Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
Jackson
“Took you long enough,” Jamison steps away from the door and into the room. He glances down at what remains of his minion. “I was becoming bored waiting on you.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “Desperate actions, brother. First, you disturbed the graves of our parents, then resorted to bullying a hotel clerk.” I laugh. “Like that boy had a chance of killing me.”
Jamison holds up a hand. “We both know I didn’t give a shit about the clerk. Perkins wanted his girl, and I thought…” He smirks. “If he killed you, that’s less work for me.”
“And when that didn’t work, you naturally went after my girl…
” I force myself to swallow down another one of her screams. The one that echoed through the woods and broke me right then and there.
She is not there now. You’ve heard her here.
I shake my head, demanding my mind to focus and my body to stay put.
Rescuing her now will only put her in more danger later.
“Let’s shift your focus back to where it belongs.
” He shrugs, casually glancing over at the remains.
“I figured you would want to see them in person. Get closure.” He motions all around, at nothing in particular.
“All that bullshit. How else was I supposed to get you here? This is all because of you.”
Just hearing his nonchalant voice is enough to bring me close to the edge. “I didn’t cause this. You did, demented fuck.” I force myself to breathe. He’s not in the position I want to make my plan work. Not yet. “You knew I would come back. There was no need to do anything else but wait.”
Jamison walks over to the bones of our father. “I’m no good at that. We both know it. Besides, I miss them too.”
“Horseshit.”
A laugh bursts through his lips, the eerie sound filling the room.
“You’re right. I couldn’t give a fuck.” He leans closer, which causes the candles to illuminate his face.
“Always riding my ass and keeping me from my passions.” He slips a finger through the bones of our father’s rib cage and strokes it.
My shoulders tense. “Your passions included tormenting me, animals, and/or anyone you could get your hands on.”
“So?” He turns to face me, eyes dark. “How many people have you harmed even before your adventure to get to me? How many have you killed?”
“How many dead bodies have you fucked?” I had her rumors, but judging by his now clenched jaw, they are true. “Since we are comparing crimes.”
He slowly releases his hand away from our father, keeping his eyes locked on me. “Necrophilia is not a crime. They feel nothing.”
I maintain eye contact and catch the exact moment Jamison’s eyes turn cold.
His pupils dilate as a film forms around them.
The whole effect is nothing more than his way of creating an illusion that he also feels nothing.
It’s something he’s done since we were boys.
“Like you?” I spit out the loaded question.
“I feel plenty of things. Like my dick pulsing inside those corpses.”
“That’s not what I meant, motherfucker.”
He turns his attention to our mother. “She died quickly, if that helps any,” Jamison peers over her, eyes locked at what’s left of her. “One quick slash across the neck.” A smile slips through his fake anguish. “Blood everywhere. I didn’t plan it, but that was the first time I killed that way.”
Fresh adrenaline releases itself throughout my body.
My heart feels trapped within my rib cage as it forces its way out.
I squeeze my hands so tight that it causes the thorns to slip further into my fingers.
He made her watch as he murdered our father before slicing her neck practically in two.
That’s hardly what I call a quick and torture less death.
“I know all the details. That happens when people think it’s you who did it.
” I add while my feet inch closer to him.
Jamison waves a finger at me. “It’s like you forget everything Dad was, and Mother allowed it. I did us a favor.”
The candles near our parents are slowly losing their light. Most have burned down, but one right in the middle will offer me the reprieve I need. This one illuminates my father’s corpse; little flickers of light dance across his bones. My eyes track them until I reach what’s left of his hands.
Those hands were probably responsible for more kills than both me and Jamison put together.
Those bones smacked my flesh, leaving marks and bruises, even at the age of a toddler.
He caused things you don’t forget. You just keep them locked away and hope you don’t have the same genetic shit that repeats the cycle.
My brother and I obviously failed that task.
“No.” My jaw tenses. “You did yourself a favor, brother. As always.” My hip hits the table where the memorial is placed, and I’m close now.
“You got rid of them. And me. Your lies cost me a lot of money and time. Not to mention, it gave me a reputation as a fucking slop murderer. Messiest goddamn murder scene I’ve come across.
” I bring the sign up to his face at the same Jamison puts a pistol in front of me.
The barrel touches my forehead right between the eyes.
I press my head against it, not surprised he would play dirty. I expect it, relish in it. Because I can, too. And if he didn’t, he would become unpredictable.
“There it is. The real reason. It’s not about the girl or our parents,” Jamison murmurs, finger on the trigger. “Admit it. Admit the real reason you’re obsessed with me is because I ruined your reputation.”
“I have long taken care of that. And that judge who assisted you in planting evidence.” I switch my grip on the sign so that the edge rubs against Jamison’s cheek. The old man’s blood lingers just above my brother’s jawline. “Not that you care.”
Jamison lowers the gun slightly in order to wipe away the blood. But all he does is smear it around his scar-something I know he can’t stand. “Not in the slightest,” he murmurs, trying to hide the disgust in his voice. “He served his purpose.”
“Sure,” I reply, while eyeing the gun. The barrel is now pointing towards the ground. I use this opportunity to swipe another round of blood on him. He recoils and uses the corner of his shirt to clean it off.
