And Keep Your Enemies Closer

And Keep Your Enemies Closer 2

PART II TRISTAN

1

Tristan looked down upon his brother with a grim face. Owen was laid up in a hospital bed, his left leg in a cast, his right arm in a sling, his head in bandages and his face bruised in places. Yet again, Tristan felt anger surging through him like poison, anger at everyone and at everything.

Only this morning he had been happy. He had finally saved up enough to go to New York, where he was going to audition for a Broadway musical. Sure, it wasn't a big part, but he knew it was the first step toward his eventual success, and all he needed was to be given a chance. He had been on his way to the airport when he received the call. He had had half a mind to ignore it; he usually didn't answer phone numbers he didn't know. He still didn't know why he had answered it. Perhaps it had been premonition. At any rate, the voice on the other side had told him his brother had been in a car accident and that he was in surgery.

Tristan only had a vague idea of how he had got off the bus, grabbed a cab and got himself to the hospital. Ever since his parents had split up and gone their separate ways and started new families of their own, he and his brother had been alone in the world. His brother did not really understand him. He had been rather homophobic at first, when Tristan had come out. And he had scoffed at Tristan's dream of going to Broadway. But his brother had still stood up for him when others picked on him or ridiculed him, and had willingly given Tristan money to buy a ticket to New York when the audition notice for Tristan's favorite musical had been posted online. Tristan felt helpless as he paced the hospital corridor, not really knowing what he was doing, but too nervous and anxious to sit still.

When his brother had finally come out of surgery, the doctor had told him that there was a chance Owen might not walk again. Tristan finally crumbled down and wept. He could not imagine his active brother not being able to walk. And now, as he stood at the foot of Owen's bed and looked at his brother, pale underneath all the bruises, he wasn't sad anymore, he was angry, furious, to the point that he thought if the guy who had done this to Owen was in this room, he could beat him to death with his own two fists.

"How is he?"

Tristan looked around. One of his brother's friends, whom he knew slightly by face only, was standing by the doorway.

"He's still out from the medication."

He approached the bed and looked down at Owen.

"He looks so quiet. I've never seen him look so quiet before."

Tristan gave him a weak smile.

"You must be Tristan, right? I'm Joseph."

"Yes, hi."

"What did the doctor say?"

"He..."

Tristan just couldn't bring himself to say the words. Joseph must have guessed as much, because he suddenly cried out,

"Damn it!"

Tristan jumped.

"Why, what's the matter?"

"I just saw the detective in charge of the case. They caught the guy who did it, but they are not pressing charges."

"What! Owen is half dead because of this guy! Why, isn't there enough proof to hold him?"

"There's plenty of proof, surveillance footage from the streets, black box recordings from several of the passing cars, not to mention that guy's own confession, but they are still not pressing charges."