Brotherly Love

(This story contains sensitive triggers such as Mental Health, Physical Violence, and Substance Abuse.)

Another bottle shatters against the wall, the whiskey mixing with the filth of the floor. My apartment reeks of sweat and mildew, but all I smell is iron. It's the same everyday. I wake up with blood on my hands and black tar on my face. My hands shake as I scrub vigorously but it never goes away. My face has become a fleshy mold of what it was. They say sorrow is one of those things that only happen when sadness happens, but I believe it's a permanent hidden emotion that only comes out when it's in need of hunger for the soul. I spent years holding back the emotions of an incident that happened years ago. I never want to go back in the past, but the thoughts linger on, about my brother, about Sam.

I get a ring at my doorbell, most unusual. All my friends and family have either left me or died. No one is here to comfort my lump of mold that is my soul. I open the door and see a package, no return address either. I toss it on the table and open it up, confusion flew over me like an owl in the night. It was a letter, It was poorly scribbled on, like a child wrote it. It said, “You've left me home”. What does that mean? I looked in the box, I was starstruck, it was a picture of my old family house. In the photo, the door seems to be open, and a silhouette of a boy is at the front door. I turned over the picture and the same scribbled handwriting was on the back. It read, “I'm waiting for my big brother to come home”. I dropped the glass of whiskey on the floor, it shattered on the floor just like my heart.

Someone must know what happened at the house. No one who was there is alive now, who could possibly know anything. I don't want to think about it. I just need to drink it away. I go to my kitchen and grab another bottle. I wondered, who could this be, it's definitely not a ghost of Sam trying to torment me. I put down the bottle, throw on a jacket and drive over to the house. The one place I hoped to never come back to, many memories are held here, all grotesque. I arrive, and the house is in worse shape in person. Mose all around and vines tangled through the roof. I get out and enter the house.

Once in, a stench of mildew and rotting wood pushes at me. I walk to the living room, some old furniture is still here. The coffee table is still shattered. I go upstairs and see an old baseball bat and glove. Sam used to love this, it still has that streak of dark red on it too. The bathroom is still messy, used razor blades are still in the sink, hmm. I noticed some candle sticks that had melted and an old family photo that was missing upstairs. My face is scratched off, nice touch. 

I finally make it to the basement and see that it's still locked, from the inside. Strange, dad never locked this door. I slam hinges off the door and walk down slowly. I still remember the essence of that night long ago. The smell of moldy rust and strong iron travels. There's that chair, the chains are still holding on tight. I stumble back a bit after looking at the red all over the chains. I looked in the corner, it was a rotted dusty black trash bag. I smelt the iron as I got closer. I opened it up, and started to tear up.

It was Sam, bones, clothes and all. The stench of rotted flesh, accumulated over years, whisk into the air. The bag was shaking vigorously, it was my hand. There was a letter inside with the same crude writing from earlier. It said, “You Left Me”. I always wanted to not remember, but dammit why do I have to. I cry up a storm and collapse against the wall. Sam was still here. And I wasn't.

Sam.

Me and Sam grew up in a single household for a while, after our mom died of cancer. Dad took it really hard, he started to drink excessively and became more violent towards us both. Even when we didn't do anything wrong, he would find a way to punish us. I'll never forget the day I finally broke. I stood up to Dad and said he was tired of his treatment and that he wished he was dead so me and him can go away. I struck him with a bat. Sam was stunned, he was scared to death. We both thought he was dead, we tried to cover him up outside. Me and Sam made a plan to go far from here, we would leave in the morning. Obviously, dad didn't take that kindly. He regained consciousness, he had more to drink and he grabbed Sam and dragged him in the basement and chained him to the chair. I tried to save him but Dad hit me with the bar and threw me out. I was conscious but dazed. I tried to find a way in. I could hear Sam's screams, dad was torturing him. I tried to scream but my brain was numb. I ran for help, I didn't know where to go, but I ran for help. Eventually, someone found me, and I fell unconscious. Later on, I learned Sam died and Dad was given life in prison with no parole. I was drained, of emotions, of everything.

I sobbed my failures away. I hear footsteps come from the basement door. I get up and walk to the concrete wall behind me. I point my flashlight, but it starts to flicker rigorously. I start to panic, I can feel my throat sore from the heavy mouth breathing, my heart from the tense pressure. The light turned on, I was shocked that it still works. I looked ahead and it was a man standing there, but he looked familiar.

“Remember me”, he said.

“Are you, Chase? What are you doing here?” Chase was an old childhood friend. We used to play baseball with Sam a lot.

“Same as you learning about what happened to Sam”, he started to walk towards me.

“And what did you learn?” I start to walk backwards a little.

“That you let him die. You ran like a coward and didn't do anything to help him! You killed him just as much as your father did!” His voice wavered, he seemed unsure. But I can see in his eyes that he is serious about that accusation.

“Your dad is locked right there in that chair, but you put him there. You and your idiotic decisions made him kill Sam! You're no better than him!” He got closer to me.

“Now, I'm gonna make sure you know how he felt.”

Chase attacks me and rustles me to the ground, we have a brawl, but he ends up overpowering me. He grabs me and chains me in the chair.

“Now, it's your turn to suffer!” Chase begins to beat me senseless. I feel pound for pound of anguish from his face. I begin to feel dazed, a red tint begins to cover my face. The numb hollowness of my face echos in my body, tensing my nerves after every hit. He starts to slow down, I hear his breath wavering again. He puts his hands on my shoulders. He drops down and sobs. I begin to sob too.

“I can’t, I can’t do it..” Chase gets up and wipes his face.

He stares at me and leans into my face, “Now you'll know how it feels to be abandoned.”

I cry out to Chase to not leave me, I didn't kill Sammy, no, no. I would never kill him! I couldn't have. I scream and shout my lungs out. My face begins to itch, I sob again. I'm starting to lose consciousness, before I do, I saw a figure, a boy, is that you, Sammy.

I wake up, my head pounding and my body aching from the beating. The chair squeaks beneath me as I struggle against the chains, but they don’t budge. The metal cuts into my wrists, and the air tastes like rust, mold, and blood. Panic sets in as I realize I’m still here, still trapped. My breathing quickens. I try again, harder this time, the chains rattling like with no avail of freedom.

Then I hear them—footsteps, slow and steady, descending the basement stairs. My chest tightens, and I freeze. "Chase?" I whisper, my voice raw. But the figure that emerges from the shadows is smaller, younger.

It’s Sam.

I don’t know how, but it’s him. His face is pale and hollow, the skin stretched too tightly over his cheekbones, but it’s him. I can’t stop staring. Relief and fear flood me all at once, tangling into something I can’t untangle.

“Sam,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I—”

He doesn’t speak at first. He just stares, his eyes cold and unblinking. Then, slowly, he leans in close, so close I can feel his breath on my ear.

“Welcome home, brother.”

His voice is soft, almost tender, but it sharp. Before I can say anything, he straightens, turns, and walks back up the stairs, leaving me alone in the dark.

I start to scream. I don’t know how long I do it—my throat tears with every shout, but I keep going. My voice echoes uselessly off the walls, swallowed by the house. No one’s coming, are they?