The Other Brother

by Brandon Massey

  But he checked himself. Patience.

  "Thanks," Isaiah said. "Guess it runs in the family, huh?"

  "As a matter of fact," Pops said, "I think I'd like to offer you a position in the company-and not in the print shop, either."

  "Oh, I couldn't accept that," Isaiah said with as much modesty as he could manage. "You've got people with MBAs and years of experience here. I didn't even graduate college."

  "Neither did Bill Gates," Pops said. "Did that stop him from building Microsoft into one of the most successful and influential companies in the world?"

  Isaiah gave him another aw, shucks grin.

  "For starters, you've got street smarts," Pops said. "That's more important in a corporate setting than you may think. This can be a cutthroat industry, son. You have to be able to scope out the competition and strategize a way to stay one step ahead of them"

  "I know all about that," Isaiah said, one of the most truthful statements he'd made all day.

  "Sure you do," Pops said. "You're a quick learner, too. A good businessman has to be able to size up a situation quickly and make a smart decision. You can only do that if you can swiftly absorb facts. I think you can do that"

  "I'd try my best," Isaiah said.

  Pops moved to the edge of his chair. "All your innate talents notwithstanding, as your father I owe you a shot here. I did that for Gabriel." He studied Isaiah intently. "I can do the same for you, if you're interested."

  Isaiah set down his coffee and stroked his chin. Acting as if he were considering the outrageous offer.

  "What would I be doing?" Isaiah asked.

  "You'll shadow me, Gabriel, and other leaders in the organization for a few weeks, attending meetings and conference calls and whatnot, to gain in-depth exposure to our operations. After that, I'll expect you to create a proposal outlining how, with your unique talents and perspective, you can add maximum value to our firm. We'll use the proposal as the basis to design a position for you in the companywith a salary and benefits package commensurate to the role."

  "You're telling me I can make up my own job here?" Isaiah could not conceal his genuine surprise.

  "I'm telling you that your future is in your hands," Pops said. He leaned back in his chair and grinned. "You can go as far as you'd like here. Maybe even to the CEO's suite, but don't tell Gabe I said that" He chuckled.

  Isaiah laughed, too, but he was sure that his laughter was for a different reason than his father's. This guy was willing to let an ex-con work in the boardroom? Was he out of his mind? The average ex-con couldn't land a gig flipping burgers at McDonald's, what with all the background checks companies conducted these days and that infamous question on job applications, inquiring about past felony convictions. A prison record was a scarlet letter that stayed on you for life. And people wondered why so many thugs wound up back in the joint.

  His father was either a sentimental fool or a brilliant tactician who recognized Isaiah's talents and was determined to use them to enhance the bottom line.

  "What do you say?" Pops asked. "Remember-think fast"

  "I'm honored to accept your offer"

  "Excellent" Pops shook Isaiah's hand. "I'm excited to have you with us. We can get started now. We have a one o'clock meeting with a prospective client flying in from Charlotte. An important discussion. Gabriel, another executive, and I will be there and you. We need to bone up on their file."

  "Then let's get to work," Isaiah said. He followed his father out of the office.

  I'm starting to like this guy, he thought. I almost regret having to kill him later.

  Almost.

  Gabriel spent the next couple of hours exploring his talent, like a bird that had just learned how to fly, soaring through the sky.

  He went to the kitchen and used his power to swing open the refrigerator door. Then he used his talent to remove a Budweiser, twist the cap, and bring the cold bottle to his lips. He took a few deep gulps and burped.

  "Ah," he said and laughed.

  He wandered throughout the house. Opening and closing doors. Turning on the TV and the stereo. Lifting the telephone off the cradle and punching in buttons with a phantom finger.

  It was impossible. It was incredible. But it was real.

  At the moment, he was too caught up in testing the ability, too drunk on the sheer pleasure of his powers, to speculate how and why he'd gained this gift. It was like being in a childhood dream in which he possessed magical talents.

