35

Now

Saturday nights, the field complex is empty. Games are always finished by now. Kids come here to play on their own sometimes, but it’s almost dark and no one is here. I’m carrying the tape recorder; the gun from the car is inside my jacket.

The minor league field is secluded from the others. I enter the field from the visitor’s dugout side. A bright moon allows me to see Derek and Devon sitting on the bench in the home dugout. Devon sees me and starts to move. But Derek rises and presses the gun in his hand to Devon’s head, holding him in place.

Devon looks scared but in control. Just thinking of what Derek has put him through today fills me with rage. I should have pulled the gun out before I got here. I picture myself firing it at Derek, killing him.

When I reach the third base line, maybe ten feet from the dugout, Derek tells me to stop. “Play it,” he says.

I place the tape recorder on the ground before pushing Play and backing up.

Detective Fyfe’s voice plays out loud and rough from the little box.

“You want the truth? On the night Caleb Brannick was killed, a gun was discovered under his body during the course of the on-scene investigation.”

Derek doesn’t move, does nothing except stare straight ahead as he listens to the rest of the tape, the gun still holding Devon in place. I wait, trying to catch Devon’s gaze, wanting to impart the message with my eyes, It’s going to be okay. Just hang in there a little longer. It’s almost over. But his eyes are on the recorder, listening as well, eyes wide.

Nothing else around us seems to exist. Just my disembodied voice questioning Detective Fyfe’s.

It seems to take forever, but finally, the tape ends with the detective’s voice saying, “Still, if you want to talk…” Then comes the sound of the car driving off.

Followed by silence.

Carefully, I cross to the tape recorder, crouch down, and turn it off. “Do you want it?” I ask Derek.

He slowly shakes his head.

I step back, leaving the recorder on the foul line. Wait.

After a long silence, I hear him say in a low voice, “Nice touch. Sending them to the old amusement park. But by now, they’ve figured out you sent them on a wild-goose chase. I’m sure they’re looking everywhere for you.”

“I couldn’t trust them,” I say. “I couldn’t make myself believe things wouldn’t go wrong somehow.”

The gun is still pressed against Devon’s head. Devon’s breathing has turned shallow.

It’s almost over, kiddo.

“Why did he take Mom’s gun?” Derek says. “He hated guns, he… Stupid.”

“But he didn’t use it,” I say. “It was in his pocket. I shouldn’t have…” My voice breaks, and I take a breath. “I’m sorry. I wish… I’m sorry—”

“It was my job to protect him,” Derek cuts in. “I was his older brother. As soon as I could get out of that house, I did, and I just left him there, knowing what he was facing, alone, and I did nothing. I sacrificed my little brother.” Now Derek looks at me. “I would have done the same thing you did. Gone downstairs with a gun.”

I stare at him. “I didn’t have to,” I say. “I could have just called the police.”

“Maybe. A bad situation though, either way.”

A bad situation. Like my dad found himself in. If he hadn’t put his gun down, he’d probably still be alive. But he saved the girl. He did his job. And if he hadn’t broken the policeman’s cardinal rule and held on to his gun, or hadn’t jumped in front of the girl when the guy fired, and the guy had killed the girl, would he have been able to live with that? Everybody always says, “Do the right thing.” But sometimes the right thing just isn’t clear. Sometimes you just have to choose and then live with the consequences the best you can.

The silence between us feels like the quiet before a sudden storm. Or an explosion. The gun is still in place. Devon still sits with his arms on his knees, waiting. Waiting for his big brother to save him.

“You said you’d let him go,” I say quietly.

Derek looks at me, shakes his head. “No.”

“What?”

“This isn’t over.”

I take a step and he pushes the pistol harder against Devon’s head. Devon cries out.

“Don’t… Please. I did what you asked.”

“Yes, you did. Damn you!” he shouts suddenly, trembling now. “But you were supposed to fail. You should have failed! I only gave you one hour, an impossible task. People like to say, It’s going to be okay. I’d do anything for you. It’s bullshit. It’s not possible.” He shoves Devon again, using the gun. Devon winces. “I wanted to show him it’s not possible. I wanted to show you. I wanted you to fail like I failed, so you’d know what it feels like to make a promise you know you can’t keep and watch it blow up in your face.”

