Writing

            Breathe… Breathe… Why can’t I breathe…? The mask was tight, so tight, suffocating every pore and clutching at his neck with an invisible fist. Breathe… Breathe… Thick, hot, scratching at his bare face with a thousand woven claws. I want to go home… The darkness clung heavy that night, wrapping around each muscle, dragging him to the dirt. Even the tools in his gloved hands were like mallets, and the very act of holding them made his arms shake.

            Michael stopped picking the villa’s lock to scratch under his wool mask for the tenth time. The humid air made his disguise unbearable, but he couldn’t risk being seen. Not with what just happened with his big brother… His family was counting on him now. He had to be someone else, something else. What that was, he wasn’t certain. Someone brave? A ‘real man’? A hero, maybe? Yeah, a hero. Like Robin Hood. Biting his lips to distract himself, he tried again. Come on… come on…One more turn and—

            Click.

            Michael let out a slow breath. Gently pushing the door open, he peered inside. The lights were off. Still he waited, half-expecting a crazed white man to come swinging a bat. No…only silence. He gave a quick glance behind him. Every nerve in him screamed to leave, to run home, to just drop out of school and get a job legally.

            No, they needed the rent now.

            Come on… be a hero.

            Deep breath.

            Carefully locking the door behind him, he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. The pale beam cut through the shroud of darkness.

Trashed. Beer bottles littered every surface, take-out boxes loitered beside them, and stained loungewear flopped dejectedly in-between. If Michael hadn’t triple-checked before entering the house, he would have thought he got the wrong place. The clean-cut tailored businessman came from…this?

            He shook his head. Picking the lock took longer than expected and he had maybe an hour left before the businessman came home. Sliding off his backpack, he maneuvered through the garbage heaps. Holding the flashlight in his mouth, his trembling fingers moved aside bottle after bottle, picking out an iPad and a gold ring from the dark debris. There wasn’t much else within the trash, but he knew his payoff would be the bedroom. Following a narrow hallway, he opened an ornate oak door.

            His head jerked back, nose scrunched tight. The stale smell of alcohol engulfed him in a wave, and Michael had to cover the lower half of his face to keep from drowning. Focus, Michael, focus.

            The bedroom was massive, wooden–similar to the living-room, but with twice as many beer bottles. It was a challenge to navigate through the glass maze without knocking anything over, but the reward was well worth it.

            Expensive cufflinks, watches, nice wallets with money still in them, fancy rings—shoved into the bag as soon as he laid eyes on it. He had to hurry, had to get out, had to leave before—Shit! His hand knocked over a half-full beer on the nightstand. He straightened it in time for the liquid not to soil the floor, but it soaked the papers next to it.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Michael rushed to the kitchen, tearing off paper towels and soaking up the damage on the table. No matter how hard he tried, the pages were still stained brown. He bit his lips. Shit.

As he pressed on yet another bundle of towels, he looked beside him. There was a cluster of framed photos—the businessman accepting diplomas and awards while shaking hands with important-looking men.

The frame closest to Michael, however, was face-down. Did he knock it over? No… There was a light veil of dust blanketing its back.

            Michael’s fingertips burned with sudden curiosity. One hand gently lifted the frame to see—

            Click.

            The front door opened.

            Within a second—his entire life, family, little sisters, mother, big brother, all flashed to the forefront of his brain. Oh god, oh god, oh god no.

            The clacking of fancy shoes against hardwood were approaching.

            His gloved hand gently lowered the frame. The other shoved everything—flashlight, soiled papers, towels—into his bag. With little alternative, he snuck into the closet facing the bed and quietly closed the door.

            He’s early, he’s early, God, why is he early?

            Michael peered through the slits in the wood, heartbeat in his ears. Every step, every clack of fancy shoes against the floor, brought a flurry of images—handcuffs—clack—a jury—clack—prison—clack—his mother’s shame—clack—his sisters’ cries—his brother, holding out a hand, “Take this.”

            Take this.

            That’s right, in Michael’s pocket there was something that could save him. His fingers trailed downwards until they felt the spine of a pocket knife. The pounding in his head grew louder. “Don’t get caught.”

            The man entered.

