I was watching when my brother died.
Most people don’t even think he’s dead now. But I’m not talking about now. I’m talking about four years ago when we ran out of gas and had to walk five blocks to find a station. I’m talking about the people that began following us like hyenas scenting weak prey, trailing behind us and then driving us into a lonely alley.
I’m talking about my brother dying to save me, and what followed after.
My brother was ten years older than me and where I’d just graduated college, he’d worked as a plumber’s apprentice since he was sixteen and for himself since he was twenty. He had a wife and two kids, a full-time job, and a real, adult life that seemed alien to me at the time. And when I’d asked him for some work while I built up money for grad school, he’d looked skeptical at first.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love me or trust me—in many ways, he was my best friend. But he still saw me as a kid too, despite the fact he’d been doing that work since he was six years younger than me and had a guy working for him that had just graduated high school. So he put me off the first time I mentioned it, telling me he’d be glad to help with some money if he could, but he figured I’d be happier finding a job in an office somewhere, or something connected to what I was going to study…was it art history?
Comparative literature, I corrected, adding that was just a potential focus, as I was wondering if I shouldn’t find something that was more…well, marketable. Erik grinned at me and said that might be a good idea. Either way, he wasn’t sure I’d be happy doing what he did. At the time I let it drop, but a couple of days later I asked again, and this time he relented.
It had actually gone surprisingly well. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was willing to learn and Erik was a good teacher. A month in and I was able to do basic stuff without him having to tell me or explain it, and he actually mentioned me doing small jobs by myself before long. That was while we sat outside Eleanor Buckley’s house, waiting for her to come home from some doctor’s appointment.
Erik said Buckley was elderly with lots of health problems, and when a frozen pipe had burst early that morning, she’d managed to turn off the water before calling us, but couldn’t wait for us to get there or she’d miss her appointment, which according to her, she could not miss. She said she’d be back by four, but that wound up becoming five-thirty, and by the time we got done and headed back to the car, it was well-past sundown.
It was all my fault. I should’ve paid more attention to the gas, but I hadn’t known we were going to be sitting in the cold with it running for almost two hours, and when we first got back in, I was tired and distracted. We made it less than two miles before the car sputtered and died in the middle of a part of town I had barely ever seen before our trip that day.
I cursed and apologized, but Erik just shrugged, saying it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t come out that way often himself, but he was pretty sure there was a gas station a few blocks over. When I offered to go by myself, he just looked at me and shook his head. Told me it wasn’t the worst part of town but it wasn’t the best either, and people were less apt to mess with two guys instead of just one.
Besides, he said he’d need to see landmarks to guide us to the station even if his memory was correct. Even if it wasn’t, we could just call one of his other guys and get them to bring us out gas when they had time, though he’d rather not call them if we didn’t have to. Still irritated with myself and embarrassed, I didn’t argue. Sure, walking in a strange part of town after dark wasn’t ideal, but it was my fault we were stuck out there, and what exactly did I think was going to happen? Besides—and I hated the thought even as I had it—nobody was going to bother me with Erik around. Grimacing, I zipped up my coat and joined him out in the cold.
We had only walked a couple of blocks when I first noticed people behind us. Just an older man at first, and then a younger woman fell into step beside him. Nothing that unusual about that, of course, and they certainly didn’t look like muggers, but…I caught movement across the street and saw a teenage boy keeping pace with us on the far sidewalk. As I glanced in his direction, I caught him staring at us for a moment before he looked away.
“Erik?” I glanced over at him and saw his jaw was tight and his eyes were hard.
“Yeah?”
“I…I know this is going to sound dumb, but I kinda think we’re being followed.”
I expected him to laugh or make fun of me, but instead his jaw flexed as he gave a small nod.
“It’s not dumb. I think we are too. I don’t get why though. There’s another one.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he said the last, the wire of fear running through it piercing my gut as I followed his gaze. An older woman had come from somewhere, maybe an alley on the far side of the street, and was now walking just behind the teenage boy while periodically stealing glances in our direction.
“Fuck. Should we call the cops?”
Erik seemed to consider my question before shaking his head. “No, they haven’t done anything. And it may just be a coincidence.”
