by Nancy Isaak
Brandon’s room was a completely different matter.
As soon as I opened the door, I knew that my search wasn’t going to be easy.
There was crap everywhere!
He had piles of clothes—both dirty and clean—thrown all over everything. In one corner, boxed sneakers were stacked up, teetering under the weight of a wet towel thrown over top. In another corner, were large glass jars—at least six of them—overflowing with money, coins and bills spilling out onto the floor.
The bed Brandon was sleeping in was dead center in the room. It wasn’t made and stank badly—bearing stained sheets that had probably never been washed or changed.
There were two small tables—one to each side of the bed. On one were guns—three small revolvers—and cartons of bullets. On the other table were two boxes of tissue and a massive bottle of hand lotion. When I saw the huge pile of porn magazines on the floor below, I began to get a mind-picture that sickened me.
I didn’t want to investigate that side table any further, but a small drawer in it was half open. As I passed my small candle over top, I saw something peeking out that made my blood run cold.
It was a picture of Kaylee.
* * * *
I wasn’t an idiot.
It was perfectly normal—and I knew that everyone did it.
But—nobody did it using a photo of my girl!
* * * *
There were other photographs in that drawer—a good twenty or thirty of them. Some were innocent, like the one of Kaylee and two other pictures that I found of her step-mom. Most, however, were pornographic—naked women and men engaged in various sexual positions.
I took the photographs of Kaylee and her step-mom and tucked them safely away in my pocket. The others I left in the drawer.
Hopefully, Brandon wouldn’t notice.
* * * *
For the next five minutes, I rooted through Brandon’s room—going through the closet, looking under the bed, searching through the piles of clothes and porn. I found seven bottles of what appeared to be steroids in the side table drawer on the other side of the bed. Between the mattresses were more porn mags—these ones even more disgusting than the others.
There was also a small baggie of what looked like cocaine among Brandon’s things. At least I assumed it was cocaine—because of the tiny silver spoon and hand mirror that sat on top of the bag.
The most disturbing thing, however, was right out in the open.
It was hanging from the back of a chair and I had passed by it numerous times without realizing its significance. Finally—just before I was set to leave—I brushed by it one last time and it clacked—its parts moving against each other.
Bringing my little candle nearer, I took a closer look.
It was a handmade necklace—its beads, large and odd-shaped—defined to look like the bones of fingers. The beads were threaded onto a piece of leather, along with feathers and what looked like the teeth from some kind of animal.
I picked up the necklace, examining it closer.
The beads were extraordinary—so lifelike.
There was a bit of grit on one of the larger beads—the proximal phalanx if I had remembered it correctly from science class. I reached out to flick the grit away when I suddenly realized that it was still attached to the bead.
Oh crap…it wasn’t grit.
It was skin!
And—the necklace wasn’t made up of beads.
It was made up of finger bones!
* * * *
I left the same way I had come—shimmying through the bathroom window. It would have been easier to use the front door, locking it behind me. But I was worried that Brandon and Kieran might come home early and catch me in the act.
Instead, I held my breath and prayed that my foot wouldn’t slip off of the edge of the bathtub. Then I swung myself through the window and onto the ground outside. As I did, I noticed something—a reflection in the moonlight.
There, on the ground—the missing button from my tux.
I quickly picked it up and put it in my pocket.
One less thing to worry about.
And I was worried.
Why did Brandon have the necklace? Where did he get it? And who would make such a horrible thing?
And why did Brandon have Kaylee’s picture?
In all honesty—that last one was easy enough to answer. I just didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about any of it.
At least, not that night.
So, instead, I tucked in my shirt and brushed the dirt off my tux and returned to the party. I breathed easier when I entered the basement and saw that Brandon and Kieran were still there—playing pool on the other side of the room.
Feeling exhausted, I sat down beside Connor at his desk. “Who’s up?”
“Ethan. He’s rolling gutters.”
“As long as he’s having fun.”
“Speaking of fun,” said Connor, quietly. “How was it?”
“How was what?”
“Whatever sneaky thing you were doing outside?”
I gave him a dirty look. He just shrugged and grinned. “Dude, you need to learn a trick or two from Brandon. If you don’t want to get caught, come back looking pleased with yourself—not guilty.”
* * * *
The next day, I showed up at Porter’s school, just as the guys were leaving for the day. Rhys was there and I reached out and messed up his hair as he passed by.
“Dude!” he complained, pushing my hand away. “You’re so annoying.”
“Big brothers are supposed to be annoying. It’s our job.”
“You can feel my hair,” offered Andrei, leaning his head toward me. “I’m growing an afro!”
I patted his hair gently. “It’s…poofy.”
He laughed, delighted. “My mom never let me have an afro. She said that I wasn’t responsible enough to take care of it,” he explained. “Soon it’s going to be so big, I’ll be able to stick a pick in it!”
