Meet Me

Chapter 32 - Monster

Kyle

"I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside of me." - Imagine Dragons - Monster

Swiftly leaving the room, not being able to see my sister like that, I headed straight for Connor. He had left the room not seconds ago. I stormed towards him, he was leaning against a wall doing nothing. I dragged him down to the floor and took out my gun – fully loaded. Aiming it at him, he just grinned like a psychopath. God, I wanted him dead.

“I know that look.” He started. “That is the look of death. You want to kill me. I know how you will feel after you do. If you do, which you won’t, you will feel so ashamed of yourself, maybe even angry? I know you will regret what you do to me. Shoot me, stab me, and strangle me, whatever. It will all end the same.  It always does. Whenever you kill.” Connor finished.

“Not this time.” I declared.

That was when I aimed my gun at him and shot. It missed him very narrowly. My brother, my only brother, sneered at me. I sneered back, obviously. 

A commotion picked up. Everybody, well it seemed to be everybody, came to see what was about to happen and why the gunshot had been heard. Everybody except my father. He was still with Kate, of course. He wouldn’t leave her side, I guessed. Not at all; not for one second. I didn’t blame him really his only daughter, one that he had let go years ago, was at deaths door. Kate doesn’t knock, she stands at the door and waist for someone to answer it, or to tell her nobody’s in.

Connor made a run for me, everybody around us just staring. He tackled me to the floor and punched me several times in the face. I was stronger, and older, than him, so I just shoved him off of me. He landed on his side with a thump. We were both on our feet in a flash. Connor pulled his gun out on me and aimed it at my head. He never shot.

“What is wrong with you, brother? I already told you! You will regret this. Either way. I live, you will regret trying; I die, you regret killing me.” He sprung at me like a cat would a mouse; I shot at him like a hunter would a pheasant.

“Defiantly not! I yelled as loud as I could, at the top of my lungs. It hurt, but I wanted the message to get across. I really hoped it did.

As I looked at Connor, I guessed that it had gotten through to his empty brain. His face turned ugly and scrunched up. His eyes flared with anger, wide open and staring.

Connor was scared. I was glad. It gave me an advantage I wanted, and needed, ever so badly. Connor was strong; I was stronger. Connor was fast; I was faster. Connor was as good as dead; I was as good as alive. He shouldn’t have messed with me. He shouldn’t have messed with my sister and her life. I was fairly sure that he wouldn’t live to see the light of another day when she survived the shot. If I didn’t manage to kill him, she would. That was a fact.

Lunging at him, I tried to pin him to the floor or the wall. I managed to clasp my hand around his bony wrist and twist his arm behind his back. That was better than nothing I supposed. He cried out in pain, threatening to kick me from behind. Connors leg missed me each time. I was in a good place to not be kicked, it seemed.

He broke free easily.  I knew he would, but I wasn’t prepared for it. He slashed my arm and blood began to show. His small muscles contracted underneath his shirt, and he held his knife tight. My won knife was in my boot, so I had no time to go and take it.

Pain shot through my whole arm, but I ignored it.

Connor barged into me, bringing me to my knees. I was winded for a few moments; I was quickly over it. He drew out his gun and aimed it at my head. Pulling the trigger, he closed his eyes. So he didn’t really want to kill me? Wimp. You shouldn’t act tough if you aren’t going to face the consequences: good or bad. I dodged the bullet, but the person behind me didn’t.

He slashed my shoulder whilst tackling me, once again to the floor. His move was clumsy and weak, so I easily threw him off. While he was dazed, I punched him down to the floor and straddled his back.

“Let me go!” He snapped.

Trying to manoeuvre myself so that I could get the gun to the back of his head, I struggled to keep him in place. Keeping his wrists together with just one of my hands, I reached for my gun. Connor flung me to the floor, his wrists now free. He marched up to me and held the gun to my head, one foot keeping me on the floor. I struggled, but I was vulnerable.

“I told you; you will regret trying to kill me. Now, I am going to kill you.” My anger flared at his words. “And then, I will kill Kate. When nobody is watching!” He hissed into my ear, making sure nobody around us could hear what he said. I was surprised nobody had intervened.

I glanced around for help, but none was given. I guessed it was just one less mouth to feed. Standing in the doorway to the room where my sister lay bleeding, my dad stood, with his arms crossed, just watching us. His expression was neutral. I would’ve given almost anything to know what he was thinking.

Elbowing Connors leg, it flailed and he fell to the floor. I scrambled clumsily to my feet and got him in the same position I had been in just seconds ago. All those fights when I had been younger had been worth the scars and the bruises. Connor had been the good boy, therefore he   didn’t have the skills I had. He didn’t have the skills I had taught to Kate. I had almost died once, I wouldn’t be in that position again. I hated being a scared, scarred boy.

A gunshot sounded, but it had been from Connors gun, not mine. He had shot at me and missed. My heart picked its pace up and so did my anger. I punched him repeatedly in the side of the head, not caring if I killed him that way. I was so into it, that I didn’t notice him sneak a knife behind my back. It dug into my spine and I hissed through my gritted teeth. The pain never came. Was it delayed? Was I already too dead to feel it?

No, I was very much alive. I wasn’t dead. Connor was.

I turned to see my father holding the handle of the gun, directly pointing the barrel where Connors head had been, so tight that his knuckles were as white as innocence. His aging face remained as it had the last time I had caught a glance at him. If you didn’t know my father well, you wouldn’t know what he was feeling. I barely knew my father, but, right now, any old fool could see through his mask. His lips were in a tight line, his eyes were piercing and layered with a glimmer. My father looked so old and dead. I would kill to take the pain away on his face. I guessed, in a way, I had already tried.

It was almost unbelievable. My father had killed my brother, his son. Deliberately.

“It’s done. You mean more to me than he ever did.” Parents aren’t supposed to have favourites.

I looked down at the lifeless body, covered in blood and mud, which I had been despising the day it could talk. Yeah, it was done.

“Do I want it to be done?” I asked myself in a whisper.

A voice as sweet as sugar, but wrecked with pain, answered my question.

“You’d be stupid if you didn’t.”

A tall shadow loomed behind the girl. Its protective stance gave away more than I think it wanted to be given away. I knew that shadow. Briefly.

My sister was not dead.  She was even more alive than the rest of us restless souls here.

Kate Farah was not dead, but Connor Johnson was.

My sister was not dead, but my brother was.

She would always make it, he would always crumble.

Would she still be alive, though, if Kate Farah had been Mara Fritz?