Twenty Five
ASH
“Just so you know I’m proud of you.”
I jump at the sound of Cole’s strained voice. I don’t turn around but instead close my eyes and take a long shot of whiskey, hoping it calms down the nerves threatening to ignite and burn the whole fucking place down. The liquid sets fire to my throat and this pain brings me an odd sense of satisfaction, knowing I deserve every ounce of the sting. I refill my glass with another shot.
Walking over to his couch, I don’t look at him. I can see his silhouette against the glass in my periphery, but I keep my eyes set to the path right in front of me. I need that wall between us. I need to cling to my side, too afraid of what might happen if I look up—too afraid of who I might find if I do.
Sitting on the black leather couch, I stare into the bottom of my glass waiting for the words to finally work their way down to my tongue.
He interrupts my thoughts. “You could’ve played it safe your whole life. You could’ve stayed a spoiled rich boy and kept eating the shit we were feeding you, but you didn’t. This last year…you built your own life in spite of us wanting to keep you naive.”
I don’t recognize my own voice when I whisper into the cavernous space, “Tell me you didn’t do this.”
Cole barks out a strangled laugh and spins around, his loud voice drawing all of my attention. His eyes are wide and manic, his mouth a gaping hole of silence as he strains to hold a frenzied smile. Tears have already marred his cheeks while his left hand shakes down by his side.
He takes a step away from the window like the mania is driving him forward and his eyes dart around the room. “Oh man, wouldn’t that be great? Jesus, Ash. To relive one moment, to change one second of your life.” He turns and throws his glass against the stone fireplace. The shatter breaks the tension in the room as he stumbles back in his step. He drags his fingers across his scalp, his knuckles white against the auburn shade of his hair, and I fight down the urge to go to him. Any other second—any other moment—I would’ve told him we’d get through this. Nothing we couldn’t get through together. But this time I leave him dangling, staring at the fire reflected in the shattered glass.
He drops his arms to his sides and shakes his head once, as if disappointed in himself for breaking. Stepping back, he leans against the window and slides down the pane, his body making a screeching sound against the glass. He runs a hand down his face, and he leaves faint, vertical red lines splitting his face into fractions.
“I was nineteen. Women. Money. Cars. Thought everything was ours, you know?” He looks up at me, but I school my features, refusing to give him the pity he’s searching for.
“I should’ve known, though. Everything has a price, right? Isn’t that what Dad always said? Only time that asshole ever told the truth about something. You? Me? Rethers? Seder? We’re just pawns. We’re just inanimate pieces that the old men move to do their bidding.”
He stares at me with pleading eyes, begging me to try to understand, but my tongue seems locked against the roof of my mouth. He lowers his hands to the ground and leans his head back against the glass. He chuckles and closes his eyes. “That church, though, huh? That’s a freaking beaut. Dad wanted to use it to pay off a favor, but I kept it for you. Knew you’d do something great with it. Thought we could finally go in together, like we always talked about doing, but I needed you out of the state. Had to protect you,” he mumbles, looking down. “Always had to protect you.”
I feel the immediate snap of the last of my control. I slam my drink onto the glass coffee table and an invisible fist wraps around my throat. I swallow, trying to find more air and stand, needing to find an outlet, something to grab onto. My knees buckle as I walk over to the fireplace, staring down at the colors reflected on Cole’s broken glass.
With a mother who had been sick off and on through my entire childhood and a father who couldn’t deal with his own grief, Cole taught me everything I know. He taught me my shapes and colors. He taught me how to count to ten and how to count back from five when my panic attacks grew too strong. He taught me how to shake someone’s hand and tie my own tie. He taught me what it meant to be a Sanders, what it meant to have pride in who we were.
I close my eyes to block out the image of the glass and lean my forearm against the stones. “Who are you? Who the fuck are you?”
Cole doesn’t hesitate when he sighs and says just as quietly, “I don’t know, Ash. And that’s the fucking truth. I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore.”
I throw my head back in a bitter laugh and spin around. “Holy fuck, do you hear yourself? You used to be…Jesus. You used to be the only thing I could count on. The only thing that made any fucking sense. And now…” I shake my head, my tongue feeling heavy by the weight of the unspoken words.
His head is still tilted back against the glass and his forearms rest on his knees. He sounds tired and so defeated when he says, “That trust didn’t come cheap, little brother.”
Cole turns his head to look up at the ceiling. “I would’ve kept paying. Nothing I wouldn’t do for you, but I can’t stop this, Ash. I tried to stand between you and everything that could ever hurt you, but this is how it has to be. I can’t do it anymore.”