            Everything inside Michael froze. He didn’t even know how to breathe.

           A dim light flickered on, reflecting off all the bottles like a field of muddy stars. The businessman was in the same expensive gray suit that Michael had seen him wear every day since he started scoping out the place a couple days ago. He loosened his tie with a sigh, thin cheeks caving inwards. Up close, his skin looked stretched, worn, like it got snagged by a taffy machine.

            With a quick flip, the man pulled a cellphone from his pocket. He stared at it for a long time. His other hand combed through his platinum hair, ruining its perfect order.

            “Shit,” he sighed, burying his face in his hand, before tucking the phone back in his pants. He stood there a minute more before staggering to a square wooden drawer next to his TV. It opened with a whoosh, followed by a sharp clink noise. The businessman fell back onto his bed, two beer bottles in his hand.

            Michael was twirling the pocket knife in his fingers, round and round, watching the man twist open the bottle… watching as he swallowed…the man’s Adam’s apple… bobbing up and down… up and down… and with each gulp all Michael could think was: I can’t get caught, I can’t get caught, I just can’t.

            Time didn’t pass with minutes, but with the number of scenarios in which Michael created to murder this man. By the time the two beers were finished, Michael had visualized twenty-nine ways he would do it. Please, god, don’t make me kill him.

            Clack, clack, clack.

            The man was approaching the closet, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

            Michael’s heart stilled.

             Whatever you do, Michael, don’t get caught.

            He held his bag in front of him like a shield, right hand flicking the pocketknife into position. If he got in one good stab in the leg, maybe he could make a clean get-away. Maybe no one had to die tonight.

Clack…clack…clack…

Closer. Closer.

Clack…clack…clack…

Michael’s hand was shaking. This was it.

A sharp ring broke the silence, causing both of them to jump. It quickly turned into the generic melody of a ringtone. The man groaned, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, “Shit.” He made a sharp turn away from the closet. Michael let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. Thank you, God.

            “Hello?” Though his tone was forcibly pleasant, the man’s jaw was clenched tight, and he kept his phone a good distance from his face.

            “Do you have them, Ed? You were supposed to call tonight with the updates.” The voice was young, like a teenager, but the tone was so plain, cold, and rude that she could have been an adult. The man winced at Ed, his inflection sliding from hopeful to harsh,

            “Yeah, yeah, why don’t you give me one second, Sarah? I just got home from work. You know, the thing you accuse me of not doing?” Ed bit his finger, turning away from the phone with another harsh wince.

            “Again? Really? Aren’t you supposed to be the adult?”

            Michael watched the man pace the floor, huffing, gesturing to an invisible figure, “Ok, look, I’m sorry. But—But just because you get a little fame doesn’t mean you should talk to me like—”

            “Have you signed the papers, Ed?” She responded flatly. His jaw clenched, letting the silence linger. She continued, “You ‘lost them’ again, haven’t you?”

“No, I haven’t lost them… Why is that your first assumption? I wish you’d have a little more faith in me.”

“Can you really blame me? I mean, after what you’ve pulled?”

“Enough for this? These are the kinds of things we work out. Like adults. Through, you know, talking. This is just… I mean, really, whoever heard of divorcing your father?”

Michael’s eyes widened, watching Ed’s tired face alight with explosive despair. It was hard to tell if Ed was about to laugh or about to cry as his words cracked, “I-I think you’re being a-a bit dramatic, Sarah.”

“Dramatic?”

“Yes! This time I’ll know how to do things properly—“

“Ed! I’m tired of this! Just because you’re afraid of losing money—”

“I’m not afraid of losing the money, Sarah! I’m afraid of losing you!” His gaze dropped down to his shoes, voice softening a little, “Could I have handled everything better? Yeah, sure. I admit I messed up. I let things get out of control…” His eyes flickered to the bottles at his feet, “And I’m sorry. Please.”

“Ed—”

“Sarah, I’m begging you. You can have 100% of the profits, get your own manager, do whatever you want. But… But I promised your mother I would watch out for you before she…you know…and I can’t let us end this way. I just can’t…” his voice was strained, “If this is what you want… fine, fine! Divorce me! But, Sarah, please…Please don’t leave me alone.” Ed grabbed at his chest, mouth agape and waiting for words that wouldn’t come. He shoved his face in his hand, shaking it slightly. His voice dripped out in a soft whine, “I… I can’t live like this.”