“Well,” I said, “congratulations, then.”
“Thanks.” He gave me a quick fist bump, then took off running after the rest of the guys.
“So ridiculous!”
I turned toward Porter, who was seated at his desk, drawing lines on a giant chart. “What’s ridiculous?”
“That kid spent half his lessons with his comb, working on that stupid hairdo,” he complained. “And, frankly, I don’t even see any difference.”
“It makes him happy,” I shrugged. “And it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Porter snorted, returning to the chart he was creating.
“What are you working on there?” I asked, coming over and staring down over his shoulder. “Lesson plan?”
“Chore chart,” he said. “The house looks like a pigsty.”
Oh-oh.
“I’ve made a list of all the housework that needs to be done,” he said, running his finger down a column. “Then, I’ve put our names here. This way it will be simple for everyone to know what they have to do on what day.”
I studied the chart for a moment, noting his list of upcoming duties. “Bud, I’m more than happy to wash the kitchen floor tomorrow, but good luck on getting Kieran and Brandon to dust.”
Porter gave a big sigh. He looked disappointed. “I’m the one who’s being ridiculous now, aren’t I?”
“Not ridiculous,” I assured him. “More like—not so realistic.”
He gave another big sigh. “We’re going to wind up savages.”
“Porter,” I said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We’re boys. We’re supposed to be a little savage.”
* * * *
“They’re definitely steroids.” Porter looked up from his PDR. He held up the list that I had given him. “And these were all in Brandon’s bedroom?”
“The ones I could remember,” I nodded. “There were other drugs there, too. Weed, cocaine, that sort of thing.”
“Well, if Brandon’s on these steroids, it would definitely explain
how he’s maintaining all those muscles. All the rest of us are getting lean. He’s the only one who’s still got bulk.”
“Do you think that maybe Kieran is on them, too?”
“Did you see any in his room?”
I shook my head. “No drugs at all. But I know that he’s smoking pot with Brandon…and drinking.”
“From what I can see, he doesn’t appear to be bulking up, though.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “So, maybe he isn’t doing steroids.”
“Probably not.”
I walked over to the door and poked my head out, looking up and down the hallway. Seeing nobody, I closed the door tightly and came back to Porter.
“You found something else, didn’t you?” asked Porter, looking immediately on edge. “Something worse.”
“A necklace,” I said, quietly. “Made out of finger bones.”
“What animal?”
“I’m pretty sure it was human.”
Porter’s face drained of blood. He didn’t say a word—just stared at me, horrified.
“Ten sets of bones,” I said. “I counted—eight fingers, two thumbs.”
“Ohmigod,” he whispered. “Ohmigod!”
* * * *
By the time I left Porter, we had reached a decision.
Brandon was to be watched—so we could discover what he was up to when he disappeared.
But—that would be impossible with just Porter and myself. Which meant that we had to bring other guys into the loop.
Connor seemed an obvious choice.
After that—we were kind of stumped.
Then, Porter came up with the brilliant idea of asking Ru for some of his guys. He would be visiting him the next afternoon on medical business and suggested that I tag along. Hopefully, Ru would agree to lend us enough help, so that we could keep a tail on Brandon twenty-four/seven and find out exactly what was going on.
You know what they say about ‘best laid plans’.
We never made it to Ru’s the next day.
* * * *
It was incredibly hot—one of those infamous Southern California days—when the temperature shot up the scale and almost everyone retreated indoors. There were no clouds in the sky and the sun beat down on us mercilessly.
The younger guys decided to skip school—declaring it too hot in the room. Instead, they descended on the creek out back of the mansion—stripping off their clothes to lie in its cool water. Irritated, Porter left early for Ru’s. I was to catch up with him later, having some fish I first needed to scale and gut for the evening’s meal.
And—just to make Porter happy—I planned on washing the kitchen floor and dusting at least one or two rooms of the house.
* * * *
“Hey, Mom,” said Kieran, coming around the corner.
I was down on my knees, a scrub brush in my hands, attacking a patch of tomato soup that had been congealing on the kitchen floor for at least two days now.
“Very funny,” I growled. “Any chance you’d pick up a brush and give me a hand?”
“Pretty sure there’s no chance at all,” he said, opening a cabinet and pulling out a water bottle. He leaned against the counter, watching me work. “You know, bro—with all these empty houses around here, we can simply pull up and move when this place gets too dirty.”
“I like this house.”
“Yeah,” he grinned. “I wonder why.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I frowned, rising to my knees. They cricked audibly and Kieran spit out some water, laughing.
“Dude!” he choked. “You sound just like dad now!”
I threw my brush at him, missing his head by a couple of inches. If anything, he laughed even louder.
“Jacob…Jacob!” There were footsteps slapping along the patio.
Kieran stopped laughing immediately.
