My Full Confession

Leave Your Brother Behind

Almost as soon as John disappeared the front door opened, almost as if Mycroft had choreographed his entrance so as not to disrupt our conversation. I turned to face him almost fearfully; worried that he might have overheard what we had been saying. Oh well there was no use now, anything he didn't know he must have guessed by now. He was a smart man, no matter how dull the farming life made him look.
"He's in the barn, hidden in the hay." Mycroft muttered, walking over miserably to the scrub brushes and sinking to his knees so as to start with the mess. He looked defeated in a way that I had never seen him before. He looked as though the entire world had just collapsed upon him, and that everything he had once been fighting for was just torn from his fingers. He looked helpless, and yet he picked up the brush and began to work, heaving the bristles into the wood so as to distract himself from the pain that was flaring up into his heart. I thought for a while, as I stared at him, why our father's death should mean so much to him. Surely he didn't love the man; surely he didn't need him for anything more than employment and shelter? Well now as the heir to the farm, Mycroft really didn't need my father for anything. The more I thought about it, of course, the more I realized that his misery wasn't rooted in our father's death. No, what broke my brother wasn't his sudden orphanage, it was my leaving. I suppose I was the only one he had ever cared for, and now I was forced to go into exile, to run for the police and live the life that Mycroft had always imagined for himself. Oh how tragic it would be, for this poor man to find himself so terribly alone. But what was I to do? Invite him to run away with us? Well that would be rather awkward, at best. No he could not come along, not if we weren't going to leave this farm to rot. He would have to say, and that's what made him hang his head low. My heart broke for him, and yet I could think of nothing better to do than join him on the floor, in the mess of soap suds and my father's blood. Scrubbing up that awful man, and cleansing all evidence that he had ever lived or died here from the boards that had been force to support his weight.
"I hope you love that boy, William. I hope you love him enough to justify all of this." Mycroft muttered.
"Of course I do." I insisted, pausing to readjust my hands along the wooden scrub brush. My hands were not used to manual labor, and the delicate skin was not taking lightly to the work. Mycroft sighed heavily, bowing his head as if he was already planning out my funeral.
"It seems as though you've gone out of your way to disobey me." Mycroft admitted.
"It's always been meant to be. That's why you were scared for me, all the way back then. You knew as well as I." I reminded him. "Besides, we're already criminals; we've got blood on our hands. They can't hang us twice."
"No I suppose they can't. But once will be enough, William." Mycroft reminded me. "Once will be enough to break my heart."
"Mycroft..." I started, and yet found that my words would not follow. It was midway through the silence that I realized I hadn't been prepared to say anything, nothing that would make his heart feel any better. And so there was nothing I could do but stay quiet, and return to my work.
"It will be Victor who will hunt you down." Mycroft reminded me.
"I know." I agreed, a bit hauntingly. The idea of that man on my trail sent shivers down my spine, and yet for what reason I could not say. He was threatening in a way which made me want to stay on his good side. I didn't want to give him power over me; I didn't want to owe him anything. Most of all, I didn't want to give him any reason to hurt me, or control me in anyway. It seems as though I hadn't thought of that, at least not before I picked up that knife.
"You can't let him find you, William. It's simply not an option. As soon as he catches you I...I can't think what he might do. I don't want to think." Mycroft admitted, shivering before dipping his brush into the water and returning to his work.
"He won't find us." I assured quietly.
"You don't know that." Mycroft reminded me. "He's a clever man, William. He's a lawless man."
"Do you still..."
"Don't say it." Mycroft growled at me, flashing his black eyes in a ruthless stare.
"It's a valid question, Mycroft!" I defended, to which my brother hissed, avoiding eye contact in silence. "Would it hurt you if...if we had to take desperate measures against him?" I asked hesitantly.
"You'd kill him?" Mycroft whispered, pausing all together as if he hated to consider the idea. As if deep down, despite his spite for that man, there was still a hint of affection. Just enough leftovers from his passionate youth to move his heart at the idea of the man's death.
"If we had to." I admitted. "But I'd find another way, if you still do love him."
"I don't love him." Mycroft growled. "But if I did, if in some other...well I suppose I love you more. I suppose I would allow you any methods of defense."
"Thank you." I muttered, turning away from him now so as to avoid any awkward stares in the aftermath of such a conversation. "You should find yourself another, Mycroft. You deserve to be happy, even if that happiness isn't saintly in your narrow definition."
"At this point, William, I don't even know what happiness is." Mycroft murmured. "And I doubt that I could find it, even if I tried."
"Happiness is love, with someone you feel something for." I reminded him. "You used to be in love, Mycroft. God don't try to deny it, please just allow yourself to be human for once!"
"I'm not trying to be anything; I'm not denying myself anything! Not all of us are allowed our soulmates! Not all of us are matched up by coincidence; some of us are just intended to suffer!" Mycroft exclaimed, silencing me before I could think of anything else to say to defend my point. I let my brush fall to the floor, turning on him with the intention of telling him off for being so pessimistic. And yet my harsh words were silenced when I saw that my brother was bent over himself, nearly touching his forehead to the floor with his bloody hands covering his eyes. He was trembling, shaking with the tears that he was trying so hard to contain. I didn't know what to say, if anything at all. I didn't know what to do...God it was so much easier to fight with him, rather than console him! His tears alone reminded me of how broken he really was, how distraught this life had made him, and how helpless he saw his future to be. These tears reminded me of just what he had to sacrifice so that I could live the life I had ahead of me.