"Dependence"

Prompt: You made a promise to yourself you’d finally do it on the first day of spring. Today was the day.

“Dependence”

By: Abby Caines

It was finally the first day of spring, though it didn’t feel quite like it. Piles of snow continued to cling to the earth while the sun hid behind the clouds. That didn’t matter to you though. There could’ve been a hurricane and you still would’ve done it. You made a promise to yourself that you’d do it today. 

That didn’t make it easy though. Your stomach rolled as you thought about it. You dreaded having to put yourself in that situation, but that didn’t matter either. It was your fault and you had to fix it.

You rose from your bed and quickly got dressed, shaking off the remnants of sleep. Not that you’d slept much the night before. You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, and what had to happen next.

You decided you’d give him a month to set his affairs in order and remained silent in the meantime. But you only did that because, despite everything, a part of you still loved him. And a larger part of you believed that you’d failed him. That his outburst was your fault. It was your job to look out for him. It was your responsibility to take care of your little brother. You were meant to save him. But you didn’t. You didn’t and now you have to turn him in.

Of course, you knew it was the right thing to do. Still, you grieved for him even before he got locked away. What he did was disgusting and unforgivable. He was going away for a long time. You were about to be completely alone.

For years, it had been you and Tom against the world. You did nearly everything together. If anyone was going to notice how he’d changed, it should’ve been you. Even now, you rack your mind trying to figure out how you’d missed it. How he’d convinced even you that nothing had changed.

He killed her and you were the only one who knew it. At first, he had been the last person you expected, but it became clear all too quickly. Every time you brought her up, he’d get jealous. Whenever you made plans with her instead of him, he got agitated. You should never have taken it so lightly. When you told him you proposed, he didn’t speak to you for weeks and when he finally did he acted as though nothing had happened. This should’ve been the biggest sign. How did you not see it?

It was raining by the time you left your house, a downpour quickly soaking you. You got in your car, shivering. Once you started the car, the news blared, telling you about the ongoing investigation of Amelia Thorne’s homicide. You turned the radio off. The investigation would be over soon.

The roads were all too quiet and vacant for a Thursday morning and you wondered if you were a few days too early. But a glance at your phone at the stoplight assured you that it was indeed Thursday, March 19th, 2020. The first day of spring.

This day was supposed to be about growth, meant to bring about hope for the coming months. But you knew it was useless to hope. Soon, both of your loves would be gone. Tom wouldn’t be dead of course, but he might as well have been.

You felt a tear stain your cheek as you pulled up to the station and quickly swept it away with the back of your hand. You couldn’t be weak. Not now. Not yet.

You took a deep breath as you grasped the handle and pulled open the door. The building smelled of burnt coffee and old books. You tentatively paced toward the desk, your breathing shallow.  

The receptionist looked up from her desk. Once seeing your face, she stood, her features twisting in concern. She adjusted her bun before placing her elbows on the desk. As if an easy demeanor could settle your nerves. “Are you alright?” she asked, tilting her head.

No. You thought. My brother killed my fiancée. You opened your mouth to say those exact words, but your tongue fell limp. This was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. This was even more difficult than identifying Amelia’s body had been. “Um,” you muttered, clenching and unclenching your fists. You gulped. “I have information on the homicide of Amelia Thorne,” you said, finally daring to meet her eyes.

She nodded. “I’m officer Diaz, follow me.” Diaz stepped out from behind the desk and led you down the hallway. Soon, you were standing at the door of an interrogation room. Somehow, it was a lot more nerve rattling in person. Diaz opened the door and ushered you inside. “Detective Barter will be with you in a moment,” she explained before ducking back into the hall and shutting the door behind her.

You stared at your reflection in the one way glass. Your hair was disheveled, some covered your left eye. Dark circles tugged under your usual shining green eyes. They were dull now. Your glimmer of hope gone. Your clothes remained drenched from the rain and your coat had a new rip running along the right sleeve from Amelia’s cat. He had been even more restless than you. After all, he’d witnessed the whole thing.

A tall man in black rimmed glasses slid through the door. Detective Barter was in his late thirties. He had dark, calculating eyes and a thin brown moustache that sat upon his upper lip. He cleared his throat as he sat in the chair opposite you, his back to the glass. “Good morning, Alex. I’ve been informed that you have some new information about Amelia,” he said.

You nodded, you tongue still feeling quite heavy.

“Last week, when I spoke with you, you told me you didn’t know a thing. What changed?” he asked, folding his hands in front of him.

