Saving Crime (Slow updates)

Chapter Three

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“We all know that Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth at least the truth that is given us to understand. The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies.” 

― Pablo Picasso

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Chapter Three:

   I hadn't seen my brother the previous night, and as I left this morning there hadn't been any indication that he had even returned home. I wasn't worried. I knew that Oliver would be home soon enough. He was never missing for more than a week. Whenever he did come home he was always tired and restless, falling into bed instantly and rarely awakening. Oliver wasn't a responsible guardian but he had gone through as much as me, perhaps more.

   Growing up, we had never been close. He was the older brother, too cool to be seen with his annoying little sister. Although as we grew older and things became a little more strained in our family we became closer but still not quite was would be expected of regular siblings. That was just the way things worked.

   I was never quite sure where Oliver went but I had an idea. Or ideas. 

   This morning Mickey didn't need a ride, I was sure Sienna got over her initial rage and was now planning revenge. Never were their petty pranks just for the fun of sibling rivalry, always revenge. Revenge on revenge on revenge, always getting back at each other for getting back at the other. After a while everyone just lost track of who's turn it was to plot another practical joke.

   I drove into the school car park and turned my radio down. My arm was feeling a lot better, now it didn't sting every time something came into contact with it. I had replaced the gauze last night, though the stitches wouldn't be ready to come out for a bit. The injury, much to my annoyance, had made it more difficult to run. My typical routine was to go for a run every night, Shay got me into that habit so that I could keep my fitness up.

   Still humming to myself I exited the car and locked my door, re-adjusting my bag on my right shoulder. I was turning toward the school entrance as I heard a voice call out to me.

   "Fankie!" I faced the sound of the voice in shock, the only people who called me that were . . .

   "Brick?" I said, walking towards the middle aged, Hulk-replica of a man standing in front of a silver car. The blond haired giant was apart of the fighting ring. "What are you doing here?" I wasn't sure whether to be worried, surprised or scared. 

   "My neice and nephew are starting today, so I'm dropping them off. They just moved to town. They haven't got a car yet, so I thought that I'd save thier mother the trouble. Frankie, what are you doing here?" His voice was slightly accented as he had lived in Scotland for a decade, or so I was told.

   "Uh-"

   "You don't go here do you?" He asked, cutting me off.

   "I-"

   "You do! I thought you were in college?"

   "No-"

   "This is so good, I can't wait to tell the others! You're still in high-"

   I'd had enough. Shay always told me I needed to learn to control my temper. While he was talking I had glanced around to check if many people were looking our way, they weren't, unfortunately for Brick. So I kicked in his knee cap, startling him and took advantage of his surprise. I pushed him against his car, holding him there by pressing my forearm against his neck.