BROTHERS

Chapter 22

"Of course," she said, setting her cup of tea down. "Simone... before her passing, how was she?" I asked. She was silent for a moment before speaking. Simone had a beautiful spirit. Simone and I first met at our church, where she was well-liked, extroverted, and ambitious. She struggled with her sons' deaths, but I remember her saying before she died that they were still alive and that she knew it.

"W-what?" I asked. "Despite several attempts by others to persuade her otherwise, Simone never once accepted her sons' deaths. She devoted a room to her sons. She possessed crates filled with the twins' stuff, CDs, and magazines. It was, I think, their old room. Anyway, she requested that I take care of the house before she passed away, saying that it was 'precious' so here I am, one year later, and following her wishes."

"This room...may we have a look?"

"I'm afraid I cleared the room after she passed away. It was packed with so many things from the years that I was unable to leave it alone in that position."

"I see," I responded with a pout.

"If I remember correctly," she remarked, standing up and moving toward a drawer. She dug around in it for a while before pulling a gleaming silver key. "Every item she has, including the stuff in that room, is kept in a storage unit that I rented out a while ago. "Why did you keep the stuff? You could have thrown it away" Tom spoke out.

"Those things meant a lot to Simone. I couldn't possibly imagine throwing it all away. I decided to keep it somewhere safer" she spoke out. "Who wants to go on a little adventure" she said, raising a brow.

<<—————————————————————>>

Greta, Tom, Georg, Gustav and I were standing outside a storage container. It was a calm, windy night. Greta approached the lock and turned the key. When she turned it, the lock opened. She grabbed the handle and pushed the roll-up door in one fluid motion. The unit released a recognizable odor. It smelled like the real house I grew up in. Greta swiveled to the side and switched on a light.

-GUSTAV'S POV-

We all retreated a step as soon as the lights came on to get used to the intense illumination. My heart skipped a beat when we raised our heads again. Inside the storage compartment, neatly arranged. Laid out the drum equipment I used for our band's debut album, Georg's old bass guitar, the black and white trimmed guitar Tom used to play, and a microphone.

Next to it were other crates with magazines and newspapers. The unit's walls were covered with posters and adorned with a shelf brimming with CDs and vintage goods of our band. The entire unit resembled a 2005 time capsule.

As we entered, we all took a trip down memory lane.

-BILL'S POV-

I opened the journal I used to jot down lyrics for my songs and turned the pages. I can still clearly recall the lyrics taking me back to 2005.
Greta looked at Tom and me and asked, "You're her sons, aren't you?"

I hesitated for a moment before saying "how do you know" as I turned to face her. With a tear streaming down her cheek, she grinned. "From the moment I saw you two, I knew you had a deep connection with her. Your eyes, your expressions are much like hers. She was right all along". She wiped away a tear and remarked "The fine young men she gave birth to would make her proud. I'm sure of it!" Fine young men? We were far from being fine young men.

"What happened all those years ago..." she asked.

With a somber expression, Tom replied, "We were kidnapped." "W-what? Have you called the police about this? Do you know the identity of your kidnapper?" With a worried expression, Greta asked. "No" was my response as I turned to walk away. How could I possibly explain that we were abducted by mobsters to her, let alone to anyone else? And after four years, we were freed. It's not practical.

"Whatever became of our producer, David?" Gustav asked. "Oh dear... He was given a cancer diagnosis a year after you vanished, and the following year he passed away. She began, "I'm so sorry for your losses," in a pitying tone.

"Life is not equitable. We've made peace with that," I replied. She took hold of my hand, curled the key within my palm, and put it there. "Hold it" She smiled and continued, "I'm sure your mother would have wanted you to have it."

She walked to her car and said, "It's rather late; I have to get home." She grinned at us before entering, saying, "Welcome back to life" As she nodded toward the instruments, she remarked, "Make the most of what you have left." She climbed in, turned on her car, and drove off.

I turned my head to gaze at the parked moving storage trucks. I turned to face the boys, a smirk starting to grow on my lips. "Hopefully everyone has been practicing," I said, picking up my journal. "Hell yeah!" With a flip of his drumstick, Gustav spoke. "It's time to take back control of our life for good now," I said.