4. Two
Two
Creed
The further I get down the stairs, the more I come to terms with telling my brother about our unexpected guest. With past moves, I’ve had to alert him of a rat here, a cockroach there, but an entire human is uncharted territory.
Who knew that after years of isolation, I’d finally come face to face with another person in an old abandoned house?
The adrenaline ebbs, logic replacing it. An influx of questions overwhelm my mind as I jog down the winding halls. How long has she been in there? What’s her name? How old is she? What happens if Cecil makes her leave? Does she have anyone looking for her? A family?
Distracted by my racing thoughts, I don’t realize I’ve made it back to the main level of the house until I see Cecil out the front window.
With the kitchen to my right, I consider taking her food first, but what if she has a hidden weapon?
My heartbeat stutters, torn between the excitement of meeting someone for the first time in years and the macabre reality of our situation.
Mind made up, I step onto the porch, peering across the fields.
The air nips at my skin, warning that winter’s frosted touch is closing in. I fill my lungs until they ache, welcoming the earthy scent of the pond just ahead. I’ll need to snort bleach to get that stench out of my nose.
How the hell has she been living up there?
The goosebumps along my skin serve as a reminder of how low the temperatures drop at night. Cecil’s been working on the generator to get the electricity and well functioning again. There’s no telling how long she’s been surviving without heat, or light, or running water.
And I thought our shoebox apartment was bad.
My brother doesn’t notice my arrival as he moves around the side of the house, hunched over in search of something. I smack the siding in quick succession. He doesn’t turn to look at me, but raises his index finger. Unfortunately, this isn’t the kind of situation where holding on is an option.
Determined to get his attention, I begin using both hands. He continues walking away. Bastard.
“Hey!” I don’t often use my voice, but Cecil instantly whips around to look at me. Nostrils flared, he fixes me in the crosshairs of his glower.
His lips form a grumbled "Jesus". Then,
“What?” he signs, squinting as he studies me.
I hesitate before lifting my hands. “There’s a girl.” Okay, not really how I thought I was going to break the news, but you’re supposed to rip off a bandaid, right?
His jaw tenses. “What do you mean?”
I’m not scared of my brother, but I gulp. Unsure of how to answer without giving him an aneurysm, I falter.
Slowly, I raise my hand and point to the tiny octagon window. From down here, it doesn’t even look like it would go anywhere. “Up there.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No,” I give him my most sincere look. “There is a girl locked in the attic and she needs help.”
All at once my brother goes from annoyed to murderous. Maybe keeping her a secret wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He rushes past me, stopping when he reaches the front door to whirl back around.
“Did she see you!?”
“It’s just a girl. She’s sick, not a threat.” I try, and fail, to tame the beast that is my brother. Today doesn’t really feel like my lucky day. Maybe we can still sell the freaky painting?
His mouth is moving wildly now, an indication that he is indeed losing his shit. I only catch glimpses of words, most of which are curses.
“Stay here,” he orders, making his way into the house.
I lunge forward and grab his forearm, immediately backing off when he turns on me.
“You can’t run up there… like this,” I motion at him, mimicking his crazy eyes. “She’ll be scared of you.”
Cecil tosses his head back and laughs. “She should be. Do you have any idea how many people there are that work for the Brothers of Divinity? She could already be on her way back to tell them she found a Damned!”
No, I don’t have any idea, because he won’t tell me anything. Not how we got this house, not where he goes everyday, and definitely not anything about the Brothers.
My lips quirk up and I pull the key from my pocket, handing it to him.
“No, she can’t. I locked her in there when I left.”
If he’s impressed by my decision making skills, he doesn’t show it.
“Let me help. She’s already seen me.” My palm makes continuous circles on my chest as I plead.
He’s tugging at his hair now, sliding one palm down his face. Tell tale signs that I just got my way. After a moment, he jabs a finger in my direction. I square my shoulders.
“Stay behind me and do not involve yourself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course,” I nod ardently.
I understand, but I can’t promise I’ll do as I’m told. The likelihood of me intervening is high considering his ever growing hostility. Neither of us have outstanding people skills, but he’s a far bigger asshole.
Side stepping, he allows me to lead the way. I send up prayers to whoever will listen that this girl is as innocent as I hope.
My brother takes after our father in a lot of ways, but most of all in the biting personality.
Cecil got Dad’s height, wide shoulders, wavy hair.
There was never a question that they were related when they were in a room together.
If you sat down and spoke with them, it was like they shared a mind.
No nonsense kind of guys. Not one for small talk, or niceties—our dad passed it all down to Cecil. Well, most things.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more their opposite.
Where Cecil is broad, I’m lean. His hair’s nearly black, mine is auburn.
I’ve got rosy cheeks and freckles, he’s got a harsh jaw and olive skin.
The only thing we share is our father’s green eyes.
Even then, you could never tell we’re brothers.
Despite that, Cecil has been more of a parent to me than our actual father. And our moms? Neither of them wanted anything to do with us. We were merely a lapse in judgment and an unfortunate nine months that they couldn’t wait to forget.
