, yet somehow bring down the EGD? How could that happen?

  I suppose the universe happened too, and that’s pretty hard to believe. You are God, after all. But no doubt I’m just misunderstanding this one.

  I mean, could Margaret Verrall really bring down the EuroGov?

  But as I carried on walking and crying, five more words popped into my head:

  Oh ye of little faith.

  ###

  If you have enjoyed this little novella, would you consider leaving a review at your favorite retailer?

  Reviews really help people choose books, so a big thank you!

  ***+***

  WANT MORE?

  Don’t miss:

  I AM MARGARET

  OUT NOW!

  Scroll down or click HERE to read the first 2 chapters!

  Or check out the following:

  The I AM MARGARET Series

  Brothers (A Short Prequel Novella)*

  1: I Am Margaret*

  2: The Three Most Wanted*

  3: Liberation*

  4: Bane’s Eyes*

  5: Margo’s Diary*

  6: The Siege of Reginald Hill*

  7: A Saint in the Family (Coming Soon)

  The YESTERDAY & TOMORROW Series

  Someday: A Novella*

  1: Tomorrow’s Dead (Coming Soon)

  The UNSPARKED Series

  BREACH! (A Prequel)*

  1: DRIVE!*

  2: A Truly Raptor-ous Welcome

  3: PANIC! (Coming Soon)

  STANDALONE WORKS

  Elfling*

  Mandy Lamb & The Full Moon*

  Secrets: Visible & Invisible (I Am Margaret story in anthology)*

  Gifts: Visible & Invisible (unSPARKed story in anthology)

  Three Last Things or The Hounding of Carl Jarrold, Soulless Assassin* (Coming Soon)

  The Raven & The Yew (Coming Soon)

  *Awarded the Catholic Writers Guild Seal of Approval

  ***+***

  I AM MARGARET

  First 2 Chapters

  1

  SORTING

  The dragon roared, its jaws so close to Thane’s head that

  I waggled the page gently in the air, waiting for my writing to dry. One final, blank double spread remained. Good. I’d made the little book myself.

  The ink was dry. I turned to that last page and found the place on the computer printout I was copying from…

  he felt his eardrums burst. But the sword had done its work and, eviscerated, the beast began to topple.

  Thane rolled frantically to his feet and ran. The huge body obliterated where he’d been lying, but Thane wasn’t interested in that. He kept right on running to where Marigold was struggling to free herself.

  “That’s the last time I go riding without my spurs!” she told him. “I could’ve cut my way out of here by now…”

  Thane ignored her grumbles. He couldn’t hear properly anyway. He whipped out a dagger and freed her.

  “Marigold?” He could hardly hear himself. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. At least I had my rosary.”

  Thane thought of all the things he wanted to say to her. The way he felt about her, he wanted to do everything just right. Could he get down on one knee without losing his balance and would he be able to hear what she said in reply…?

  Then Marigold’s arms wrapped around him like vines around their supporting tree. And when she kissed him, he knew the answer to all his questions was a heartfelt,

  ‘Yes.’

  “Oh, I’m fine. At least I had my rosary.”

  Thane thought of all the things he wanted to say to her. The way he felt about her, he wanted to do everything just right. Could he get down on one knee without losi
ng his balance and would he be able to hear what she said in reply…?

  Then Marigold’s arms wrapped around him like vines around their supporting tree. And when she kissed him, he knew the answer to all his questions was a heartfelt,

  ‘Yes.’

  I wrote the last word with great care and put the lid on the pen. All done. I smiled as I pictured Bane reading the tale. Where are the slain dragons? Where are the rescued maidens? he would complain after reading my stories. Just this once, in this tale just for him, there were all the dragons he could desire. But only one maiden.

  A funny way to declare your love, but I couldn’t leave it unsaid. And if I did pass my Sorting…well, we were both eighteen, we’d be leaving school at the end of the year and would be free to register, so perhaps it was time we were finally honest with each other.

  Picking up the printout of the story, I ripped it into small pieces and threw it in the bin, then closed the handwritten book, slipping it into the waterproof pouch I’d made for it. On my aged—but no less loved for that—laptop, I called up the file and pressed ‘delete’. Bane’s story was his alone.

  The pouch went into my bag as I checked its contents again. Clothes, underwear, sewing things, my precious bookReader—filled to capacity—and what little else was permitted. No laptop, alas, and no rosary beads for Margaret in this all too real world. I touched the waterproof pouch—must warn Bane not to show the story around. A dangerous word had slipped in there, near the end. A little bit of myself.