by J. J. McAvoy
“Am I interrupting?”
I didn’t even bother looking back. I knew who it was. Grinning, I placed my arm around Greyson’s shoulder. It was impossible, but I could have sworn I felt his body temperature drop, forcing us to both turn around.
“If it isn’t the great Helen of Chicago.”
She glared like she usually did when I called her that, crossing her arms at me.
“Aww, doesn’t she look cute, Greyson? Like an angry miniature puppy!”
He didn’t say anything. “Greyson?”
“Huh? I’m sorry. What were you saying?” he replied, suddenly paying attention again.
Grinning, I shook my head and said, “Never mind, go on. I’ll get these to you momentarily.”
He nodded, and I watched as he left, his face soberer and paler than when he came in. It was only when the doors closed that the grin on my mouth dropped and I could finally take a deep breath, clenching my fist to stop from shaking.
“Everything you told him was a lie,” she signed with her hands to me, not even wanting to risk speaking. I stared into her brown eyes; they were just as tired as mine.
“Did you get it?” I signed back, ignoring her and grabbing my medical kit from my bedside. Inside it, I double-checked the syringe before outstretching my hand to her. It was a rhetorical question to avoid answering her question, or rather her statement…I knew she would get it, and sure enough, she held out the drugs for me. I reached to take the vials from her, but she clenched her hand into a fist, coming up closer to me and whispering harshly.
“What do you think he’ll do when he finds out you sedated him, cremated his wife without telling him, and also started a rumor that he killed her? Wyatt, are you insane?!”
“That medication needs to be kept cool. When you clench it like that, it heats up faster,” I snapped quietly back at her, once again outstretching my hand, waiting. Her nostrils flared, and with a clenched jaw, she handed the vials over.
“Thank you, this should be enough…”
“Wyatt!”
“No fucking shit, Helen!” I yelled at her before whispering again. “Yes, he’s going to be pissed! Yes, he’s going to be ready to murder me! Yes, to everything you said! Yes, you were right! … Are you fucking happy? Can you stop the moral condemnation now?”
“Moral condemnation?” She huffed before a bitter laugh escaped her lips. She took a step back from me, shaking her head. “And here I thought I was saving my cousin from being murdered by my other cousin and his grief. Sorry, I’m the idiot. Do whatever the fuck you want… thank you for finding your suits again. Now we can just throw in you the ground without making a big show of it.”
She turned to leave, but I grabbed onto her wrist to stop her. “Whether he kills me or not, I still deserve a little bit of a show at my funeral, don’t you think…living to twenty-six in this family isn’t easy.”
She turned back to me, the look of rage on her face hilarious, but I couldn’t find the strength to laugh. I could barely find the strength to do anything right then.
“Fine, I’ll have the church choir boys sing Dies irae for you.”
A small grin appeared on her lips as I pouted like a kicked dog. “I’m not sure which is crueler, the song choice or subjecting any human being to our church’s choir.”
“Says the former choir boy.”
And just like that I was waving the white flag. “I apologize, Helen, now please stop hitting below the belt?”
She chuckled, and we both fell into silence as I let go of her wrist to fill the syringes.
“My father called. He’s thinking of coming back…”
“Did you tell him what the definition of retirement is?” I asked, taping the syringes with my index finger.
“Wyatt…”
She froze as I turned to her, knowing better than anyone else how serious I was at this moment. “Tell him not to come back. Tell everybody not to come back until Ethan tells them to come back. That is how everyone helps. Ethan might forever hate me for what I did to Ivy. I didn’t let him say goodbye… She’ll have no funeral… Now I’m dragging his love for her through the mud. I knew all of that when I did it, and I would do it again. And Ethan wouldn’t stop me, nor will he ever deny the rumors. Why? Because his feelings mean nothing in comparison to our family name, to everything our parents and grandfather, and his father before him, built. It means nothing in comparison to what our mother sacrificed. You know as well as I do, the moment people out there think we are weak…think we are wounded…is the moment all of the guns and knives come out. I know my brother, Helen. I know for a fact that he cared about her. I didn’t want to drug him. But I couldn’t let people see him like that. He’s given everything to be the head of this family. I’m protecting him. And this is the only way I know how to let him grieve and still not destroy what he’s built.”
Her eyes were filled with tears, and she fought hard not cry as she asked, “So what are we going to do while he’s grieving then?”
“Be ruthless.”
Without another word to her, I grabbed my things and began walking to the door.
ONE
“Boy, you knock on the devil's door
and he’ll slam your head through the wall.”
~ Sherrilyn Kenyon
WYATT
Why was I not moving?
What was I afraid of?
Was this even fear?
I didn’t know. I didn’t know why I was just standing outside his door. But that was what I was doing…standing. Gripping the bag in my hand tighter as I stared at the wooden door in front of me. My mind was blank, my feelings…I couldn’t feel. I was standing as if I were a toy solider positioned there.
This is insane.
