Isabella

I hated orchestra music. It was my mother’s favorite. She had insisted it be played during my brother’s funeral because she thought it would keep her calm. It used to soothe me when I was a child, and now all it did was remind me of death. My brother was dead, reduced to a human pancake. His body was unrecognizable. Because of that, we couldn’t have an open casket.

No matter how hard I tried, I still couldn’t wrap my head around the situation. The medical examiner said my brother had enough drugs and alcohol in his system to kill two grown men before he plunged to his death. But I didn’t believe the toxicology report. Of course, my dad kept that out of the media. He had ways to manipulate everyone.

I saw Mark less than an hour before he fell from the roof. No matter what the police believed, I knew my brother. Sure, he had his manic swings over the years and a thriving drug addiction, but he wasn’t suicidal. In all those years, he’d never tried to kill himself. He was going to help me run away from my father—not end his life.

I stared at the bouquets of vibrant flowers that surrounded my brother’s closed casket and wanted to scream. My chest caved every time I took a deep breath. Tears blurred my vision to the point I couldn’t see.

My father sat next to me, holding my hand. His touch felt forced and made my skin crawl. As usual, I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to beat the shit out of my dad.

I blamed him for Mark’s death. He was the source of everything bad in our lives. All the pressure he put on my brother must have gotten to him. But nothing added up for me. Mark was fine the last time I saw him. What could have changed in such a short amount of time?

I felt nothing.

For no one.

I was empty.

And alone.

Even in a crowded church.

Stephan was there, but for all I knew, his family was responsible. He hid in the corner of the church, dressed in one of his usual tailored suits, looking like a Calvin Klein model. I glanced over my shoulder to find him still there, his eyes fixed on me, as they had been the entire time. He was my last hope. Maybe he could save me from this hell on Earth.

We had a Catholic funeral mass, even though none of us went to church. I hadn’t gone in so many years I wasn’t even sure of the protocols anymore. I zoned out for most of the mass until my dad was called to the pulpit to deliver the eulogy.

“My son was troubled,” he started, delivering what would be one of his finest performances.

Senator Parisi was a brilliant speechwriter, his words capturing the entire crowd. It was all lies about our family, about my brother, designed to make everyone in the crowd feel sorry for him. The cameras were rolling, my father center stage, and he was on his A game.

After he finished, the priest asked if anyone else would like to speak, and surprisingly I raised my hand. My brother deserved better than the half-baked speech my father had just given.

The priest looked straight at me and called me forward.

When I stood, my legs trembled, making it hard to walk in these heels. I staggered up the few stairs to the pulpit and slid behind it. “Thank you,” I said to the priest, who nodded and took his seat near the altar behind me.

With my back turned to the priest and altar boys, I looked out into the crowd. There were so many people I had trouble seeing the back of the church. Most of Congress had shown up for the occasion. We had Wall Street bankers, local politicians, business owners, friends of friends, and anyone who wanted to get close to the Senator in attendance. I recognized people from middle school, high school, and even college in the crowd. Stephan’s family was also there, all the way in the back corner where he stood with his back against the wall.

The more I stared at faces, the more nervous I became. Unlike my father, I wasn’t the best public speaker, known to break out in hives on occasion. This wasn’t one my finest ideas. But my brother needed me. Someone had to give him the eulogy he deserved, not the one my father wanted everyone to hear. Most of all, he deserved the truth.

I pulled the microphone to me and tapped it with my finger, the sound reverberating throughout the church. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Isabella Parisi. Mark was my older brother.” I choked back the tears welling in my bottom lids. “Mark had his faults, but he was a good brother. He would have made a great politician someday.”

There was an echo of agreement from the men in the front pews, my father included. He smiled at me as if saying he was happy with my speech.

I gripped the front of the pulpit with one hand and wiped the sweat from my brow with the other. Damn, it was hot up there with so many people watching. My dress was tight, the fabric too close to my skin with how much it burned. Adrenaline shot through my veins, making my heart pump faster.

“Mark didn’t jump off that building.” I looked right into the camera in front of me, the light blinding me. “Someone killed him. Avenge him. Please. Because I knew my brother… he didn’t kill himself.”

My dad shot up from the front pew and held out his hand. “Let’s go, Isabella. Stop telling lies.” He turned to speak to those around him. “My daughter is going through a hard time. She doesn’t know what she’s saying right now.”

I looked at Stephan who smiled at me as if he agreed with my clear defiance. He was amused by my outburst, though I couldn’t say the same for my dad. Giving Stephan a signal with my head he knew well, I power walked across the left side of the church and ran out the door, leaving my father to do damage control.

Fuck him.

No matter the outcome, I still held him responsible for Mark’s death, and that would never change.