  He turned water faucets, flicked light switches on and off, opened windows, pushed chairs, moved silverware and plates and bowls and cups and glasses.

  His palms continued to tingle, tingle, tingle.

  He went to the finished basement, where he'd set up a fitness room. It was equipped with a weight bench, a barbell, several iron plates of Olympic weights, dumbbells, and rubber mats.

  He attempted to lift a twenty-five-pound dumbbell. He brought it a couple of inches off the floor; then it dropped to the mat. When he tried to move it again, it budged only an inch.

  Then there were some limits to his power. He couldn't lift a car in the air, for instance.

  But maybe, with practice, he could.

  As he started to go to another section of the house, fatigue suddenly spread through him. He was as exhausted as if he'd performed a grueling two-hour workout. Hunger pains cramped his stomach, too.

  The prickly feeling dissipated-like a motor that had run out of fuel.

  With great effort, Gabriel shuffled upstairs to the kitchen. He made a ham and cheese sandwich, felt his belly rumble again, and decided to make two sandwiches.

  He took the sandwiches with him into his home office. Now that he'd gotten over the initial rush of discovery, it was time to seriously think about where these powers he'd acquired had come from.

  He powered up the laptop computer and munched on the first sandwich, thinking.

  A possibility surfaced in his thoughts: the car accident.

  He remembered that when he'd awakened at the hospital, after his accident, he'd experienced the tingling for the first time. The phenomena was apparently a precursor of his being able to levitate objects. It only followed, then, that this unusual skill of his had been brought on by his accident. Basic cause and effect principle.

  It was like in those horror movies when a character almost died of some kind of injury, but survived-and then discovered that he could see visions of the future. Same idea.

  But this wasn't Hollywood. This was real. He needed real answers, not make-believe theories.

  He logged on to the Internet. He pulled up Google, his favorite search engine, and began digging for more information.

  He found a label for his talent: telekinesis, psychokinesis, or remote influencing. Whatever the name, it referred to the ability to move objects from one place to another without physical contact.

  He had psychic powers. Him-Mr. Corporate. How crazy was that?

  Only a few days ago he would have scoffed at this mystical stuff, would have dismissed it as superstitious nonsense promoted by loonies who had no grip on reality. But there was nothing like personal experience to change your mind. He devoured the information more eagerly than any contract or business proposal that had ever been placed in front of him.

  The Web sites he visited offered various explanations for what stirred the onset of telekinetic abilities. Traumatic accidents. Transcendent experiences. Purposefully trying to awaken your psychic powers through meditation, diet, and practice.

  As far as where the powers originated from, the general theory was that every human being was born with the potential to perform such wondrous feats. But most people used only a small portion say, 10 percent-of their brain's capabilities. If you fully tapped into your brain's power, you could do telekinesis, telepathy, levitate, gain visions of the future ... hell, you could become the real-life equivalent of an X-Man character.

  Gabriel wanted to laugh. It was so absurd. But he couldn't laugh it off-because he knew it was
true.

  He wondered about the hallucinations. How did the encounters with the snake and the shadowy figure in the mirror tie in to all of this? Were they also related to his accident?

  As he was constructing a new search, the telephone rang. Caller ID announced the call as coming from Reid Construction.

  Gabriel looked at his watch. It was almost one-thirty.

  Uh-oh. I forgot to do something at work. But what?

  He picked up the phone. "Hello"

  "Where the hell are you?"

  It was his father. His father cursed only when he was angry.

  "Umm, I'm at home, Pops," he said. "I had to go to the doctor this morning."

  "That was this morning. You said you were going to be here for our one o'clock with the folks from Charlotte. Did you forget?"

  Oh, shit!

  "Uh, well ... I'm on my way now."

  "Forget it, Gabe. The meeting will be over within the hour. Besides, Isaiah has been filling in for you-very capably, I might add. You owe him."

  "Isaiah? What?"