Silence flooded the room. Ed returned to pacing, slower, looking at his phone with desperate eyes. Finally, the girl’s soft voice returned, “If you promise to sign those papers for me… I’ll agree to at least hear you out again. Even if you don’t deserve it.”

“R-Really?” For the first time since Michael had seen him, Ed was smiling.

“But, just…If you don’t turn this copy in by tomorrow, my attorney says—”

            Ed cackled, wiping away the tears that had started to fall, “You know what? Your attorney can suck it, because I have those papers right—” Ed gestured to the nightstand. Both him and Michael froze. The smile vanished. Ed quickly clack’ed across the room, brow furrowed. His fingertips grazed the wooden surface, eyes wide. After a beat, he started looking through the heavy wooden drawers.

            “Right what?” Sarah asked.

            “Where are the papers?” Ed whispered to himself before turning back to the phone, “Hang on, I swear I put them by my bed—”

            Michael bit his lips, tense shoulders raised to his ears.

            “Of course.”

            Ed looked to his phone with knit brows, “What do you mean ‘of course’?”

            “That grand speech was just a way to butter me up before telling me you ‘lost them’ again. Then we’ll meet up and you’ll claim parental rights and say you want thirty percent of all profits or whatever new scheme you’ve come up with. You’re a liar, Ed. You always take the easy way out. Always. And you think if you keep coming up with lies, I’ll just—”

            “It’s not a lie, Sarah! I swear!” The man set the phone on the bed, face in growing panic. His trembling arms ripped out the drawers, dumping their contents on the floor. There was a dry cackle on the phone.

            “And I almost believed it…I can’t keep doing this.”

            Michael’s eye widened. Sarah. Don’t do it. Please. It’s not his fault.

            “You know, you used to be a hero to me…”

Watching Ed flip over the picture frames, pink eyes wide, Michael felt his own heart start to race. He had to do something.

            Don’t get caught.

            Maybe if he bursts out the door, drops the papers and runs, he can still make a clean escape.

            They’ll catch you.

Michael hugged the bag to his chest, watching as Ed grew more and frantic.

I…I….

            “…I used to think you wanted me to succeed because singing made me happy…” Sarah continued as Ed started searching the rest of his bedroom, “But now I know you just want to use me, because you don’t care. If you did…you wouldn’t lie to me over and over and over. I can’t keep doing this to myself. It… it hurts too much, I’m sorry.”

            “Sarah, I swear! I do care, honey! Please, maybe they fell out of my briefcase or—or—god, Sarah, I don’t know!” He returned to his phone, dropping in front of it in a prayer pose, “I swear, I swear I signed them! I’m sure they’re—they’re—Maybe I’ll just need one more copy—”

            They’re here! The papers are here! He’s telling the truth!

            “You’re out of chances, Ed. And I’m not going to let you hurt me anymore.”

No.

“Bring the papers tomorrow. Or don’t. And hide like you always do. Either way, as of right now…you’re dead to me.” Click.

            Silence.

            Silence.

            A scream.

            Michael felt the vibration of Ed’s voice in his very bones, clawing at his marrow with rage and sorrow. It was hardly human, something that a horror movie might use for the creature in the woods. Eerie. Otherworldly. Lonely.

Just when Michael thought it was over, it rekindled. This time, however, it was accompanied by furniture being ripped apart. The nightstand was smashed against the wall, the bedframe, the floor—bottles clanged as they were smacked into the nearest wall—until it was a collection of twigs and splinters. Michael watched, hands over his lips.

            It’s all your fault.

            Ed looked down to his carnage, panting. Then, slowly, he cleared away the debris and picked up a picture frame. It was the smaller one that was face-down when Michael first entered. Ed sat back on the edge of his bed.

            And wept.

            Tears formed in Michael’s eyes. Why? It wasn’t his life. He didn’t know this man. He never even had a father. But his chest… God… why does his chest feel so heavy?