My voice comes out tight with anger and fear. “And if I had failed, then maybe you could’ve justified leaving home, leaving your brother behind, told yourself it wouldn’t have mattered. But I didn’t. And if it makes you feel like more of a failure than you already are, well, I can’t help that. I am not going to let you hurt my brother! If you want to get back at me for killing Caleb, then you do it to me. Not to my ten-year-old brother.”

“No. That’s too easy. Too noble.”

“What do you want from me?”

“One more test. To see if you really mean it.”

“Test? Jesus—”

“Do you have the gun I left for you?”

I hesitate. “Yes.”

“Take it out. Slowly.”

Carefully, I pull the pistol out, holding it so he can see it. Now he’s probably going to tell me to toss it on the ground. It’s just like Detective Fyfe said. He isn’t going to let us go just because I did what he said.

“Come on. Grab it like you’re gonna use it.”

“What?”

The gun is shaking against Devon’s head. “I’m going to kill him unless you stop me!”

“You promised—”

“Point the gun!”

I bring it up. My hand slick with sweat, I point it at him.

“I know what it’s like to be pushed aside for someone else, the way your father pushed you aside. Once Devon was born—who was everything your father wanted in a son—he didn’t want you anymore. You know that’s true.”

“My father wasn’t perfect,” I say quietly, intensely. “I know that now. But he loved me in his way.”

“But you know he loved Devon more.”

“Don’t try to justify what you’re doing by trying to make Devon and me like you and Caleb.”

“I heard what you said to your father,” Derek shouts. “I saw the look on your face when you were telling me the truth! The last thing you ever said to him before he died!” He indicates Devon with a nod of his head. “Now tell him! ‘Screw Devon! And screw you!’ That’s what you said!”

Hot tears are filling my eyes. I glance at Devon then back at Derek. “Don’t… Don’t…”

“You’ve only been there for Devon since your father died because you feel guilty.”

“That’s not true. Don’t listen to him, Devon. I love you.”

“But at least your father died knowing the truth about how you felt!”

“He knows I was angry. But he knows… My father…knows…I loved him…”

“Shut up! No! You can’t take it back! You don’t know. You don’t know what he thought.”

Tears are streaming down Derek’s face now as well. The gun is wavering slightly but still pointed at my brother. “You want to know the truth about my brother and me?” he says. “When I got older, my parents stopped wanting me. I’d gotten past the age where they wanted to love me anymore—their kind of love. The nights they used to come into my room—I hated it. My father doing whatever he wanted with me. My mother letting it happen. But at least I knew on those nights I was special to them.

“And then they didn’t want me anymore. My father didn’t… He wanted him. Caleb! They shut me out! So I know what it’s like to hate my father for not loving me anymore! But the truth is, when I left, I left because I was angry at my brother. For taking them away from me. I tell myself now that I always planned to go back, that I was always going to get him out of there. Because I knew—I knew what they were doing to him. Because they used to do it to me. But when I left, I knew I was never going back. Even when he came to see me in prison and I told him to wait a little longer, to hang in there, I was angry because I was jealous! Isn’t that sick? Oh God! I didn’t leave because I hated my parents. I left because I hated Caleb! As if he had a choice in what they were doing to him those nights. I’m supposed to forgive what my parents did to me so I can learn to forgive myself. But how can I forgive myself for that?”

I stand there, horrified. The gun in my hand.

“Just like you, I told myself I would keep my brother safe, but I failed,” Derek continues. “I let Caleb down in a way I’ll never be able to repay. I wanted you to fail, but you didn’t. You got that damn recording. But it doesn’t work that way. You can’t promise you’ll keep the ones you love safe. Not unless you’re willing to pay the price!”

He still holds the gun against my brother’s head. “I’m going to prove it to you.” Devon just stares, as if he’s in shock. “You’re not going to let me hurt him? You’ll do anything to protect your brother? Here’s a chance to prove to him you mean it. Show him how far you’ll go. I’m not talking about how you say you shot Caleb; that was almost an accident. I’m talking about making a conscious choice on your part.”

