My Brother's Killer



  My Brother’s Killer

  By B.K. Raw

  Copyright 2013 B.K. Raw

  Cover art by Peter Gray

  With thanks to Carol Drayson

  Chapter 1

  Max Myer allows his car to move slowly forward under no more power than just its idling engine. A light press on the brake pedal brings the car to a stop. He doesn't attempt to get out as he turns the engine off but pauses with one hand still on the steering wheel and both eyes closed. He takes a deep breath. At over six feet tall and solidly built he’s too large for the compact car he sits in. He looks a little awkward as he takes up so much of the available space around him. He's in his late twenties, keeps his hair short and his face clean shaven. His T-shirt should be one size bigger so it does nothing to hide his solid frame.

  He looks at the scenery around him. He’s parked on a road which weaves its way through row upon row of grave stones. The road stretches off until it melts into a series of trees in the distance. The sun gleams off shiny stones making the view around his car seem brighter than it should be.

  From a pocket he retrieves a tiny piece of black plastic. He turns it over between his fingers with no greater purpose than to continue repeating the action. On one side, in white lettering, it reads ‘Micro SD’, a memory card smaller than the nail on his little finger. Small enough for a modern smart phone. He holds it up and stares at it with a curious reverence as though it holds all the secrets of the world.

  He grabs his mobile and opens up the back cover. He removes the memory card that is already in it and places it on his dashboard before inserting the new memory card into the empty slot. He turns his phone on and opens the contents of the tiny memory card which reveals only one audio file.

  He reaches over and opens the glove box, retrieving a set of headphones.

  He plugs them into his phone, places them over his ears, and opens the audio file. A voice both comforting and haunting plays into his ears.

  “Heath. I’m making this recording for you. Assuming you’re sitting there, victorious. You'll forgive me if this gets off to a slow start. I have a lot I need to say but even as I record this I don't know if I have the words to say it. I'm offering you my thoughts as a reflection on the journey you've been on and an encouragement for the days ahead. I don't doubt that times will arrive, maybe they already have, where you question why I did what I did and whether it was worth the struggles it's going to bring you. Just remember the suffering you've lived through the last - almost thirty years. So I want to tell you this not because I think you've forgotten it but because you need someone to say it out loud.

  “You may not remember standing where I am right now, staring at yourself in a mirror covered in dirt, having suffered years of neglect. The reflection is dull but you can see enough of yourself through the dirt to make out your face. This face - as equally neglected and dirty as the mirror its soulless eyes stare back from.

  “You stare at your long unkempt hair. Your hair is a light brown colour which helps the dirt blend in better. The mess of hair and the unshaven face just distract you from the tired eyes in your reflection.

  “I'm not sure when you got to a point in your life where people just stopped noticing you but you learned to love the feeling of anonymity. I have an analogy about that. When you walk through the city, to other aimless wanderers you're like a wall in their home. They don't think about the wall as they move past, they know it's there and they avoid walking into it but it doesn't receive their attention as they move from one place to another. People avoid walking into you but not because they notice you, or care, but because you're a nameless obstacle between them and their goal.

  “You may remember that it used to make you angry, but not anymore. It comforts you now. You ignore them with the same contempt they show when they ignore you. An unspoken agreement. But, think, what if you were to place your foot out on an angle and trip one? They'd notice you then.

  “I digress. Right now I'm standing in a restroom, years since used, in an abandoned warehouse. No human had been here for years before I made it my part time home. The decay and the animals calling it home have made it almost unliveable - I make do. Some of the toilets still have water in the bowls but I figure it's from a leak somewhere because the taps don't work. I could have cleaned the place I guess. I won’t be here for long though so I doubt there’s a point.

  “The story I’m about to tell you from this rotting hole I call home, is of your victory. This story is my legacy to you. Some would say it’s bad, while some, we, would say it's good. It’s ours though - whether good or bad. It’s your story told so you'll never forget. Told the way I want you to remember it. The way I planned it. I’m confident that you will have regrets but, no matter what you have come to understand since putting these plans in place, no matter what actually transpires, you win. Today, though, is the day I die so that you will live on.

  “Think back over the painful years then try to tell me that what we've just gone through, and what you have gained, isn't what you deserve.

  “Now, to start.

  “My twin brother, is the vilest and most hateful person I've ever met - he has everything that should be mine.”