            He closed his eyes, wiping away the sweat from underneath his mask. Surely there was a solution. Maybe… maybe he could just come out, explain the situation, and talk to Sarah himself. Maybe they’ll be so grateful that they won’t press charges.

            If his brother heard that, he would beat him senseless.

            He peered through the slits in the closet. All Michael could do was wait.

            The weeping turned into wailing as Ed pressed the picture to his chest, and every so often his lips would form into what looked like the words, I’m so sorry. Michael turned away. He couldn’t watch… But he had to listen.

            To the pain he caused.

            To the hope he ruined.

            To the life he destroyed.

            Listen, listen, listen…

            The man stood, drawing Michael’s attention. He evaluated the new expression: grief paired with purpose.

             Ed marched to the other side of the bed, then crouched down. No matter how he positioned himself, Michael couldn’t see behind the mattress. There was a strange dragging noise of something heavy, some beeping, then a clank. Ed stood again.

            With a pistol.

            Michael couldn’t breathe.

            No.

            No no no no no.

            Ed clumsily loaded the barrel, tears still streaming down his face. The words were faint, but Michael could barely pick up, “…easy way out…dead to me…”

            Michael felt his heartbeat in his ears, the nerves in every limb on fire.

What do I do?!!?

            Gun in one hand, Ed stumbled over to the mini-fridge by his TV and pulled out one more beer. He took a few sips, then looked at it with a sneer, “Easy way out…”

            He sat on the edge of the bed again, placing the beer on the floor before picking up the picture. Tears were still falling down his hollow cheeks.

            “I’m sorry, but…” his gun traced a figure in the picture, “What’s the point?”

            Michael’s eyes widened.

            Oh god, I need to do something!

            “I was a shitty husband… shitty father… Just a piece of shit, really… I would divorce me, too—” a sob escaped his throat like a hiccup, more tears gushing from his raw eyes. His fingers reached for the beer, forcing the cries back with a large gulp.

            Michael’s heart was thrashing against his chest.

            He could stop this.

            Don’t get caught.

            He could save this man.

            Don’t get caught.

            He could save this family.

            Family.

            But what would happen to Michael’s?

            “Fuck!” The bottle shattered against the wooden floor, some shards sliding beneath the closet door. Ed was knocking the gun against his temple, awkwardly rolling on his heels to stand, “I did! I did love her! I did… I do…”

            Ed began clumsily pacing in front of the closet in a jagged figure-eight. Tap-tap-tapping the gun against his forehead, his face scrunched tighter as even more tears gushed out. He stopped after a few steps, his back facing Michael. He finally nodded,

            “This… is better for everyone.”

            Michael’s eyes widened.

            Ed raised the gun.

            Michael’s hand pressed against the door handle.

            Ed cocked the barrel.

            Michael pushed open the closet, scrambling to his feet. Nononono! His gloved hand knocked Ed’s elbow downwards, just before—

            BANG!

            Ed collapsed to the floor.

            Michael stood, arm stretched out, mouth agape, every muscle on fire. A sharp ringing hung in the air, mixing with the noxious cloud of booze and despair. It was suffocating. Slowly, he peeled his mask above his slick face, dark eyes wide.

            Too late. He had been too late. And now, Ed was… Ed was…

            Gasping.

            Michael’s gaze dropped. Starting from the shined shoes… pressed pants… wrinkled jacket… spotted shirt…cracked skull…wide, terrified eyes…

            Eyes that were watching him.

            “You’re…You’re alive…?” Michael’s lips were stuck between a relieved smile and a horrified gape. The crater in the corner of Ed’s head was spurting dark, inky blood all over the floor, but Ed’s eyes were still alert. Michael’s hands grabbed at his head, panic rising in his voice, “You’re alive.”

Instead of a straight shot through the temple, the tug on Ed’s elbow caused the bullet to only obliterate the corner of his head. Was the brain even damaged? It was hard to tell, blood was filling the shattered bone like a goblet of wine.

             Ed’s pink gaze searched Michael’s face, then the ceiling above him. In-between desperate gasps, his shimmering lips weakly parted. Michael bent down to hear,

            “…have…I…done…?”

 Michael’s hand covered his own mouth, chest constricting.

This was his fault.