I let out a shuddering breath. “But they’re watching us. I can tell.”
Lips thin, he nodded. “I know. Let’s just walk faster for now. I think it’s three or four more blocks over.”
We picked up our pace, our quicker, lengthening slides warming my chest and legs even as my face grew colder as it pushed through the frigid nighttime air. We weren’t running, not quite, but our speed had doubled, and as we went faster, so did they. There were five of them now, then six. Not saying or doing anything really, just following faster and faster as my heart began to hammer with exertion and fear.
“Oh shit. There’s two more coming toward us.”
He was right. Ahead of us on the sidewalk, two men Erik’s size or larger were coming towards us. They looked normal enough—one was bundled in a heavy winter coat and looked to be in his fifties while the other was younger and wore a hooded sweatshirt with his hands buried in a front pocket. Just like everyone else, they weren’t really doing anything but walking, but just like everyone else, they were walking towards us. And while they were still too far away to see their faces clearly in the dim light from the streetlamps, I felt sure they were staring at us as they drew nearer. I almost let out a scream when Erik grabbed my arm and pulled me down a side street. He began moving faster, and I started awkwardly walk-jogging to avoid being dragged. Puffing out a breath, I glanced up at him.
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“I think so. I’ve never been down this way, but it should cut over to the main street and put us closer to the gas station. Besides, being off the main street will let us know if they’re actually following us or we’re just being a couple of pus…fuck me.” His face paled as he looked ahead of us, and then I saw why. Three more people were standing in front of us, blocking the path forward. We slowed to a stop, and turning to look behind us, I saw that the main street was now blocked by the eight people we’d been trying to get away from. We were trapped.
“Listen! Listen!” Erik’s voice was a shaky, sibilant whisper shot through with anger and fear. “There’s a fence beside you. The door is chained, but I can boost you over. We just have to be fast.”
I was already shaking my head, and in my peripheral vision I could see the groups at both ends of the street slowly coming closer to where they would meet us in the middle. “I’m not leaving you. We can just run past them.”
My brother’s voice was more gentle this time, more calm. “We wouldn’t make it. If they want to, they’ll be able to run us down.” When I went to argue again, he gave my arm a squeeze. “I’ll be up right after you. We’ll get over before the fuckers can stop us. But we have to do it now. Go!”
He shoved me toward the fence, and any idea of arguing further, wasting more time, died when I saw the strangers start walking faster from both directions. Curling my fingers into the chain link, I began to climb, my boots sliding for purchase as my progress toward the top began to slow down. But just then Erik was underneath me, shoving me up with such speed and force that I barely caught the top of the fence at all before going past it, the jagged top ripping my palms as I scrabbled over.
I had the thought of waiting at the top and helping Erik over, but it was already too late—the crowd had reached him, slamming him into the fence and shaking me free from my perch. I landed on the wet, broken asphalt on the other side, air exploding from my lungs as pain shot across my back and ribs. Gasping for breath, I rolled over and looked back through the fence as Erik began to scream.
“Get off! Get off me, you fucks! Steve, get out of here! Get out and call the cops on these…” His words were cut off as one of them—the teenaged boy, slugged him across the mouth. The two bigger men were holding Erik’s arms, but he was still struggling to get free and fight them.
“Hold him down. Let’s not waste anymore time with this.”
This was the voice of the older man, the first one to follow us. The voice was deep and hoarse, with a clipped cadence that made every word seem to die prematurely in the air. The others immediately began fighting for purchase on Erik, dragging him to the ground and holding him tightly against the street as the old man approached. At first his eyes were on Erik, but then he turned, long-grey hair only partially obscuring dark, glittering eyes that studied me. A thin line of blood ran down from the corner of his left eye, a crimson thread woven into the corner of his mouth like a puppet string pulling his face into a crooked, ghastly smile. His voice was softer when he spoke to me.
“Wait for us there. We may need you too, and it will be easier than running.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned back to my brother. Erik was still trying to fight, but it was useless. They had him held tight, his head fixed still and his left eye stretched wide by the long-fingered woman I’d first seen walking with the teenage boy. The man fell to his knees and crawled on top of Erik, ignoring his screams and my own as he partially straddled my brother and pressed his bloody eye against Erik’s.