Sighing, I moved to knock but stopped…remembering he wouldn’t be able to answer. I simply grabbed the handle, turned it to the right, and stepped inside, expecting him to still be in his bed in the center of the massive room.
But he wasn’t there.
“Ethan?” I called out to him. No answer. My feelings suddenly returned; all I could feel was panic. “ETHAN!”
Dropping my bag, I rushed to check the bathroom.
He wasn’t there.
Then his closet.
He wasn’t there.
I checked everywhere, even over the balcony, before finally reaching for the phone, dialing his cell. I heard it ring, just not on my side of the phone…but from the one place I’d stupidly forgotten to check.
Ivy’s closet.
With the phone still held to my ear, I moved, pausing just like I’d done to get on the phone before sliding the door open—
BANG!
It happened so fast I couldn’t even move, jump, breathe. All I could do was stand there.
“Missed by an inch.” His voice was heavy. In Boston, a few of the doctors had a term for the last words of men who were dying alone…heavy voices. Heavy with pain. Heavy with regret. Heavy with rage…so heavy that when whoever was dying tried to speak, their voices couldn’t carry the weight of their feelings and just came out as numb, cold whispers.
I glanced to the right of me, seeing the very real bullet now lodged into the thick frame of the door, before looking to my brother, who sat at the end of Ivy’s closet. There were still shopping bags that hadn’t been hung. Everything brand new, untouched, never used...never would be used.
“Funny thing is, she said she wouldn’t be able to wear all of this,” he said bitterly, following my eyes before bringing a bottle of brandy to his lips and drinking. In his other hand was his gun. He brushed the side of his mouth as liquor spilled, and gripped the gun tighter.
“You shouldn’t drink—”
BANG!
He fired at the floor right before my foot, stopping me from walking forward.
“Give a me good reason not to kill you,” he said.
“I’m your brother—”
BANG!
“Fuck!” I hissed, reaching up to grab the tip of my ear
, which had to be bright red from the gun burn. Inhaling deeply, I looked back to him as he took a swig. “I take that is no longer a good reason?”
To answer he put down his bottle and pointed his gun again.
“ETHAN! —”
BANG!
I couldn’t move, not because he hit me but because I had no idea where he was aiming and whether he’d miss or not because of his obvious mental break. So again, I just stood there, hoping he wasn’t yet that lost.
“Eleven years,” he said, pulling out the magazine of his gun. “That’s how long I alone was left to protect this family. I accepted that. I was first born. That is what I was supposed to do. That is what I was born to do.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out bullets that he slowly loaded into the magazine. “Twenty-six years, that’s how long I’ve been watching out for you. From the day you were born to the day he died, Father told me… ‘Look out for Wyatt.’ ‘Protect Wyatt.’ ‘Teach Wyatt.’ ‘Forgive Wyatt.” Wyatt. Wyatt. Wyatt. It was so bloody annoying and odd. He never told me ‘look out for Donatella’ or ‘look out for your siblings.’ It was always look out for you, Wyatt. Now I realize it’s because Father knew, at the very least, that Donatella wasn’t going to be completely and utterly useless!”
“Ethan—”
BANG!
This time when he shot I dashed to the side into Ivy’s shoes, noticing he was pointing straight for my chest.
“For all Dona’s flaws, I never once doubted that she would do what she needed to do,” he said, twisting his gun to the side to look it over as he spoke. “Kill Toby? Stay loyal. No matter her own ambition…I knew she would because she is what I am…a Callahan, proudly, boldly, passionately a Callahan. As Callahans, she and I did what was good for this family. We did so over and over again with no regard to our own personal pain or sacrifice. We destroyed ourselves for this family. But you…” For a brief, second, I saw something I’d never seen in him…hate, hate toward me. His grip tightened, and I was sure if he pointed that gun at me he wouldn’t miss; I wouldn’t be able to escape. However, he blinked, his green eyes numb again. “You’ve always been selfish…. you’ve never once thought about those around you. It’s always about you. Now we are here because of you.”
“I can’t imagine how you feel—”
“But it’s not your fault?” He asked me, eyebrow raised. An evil smirk appeared on his lips as he said, “Your girlfriend in Boston, I had her killed.”
I knew it.
“You knew.” He replied as if he could read my mind. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. “You knew I had her killed, and I’m sure you knew why.”
Courtney, that was her name, and she was the most air-headed doctor I ever met. I knew she was the one spreading rumors about the Callahan family.
“They were harmless rumors,” I whispered. Just her claiming to go on family vacations and being part of the family with us.
“Everything becomes harmful when it is attached to us,” he replied. “She was on your arm, running her mouth about this family, claiming we were in places we weren’t, spending money on things that would make people raise eyebrows, and you did nothing. Why?”
“I...”
“You didn’t give a shit. You enjoyed fucking her, pretending to be like everyone else who’s useless. Ironically, they want to be us, all those useless people. You also knew she might get herself killed. But you didn’t care. You never care about anyone else but yourself—”
“Am I supposed to apologize for not killing my girlfriend?” I snapped, already done with this fucking lecture. “You want someone to blame your—”
The bottle flew right at my face, forcing me to duck quickly.