He pulled out his phone, tearing off his glove to quickly tap 911—

Don’t get caught.

His thumb hovered over the CALL button.

Am I going to… to…?

“Sa…rah…” Ed whimpered at his feet.

1. I have to save him. That’s…. that’s what a hero would do.

You can’t get caught.

However hard he tried, his thumb would not hit the CALL button.

Michael screamed, shoving his face into his free hand. What do I do? What do I do?! I can’t just… just… let him…let him…

When he pulled his hand away, Michael found his glove had grown damp. Everything was blurry, and his eyes were stinging. He wanted his brother here. This was too hard.

Don’t get caught.

“I…”

Don’t get caught.

Ed’s fingers were twitching, eyes growing wider, “H…Help…me…please…”

Michael couldn’t stop the sob that escaped his lips. Oh god, what do I do? What do I do?

His knees met the ground, and he found himself crouched in front of Ed,

“I… I’m sorry, Ed. I…” Michael wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to give Ed his full focus, “I’m sorry…”

Ed’s hand reached out, “Please…”

Michael’s shoulders trembled as he whispered, “I—I can’t, I… I…” He rolled back, trying to get to his feet again, “I have t—to go.”

“No…” Threads of pink tears fell down Ed’s cheek, “A…lone…”

Michael bit his lips, brows knit tight.

I should leave.

He nodded, falling back to his knees, “I… I can stay a little longer.” 

Ed’s fingers were twitching in uncomfortable-looking spasms and, without second thought, Michael held them still with his ungloved hand. Both stared at their united clasp, then to each other, in a strangely familiar unison.

Ed cleared his throat a few times before he managed a soft, “N…Name…?”

“M—M—” Invisible fingers were wrapped tight around his throat, tugging back his voice.

Don’t get caught.

“Shut up,” he whispered to himself, “M—Michael. I’m Michael.”

Ed twitched his head the slightest bit, an attempt at a nod. “W-Wh-y…d…d…?”

A fresh wave of tears filled Michael’s eyes. “I… I don’t know… I just…” He was squeezing Ed’s hand a little too hard, “I—I wanted Sarah to ha-have a d-dad b-because I—I—” He started crying again, “Ed—I’m so s—sorry. I—”

Call 911.

Don’t get caught.

There’s still time.

Don’t get caught.

CALL 911.

Don’t get caught.

SAVE HIM!

“I want to help you,” Michael whimpered, “But… But my family… If I go to jail…”

“I… won’t…” Ed’s fingers were gently squeezing Michael’s, “I… prom—” He coughed, the force of it causing him to sit up and spray a stream of blood on the wood floor. “Shit.” His pale eyes looked to Michael with growing desperation. “Please.”

What do I do?!

The movement had caused the crater of blood to pour over, slowly coating half of Ed’s porcelain face in crimson. Michael couldn’t breathe.

His phone felt like a brick in his hand. 911 was still entered. All he had to do was hit the CALL button.

CALL.

CALL.

CALL.

No. They’ll trace the call to your phone. They’ll catch you.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his hand away.

“I’m sorry, I just…” His throat was dry, and everything he started to say was just a lie.

This is for the best, you wouldn’t want to live like this.

Sarah’s already mad at you, anyway.

Didn’t you want this?

There’s no way the ambulance would get here in time.

Michael took a deep breath. No, this wasn’t the time for excuses. Forcing himself to be honest, “Look, I just can’t risk—”

A shrill ringing pierced the air.

His eyes snapped open.

 “911 what’s your emergency?”

What…?

Ed.

Ed was on his own phone.

It was held limply in his hand, and he looked to it as desperately as when he spoke with Sarah. Blood trickled from his lips as he coughed,

“H…Hel…”

Michael snatched the phone away, eyes wide.

“Sh—!” Ed attempted to curse, but ended only with a spittle of blood.

A barrage of emotions hit Michael at once. Unreasonable anger, unjustified betrayal, and… and…

No…this is what I’m supposed to do. This is right. This is what… what a hero would do.

“Hello?” The operator repeated curtly.

He took a deep breath, then gave Ed a nod. Yes. I will save you.

Ed’s lips twitched upwards.