Our dad’s standards for women must have settled far below sea level.
We approach the painting, still illuminated by the closet light, and Cecil’s nose scrunches. “Weird.”
My thoughts exactly.
He ducks into the closet, searching for the hidden door.
I wave my hand in his peripheral to capture his attention. “No,” I sign. “It’s behind here.”
Taking his hand, I bring it to the keyhole in the frame. His face is mostly shadowed, but I see him mutter something before biting the inside of his cheek.
Once the door has swung open, Cecil steps ahead of me. For once, I don’t complain when my brother takes the lead.
Despite my nerves, I’m hot on his heels, craning my neck to see around him.
Maybe she’ll be more calm now that she knows I want to help her.
Or maybe she has a family of a dozen more crazy people hiding behind the insulation.
The thought makes my stomach roll, and the growing stench is only aiding in my nausea.
Cecil halts on the landing, and I bump into his back. I roll onto the balls of my feet to see over his shoulder. Oh, fuck, why?
Any hope I had for a peaceful meeting is obliterated. Standing in front of the window, she grips a chunk of glass. The mirror in the corner has been smashed and shards glitter on the floor, a dozen reflections of her staring back at us. There’s blood on her feet.
Her eyes are wild once more, the new weapon held out in front of her same as the hairbrush, but much more daunting. If I wasn’t about to puke from anxiety, I’d think she’s clever.
“She’s scared,” I say, but Cecil doesn’t spare me a backwards glance before he’s across the room.
The girl stumbles back until she’s flush against the wall.
Cecil reaches for her throat with one hand and her wrist with the other.
She doesn’t try to stab him, only shakes her head back and forth.
When the mirror piece falls to her feet, her eyes turn on me.
I’m paralyzed with what I see. Panic. Betrayal.
I bring my hands up.
“Calm down.”
Easier said than done, I’m sure, with a 6’3 stranger holding you by your neck and screaming in your face.
The veins in his neck bulge while he accosts the girl. All she manages to do is squeeze her eyes shut and tuck her lips into her mouth, continuing to shake her head against his grip.
My brother isn’t looking at me, but I sign anyway. “You’re hurting her. Let go. She’s weak. Cecil. Please. Cecil!”
I’m preparing to jump on his back when she gets eerily still, her knees buckling. Cecil frowns and pulls his hand away. Her face hits the floorboards.
Without a second thought, I slam the palm of my hand into his shoulder. There’s a brief moment where guilt wrinkles his forehead, but he’s quick to smooth it away.
“What did you do!?”
Without waiting to see his response, I crouch beside her. If she’s dead, I’ll never forgive him.
As carefully as I can, I slip my hands beneath her body and turn her onto her back. Little nicks mar her cheeks from the slivers of glass, her lips are raw, and a goose egg grows from her forehead.
I haven’t got a clue on first aid, but I press a palm to her chest. My whole body trembles, muscles tight with anxiety. Finally, her lungs expand on a deep inhale, and I sigh. Thank the Lord, or whatever.
My brother stands with his arms crossed, staring out the window. He must be lost in thought, because he doesn’t notice what I’m doing until I’m headed towards the door. His angry stomps buzz beneath me and I scowl.
“Put her down.” His signs are forceful, his lips moving along with them. Sometimes, I think myself lucky for not being subjected to all of his hollering.
My hands are too full, literally, to respond so I simply shake my head and continue past him.
“What’s your plan, Creed? We cannot trust this… crazy woman.”
I don’t bother to see what else he says, choosing instead to make my way down the steps. She doesn’t weigh a thing, but her long limbs keep hitting the walls. There’s enough bruises and scrapes on her already, I’m careful not to add another.
On the way down, I notice the grooves worn into each wooden step. Someone has made this trek frequently over the years. How many of those footsteps were her own? As much as I don’t want to know the answer, my morbid curiosities will have me asking the moment she’s able to answer.
There’s no doubt in my mind that my brother is shouting the whole way down. I can practically feel his anger surrounding me as he trails me. Oddly enough, he doesn’t try to physically stop me, though we both know he easily could. Maybe he does feel guilty.
I’m not dumb enough to think I’ll get away with this for long. As soon as I’m done with my act of defiance, Cecil will take the reins and remind me of my place. I wouldn’t be surprised if he locked me in the attic for going against him.
Once, when I was a kid, I snuck out of our apartment window.
Every summer, I’d peek out the curtains at night and watch other children catch fireflies.
I was forbidden to go outside without my brother, and he didn’t think catching bugs in a jar was worth the risk of being seen.
So, one night, I defied him and ran across the street.
It wasn’t even a full minute later that he came barreling over and scooped me up.
Cecil handcuffed us together for 24 hours just to prove a point.
My punishment will have to wait, because I’m going to find somewhere safe for this little hellion and clean her up.
Even if her appearance doesn’t bother her, it bothers me.
And as I peer down at the unconscious girl in my arms, I remember what Cecil told me all those years ago, while I cried and pleaded.
“You might think the firefly is safe in that jar, but eventually it will run out of air. They deserve freedom as much as you and I.”