DAMNED

1) Every Even Odd

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He's not dead. He's not dead.

I couldn't get that surreal possibility out of my mind. All these years I thought my brother was dead. I tried to suppress my uncontrollable emotions from bouncing up to level crazy. It couldn't be possible that he was still alive, he met with an accident back home in Chicago. He died two years ago. Didn't he? Yet, the solid piece of paper in my hand said otherwise. I gave a quick glance at the business card in my hand to ensure again I wasn't tripping off my sanity. It was real. The writing was his and it was addressed to someone called 'J,385Y'. The note had my brother's very own signature, last week's date, and a request to meet at an apartment building room number 226.

Honestly, I found the bloody piece of paper by accident at the bank when someone pushed me and I dropped my bag. Low and behold, the card was staring right at me on the floor. It seemed as if someone had accidently dropped it. Maybe it was planted for me? Is that even possible? I mean, things like that only happen in books and movies right?

Well, whatever. I could handle myself, I'm not some sort of Barbie doll who needed a Ken. Plus, I have my white belt in martial arts and I mastered in Crazy. Alright, fine, I admit I had a police friend on speed dial. Not like I needed to use that much.

I tried to swallow my anxiety as I nervously made my way through the filthy apartment building to my brother's room. What the hell kind of place was this? No respectable lady should even set foot in here. Men crawled around the place like leeches on marijuana. Literally on the heavy stuff I figured. The place honestly reeked with the smell of alcohol and as gross as it sounds- sweat. I seriously wanted to puke. What was Anthony even doing in a place like this if he was alive?

The looks and lines I got from those men were rude beyond a new level. Talk about thirsty. They needed some water. Holy water.

I pushed my hair behind my ear as I tried to walk along the hallway in the most decent and respectable manner possible. No way was I throwing candy for those dogs. I came here to find my brother and so help me God, I will.

Stopping at the room door, I felt my heart hammering nails into my aching soul. I was about to knock on the door but I noticed it was already opened. Gently giving it a knock anyway, I pushed it to reveal the empty room inside. Taking a step in, I absorbed the surroundings of the dull apartment. Someone was definitely here a while ago. Was. The apartment was cleaned out. Empty, as in the person who was once there was gone. I slowly walked toward the kitchen area when I stepped on something solid on the ground.

It was a phone that looked like it was purposefully damaged. There was another kind of writing on a piece of paper on the ground. My heart was skipping so many beats that I swore I needed to head straight to the doctor on my way home. Although the writing seemed to be completely useless information such as a list of food items, my shock was channelled through the fact that it was indeed my brother's writing.

My brother was in fact alive. He was here. This was his apartment. He left. God no.

I sunk into a state of morbid anguish. Why would he do this? So many questions were bombarding my mind it was impossible to come to terms with this. No, I needed to find him now. I have to. I wasn't going to sulk about not meeting him. Looking at the phone again, I realized it was a form of hope. It could be fixed if I spoke to the right person. I had to do this.

Inhaling for composure, I sucked up the bitterness, and stuffed the cell phone into my bag. I should also ask someone around here about the person who stayed in this apartment. With that thought, I made my way out the room when I suddenly tripped on the creased rug at the door.