Black Glass

Chapter 9

The knife glinted beautifully underneath the light. His skin was illuminated, yet cold. I placed the blade against his arm and watched it react; goosebumps spreading across as though touched by the chill of an uninvited breeze. I reminded him to be quiet, because we did not want to wake the others. I asked him if he was okay, my voice laced with concern. I cared for him deeply. But he reassured me. He always did. He told me that he was ready. With the delicacy of a surgeon, I slid the knife down his arm, and the skin split. He winced as blood immediately flowed. I pressed the bandage to his arm and soothed him. I closed my eyes as relief spread through my body.

"It's okay, big brother. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He smiled with confidence, "Of course! It's just a scratch."

I smiled back.

"Do you think you could take me to that contemporary art gallery near the Waterfront? You were talking about it. You said they were all about modern black and white art, remember?"

"The Abe Opperman gallery. I remember. Sure. We'll go wherever you want, you little nerd."

"The park too? I like feeding the birds. It's peaceful there."

"You're pushing your luck," I said, "You take advantage knowing I'll never refuse."

His eyes lit up, "Then I can kick your ass on your PlayStation? I get to choose the game."

I shook my head, "Do I have to get a pen and paper for all these demands?"

He playfully punched me on the arm.

"When are we going to tell Leah about our secret?" he asked.

He had all the innocence of a child. I loved him for it.

"Our dear sister wouldn't understand," I responded, "This is for brothers only."

I saw the little bit of pride in his eyes at sharing something just with me. I turned serious then. I breathed in deeply. I reached for the toolbox and found my father's hammer. I felt the weight in my hand. I felt pleasure tingle down my spine as I smelled the rust, and I appreciated its power. I looked at my brother. A worried frown set upon his face and for the first time he looked unsure of himself.

"You'll be careful?" he asked in a small voice.

"I promise. There's nothing to worry about. I'll always protect you, Sebastian."

He nodded and shut his eyes.

I raised the hammer.

With a blissful rush of wind, it came crashing down.

The memory collapsed; visions shifted as I was transported back in time.

"Damon..."

I heard Sebastian's voice. Soft and weak; fading with each glimmer of the evening light.

"Please hold on! We're almost at the hospital! Everything is going to be okay, little brother..."

My voice was panicked in response, interrupted by loud, frightened gasps.

"It really hurts..."

I could visualise myself behind the wheel. In my peripheral vision I could see Sebastian's limp body in the passenger seat, his movements fragile as he held his stomach. I could smell the iron of the blood as if it were all over my face. I could feel a raw, merciless sense of guilt gripping at my throat, threatening to choke me into a cold stupor. Every second in time was a panicked rush as I desperately clung to one single idea, repeating it over and over again in my mind: let Sebastian live. If there was a God watching over the world, I asked of him only that. But a voice in my head told me that it wasn't God out there in the black abyss. It was a mercurial demon, enjoying my struggle, taking pleasure from every drop of blood my little brother lost. His pain was but a song.