We heard the back door slam and Wester came rushing in. He was wearing jeans but nothing else, and his feet were bare and bleeding from where he’d obviously run over something sharp.
“Jacob!” Wester gasped. “It’s him! He’s—”
He stopped talking the moment he realized that Kieran was also in the room; instead, he just stood there—breathing heavily and looking scared.
“What is it, Wester?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
Wester wouldn’t stop looking at Kieran. I bent down and grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him a good shake. “Wester!”
Slowly, he turned his terrified eyes toward me.
“Just tell me, bro,” I urged.
“I went to take a pee,” he stammered. “Behind the trees…he’s there! Like hiding…watching us!”
“Who is it?” asked Kieran.
Wester didn’t answer him. Instead, he stared at me—willing me to understand—his face filled with anguish.
And I knew.
* * * *
Carrying guns had become part of our life now. We always kept them near, either on our bodies or somewhere within arm’s reach.
I grabbed my revolver off of the kitchen counter.
“Show me where,” I ordered Wester.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back door. Kieran followed, pulling his own gun out of his shoulder holster.
“Do you want me to get the other guys?” he asked.
I ignored him, not wanting to explain what was going on. Instead, I put a finger to my lips—silencing him.
Wester led us both down to the creek, threading through the trees at the edge of the estate. We could hear the boys farther along, laughing and splashing in the water.
That gave me some comfort.
My boys were safe—for the moment.
* * * *
“Where is he?” I asked quietly, when Wester suddenly stopped moving. Kieran came up behind us, looking confused and wary.
“He’s through there,” whispered Wester, pointing into the bushes. “Behind the big tree that got hit by lightning. He didn’t see me, but I saw him.”
“Okay, bud,” I said. “I want you to go back up to the house now and find Connor. I saw him go up to his room. Show him your feet. He’ll take care of them. You let me take care of this, okay?”
Wester nodded, then took off running.
I turned to my brother. “Kieran, you can’t interfere,” I warned.
“What do you mean?” he said. “If there’s someone watching the guys—”
And then he got it.
* * * *
I don’t think Kieran really believed it, until we came around the corner and saw Brandon. He was half-hidden behind a large oak—dead and blackened from a long-ago lightning strike.
Through a break in the branches, we could see that he was watching the guys skinny-dipping in the creek. Brandon was completely engrossed—his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth open.
And—his pants were at his ankles.
* * * *
Kieran gasped.
It wasn’t loud—but it was loud enough for Brandon to spin around, his hand reaching down to pull up his pants.
But it was too late.
I was already heading for him.
It didn’t even occur to me to use my gun. Instead, I cold-cocked Brandon—a fist straight to his jaw. He went flying, into the bushes—his pants falling back down. “You fricking pervert!” I screamed. “You dare to come after my guys?!”
I kicked him in the gut and he bent in two—one hand on his stomach, the other one trying to protect his balls.
“That’s my little brother out there!” I yelled. “He’s just a kid…they’re all kids!”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” cried Brandon. “I swear!”
“Liar!” I kicked him again, this time catching him in his left hip. He yelped in pain, twisting over to get out of my range.
Suddenly, arms enveloped me from behind, pinning me. “Jacob, stop!”
It was Kieran, trying to hold me back from Brandon. Digging in my feet, I pushed us both backward, straight into a tree. T
he force of the impact was enough to loosen Kieran’s grip and I freed myself, turning to glare at my brother.
“I told you—don’t get involved!”
“You can’t do this,” yelled Kieran. “You can’t just beat him up like that!”
“Listen to your little brother, Jacob.” said a quiet, menacing voice.
As I spun around, a roundhouse kick connected high on the right side of my face. For a moment, I saw stars. By the time my vision cleared, a double-jab had taken me down—pain shooting all the way from the top of my sternum to the bottom of my rib cage.
Another roundhouse sent me flying—back into the old oak. Part of it disintegrated under me, leaving sharp, jagged edges that stabbed and tore at my skin.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” The voices screaming were filled with terror. In the back of my mind, I recognized my youngest brother’s voice among them.
A sequence of four punches now—two high, two low. Blood spurted from up on my forehead, dripping down into my eyes and running down my cheeks. As I tilted slowly forward, my peripheral vision went—followed by my eyelids, suddenly refusing to stay open.
Just before I blacked out, I remembered thinking—what kind of an idiot goes after a brown belt in karate?
* * * *
When I finally woke up again, Rhys was holding my head up, trying to get me to sip from a bottle of water. Ethan was on my left, meanwhile, clutching my hand and sobbing.
“You okay, bro?” It was Kieran asking. I blinked the blood out of my eyes, turning my head, trying to find him.
He was standing with Ian and Andrei. The three of them were holding guns—all of them aimed at Brandon, who was sitting on a log nearby, looking angry and frustrated. I immediately began pushing myself up, afraid that he might try and attack them.