“But why?”

“Somebody has to pay for my brother!” Derek cries. “So you decide who it’s going to be. Devon? Or me?”

My hand trembles as I point the gun, and I bring it down. “I…I can’t…”

“You love him? You’ll do anything for your brother? Go ahead. Show him!”

“Please don’t make me—”

“I’m going to count to three.”

“Just go. All I want is my brother.”

“You’re right! I’m a failure! So I need to pay for my brother’s death, or you get to know what it’s like to let Devon die when you know you could have stopped it. One…”

Again, I try to level the gun. My arm is shaking so much I have to hold it with both hands. What if I miss Derek and hit Devon?

“Two…”

“Shoot him! Shoot him!” I’m screaming at Dad. But Dad’s moving toward the girl instead, so I lunge for Dad’s gun on the ground…

I apply pressure on the trigger. But I can’t seem to get my finger to move.

I try one more time. “Please don’t—”

“Three!”

Neither of us is watching Devon, who may be ten but is big for his age and strong. Moving suddenly, he jumps up and drives an elbow into Derek’s gut. Derek lets out a whoomph, falling forward, and the gun in his hand goes flying in the air, hitting on the dugout concrete then bouncing away.

“Run, Devon!” I shout.

But he doesn’t run. Instead, he remains where he is, transfixed, staring at Derek.

Derek is on his knees, working to get his breath back. I look for his gun but don’t see it. I put myself between him and my brother. I try to push Devon away, but he resists. “Come on, Devon. Come on!” He still looks like he’s in a daze, but finally, he moves a few steps toward the other end of the bench.

Holding my gun on Derek, I tell him, “Get up.” He does, breathing easier now, looking at me with a resigned expression.

Darkness has finished settling in, but the moonlight makes it easier to see.

It takes me only another few seconds to decide. “Go.”

Derek’s eyes open up. He doesn’t move.

“I’ll tell the police you listened to the tape, then left Devon with me and just ran off. I’ll tell them I found your gun after you were gone; you must have dropped it. They’ll be mad at me for sending them to the amusement park, but what are they gonna do? You should get going though. I’m sure they’re looking for you.”

Still, Derek doesn’t move. “Why?” he asks.

“If you want to kill yourself, you have to do it. Not me.” I take a deep breath. “And maybe I owe you. For your brother. For Caleb.”

He seems to think about it. “I’m probably not going to get very far.”

“Maybe…you could get some help. That counselor. Or talk to somebody else about, you know, what your parents did to you…and your brother.”

“Yeah, right. No one’s going to listen to me after what I’ve done.”

“You better get going.”

Derek ponders me for a moment. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

“I said you better—”

Now, much to my surprise, he actually smiles. “You did a good job holding it back. But I know now the one other big truth you wouldn’t tell me,” he says.

My heart leaps. “What are you…?”

“You didn’t shoot Caleb.”

I feel my heart quickening. “Look, just get out of here while you can—”

“You don’t have it in you. I was about to kill your brother. Who you said you would do anything to protect. But you couldn’t pull the trigger. So I guess there is something you wouldn’t do.”

I stare at him, dumbstruck. Then, all at once, angry. I feel my finger suddenly tightening on the trigger. “You think I wouldn’t—?”

“It’s okay.” He leans in. “I understand. I wish I had loved my brother as much as you love Devon. But you don’t have to worry. Your secret is safe—”

The sound of a gunshot behind me catches both of us by surprise. Derek goes stumbling backward, and by the time he’s on the ground, sprawled on his back, I can see the blood blossoming from a wound in his chest. Like I’ve imagined the wound that killed my father must have looked.

“Nooo!” I shout, rushing toward him, but I can already see there is nothing I can do. His eyes are wide and unseeing, and though his mouth is open, I can tell that it’s not going to be like it was with his brother, who lived long enough to try and tell me something while the blood pumped out of him.

Derek is dead.

Wildly, I turn back to see Devon, my ten-year-old brother, standing there with the gun that Derek had dropped still smoking in his hand. “Devon, drop it!”

