A/N: Erm, well, I did take a class that turned out to be very time-consuming...but it ended in mid-August. It's early October. I have no decent excuse. Sorry.
A semi-recent post on SixBillionSecrets gave me pause with its relevance to this part of the story. In a way, I think it helped me connect more to this chapter, which is a good thing from a writing standpoint, but it's sad that something similar happened to someone in real life. :(
By the way, this is not the last chapter. It's just the end of "act one", so to speak.
Disclaimer: As you can tell, I'm still fixated on Jad's little story. So, obviously, I'm not him. *rimshot* ...that was terrible, I know.
A scream rent the crisp night air, bringing an abrupt halt to the crickets' nocturnal symphony. Four doors down, a champagne glass shattered on the tile floor. Lights flicked on behind coarse curtains, dotting the view with dimly glowing squares, though some were extinguished just as quickly. The faint sound of a back door creaking open - or perhaps shut - permeated the silence. The street seemed to hold its breath, unsure of what was happening and unwilling to find out.
Though quickly gagged after her initial outburst, Karen continued to thrash against her captors' grip, muffled yells escaping her throat as she was held tightly in place by four viselike hands. Beside her, Jerry had gone pale, and sat frozen in place, staring in a horrified daze at the newly troubled water, eyes unable to focus on what was happening underneath the surface.
Shock. A sharp intake of breath, instinctive, but it cost him. Coughing underwater, a vicious cycle. A scream from above. Kicking his legs - the water slowed his movements, felt like mud. His arms were pinned in place, no leeway, far too strong. His body quickly started to ache from his futile struggling. The other side of the pool, a mile away, vision obscured. Lungs, throat, mouth, nose, begging for air - none to be had - his entire world was water. The hopeless reality haunted a dim corner of his mind, but that didn't matter he needed to breathe he needed to fight to get away break the grip. Head spinning - eyes glazing over - keep moving keep trying keep pushing - look up
The last thing he saw before succumbing to the darkness, curiously clear through the undulating filter across his line of sight, was the look of horror on his brother's face, framed in the upstairs window.
Save for the occasional convulsions, the boy had stopped moving. The old man smiled, a deeply unsettling expression to all who were familiar with his ways. He knew full well his effect on his children; in fact, he reveled in the fear he inflicted, tasting its power until he was as great as Luna herself. The boy was undone, and with him went more than ten years of deceit. He would never admit it to anyone (trust was too dangerous in his position), but secretly, he was astounded at the length of time for which the two sons' existence had been thoroughly hidden.
It was good, he mused, that there was a second child. The younger had been a necessary sacrifice, a punishment of the highest order for treachery. But ingenuity like theirs was to be respected, and their legacy now lived on.
Of course, he alone knew that Ben also lived, albeit only in a state of limbo, a false world, until he was...needed.
He tucked the cartridge away and smiled to himself.
From the second-floor window, he stared down at the rippling water. Long after Ben's eyes left his, he remained frozen, unseeing, fixed on that spot where his brother had been. The reality dawned on him slowly, like an old computer just booting up. Ice spread from his chest and out through his veins. He didn't realize he was shaking until the shuddering sounds of his breathing penetrated his fog.
I...
Fighting the growing urge to vomit, he tore himself away from the window ledge and stumbled over to the bed, bracing himself on the frame. He couldn't see anything in front of him. The image of Ben's face beneath the water, one he shouldn't have been able to see from so far up, burned into his eyeballs until he could no longer tell whether they were open or shut.
...killed him...
Thinking back on his childhood, he realized he couldn't recall a time when his parents didn't seem fearful, just below the surface, haunted by some ghost only they could see. Was this what they had been so afraid of all their lives? Was this why he and Ben had always been confined to the second floor? To protect them? Well, he'd done a great job, then, ruining everything...
...it's...
As the pieces fell into place, powered by the revelation that these dangerous people had been in his life the whole time, he sank down onto his knees, brain working in overdrive despite his best efforts to stem the tide of thoughts. They had been about to escape, he realized. He had broken the charade and they were going to flee.
...my fault...
If they had been half an hour earlier, they would have made it. He wondered if they had a house lined up where they were going, or if they had planned to find one after they were safe. He wondered if they were even going to move now at all.
I killed him...it's my fault...
He didn't think he cared anymore.
