Ch. 2 Brett
Nothing was secret in the echoing cave-like mansion they called home. Walking up the wide spiral staircase, Jameson heard the echoes of faint sobs. Passing down the empty hallway, he couldn't ignore the lump of flesh on the floor of Brett's bedroom, so he went inside and sat down on the bed.
"I just don't get it," said the floor-lump.
"What is there to get?"
"Why did she have to die? Who says? I mean, Clark was making her happy, she was fighting, even getting better. So WHY?" Jameson could only think of one answer to that question, but his mother's voice spoke in his head -
Pretend.
He decided it wasn't rational, and ignored it.
"Well, we can't always answer questions like that. But in this case, maybe the reason was Clark."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, the doctors said she was getting better... and Clark was a nurse..."
Brett twitched on the floor at the sound of his step-father's name.
"It couldn't have been him, Jameson. I'm sure he loved her. Sometimes when the doctors say words, I don't even know what they're saying, even when I do. You know?"
"Yeah man, I know..." He decided to let it go. After all, maybe the voice had a point. No one should know what Jameson thought of Clark. People thought he was crazy enough already.
"Hey, Brett - So, you know how I've been acting crazy lately?"
"You're always crazy Jameson." The floor-lump twisted around to grin at his brother.
"HA. HA. But I'm being serious here. You know, the darkness in me... I've sort of exaggerated it a little around Clark. When we got stuck with him, I hoped if I acted even more crazy, I could try and freak him out a little so he'd leave us alone. Turns out, my plan didn't work so well, and he believes me a little too much."
The thought took him back to the neighbor's cat. Jameson held it a little too hard when he was six years old. I mean, how can you hold a fuzzy, fragile, breakable little thing like a kitten in your arms, and measure your own strength accurately enough to exert just the amount of force required to play with it, which falls just under the threshold of what would break those teensy little ribs? That was when he first figured out that he wasn't afraid of things, and that he didn't care about things like Brett did.
"What're you trying to do Jameson, get yourself locked up?" By this time Brett had sat up to reveal his tear-stained face, now coursing with rage.
"No, of course not, I just wanted to - "
"Freak him out, right? You CAN'T freak him out, Jameson. What if he really finds out who you are, what you're like? You could ruin the Denmark name, Genevieve would never forgive you for giving up on yourself, and Clark is your guardian, so who knows what he could do - "
"Alright, alright! I get the point. He's making me see a psychiatrist tomorrow, so I'll try and play it cool."
"You'd better, for your sake, and mine. Remember what mom said about getting caught."
"I will."