“Still not over having blood on your face?” I laugh. “That’s one of the best parts of murder.”
“No, that’s why after mother, I hired staff,” he snarls.
I smirk, preparing to take another jab at him.
One of his first childhood attempts at murder failed miserably.
The girl whom he coaxed into the woods fought him to escape.
She used his own knife against him by slicing the side of his cheek.
Fifteen stitches came out of that, along with the realization that it was his biggest failure.
A person’s weakness is another person’s strength—or some shit like that.
Maybe that’s why I love all the blood. But I also fucking clean it up.
“If you hadn’t been so inclined to make me your enemy…”
“Then what, Jackson?” Jamison interrupts. He shakes his head. “That requires trust, which we never had. It also requires one to lead and one to follow.” He waves the gun around before pointing it back at me. “We don’t bow. We eliminate.” He says, chest heaving. “You know it. I know it.”
He is right. We don’t. My brother has always made me the enemy; therefore, I made him mine.
Injury for Injury. Blood for blood. I swallow while looking straight into his soul.
What I found is validation for every little negative thought I’ve had about him.
Underneath the blackness lies emptiness.
As if nothing keeps him going but the possibility of a kill.
My biceps flex, gearing up for the sole purpose of taking him down. Jamison holds our eye contact, the smugness only tightening. “You can try, brother, but we both know how it’s going to end.”
“Yes, I do,” I reply, while in the darkest, deepest reflections of my mind-the ones where impulses drive me.
The ones that relish in guts, gore, and revenge.
Impulses that were only heightened every moment in prison.
Waiting. Waiting... waiting. This was always the endgame without throwing Madelyn into the mix.
But now that he did…Jamison has earned torture instead of a quick death.
The wick of the candle is close to the bottom, along with the wax that’s puddled on the table.
My grip loosens on the handle of the sign.
“See you in hell,” I say, voice like ice.
With one swing, the sign knocks the gun out of Jamison’s grip.
It goes flying across the floor to the doorway.
Jamison’s yell cuts through the aftermath as both of his hands grip my shoulders.
I’m pushed back against the table, face inches from Jamison’s.
The bones jolt from the impact, and so does the candle.
Sweat beads across his forehead, eyes wild and focused.
“You stupid motherfucker. No one can kill me.”
“Your arrogance is truly the most interesting thing about you,” I whisper before head-butting him in the face.
Our skulls connect, loud and cracking on impact.
Blood sprays from his nose and onto the floor.
While heat and pain surge to my forehead.
I can feel the knot forming already, but all that is worth it.
The intensity hypes my body and feeds my soul.
It gives me just enough to push my brother’s weight off me and onto the top of the table.
The weight of the body causes the table and all its contents to collapse right on top of him. A calmness falls over me as my plan takes full effect. Jamison has lost consciousness, and everything is still. Except the flame. It morphs, taking a life of its own alongside Jamison’s pant leg.
I stand there, taking in the reality of my revenge with only one thing bothering me. Maybe Jamison was right, and I couldn’t see it until now. Staring at the flames that are now licking at my brother’s feet and legs, we do make better enemies than brothers.
His fingers twitch, and a scream full of pain follows, making me almost cover my ears.
Jamison’s eyes dart open, and immediately he thrashes in order to smother the fire.
His left arm gets too close to the flame, the result only allowing the fire to spread.
Golden and red colors engulf him, and snake up the bottom of the curtains behind his head.
“Jax...” he mouths, his voice actually soft despite it all.
My chest constricts at the sound. At the nickname he has never called me. I force myself to look. To watch the morbid way he’s going to die. A man who kills but hides to avoid the memories that come with it is nothing more than a cunt.
Jamison tries to get up, only to fall down on what’s left of our father.
“Ple…” he gurgles as his skin, on his hands, melts into Dad’s bones.
The flames are higher now, circling toward the roof.
Smoke drifts from above and moves toward other areas of the house.
“Jackson!” Madelyn cries. “Don’t leave me! ”
Her voice is enough to jolt me out of the madness I’ve created.
“Little fire, I’m here,” I assure her while searching for the gun that got tossed.
I glance back toward the doorway and find it right at the threshold.
My brother is hanging on, barely with a few murmurs escaping where his mouth used to be.
Smoke swirls closer to the ground now, as my feet carry me to the gun.
Picking it up, I aim the barrel at my last remaining family member and pull the trigger.
The bullet hits him in the middle of the forehead; my revenge is finally complete.
But as I stand there, watching the flames engulf him, I can’t help but feel a little disjointed.
He’s always taken center stage… the one person I hated more than I ever loved. And now he’s gone.
The flames lick at the underside of the roof, causing a small hole to form.
Smoke rises and gathers around it until it finds freedom outside.
Much like me. Now, my focus can shift so that new things can take center stage.
Like someone who can take all my darkness.
Someone that craves it just as much as I do.
She will get all of me, not just a half assed preoccupied version.
My Madelyn. My Little Fire. As I run to get her, I realize this is the first time I’ve seen our relationship for exactly what it is. …. something neither of us will ever escape from.