I step forward, drawn to his words. “Is this all about the fucking In Ruinam thing? You told me…you said you had nothing to do with it. That you had no idea Dad was even a part of it. When the cops arrested him…when the fucking journalists raked our name over the coals….you swore….”
In Ruinam wasn’t a concept I had ever heard, not in the rumors or gossip that followed my family everywhere we went. Now it’s a concept I can’t escape. It’s a term that I hear every minute, playing over and over in my mind.
Rethers was the first to step forward only a few months ago. Fucking walked right in the precinct and demanded he be arrested for “whatever crimes” were committed against Calla Kennedy. Some asshat filmed Rethers’ theatrical performance and from there, all hell has broken loose. One by one, the media exposed the elite and pompous of Baltimore and their connection to In Ruinam. From surgeons down to postal workers, their victims have been more than willing to expose the greedy men that held the most control of In Ruinam—men like my father.
Cole toes the edge of the Oriental rug looking exhausted. His voice sounds brittle and frayed as his shoulders drop. “You ever wonder why we got transferred to that private school? Our father couldn’t afford to take us to McDonalds, but all of a sudden, he could afford private school? He didn’t need to pay a dime out of his bank account but it did cost him. It cost him his son.”
Cole pauses. He stares at me like he’s waiting to see how I’ll react to his pause.
My mind flips through my grade school, trying to find a link between my memories and Cole’s bullshit. Unfortunately, the only thing this walk down memory lane proves is that I don’t remember shit. My entire childhood was consumed by the slow deterioration of our mother while all other memories seem like distant thoughts I may have once read about.
Our father was just an occasional black hole in our lives like a cavity in an otherwise normal mouth. But I don’t remember anything significant about Cole. He was always in sports, gone most afternoons and evenings for practice or games.
He must notice the distance in my eyes because he shakes his head but sounds more than a little bit frustrated when he says, “You never wondered why you got away with everything? Why teachers looked away when you didn’t show up for finals? Why you never got less than a B? Hell, why the freaking lunch lady always gave you pizza even though they were serving tuna noodle casserole or something equally gross?”
Unfortunately, my defenses can no longer hold back the truth, and I feel impaled by his questions. I always got my way, whether from the custodian or the security guard at our school. All I did was flash a smile and people always said “sure” before I even asked the question.
But still I dig my heels in, refusing to concede. “So you’re saying you paid all of these people off? You’re saying that you followed behind me like a fucking bodyguard, protecting me from ever hearing the word no?”
His head falls back when he laughs. “Ha! I would’ve paid them to say no to you. Jesus. All you ever heard was yes. They were afraid, idiot. They were afraid of Dad, of In Ruinam. They were even afraid of what I would do. Rumors are a wonderful thing when you’re trying to appear bigger than you are.”
I sit on the couch and fall back against the cushion. “You’re really more insane than I thought.”
Cole stands and walks over to his broken glass, staring down at the spilled whiskey. Walking over to the bar, he stares down at the bottles. “Wish I was.”
My teeth grind together so hard that my jaw cracks. I lean forward, dropping my chin to my chest and stare at the man I once admired. “Did you help make those tapes?”
Cole doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I don’t hear a hint of regret in his voice. If anything, Cole sounds relieved like he’s been waiting for me to ask the question—dying to tell the truth.
I don’t react right away. My body doesn’t instantly shift into a murderous rampage. I don’t lunge across the table, demanding an apology. Instead I sit in the silence of his home as a slow, burning pain drifts through my body, igniting everything in its path.
Cole turns to stare at me like he’s searching my face for something. I hope he’s looking for forgiveness and understanding, because he will never find them. He’ll spend the rest of his life without them.
Without me.
The vice-like grip returns to my throat as tears sting the back of my eyes. I can almost feel the doors slamming in my mind, hiding memories of my brother in shadow. Even my mind doesn’t think I can handle the full weight of his betrayal.
“Was it worth it?”
He shrugs, looking completely unaffected by the heaviness settling in the room. “Yes.”
A choking sound escapes from my throat, and I sound like an injured animal trying to move. “How many other people did you destroy? How many people did you set out to ruin?”
His shoulders sag. “As many as I could for as long as I could.”
I lean forward, rocking back and forth with my hands in my hair. I have a choice to make and both choices lead to the same ending. I can either try to find a bitter relief by pounding against his flesh until I’m able to exorcise the asshole living inside of him. Or I can be the better man and walk away from the piece of shit I once loved more than anyone on earth.
Neither choice will change my next objective: finding a way to live without a brother and best friend.
