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In the distance closer to the lighthouse, I see movement. A figure. I recognize my brother and follow the winding edge of the cliff toward him. Drops of salty water splash my face at intervals. Lost in his own thoughts, Caius only notices me when I’m a few feet from him. It seems to take him a minute to recognize me. When he does, he turns back toward the sea without a smile.
“Calm tonight,” he says. “If this is calm.” He brings the bottle of whiskey to his lips and drinks.
I shove my hands into my pockets and stand beside him to look out at the horizon. Nothing but blackness for miles and miles.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I say. From my periphery I see him turn to look at me, eyebrows high.
“Are you now?” He studies me.
“Don’t be an asshole. I’m apologizing.”
He drinks from the bottle.
“You didn’t know she did what she did?” I ask.
“Mom?”
I nod.
“What do you think?”
I reach for the bottle, and he hands it to me. I notice how much is in there and wonder if he drank the third that’s missing, then drink a swallow before giving it back. It feels good, the burn. There are days I miss that burn. The oblivion enough of it brings.
“So, I’m going to be an uncle,” he says.
“It’s up to Madelena.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?”
He considers me. “She’s not going to get rid of it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know. She’s tougher than you think. You treat her like she’s going to fucking break any second. She won’t.”
“You have all the insights tonight.”
He takes the bottle back and holds it up. “Whiskey will do that,” he says and drinks. We fall into silence as he watches the sea and I watch him. “Do you think you’re a monster, Santos?”
His question is odd, and he shifts his gaze to me to wait for an answer that takes too long to formulate.
“I know I deserve to burn in hell for the things I have done when my time comes.”
“Who is responsible? You for the acts you committed? The Commander for ordering them?”
“Just had this conversation with my wife.”
“So, you know the answer?”
“I’m responsible for my choices. I know that. I accept it. We are all responsible for the choices we make. Why are you asking this?”
He drinks. “Being complicit even if you’re not the one committing the crime also makes you a monster, you agree?”
“What are you getting at?”
He shakes his head. “Do you think monsters are born or made? Think it’s in our DNA?”
