Page 125 of The Dearly Departed

"I'm careful," he said, smacking the back of his hand against my arm. "You don't gotta worry about me, big brother. But I'm worried about you and your dusty dick over here. The fuck is goin' on with you? Starin' off into space, not wanting to do shit anymore. You're freakin' us both out, honestly, me and Shawn. He won't talk to you about it, afraid he's gonna hurt your feelings or some shit. But I'm not scared of talkin' to you, so what the fuck, Bram?"

His grilling was making me tense, and as I released the smoke from my chest, I shook my head.

"Nothing's going on with me," I replied, agitated.

My phone buzzed from my pocket, and I pulled it out.

Dean again.

9 a.m. DO NOT BE LATE.

I glanced at the time. It was eight thirty.

I have to go.

"More spam?" Ike wore a condescending look on his face now, skepticism written plainly in his eyes.

"Yeah," I replied, stamping the cigarette out in the empty planter I used as an ashtray. "I have to run to the store. You need anything?"

"Always runnin' out to the store, always goin' somewhere," he muttered, shaking his head. "One day, I'm gonna follow your ass and figure out where the fuck you've been going."

I stared at him for a moment as he curved his lips into a taunting smirk.

"Don't like that, do ya?"

"I didn't say anything," I replied, forcing a nonchalant shrug as my heart edged closer toward panic.

Stay the fuck away from me, Ike, I wanted to say. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay far, far, far away.

"If you're not gonna tell us what the fuck is goin' on, then I'm gonna find out," he threatened with his own shrug, just as nonchalant.

“Don’t,” I said simply.

But he shook his head. "We're worried, all right? We've been worried for a long fuckin' time, and now I'm getting sick of being worried. So, those are your choices. You tell me, or I find out."

"How about you respect my privacy?" I fired at him. "I'm thirty-five years old, Isaac, and I sure as hell don't need to answer to anyone. Not you, not Shawn."

"Uh, when we run a fuckin' business together, yes, you fuckin' do."

Oh, the things I wanted to say to him.

This business wouldn't be operating if it wasn’t for me and the services I provided for Gerald and his deviant wife. For the two of them, I was a murderer and a prostitute. I brought in clients whenever one of Gerald’s guys got themselves killed. And I was paid handsomely for all of it … but of course, neither Shawn nor Ike knew about any of it. All of the secrets I kept hidden beneath both of their noses.

It was impossible for my soul to get any heavier.

"I'm going to the store," I said in a gruff, hardened voice. "I won't be long."

"Sure, Bram," Ike replied, betrayal and disgust in his eyes as the smirk fell from his lips. He raised the mug to me in cheers. "See ya later."

Then I hurried down the porch steps to the hearse and climbed inside. I started the car and pulled out of my usual spot, steering out of the parking lot and onto the street. And not once did I look back to meet my brother's eyes, watching as I left.

***

It was risky and borderline insane to stand in the middle of this gazebo in broad daylight, wearing a plague doctor mask. Pedestrians passed, they glanced, and their looks of scrutiny or fear bristled against my skin.

I don't feel comfortable here, I texted Dean, but got no reply.

It was eight fifty-five a.m.