“There is no greater blessing than a family hand
that lifts you from a fall;
but there is no lower curse than a family hand
that strikes you when you’re down.”
~ Wes Fessler
NEAL
I cleaned my rifle for what had to be the fifteenth motherfucking time as I waited for the sun to come up. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until this was over. Truthfully, I hadn’t slept well in over a decade. Every night since high school, I woke up in the same cold sweat, and every night I would believe it was just a dream until I saw the tattoo on my arm. It was nothing special or fancy. It was just the number 224. The locker I found Liam in. It would forever be burned into my skin and in my mind.
Every night I saw him, this small nerd with messy brown hair and glasses shaking in a locker. He was beaten up badly. He had even pissed himself he was shaking so hard. I was momentarily frozen in shock. I screamed for help over and over again, even when Coach D was already there trying to help him. I just kept screaming until my voice went silent. He stepped in and did what I had failed to do. In that one moment, it was like a sheet was lifted from my fucking face and I realized I was an idiot. I was jealous of Liam. Our father had poured his love into him since the moment he was born. The sun and moon revolved around Liam. Was he all right? Did he take his pills? How far did he walk today? Did you see how fast he read that book? Did you know he understands your homework Neal? Liam this. Liam that. Whenever I needed to speak with our father, he was in Liam’s room. Whenever I need help, he was busy with Liam. Always fucking Liam. I was jealous. He lost his twin, had his shoulder broken, his feet crippled, and small dying lungs, all within hours of just being born, and I was jealous of him.
It didn’t make sense anymore, but back then with a child’s understanding, that’s what I thought. Whenever our mother saw him, she would break down. She would sob and sob then lock herself away for months. I blamed Liam for that. What made it worse was that I truthfully hated myself. I hated myself for not protecting our mother. I was young. I couldn’t do anything, but it didn’t help. It was just easier to blame it all on Liam because it started when he came. So when he was being bullied, teased, or flat-out embarrassed, I looked away. I always looked away until I saw him shaking in that locker, and then I couldn’t look away any longer.
Declan stepped in, knocking back a beer. “This is such a stupid plan.”
“It’s my only chance, Declan,” I said with a sigh, cleaning the barrel once again. I didn’t want the bullet to back-jam. If it did, then it would come out with more force. It would definitely kill him.
“There has to be another way. This is going to backfire on you both.”
“There is no other way! He is my brother. I want my brother back, Declan. You have no idea. You both have always been close. I want to be able to sit with him, drink, and joke and laugh like you both do. I want to go on hunting trips, to fighting clubs. I fucking want to be part of the family again. I want a seat at the damn table, because if I don’t get one soon, Liam will cut me out permanently. Do you know what happens to people Liam cuts out?” I snapped, throwing the gun on the table as I took a deep breath.
“Neal��”
“He eithers kills them or he leaves them to die, family or no family. The only thing holding him back is our mother, and how much longer do you think that will last? I may one day wake up and find my wife and myself in chains or in hell thanks to him. I cannot let that happen.”
“Are you doing this because you fear he will one day turn on you or because you truly want his love,” Declan said, as he placed his beer down to clean my gun. “He’s been a crappy brother as well. You messed up, but you were young. We were all young.”
“You don’t see what I see at night, Declan,” I replied, taking the gun from him. “You don’t understand how disgusted I feel with myself whenever I wake up in the morning.”
“I’m starting to.”
“Why, because you’re lusting over Melody?”
“How—”
“Because every last man with a working dick is lusting over her. It’s hard not to when she shoots people in a tight dress and heels, and fucking loves it. We all want that from our women, but Liam got it. Always Liam. However, I have enough bad blood to last me a lifetime. Last thing I need is Melody added to the mix.” Plus, that woman scared me almost as much as Olivia did.
“You’re going to shoot her husband, she’s added to the mix.”
He had a point.
“Yeah, well I need to work on Liam.” At the first sign of light, I lifted the clear bullet.
“What is this?” Declan grabbed hold of one.
“I call them blanks, I made them for Liam. They will hurt like a bitch and may cause bleeding, but it shouldn't kill him. I got it from paintballs.” It wouldn’t take long at all.
“When this goes to hell, and it will go to hell, remember to tell Melody I had no idea about this.”
This couldn’t fail. I would do anything Liam needed for this not to fail. It was crazy but that was who Liam was, ninety-eight percent of everything he did was crazy, but it worked. He gave me his word that he would finally let the past remain in the past. Maybe then I would finally be able breathe again, to sleep again, to be at peace again.
Declan didn’t understand. Olivia didn’t understand. No one understood what I felt. How deep the guilt had embedded into my soul. Father had told me repeatedly that family was everything. That we lived and died for family, but then Liam happened and I swear Sedric knew what I had done. He looked me dead in the eye and waited for me to confess my sin, but I couldn’t speak. For the last twelve years I couldn’t speak. What is the point of being strong on the outside when you are weak on the inside?
That was why I needed to do this. Not just for Liam but for myself . . . for Olivia. So I could finally be the man she needed. Instead, she was the woman who held on to me each and every fucking night as I tried to get the image of the little boy in the locker out of my mind.
She wanted kids, but she wasn’t the problem. I was. Apparently, my own body had begun to betray me. The doctors called it “stress,” stupid motherfuckers. It was my body’s way of telling me I was not ready to be a father, not when I couldn’t even hold my shit together.
Sighing, I dropped my head against my rifle.
“May my aim be true in its intent,” I whispered to myself before tucking the cross around my neck into my shirt.
Walking toward my window, I waited. I would wait all day if I had to. But sure enough he walked out from the trees.
“Forgive me,” I whispered as I pulled the trigger.