21 | Liam
Liam
As I arrive at the house, I notice the silence that seems to have taken over.
Not a single sound. Which is starting to become a routine lately.
It makes me paranoid. My dog comes running to me as I walk into the living room, leaving his spot on the couch where he was lounging belly up, like he has no care in this world. I would love to be my dog right now.
I pet his soft fur, whispering to him as I kneel to his level and hug him.
“Buddy, you have no idea how lucky you are.” I walk toward the kitchen with him following close to my feet, almost making me trip once or twice before we reach the cabinet where his food is.
I take the large bag and pour some into his bowl before I set it down.
I refresh his water and open the back door that leads to the yard so he can do what he needs to while I investigate the suspicious silence in the house.
My dog devours his food like someone is going to take it from him while I walk out, and that puts a smile on my lips. At least someone is living the life he deserves in this house.
I make my way to the bedrooms, and I notice Nathan’s door is closed, but Mike’s is wide open, and his room is empty.
That means both guys are locked in Nate’s room.
Which is a good thing. It means they are finally back on good terms, and if Mike is up for some spicy time with his boyfriend, he is probably feeling better.
I take the opportunity to talk to Mary myself.
I want to hear what she has to say before my brother decides it’s time for her to die.
I am not a fool; even though I would love to be able to save her, I know this isn’t something that I can do.
Mike deserves his revenge, and if he feels that’s what finally seals this part of his life—if it takes just a little bit of pain away—I don’t care.
I would kill anyone for him to be happy for once, and that should mean something coming from the man who has avoided killing anyone for years.
I walk toward the basement, fishing for the key to the door as I do.
However, when I finally arrive there, I see the door wide open.
I don’t even need to ask anyone to know that my deranged brother made a spare key for every door in the house.
I already know he does this secretly in every house we live in.
It started when Nathan got mad one day and locked himself in his bedroom for three days, avoiding Mike.
Let’s just say Mike did not take it well.
Since then, he makes sure to have a way to unlock every door his boyfriend might hide behind.
I peek cautiously from the top of the stairs down into the basement, happy to see that Mary hasn’t tried to escape.
I walk down the stairs as carefully as I can to avoid alarming the two psychos hiding in Nathan’s bedroom.
I need a moment alone with the woman who apparently gave birth to me, and I would be a fool to let a creaking staircase ruin the opportunity.
When I reach the basement floor, I walk to the minifridge next to the last step and grab a water bottle, offering it to her as I approach. She takes it from my hand without looking at me.
“Thank you, Liam,” she says in a soft voice.
A voice only a mother has. It’s that comforting tone I have missed hearing from my own mother—the one who raised me, the woman who tried to protect me the best she could from my father’s anger.
She was a kind woman, unlike the woman who raised Mike. My mother truly loved her children.
What I notice most, though, is that she sounds broken and sad; I wonder if I could have done anything to help her.
If I had refused or claimed she wasn’t a good candidate for prey, maybe he would have let it go.
Maybe she would have been spared. But thinking more about this, I convince myself that he couldn’t possibly let it go.
Nate and I did everything in our power to change his mind, anyway.
And not even once did Mike consider the idea of allowing us to skip this one.
When he finds a victim, she must die. No matter what.
His mind locks in, and there’s no changing it.
“Mary, we haven’t been introduced formally.
I’m Liam,” I tell her, even though she knows my name.
Even though she just called me by my name, I find it polite to make a formal introduction.
She doesn't seem to share my beliefs, as she simply nods and doesn’t say a word in return.
I observe her as she takes a deep breath and her eyes find mine.
She smiles—a motherly smile that I have also missed, but this isn’t the woman I want to see it from.
I wish I could see my mother smile one more time. One last time.
“You were so small when you were born,” she tells me, like a mother going down memory lane about her child’s first hours in the world.
However, when you grew up in the environment I did, you know when someone is trying to manipulate you.
This woman is simply playing the mother act. I doubt any of this is truthful.
She continues talking on her own. It looks like I don’t need to say anything else; she is about to share everything she is willing to on her own.
“Mike was born first. He didn’t stop crying from the moment he got out until they took him away, but you came out right after and barely cried.
I thought something was wrong with you. They kept you away, and even though I couldn’t see, I heard whispers as they tried to help you.
Eventually, I heard your first cry, but even that was so soft and low in volume that you wouldn’t believe it came from a newborn.
” She almost sounds like a proud mother.
It would fool me if I didn’t know better.
Suddenly, her eyes find mine. They have another form of darkness, one I almost recognize.
Her words now are barely above a whisper, almost like she is hesitating, but it feels like this is something important.
“I told this to Mike already, but I want you to know as well. I never wanted to give you away. I tried. I fought to keep you. But they wouldn’t allow it. ”
Tears are falling from her eyes, and I am not sure how to react. I had so many things to tell her, and at this moment, I have nothing. I don’t wish to interrogate this woman anymore. I don’t want to ask her about her reasons for leaving us. I don’t even care that she did it.
Whatever happened, happened for a reason.
Life takes you down a path decided before you even take your first breath.
I can’t do anything to save her life, and she couldn’t do anything to save my childhood.
We are both doomed in a way, but that doesn’t change the fact that half of her tears, words, and looks are designed to make me sympathize with her.
I don’t doubt for a second that there is some truth in those words falling out of her mouth, but I know for a fact people will say anything to save themselves.
And even though this is the woman who gave birth to me, the man who saved me more than once is a few doors away, broken as ever. And he matters more.
If you think about it... Even though we have been through hell, we did come out okay in the end.
We survived, and it is safe to say we made our share of mistakes along the way.
We are not entitled to pass judgment on this poor woman.
We can’t judge anyone. Not even the devil himself. But saving her isn’t an option either.