For his twelfth birthday, Ethan gave Greg an electric guitar. He had already shown a talent for music, learning the piano, trumpet, saxophone, and clarinet easily. He also had an angelic singing voice which would be spectacular when it matured. Greg loved the guitar, different from his other instruments, capable of creating strange new music. Ethan loved seeing Greg happy, even if it was only when they were alone. Ethan often took Greg to his girlfriend's house to hang around and play his guitar without disturbing their father. Ethan even wondered sometimes if he was only with his girlfriend to get Greg out of the house. He didn't really like her. One afternoon, when the three were in Hattie's sitting room, Greg suddenly asked
"Ethan, are you okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You're bleeding from your ear" Greg said, biting his lip in what had developed as a nervous habit. Ethan put his hand to his ear and felt the warm liquid trickling down the side of his neck. Hattie screamed and grabbed the phone to call an ambulance.
"It's okay"
"No its not!" Hattie and Greg shouted in unison. Hattie spoke to the hospital and told them her address. Before she had got off the phone, Ethan had begun to shake in a seizure. Greg tried to hold his head away from the furniture, like it said in his books. The sixteen year old was chocking on the froth spilling from his mouth. Hattie let out a dramatic, high pitched wail and shut herself in the bathroom. Greg sat with his brother until the ambulance came then rode in the back, holding his hand. Ethan was slipping in and out of consciousness, murmuring Greg's name over and over.
"Look after Greg" he mumbled "don't hurt him"
Ethan spiked a fever in the night. The little family were gathered around his bed and he slipped quietly away. Ethan House died the same day he displayed symptoms. No one even knew what was wrong.
Blythe, John and Greg were made to go home. They were told to collect their son, their brother, the next day.
"It was your fault" John stood in his youngest son's room, the boy lying sobbing and shaking on the floor.
"I tried to save him!"
"Well you didn't! You didn't save my son! You are a worthless little sh*t, Gregory! You are a cowardly, horrible murderer and you're lucky I don't report you to the police." John kicked his son hard in the back, making Greg arch his spine to minimise the blow. He couldn't stop crying. Ethan would never save him again. John didn't leave his son's room for half an hour, and even Blythe, ever oblivious, couldn't ignore Greg's screams. Eventually, the house went totally silent, and John House came downstairs to read his paper. There was blood across his right knuckle. Blythe cried.
Greg was not allowed out of his room for five days. He didn't get any food throughout the week. When John House finally opened the door, the first thing he saw was a small figure curled up near the bed, shivering.
"Stand up Gregory" he said, as though hiding concern under an order. The boy struggled to pull himself up on the bed. "I brought you a sandwich. It's chicken and bacon"
"T-thank you" Greg stammered. His hair was crusted with dried blood, his face covered in bruises and half healed cuts. The bruises extended down his front and back. At least one of his ribs was smashed up. John stepped towards him, his hand extended to give him the sandwich. Greg flinched away. John bit the inside of his lip. Maybe he had gone too far.
"Do you need a doctor?"
"N-no. I never, ever want to go back to a hospital"
"Are you seriously hurt?" John asked. Greg didn't answer, short of breath after his small speech. He ate the sandwich slowly, navigating around his swollen lip. "listen, you need to tell me if you need medical attention"
"P-please, leave me alone" Greg whispered. John left the room, with a glance back at his son. He didn't lock the door.
Greg at on his bed, wincing as he moved his body. It was his fault Ethan died. He was to blame, and his father's punishment was correct. It was the only logical thing that Greg could see.