My brother’s scream grew suddenly more shrill and then he felt silent. I continued to yell and beat on the chain link, but I never moved to climb back over. I can rationalize it, tell myself it would have done no good, but it doesn’t stop me from hating myself, especially now. Erik gave a spasming shudder, then a second, and then the man fell over, rolling away from him. His eyes were wide and staring, and my first thought was that this man had somehow died in the middle of attacking my brother, and good riddance and maybe they’d all leave him alone now, but I needed to call and…I started digging out my phone when the younger woman climbed atop Erik, pressing her eye against his own crimson-smeared socket.
I stared out at them, mouth slack. What were they doing?
Erik gave a smaller shudder, and then the woman collapsed against him. The next one, one of the large men, shoved her aside roughly as he took her place. I caught a glimpse of my brother, and he still looked alive, but he wasn’t moving or making a sound. Only staring blankly up into the patch of night sky overhead. I think I was screaming again at this point, but I don’t remember what I was saying or that it matters. What stood out to me was the moment a few of them turned and looked at me again.
Then all of them that were still alive, even the man pressing his face to Erik’s, began to laugh.
I don’t remember everything, but I know I ran then—ran until I found my way to an open bus station and hid in the bathroom while I called 911. It took a couple of minutes of me shaking and crying as I tried to explain where I was, where Erik might be, but they finally said they’d send someone over. Twenty minutes later I was in the back of a patrol car as I tried to lead them back to the street where I’d left my brother. To my surprise, I found our way back with ease. But when we arrived, there was nothing there. No Erik, no mob, no dead bodies littering the ground like empty soda cans. Nothing.
They started thinking I might be crazy at that point, but I’d already called Erik’s wife Zoe, and by the time we got back to the bus station, she was there. She vouched for me and the fact that me and Erik worked together, and her fear and insistence compelled the cops in a way my frantic jabbering hadn’t. She’d brought the kids with her, and I rode with them to the station for me to be interviewed. Once we were driving, Zoe looked over at me and mouthed a question.
“Is he still alive?”
Glancing toward their two little girls in the back, I gave a small nod as I fought back a fresh bout of tears. “Last I saw.”
Her own eyes glistening, she nodded and looked back out at the road.
They talked to us for a couple of hours and then we were released. Two patrol cars had canvassed the area where we’d been attacked, but there’d been no sign of anything yet. They promised to keep looking, but I wasn’t hopeful. I’d been honest with them about what had happened, and I knew they didn’t believe me. Probably thought I’d done something to him, though they had no proof to back that up.
Still, the thought stayed with me, and combined with the guilt at leaving Erik behind, I wound up following Zoe back home after the cops dropped me off with some gas at my car. I wanted her to know I wasn’t to blame for him disappearing, and that no matter what, I wouldn’t stop helping her find him again. She’d gotten the girls back to their house about fifteen minutes before me, and by the time I turned into their driveway, she was already calling me on the phone. Looking out, I saw her running from the front door as I came to a stop. When I opened the door, she was already talking.
“He was here! He was just here right before we got back!”
She showed me the video. It was from one of their indoor cameras, and it showed Erik walking in about 9:30 and moving out of frame like he was heading upstairs. About ten minutes later, he walks back out carrying a suitcase and a duffle bag and is never seen again.
We showed the police, of course, and they agreed the video was clearly from that night during a period when we were all at the police station. They also, however, said that was proof that he was okay from the “attack”, and that whatever was going on with him, there was no sign of him being hurt or under duress in the video. The detective never came out and said it, but it was clear that while they didn’t believe my version of events, they considered the matter closed unless something else popped up.
It never did. We looked for him for weeks, but it never went anywhere. His phone had been turned off the night of the attack, and he hadn’t used any cards or accessed anything that could be used to track him. Zoe would alternate between seeming grateful for my help and being sullen and suspicious, and two months after we lost him, we had a big fight where she accused me of lying. Of knowing where he was, either because I was covering for him or I’d done something to him.
I left, and after that, we still talked occasionally, but it was different. More strained and fragile and bruised. Things have only started to get more normal between us in the last few months actually, and we’ve been talking about me flying back during spring vacation this year if I had time to take a break from school.
