A brother's love - short story

They are here. A big black car pulls up in the driveway. I imagine tens of men in white hazmat suits running towards the house, guns in hand. I quickly get up from the old, beaten-up chair that I was sitting in and run into the bedroom. There he is – he is what they have come for. We have spent ages running from this, squatting from place to place to avoid it. I thought that we were doing well – we had had no visits, no inquiries, nothing. I thought that they would never find us.

I quickly swoop up my ten-year-old brother and conceal him under the bed as best I can, they won’t find him here. They can’t. I won’t let them.

As the doorbell rings, I feel my heart pacing. I take my time as I walk down the stairs – I can’t let them see that I’m out of breath, they’ll suspect something. I slowly fumble for my keys, carefully caressing each one with my fingers and thumb as I look for the correct one. I can hear someone outside mumbling something to me, they’re getting impatient. They knock again, harder this time. How could they have found us? I had made sure to stay hidden. I knew that his photo would be everywhere, so we hadn’t even gone out to buy food. We were living completely off the radar. It was hard, but essential.

I suddenly wondered if I was doing the right thing. Surely we should just run now while we still had time. I thought about grabbing my brother, jumping through the bedroom window and running across the back fields into the forest. They wouldn’t come looking for us there. Even if they did, they wouldn’t find us. They don’t know the woods like I do. I could hide him… I glanced towards the stairs. Should I do it?

As my mind raced, there was one thing that stopped me from acting instinctively.

Dogs. The thought of dogs. I didn’t know if they had any or not. I could imagine what it would be like if they did. The sound of their loud barks as they came closer, as they sniffed around looking for us. Their heavy pants as they ran about the woods. I imagined what it would be like to be bitten by a one of them. I had seen it once - when I was out hunting with my father. I will never forget the way our greyhound opened its wide jaw and bit down onto the deer’s flank. The way its flesh looked so soft and fragile as our dog ripped through its muscle. I thought of the pain; I had broken my leg once when I was younger. I thought that I was going to die. I had never been in so much agony. I can still hear the horrible, sickening noise of my bone snapping – I’m convinced that being attacked by a dog would be worse.

Then I thought of my brother, helpless, lying on the ground being maimed by savage dogs. I couldn’t bare to imagine it. He had become so helpless after his accident. It was up to me now to protect him.

I still didn’t understand why they wanted to take him away. My thoughts were full of unanswered questions about this, my dreams haunted by the endless possibilities. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. I couldn’t let them take him.

A third, more pressing knock at the door woke me from my trance. I had to open it. There was no other choice. I slipped the key into the lock, my hands trembling and carefully turned it; a resounding ‘click’ filled the silent house as the door opened.

I began to sob. Subconsciously, I knew that they were going to find him. Maybe not today, but someday. We couldn’t go on hiding from this forever, living in the shadows.

The door swings open.

To my surprise, there were no men in hazmat suits, no guns, no handcuffs. Just a woman. She looked quite old. Maybe sixty. She had soft, kind eyes, the sort that were framed by smile lines and seemed peaceful. I felt myself overcome with an unbearable sense of relief. I was only twenty-six – and living with a ten-year-old for so long, without any other company. It had taken its toll on me; it was so nice to see someone older than me, and without thinking about it, unconsciously, I immediately considered her as a person that I could trust – a mother of some sorts.

Slowly, she held out her hand to me. I didn’t know why at the time, but I reached out and gently placed mine in hers. I felt so lonely.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I poured out all of my fears. Exposed everything to this stranger. I told her about the men coming after us. I told her about how I’d been hiding my brother, how we’d been running away. How I was scared to lose him and just wanted to protect him.

She didn’t seem shocked. She looked at me with pain and sadness in her eyes.

“John, you need to let him go”, she said.

I was instantly filled with rage and confusion. How could she say that to me?? After everything that I’d just admitted to her.

A sense of dread fell over me. She must be working with them. This was a mistake. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have opened up to her like that.

I quickly get to my feet and start backing away from her. She gets up too and follows me as I begin to run up the stairs, panic flooding through my body.

I get into the bedroom, but it’s too late. She’s right behind me. There’s no time to grab my brother and run. She calmly walks towards me and places her old lined hands on my face. I feel myself pulling away and am about to push her hands when she speaks:

“You know that the accident was fatal John. Let go. He's gone. Please let your mother bury him.”

Written by Lily Dale, 13/11/2022