It was the correct thing to do. It was risky, but Momma would understand, right? And his sisters… But…what about his brother? Ed promised he wouldn’t do anything. It’ll be okay. I can trust him. It’ll be okay. Michael put the phone up to his ear.

And said nothing.

“Is anyone there?”

Ed’s eyes watched Michael intently. Michael tried to speak, but fingers squeezed his throat tight. Why? Why was nothing coming out?!

No… Michael. Michael, please. Please don’t do this, please don’t let him die.

“Hello?”

Say something, idiot, or they’ll send someone to the phone’s location.

“Oh, sorry—” Michael cleared his throat, gaze still locked with Ed, “My… little brother got a hold of my phone…” He closed his eyes, voice dropping to a whisper, “Sorry to waste your time.”

He hung up, then dropped the phone with a clack.

He pulled his body into a ball. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Ed. He didn’t even want to look at himself. Every muscle in his body tightened, trying desperately to keep himself together. But within seconds his shoulders began to shake, and soon he was sobbing unrestrained. How could he? How could he do that? He wasn’t a hero. He was a—a—coward—a villain—a—a—monster.

 “M…M… Michael…”

Michael reluctantly peeked over his arms, trying his hardest to calm down. Shockingly, he didn’t see contempt or bitterness in the businessman’s features. Ed looked only…concerned. Why did that feel worse?  Tears in eyes, he gurgled, “D…on’t…let… S…Sarah …think…I’m…a–”

He erupted in a fit of coughing that sprayed blood across Michael’s sweater and part of his face. Michael winced at the warmth coating his cheek, but placed a hand on Ed’s chest in an attempt at a soothing gesture. “Yeah… I… don’t worry about it.”

Ed nodded, looking as content as a dying man could. His pale gaze landed on Michael, thin tears falling quietly,

“Mike…Th…anks…for….be…ing…here…”

Michael’s eyes widened, his entire core frozen in place. He had to turn his face away, “No problem…”

He held Ed’s hand within his own. It was the only way to stop himself from grabbing his own phone again. They sat like this for ten, maybe fifteen minutes—long enough for an ambulance to come—before… finally…

Silence.

This was all Michael’s fault. All of it.

Coward.

He gently placed Ed’s hands next to his sides. It was difficult to stand. His legs were weak, so weak, he almost fell over when he bent down to pick up his things. Why was his head so heavy?

“Don’t let her think I’m a…” A what? At the time Michael just wanted Ed to stop talking. What did Ed expect him to do? How could he fix anything?

Leave the divorce papers? At least he wouldn’t look like a liar. Right? That would fix things. At least… a little.

Pulling out the stained pages, he returned to the body. Placing the papers on a wooden surface free of scarlet splatter, he kept his focus on his feet, “I…I hope this helps. And… Ed, I—” His gaze drifted into the pallid, dead eyes of the man whose life he destroyed.

He wanted to throw up.

Villain.

He had to leave, he had to get out of—Crack! Michael winced, then looked beneath his boot. It was the picture-frame Ed was holding. Even though every nerve in his body screamed to escape, he just had to know. He lifted it carefully with his gloved hand.

A family photo, featuring a younger, happier Ed, holding hands with a beautiful blonde woman, a giggling toddler sitting on his shoulders. The toddler reminded Michael a lot of his two-year-old sister, Tanya, and it almost provoked a smile.

What would happen to Sarah? If she thought that she drove her own father to suicide? Michael turned back to Ed. It would be so easy to walk away right now. The suicide will cover up any suspicion of a break-in, since Ed isn’t alive to report anything missing.

He could practically see his big brother, large hands on Michael’s small shoulders, trying to shake sense into him. He always said that family was more important that anything or anyone else, and if you betray your family, you can’t even call yourself a person. And now, right now, his deep voice thundered so clearly in his head:

Don’t get caught.

But…

Michael looked down to the hand that held Ed’s.

What would he be if he left like this?

Sarah wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for Ed’s suicide… but could she blame him for being murdered?

Don’t get caught.

Michael took a breath.

Don’t. Get. Caught.

He closed his eyes… then nodded.

I’m so sorry.

He rolled his mask down, slowly, as if applying a new skin.

Monster.

Ed’s gun was the last thing he took.