But then two nights ago, I got word that Zoe and my nieces had been murdered.
They were found in their living room, hands and feet tied with rope and stretched out to thick nails that had been hammered into the floor. Their backs were bare and…cut open. It took three more calls and some threats before a detective, the same one that had worked my brother’s disappearance, in fact, told me a bit more. Said their backs had all been cut the same. Three clean lines like someone was making a rectangle and quit early. That’s when I broke in, asking a question I didn’t understand even as I said it.
“Did it look like a door?”
A pause and then: “Huh. Yeah, it does. God, it really does.” Another pause and then, “Have you heard from or seen your brother?”
“No, not since he disappeared four years ago. Why, do you think he’s connected to this?”
“Not sure yet. Still getting all the evidence together, you know? But I may want to talk further with you down the line. And to make sure I’ve got it down right, you said that last night you were in Sacramento at the college library until ten?”
“Yeah, um, yeah.”
“Good enough. Talk to you soon.”
I’m packing tonight to fly out for the funerals tomorrow. Even after two days, none of it seems real. The world feels strange and fragile, and my mind is a mushy, poisonous soup of fear and guilt and dread. Because I feel responsible for it all. I know logically that’s not true, but it doesn’t change the fact that I remember what happened to Erik, and I think a part of me has always known that the thing on that video wasn’t reall—
My front doorbell just rang.
I stop packing and go to it, heart already slamming against my ribs as I lean forward to look out the peephole. It’s then that it stops, caught in the moment of perfect stillness when I see my brother through the glass. There’s another moment, brief and terrible, where I’m reaching for the knob to open the door. Not because I don’t understand something wrong and deadly is at my front door, but because I do. Because I do and I think maybe I deserve some of what my brother got the night I abandoned him.
But I stop myself, and despite myself, I call the thing by my brother’s name.
“Erik, what are you doing here?”
He turns slightly as he smiles, and I can see a bead of blood caked at the corner of his left eye.
“Coming to visit my brother. Let me in.”
Swallowing, I quietly check that the deadbolt is engaged. “I don’t think so. Where have you been?”
His face is hard when he laughs. “Been around. You know. Here and there. Visiting loved ones.”
I slam my fist into the door. “Did you do it? Did you fucking kill them?”
Erik’s face twitches for a moment and then he shrugs. “We have things to do. Places to go. Thought they might be what we needed, but I guess not.” He leers into the fisheye lens of the peephole. “I’d try you, but we need you for something else.” The smile falls away as quick as it came. “Invite me in. I need you to invite us in.”
“I’m not inviting you in, you fucking monster. I’m calling the cops.”
Outside, he shrugs. “That’s all right. We’re patient. The Crooked Way provides. And you can’t stay in there forever can you?” The thing snickered. “No, I think I’ll get to hug my little bro again real soon.”
The cops just left a few minutes ago. No sign of Erik, of course, but they took it seriously once I told them about my sister-in-law and nieces. I told them I’m flying back home in the morning, and they said that was probably a good thing. Get out of town for a bit, throw him off my trail. I wanted to point out it wouldn’t be hard to guess where I was going, but it doesn’t matter. I have to go either way. I have to do right by them in this small way at least.
I write this last sitting in the bathroom of Terminal D at the airport. It reminds me of hiding scared in the bus station bathroom that night, though this bathroom is much larger and cleaner and better-lit. And I’m even more terrified.
It started as soon as I got past the metal detector. I was looking everywhere for Erik, of which there was no sign. But then I started noticing other people. Glancing my way. Staring. Following me. I finally ducked into this bathroom thinking I’d let them pass on by. When I started to leave the bathroom a few minutes later, they were all outside waiting, sitting and standing around like they were waiting to board.
Maybe they are.
I’m sending this to you, Zoe’s little sister, in the hopes it’ll help you even if it doesn’t help me. I know you don’t know me well, but I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened, and I wish I had done more to…
They’ve gotten tired of waiting. The door opened and I heard them come filing in. I can see some of their shoes under the stall. I can hear them breathing in the quiet of the room--short, quick exhalations of excitement and anticipation.
Sending this now.
If Erik or me come to your door, please…
Comments