  "I'm heading back to the meeting. We've got to wrap up. Get your ass in here, ASAP."

  Click.

  Gabriel slowly replaced the phone on the cradle. Shock had numbed him.

  How had Isaiah filled in for him? The man knew nothing about the business and had never worked a day of his life in corporate America.

  Besides, Isaiah has been filling in for you very capably, I might add.

  Isaiah was sabotaging his career, destroying his life. As he'd promised he would.

  Taking it all away, little brother. Piece by piece.

  Gabriel raced to the bedroom to shower and dress for work. While he still had a job.

  Chapter 30

  two, the meeting was over. F y the time Gabriel arrived at the office five minutes after

  The conference room in which the discussion had been held was empty. A large paper flip chart stood in the corner, on which Gabriel would have written ideas and feedback from the prospective client. The pages were full of writing in black marker; Gabriel read through them and guessed that they were notes from the talk.

  "You missed it," Pops said from the doorway, startling Gabriel. Pops stepped inside and closed the door. He leaned against the conference table, arms folded over his chest, hands tightened into fists. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you had a problem that required you to stay home, you should have told me in advance. That's our policy. You know that"

  "I'm sorry." Gabriel dug his hands in his pockets. He felt like a child again, as though he'd brought home failing grades on his report card. "I got caught up in something."

  "And it prevented you from calling me?" Pops asked. "This was an important meeting. There was a lot of money riding on this deal. The prospect was expecting to talk to you.

  How could he tell his father what was really going on? Pops, I was at home experimenting with my psychic powers. Want to see me float a pencil? His father, a hardheaded realist, would think he had cracked up, and Gabriel wasn't convinced that a live demonstration would sway his father-or that he'd be able to summon his telekinetic ability on demand in the first place. He was still tired and hadn't felt the tingling in his palms since he'd left the house.

  He had to keep the truth to himself and endure the rebuke from his father. But it stung. In spite of his father's confessed failings, Gabriel still admired him as a business person. Hearing his father's disappointment in him was worse than being whipped with a belt.

  "Pops, I'm sorry. It was an honest mistake. It won't happen again."

  "We closed the deal anyway. You can thank Isaiah for that" Pops motioned to the flip chart. "He took those notes. He shared a ton of shrewd ideas, impressed the hell out of the prospect. And me, too. You should have seen him in action. You would've been floored."

  "I'm sure" Gabriel smiled sourly.

  "What the hell is your problem? I'm beginning to lose patience with your attitude about your brother."

  If you only knew what Isaiah was planning, Pops.

  But, again, Gabriel could not express his honest thoughts. There was no way his father would believe him-especially after Isaiah had apparently helped guide a lucrative contract to completion. Few things held as much influence with Pops as dollars and cents.

  "It's what I said last night," Gabriel said. "I just don't trust him."

  Pops walked toward Gabriel. "Listen to yourself, Gabe. Not twenty minutes ago, this man you don't trust helped us seal a property development contract for two million dollars. Because you brought in this prospect, this man you don't trust just helped you earn a bonus check for five thousand dollars. When I offered to cut him a bonus, too, this man you don't trust declined it and said he was serving only as a substitute and didn't deserve the money. Does that sound to you like a man who shouldn't be trusted?"

  Pops's nostrils flared. He was furious, Gabriel realized. He hadn't seen Pops this angry since he'd been in high school, when Gabriel had taken one of the family cars without permission and backed into a tree. Afterward Pops had grounded him for a month and made him pay for the damage.

  "All right," Gabriel said. He had to be careful here; he didn't want to infuriate Pops further. "Isaiah helped close a deal, I'll give him credit for that. But, Pops, why is he working here and participating in executive meetings, no less? How is he qualified for that?"

  "He's my son," Pops said. "What other qualifications does he need?"