I recognize the look in his eyes—it’s the fourth time I’ve seen it.

“You said there was a certain way your brother looked at you during that game when he let that pitch go by and took the strikeout. You said it was the third time you had seen that expression on his face. The second time was just before he knocked over the catcher coming home. So when was the first time?”

“I…I don’t understand what—”

“When was the first time you saw that expression on his face?”

“Devon!”

The night Derek’s brother was shot.

I remember the gun Mom keeps in the side table next to her bed. Unlocking the drawer, taking the gun out, feeling the weight of it in my hand. Thinking I should check to see if it was loaded, but not sure if I knew how. Though Mom had told me she always kept it loaded.

I remember that the sight of it was ugly. And I wondered if the guy who’d killed my father had done it with a gun like this.

“Devon, give it to me.”

And I put it back in the drawer and closed it. Went downstairs without the gun. But I must have forgotten to lock the drawer. Which is how Devon got the gun. I didn’t know he’d followed me until…

In a quieter voice, I say, “Devon, please.”

“So when was the first time?”

…I heard the gunshot behind me, saw Caleb Brannick fall, turned, and saw Devon holding Mom’s gun.

My brother finally looks at me, his eyes dead. As dead as Derek’s had looked when he first walked in on me tied up. “Dad should have shot the man,” he says in a cold monotone.

“Devon, Derek was leaving. You didn’t have to—”

“Dad should have shot the man.” All at once, my brother passes me the gun, the same way he did in the kitchen.

“Sit down,” I tell him. He sits on the dugout bench.

I stand there, looking at him, thinking back to that night.

“Go into the living room, Devon. Wait for me.”

After calling 911, I went to talk to my brother, who was sitting quietly on the sofa. “Devon, why did you—?”

“Dad should have shot the man.”

“What?”

“Dad would still be alive if he had shot the man. If he hadn’t put his gun down, he could have. You didn’t take the gun. I had to.”

A police siren begins to sound in the distance, and I know it’s coming for us. Maybe somebody heard the shot and called it in. Or maybe people saw figures in the ballpark at night and thought they should report it.

We don’t have much time. I have to do something.

Was Derek right? If Devon hadn’t elbowed him in the stomach to get away, would I have just let Derek shoot him? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know.

Dad could have pulled the trigger, but he didn’t. And he ended up giving his life for a child that wasn’t even his own.

Devon was willing to pull the trigger to protect me. Twice. But was that really the reason? Jesus, what if he saw that Caleb wasn’t holding a gun? What if he knew that Derek was going to walk away? And he still shot them?

He’s only ten years old. He couldn’t… He can’t… No, Devon hadn’t understood what he was doing. All he had known was that his brother was in danger.

I look at Devon to find something to reassure me, some form of regret on his face. But he still bears the same blank expression.

He’s just in shock.

Well, there’s only one thing I know for sure. All this time I’ve been trying to protect my brother, and really, he’s the one who’s been protecting me.

So I can do this for Devon now. I can tell the police I shot Derek Brannick, just like I told them I shot Caleb. Later, I’ll talk to him about it, when it’s just him and me. I’ll help him understand. Help him deal with it.

The sound of the police siren has grown louder. Devon seems not to hear it.

Time to act.

What I tell Devon is the same thing I said to him in our house that night.

“Devon, listen to me. We are telling the police I did this. Do you understand? I pulled the trigger. Not you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he says simply. His expression remains the same.

Using my shirt, I wipe the gun clean then hold it firmly so my fingerprints will be on it. Then I place the gun on the bench next to me and finally take a breath.

This is the best I can do for now. But at least this time, I won’t be doing it for my father. I’ll be doing it for Devon.

A steady breeze has started coming in from over the right field wall. Over where Devon hit his last home run, one of three that game. He had been amazing that day.

“It’s gonna be okay now, isn’t it?” Devon suddenly says. “We’re safe now?”

I put my arm around him and pull him close.

Now I see flashing lights appearing, heading toward the entrance to the ballpark complex.

Devon and I hold on to each other and wait for the police to arrive.