I opened the door.
Ream was my twin. We’d been through hell together and even though I tried to hide it, the second he saw my face, he knew. Our mother had the same look. He grabbed hold of my arm, yanked up the sleeve of my nightgown and ran his finger over the track marks. “Haven?” He let my arm go then cupped my head, thumbs slowly stroking back and forth. “Angel, what are you doing? Fuck.”
I didn’t say anything mostly because I was still fucked up and couldn’t, but there was also the fear of Ream discovering Gerard in the closet. My legs buckled and Ream picked me up and carried me to the bed.
“Why? Jesus, why?” Ream was stubborn, always had been and it was probably why he survived what he did in the basement. “Who did this? Who gave you the drugs?” His voice hardened. “Damn it, what is going on with you?” He refused to stop, his voice getting louder and I heard the rage in it. “Tell. Me.”
I just wanted to sleep. To curl up and go away, make Gerard go away, everything to go away.
“Who?” He came to his feet when I didn’t say anything and that was when he went ballistic. It terrified me. I’d never seen him lose control like that, kicking the old wooden chair in the corner of the room so hard the two front legs busted. He tore a painting down from the wall and put his knee through it. It was one we found in the back alley that had yellow staining on it. But it was a picture of a little girl with a palomino horse nose to nose.
My eyes kept going to the gun on the dresser, Gerard’s gun. Oh God, Ream was going to see it any second and when he did, he’d freak even worse. I had one choice—tell him now while Gerard didn’t have a gun or an advantage.
I reached out my hand and Ream stopped pacing and came over to the side of the bed. He knelt on one knee and I urged him closer. “Please, you have to stay quiet. Please,” I whispered, then said, while raising my voice so Gerard would hear me, “You used to sing to me.” He scowled, but didn’t say anything. I had to make sure Gerard didn’t catch on to what I was saying.
“Remember where you sang to me?”
He opened his mouth to answer and I put my finger over it. His eyes darted to the closet and I nodded. My head spun and it took a second before I could focus again and continue. “For months . . .” His eyes widened and I knew he understood that whoever was in the closet, had been fucking with me for months. Ream and I often finished one another’s sentences; he knew where I was taking this.
“Like Mom.”
He put his head in his hands. He knew. Our mother would get high then have sex with whoever was at the house. Most of the time I never saw who the men were as I stayed hidden.
I nodded to the closet then to the dresser where the gun lay. “I can do it,” I whispered. “You have to leave. Olaf will find you and kill you if you do it.”
Olaf hated Ream. I wasn’t sure why, maybe because he saw the threat in Ream. But this was our only chance. The path we were on had changed and the only way out was to kill Gerard. But I had to be the one to do it, not Ream. I’d never let him carry that with him.
But my brother dove for the closet like he was flying through the air, and there was no gravity. “You disgusting piece of filth. I’ll kill you.”
Gerard moved fast for his size as he ducked under Ream’s fist then kicked out, sending Ream crashing into the hangers, then to the floor. Gerard’s feet thudded like drums across the bedroom and I knew where he was headed.
“Ream, the gun.”
“She’s worthless, just like you are. Garbage.” Gerard had bulk, but it was fat bulk, and Ream was lean and toned, although he was only sixteen and still lanky. I grabbed the bedpost, using it for steadiness as the dream-like euphoria mixed with the reality of what was going down. Fear churned when I saw Gerard’s intent and panic slammed into my head.
“No. No.” I scrambled from the bed and landed hard on my knees. The sensation was like I’d fallen right through the floor and bounced back up.
Gun.
Gun.
Gun.
I didn’t know if I said the words aloud, but they were screaming inside my head over and over again.
Gerard dove for the dresser, but Ream had gained his feet and was right on top of him. His fist connected with the side of Gerard’s head. His body went down like a rock and a loud thump vibrated through the room. I attempted to climb to my feet, uncertain what I was going to do, but knowing I had to move. I had to get to the gun.
“You’re dead. You’re fuckin’ dead.” Ream didn’t go for the gun that had slid off the dresser onto the floor; instead, he grabbed with both hands the solid stone statue that we had found in the trash on our way home from school a few months earlier. It was heavy, too heavy for me to lift, but Ream had carried it all the way home because I said I liked it.
“Ream!” Fear skidded into me as he raised the stone gargoyle above his head. He straddled Gerard, who was laying on the floor with his hand to his head as if dazed. The consequence of killing Gerard was death. Olaf wouldn’t allow my brother to live.
Ream’s face was a mask of red, lips tight, brows dangerously low over his piercing dark eyes. “Ream. No.” I had to be the one. This was my fault.
I crawled through the quicksand, making my way to the gun on the floor while tears streamed down my face. Ream didn’t look at me. It was as if he didn’t see anything except Gerard.
“You’re dead, kid.” Gerard tried to push to his feet.