  That explained it, Gabriel suddenly understood. Pops believed that merely because Isaiah was his son, he deserved an opportunity to work in the upper ranks of the company. As though Isaiah had inherited a gene from Pops that had destined him for entrepreneurial greatness. Pops had often said the same thing about Gabriel, but that had not stopped Gabriel from earning an advanced degree and toiling in every level of the organization to learn the business from the inside out. He'd paid his dues. It was only fair that Isaiah should have to do the same.

  But that argument would not sway his father. Pops didn't care about what was fair. He cared about making moneyand Isaiah had somehow convinced him that he could deliver.

  "College degrees and job experience aren't everything," Pops said. "There's a lot to be said for natural ability, for pure management talent. Do you think everyone with an MBA and ten years' work experience is destined to become a millionaire?"

  "Of course not" It sounded as though Pops was talking about him.

  "Isaiah will be shadowing various executives in the organization me, you, and others-to gain deeper insight into what we do. Then we're going to work together to create a position for him, a role that will best utilize his talents for our company."

  Gabriel couldn't believe he was hearing this. But, at this point, arguing with Pops would gain him nothing.

  "Sounds as if you've got it all worked out," Gabriel said.

  "We worked it out today-while you were `caught up in something' at home"

  Gabriel gnashed his teeth.

  "I expect you to help Isaiah learn the ropes," Pops said. "This is business, Gabe. When we're here I could care less about whether you like him as a person, though I think you should make an effort to get along with him. He's had a rough life, but he's a good guy at heart. You could be a positive influence on him."

  Gabriel said nothing. He didn't trust himself to speak without screaming.

  Pops clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Back to work, son. You've got a little healthy competition for the CEO mantle now."

  Gabriel went to his office, but he could not concentrate on his work. He felt as though he were going to collapse underneath the weight of all his problems.

  Pops was disappointed in him. His relationship with Dana was foundering. He was seeing frightening hallucinations he couldn't explain. He'd gained a psychic talent from mysterious sources and it appeared to be empowering-but it could bring unknown and harmful side effects. And Isaiah, whom everyone but him trusted and adored, was succeeding in setting up him and his family
for a catastrophic fall.

  Gabriel swiveled away from the computer and buried his head in his hands.

  He needed a shoulder to lean on, a sympathetic ear. But there was no one to whom he could turn. He'd alienated everyone.

  He'd never felt so abandoned.

  "It's all falling apart, isn't it, little brother?"

  Gabriel snapped up. Isaiah had entered his office. Gabriel had been so absorbed in his worries, he hadn't heard the door open.

  "Get out of my office," Gabriel said.

  "Hold on" Grinning triumphantly, Isaiah sat in a chair in front of Gabriel's desk and comfortably crossed his legs. "Pops told you I'd be shadowing you, studying the business from the inside. I'm here to learn."

  Gabriel gripped the edges of his desk. It took all his selfcontrol to restrain himself from bounding over the desk and strangling Isaiah with his bare hands.

  "And you should be thanking me, too," Isaiah said. "I closed the deal while you were at home with your thumb in your ass. Because of me, you're five grand richer. Can I get a `thank you'?"

  "How about a `fuck you'?"

  Isaiah merely smiled.

  "You keep on slipping up here and Pops is going to bus your ass down to the mail room," Isaiah said. He looked around, appraising the decor. "I'll move into this office, get rid of that boring shit you've got on the walls, maybe add some posters of Janet and Halle and some other hotties 7

  "You've lost your mind. You're not taking my office" But Gabriel's denial lacked conviction. The truth was that his father was so enamored of Isaiah that he didn't know what might happen. His future at the company, once assured, suddenly seemed to be in question.

  "It's tough when Daddy isn't on your side, cleaning up behind you, straightening your tie, and wiping your snotty nose, isn't it?" Isaiah shook his head sadly. "Now you know how I felt my whole life. You're learning how it feels to be out in the cold with no safety net, no one to save you"

  "Look, I'm sorry you had to go through that crap, but that has nothing to do with me ""