“I will blame you!” He hollered back. “Twenty-six years I have spent watching your back! Cleaning up your fucking messes! I couldn’t do my job because you couldn’t do yours. Every moment I spent on you was a moment taken away from something else. It was a moment I could be blindsided. And I was! You came back, but you were so hurt about Dona and busy fucking maids, you still couldn’t have my back. You never have my back until everything goes to hell. I let myself get shot to bring you back home. My wife…we lost our child to get you back to WHERE YOU SHOULD HAVE ALREADY FUCKING BEEN! I made a mistake. Fucked up because of YOU. YOU, WYATT!” He gritted his teeth and clenched the gun even tighter as his eyes glazed over with tears he’d never let fall in front of me.
I couldn’t speak because I now knew why I couldn’t come inside his room…what I was feeling. It was guilt…shame. I was ashamed because deep down I knew. I knew I was practically…mostly to blame.
He was right. We all had our roles, and I was never interested in mine.
“Ethan…”
“You cremated my wife.” His voice dropped to a whisper again. “You drugged me and destroyed my wife’s body…Toby betrayed us, and even his body was treated with more respect. You panicked and just wanted the problem to go away. You didn’t want to deal with it. Just like you didn’t want to deal with Mom’s death, Father’s death…or any other issue in your life. You run. You always try to run…so you thought I would act like you. You didn’t want to deal with it, and so with no regard to anyone but yourself, you put her on cold slab and turned her to ash.” He laughed bitterly. “Oh…don’t worry, I’ll take blame for that one…I’ve always spoken about the family image. Of course you’d logically think it was better to spread a lie than let people believe I screwed up. Good job telling Greyson…everyone will know your version of events soon enough. Have I patted you on the head enough now? Will you get the fuck out of my face now, Wyatt?”
“I’ll stand beside you and find whoever—”
“Don’t care,” he said, and of all the things he’d said today, that was the most shocking.
“You’re not just going to let this—”
“Did you really think the two of us were just going to go off revenge hunting?” he asked, putting the gun down beside him and getting up off the floor. He reached for one of the shopping bags and took out the small one. “Why would I do that? Killing them isn’t going to bring her back, is it?”
He took out the diamond-studded watch and placed it in the watch display before picking up another box.
No. This wasn’t him. “Ethan, don’t you want to know who did this? Who dared to—”
“Why would I want to know that?” He glanced up from the box of shoes, walking over to me. “It will only serve to make me more upset. Either a nobody, someone not even worthy of whipping my ass, murdered my wife, got the better of me. Or I was so blind that I missed a threat large enough to endanger the people I cared about…making me an idiot. I dislike both options. So I don’t want to know, and you can show yourself out,” he stated, placing the beige heels on the shelf beside me.
“You have to make them pay—”
“You have no right to tell me what the fuck I have to do. You do what you think you should fucking do. Nothing has stopped you before. Now get the fuck out before I truly do murder you. The only reason you are alive isn’t because you’re my brother. It’s because I have invested twenty-six of twenty-eight years of my life watching out for you, sacrificing for you…and refuse to let all of my effort end up being ironically worth nothing. That is the good reason, that is the only reason, stopping me from breaking my promise to Father.”
I stood there for a moment before nodding, backing out. “I’m sorry—”
“You know what Father said about apologies.”
Accept them and then shove it back up their asses.
I walked out of his room like I had some out-of-body experience my mind hadn’t fully grasped yet. He was the one who had lost his wife, and I could see and hear his anger. But because I was, as he said, selfish, I couldn’t grasp how badly he was hurting over how gutted I currently felt.
“Wyatt?”
Blinking a few times, I saw Helen standing right across from me, her brown face bunched together as she tried to figure out what was happening�
��what had happened.
“Are you alrig—,” she paused mid-word, mid-step, when I lifted my hand, telling her not to come any closer. Her gaze widened when she looked at my hand. I didn’t know why until I looked and saw my own hand trembling.
“I’m fine.” I cut her off before she could even finish opening her mouth. “I wouldn’t recommend going to see him now, though. He’s a little…”
I didn’t finish. Instead, I offered her a forced smiled before walking back to my room. With each step, it felt like my mind was trying to split apart. My ears rang, and my vision blurred. When I made it into my bathroom, I turned on the faucet as fast as I could, just to splash the cold water on my face.
I stood there for a moment before looking to my own reflection. Water dripping from my nose, hunched over the sink, staring into my own brown eyes. The more I stared, the more annoyed I became.
“How much longer are you going to be such a little bitch?” The words came from my mouth, but all I could hear was my father’s voice.
Just like I’d done when I was sixteen, I balled my fist and swung forward, the glass fracturing under my fist. When I pulled back, blood coated the broken pieces and my hands. Inhaling through my nose, I squeezed my blood-covered fist, feeling the small shards of mirror cut and dig into my skin, before exhaling and rolling my neck out.