Snapshots of my childhood flip through my mind as I stare down at the glass coffee table, searching for clarity. Cole teaching me how to ride a bike then how to ride a motorcycle. Cole showing me how to steer our go-kart then how to drive a stick-shift. Cole putting condoms on my bed and Playboys on my nightstand. Cole knowing what I needed without me ever having to ask.
Only now he can’t give me what I need.
“I’m going away for awhile.”
I laugh bitterly and shake my head. “Why am I not surprised?”
Cole nods. “I deserve that.”
I stand, needing to feel the hardwood floor under my feet. I feel off-balance, exposed, like everything has turned sideways and I have no idea which way is up. Staring around at the white walls of my brother’s living room, I look for something—anything to latch onto. My father. My brother. Both spent the week destroying people and then spent their weekends at charity events, pretending to have hearts. Pretending to have souls.
I don’t recognize my own voice when I say, “No. No, you deserve to answer for what you did to Calla. For what you did to all of those people. You need to face the music instead of hiding behind your fucking bank account.” Even as I say the words, my gut clenches at the idea of my brother facing down public opinion. As sick and as twisted as his decisions, I can’t imagine watching him stripped down to nothing.
He shakes his head but doesn’t look the least bit relieved. Instead he looks almost pained when he says, “In Ruinam won’t let that happen. It’s over anyway. There’s nothing left to be done. Calla’s term is over. My term is over. Rethers was set up to take the fall for this, but he’ll get off. In Ruinam is in ruins, and everything played out in the media just like I hoped.”
I open my mouth, but then pause. “What do you mean it all played out like you hoped?”
Cole turns the bottle in his hands, staring at the ridges of the decanter like it holds all of the answers while I stare at him in the same way. “You always hated journalists. But I told you they’d come in handy one day. I gave them every name and detail about In Ruinam. Shut the whole fucking thing down. I don’t give a shit what they do to me, but I will stop them from touching you. I will always fucking stop them.” He looks up at me, his red-rimmed eyes swollen in the overhead light. “I threatened to walk. So they put you on film. I keep my mouth shut, they leave you alone. My term ends, I disappear, and you stay…”
“Dumb and blind,” I grind out between my molars.
“Never.” The single word sounds like a growl as he slams the glass bottle on his end table. “You were never blind, and you were never dumb. You were always too smart for your own damn good, which is why I had to lie. Without the lies, you would’ve seen everything.” He looks away from me to stare out the windows. “I couldn’t risk that.”
He shakes his head and takes in a long breath. “For what it’s worth, Calla’s legit. I don’t just mean about the videos. I mean who she is…as a person. Spent enough time watching her…”
And then it happens. I lunge and punch him in the face. I feel so numb, so blind with rage, that I barely feel the pain in my fist. Without thinking, I throw another punch to the other side of his face. He doesn’t block the blow. He doesn’t try to defend himself and instead closes his eyes like he can’t bear to see me lose control.
I fist the hair above my ears and step back, yelling out a strangled scream. “Fuck!”
Blood drips from his mouth and nose as he opens his eyes. Pity mixes with remorse as he looks up at me with tears in his eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
Spinning around, I stare down at him and put my arms out in front of me. “Of course it’s not my fucking fault.”
Cole shakes his head and wipes the blood away from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know you. You’re going to walk out of here. You’re going to wonder what you could’ve done to stop me. To stop Dad. Then you’ll start to obsess. Maybe you could’ve done something. Maybe you could’ve helped me. I’m telling you now. Nothing you could’ve done. Nothing. No matter what the news says, no matter what happens from here on out, there is nothing you could have done to stop this from happening.”
He pushes off the chair with a grimace and stands in front of me just like he always has. In spite of the blood dripping from his face, for a moment, all I see is my brother. The guy I have always relied on. The only family I have ever really known. The guy who made sure I always had a friend even when I felt like I didn’t. The guy who clapped the loudest and stood behind me whenever I tried to do something new. Even though I usually failed, he pushed me to keep trying—to keep being whoever I wanted to be—no matter how many times I reinvented myself.
Now he stands in front of me assuring me I’m still good. As if reading my mind, he’s able to raise the corner of his lips into a bloody half-smile. “Now it’s time for you to get off the train before it crashes.” He tilts his head as a tear finally escapes his eyes. “Love you, man. Always will.”
With that, he turns and walks into his bedroom, slowly closing the door between us. I stand there a few seconds with my mind empty of thoughts. I don’t hesitate because of questions demanding answers. I don’t wait to see if he’ll come out for an encore. I pause because I don’t want to press play again. I know that I’ll have to move to the next chapter in my life, and my brother won’t be a part of it.