“A lot can happen in a week, detective.”

“I have no doubt. What have you learned?”

“I know who killed her,” you said. “And, before you ask, this is not a confession.”

“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t going to ask?”

You ignored the question. “It was my brother, Tom Gray.”

“I see,” Barter looked at you over the top of his glasses. “Do you have any proof?”

You sighed through your nose. “Yes. I got his confession on tape.”

Barter widened his eyes. “Do you have it with you?”

You pulled your phone out of an inside pocket of your coat. The picture you had placed in the case of you and Amelia bloomed another painful ache across your chest. You flipped the phone over. Your finger slid across the screen as you found ‘voice recordings’. Tom’s was at the top of the list. You made sure your volume was up and then pressed play, aiming the speaker toward Barter who had leaned forward in his seat.

“Tom, come back here,” You said. There was a thunk as you placed the phone down somewhere. Footsteps sounded as he returned.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Alex,” Tom said.

You sniffed, you were crying. “I still don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why would you do that? You knew I loved her.”

“That’s exactly why it had to be done,” Tom said casually. “You didn’t have time in your life for anything anymore. Especially not me.”

“You could have just talked to me about it, Tom!”

“Would anything have really changed?” Tom scoffed. “Or would you have just reassured me that everything was gonna be fine?”

“We would’ve figured out something!”

“I don’t think so.”

“She was my fiancée! We were to be married.”

Tom was silent.

“You killed her!” you screamed.

“I did it for you!” Tom yelled. “For us!”

The recording ended. That all too familiar feeling of dread washed over you once more. The night flashed before your eyes. The wood stove burned along with your brother’s eyes.

That was the night everything changed. You cut him off and you hadn’t spoken to him since. Now, you’d probably have to face him in court, but it didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. Amelia’s lifeless corpse saturated your vision and all you could see was the blood dripping down her neck from her slit throat. The horror forever etched on her face and in her sapphire eyes. The betrayal. If nothing else, you had to do it for her. If anyone deserved to die, it should’ve been you. Amelia was the kindest person you’d ever met. You were sure heaven had gained an angel, but that didn’t stop you from missing her.

You pocketed your phone and looked expectantly at Barter who had leaned back in his seat. “Well,” Barter began. “I can’t say I didn’t suspect your brother, but he certainly wasn’t at the top of my list. Do you have his contact information?”

You handed him a sticky note with Tom’s address and phone number. You wanted this over as quickly and efficiently as Tom wanted Amelia dead. You shuddered. Barter took the note and gave it a quick glance before training his eyes back on you. “Thank you,” he said. “Do you feel safe to return home?”

You bit your lip. You hadn’t really thought about that. When Tom found out you’d finally turned him in, what would he do? Would he come after you? You weren’t sure how he’d react anymore. You used to know him so well. Barter took your silence as a no.

“You can stay at the station until we apprehend him if you’d like,” he offered. You nodded. Better to be safe than sorry.

-

You scrolled through Facebook for what felt like hours before your bladder started to ache. You knew you’d had to pee for a while now, but were terrified that you’d see him in the hallway. You uncrossed your legs and stood. You weren’t about to soil your pants. You weren’t that big of a coward. You took a deep breath and peeked out the door. Clear. You slid outside and went across the hall into the washroom. Calming your breathing, you adjusted your mangled hair in the mirror and made your way back to your sanctuary. Just as you were about to open the door, there he was. Suddenly, you couldn’t move. Your shoes remained stuck to the concrete, as if they were glued.

Tom entered the station, wrists in handcuffs behind his back. Detective Barter and another officer were guiding him inside. His eyes were bloodshot and his clothes were filthy, as if he’d rolled in a pile of dirt. You wondered where he’d been. It was a while before he looked up. Before his eyes met yours. A knot formed in your stomach. He didn’t look like your brother. He looked like a criminal. He was a criminal. He furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw. You could practically feel the anger emanating from him.

Your feet finally began to shuffle toward the door as he neared, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Once he was in earshot you somehow spoke. “I’m sorry,” you said. His gaze softened, but only for a moment. When his features hardened again they almost appeared strained. 

“Screw you, Alex,” he replied. Tom spit on the floor beside your feet before being hauled off further down the hall, the officer’s grip tightening around his arm.

You breathed a sigh of relief once he was out of sight. This was it. You could go home now. It was done. You had turned your brother in. Sent him to prison. You could breathe. You could live. And maybe, you could come to love again.

End.