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Then, Rick
I hated people. It was official. My whole life, I’d always felt different, alone even when surrounded by others. No one seemed to understand the things I felt, and that only furthered the loneliness that followed me throughout my childhood.
But I wasn’t a child anymore. I think I’d proved that to myself.
At nineteen, the last thing I expected was to be where I was today. Wearing an all-black suit, surrounded by people who were either crying or consoling—also wearing black. It was a solemn, serious occasion, and I felt so out of place, if only because of what I’d done.
We were here because of me, I couldn’t forget that.
My parents were here. They hardly looked at me, though, too inconsolable about the body in the casket in the front of the room. My mom clutched a handful of tissues, her makeup smeared and running due to her tears, while my dad simply stood there and nodded along quietly to one of his work friends who’d taken the day off to come to the wake.
It was my brother. His body lay in the casket in the front. You could see his face, how still it was, how sunken-in and gaunt his cheeks had become, the sallow, sickly skin. He wasn’t like that in life. No, he was older than me by quite a few years, the type of man who everyone always looked to. Strong, solid, the kind of man who would’ve made a good father.
The clothes on my brother’s body hid the wounds on his chest and back. You see, my brother didn’t just die. He’d been murdered, and everyone here knew it. It’s why the air in this place was so thick.
I stood in the corner of the room, off to the side, as people came and went to pay their respects. Some of them came up to me, whispering how sorry they were about what had happened, while others paid more attention to my parents near the casket.
And, of course, there were those that gravitated around the two this obscene crime hurt the most: the widow and the son.
Veronica Montgomery sat in the front row of the seats facing the casket, her back rod straight. Her black hair was curled, cascading in layers down her back. She wore a tight black blouse with a pencil skirt and matching dark heels, tights on her legs. Though her back was to me, I could easily picture the way her blue eyes stared at the casket, at her dead husband’s body.
I was nineteen, but my brother was much older. Old enough to have somehow caught the attention of the local wealthy elites, lucky enough to have put a ring on her finger and a baby in her belly. Veronica was thirty, but my brother was thirty-two.
Or, I should say,hadbeen thirty-two before he’d been killed.
My gaze shifted to the boy beside her. He sat with perfect posture, much like his mother, at just six years old. He had inherited my brother’s brown hair, along with his green eyes. Gareth Montgomery. A quiet boy.
My brother didn’t know what he had. The things he’d done behind Veronica’s back…
Was I supposed to ignore it? Was I supposed to have his back because I was his brother? My parents had always said I felt my feelings deeply, that things that would normally slide off anyone else hit me right in the heart and refused to dissipate, and I was starting to come to the conclusion they were right.
How else could I explain what I’d done?
I closed my eyes, picturing it. The night it had happened. The night I’d killed my own brother.
Veronica had been in the city for something, which left Gareth to the babysitter—his uncle, Alistair—and her husband, my brother, to do whatever he pleased. It just so happened that my brother had a wandering eye… and a wandering dick. To have Veronica and not be faithful; it made no sense to me, and it pissed me off in more ways than one.
If I had her, for instance, I’d never let my eyes wander ever again. She’d be it.
My brother had taken a girl home from a bar. Nothomehome—a local, run-down motel on the edge of the next town beyond Eastcreek, the only motel around, where no questions were asked. I’d waited until they were done; there was no point in barging in during the deed and letting the woman see me. I didn’t blame her. I blamed my brother.
And then I did the only thing I could. I killed him. Stabbed him, to be more precise, a whole bunch of times. I’d lost count, truth be told, letting my emotions get the better of me, just like my parents always said. I let my emotions rule over me, and in that moment, every single nerve in my body had been screaming to inflict pain on my brother.
Did I regret what I’d done? That was a difficult question to answer. He was my brother, so I loved him, but at the same time… he wasn’t worthy of the life he’d claimed. As far as I was concerned, I did what I had to.
“Rick,” a low voice spoke, breaking into my thoughts and forcing me to open my eyes. The voice wasn’t full of pain or condolences; it sounded emotionless, and that was why, even before I opened my eyes, I knew who it was.
Alistair Montgomery stood before me, one of his hands shoved into his suit’s pocket, while the other hung at his side. His black hair was slicked back, appearing high-born and dignified even though this was his brother-in-law’s wake. His blue eyes, much the same hue as Veronica’s, bore into me, though the face they were set in was as blank as ever.
That was the thing about Alistair. If you really paid attention to him, if you really stared hard at him and listened to the tone of his voice, you’d see and hear nothing. It was like he was a blank slate, and all of his feelings were bottled up inside, never to see the light of day. Not once had I ever seen the guy smile.
I’d never much liked the guy. I didn’t understand how he could possibly be Veronica’s brother—she was much livelier than he was, in absolutely every way.
“Alistair,” I spoke his name, wishing he would go away. Go back to consoling his sister and his nephew or something. He was younger than Veronica, only twenty-three years old; four years older than me. We might’ve been close in age, but we were nothing alike. He and I, we came from different backgrounds, cut from different cloths.
“Come,” he said. “Let’s find somewhere a little more private. There’s something I want to discuss with you.” Nothing gave away what he wanted to talk about, nothing at all. Not the look on his face, not the words he said, not even the way he turned away from me and started walking, as if I had no choice but to follow him.
I supposed, in the end, I didn’t, not if I wanted to stay in Veronica’s life. I… I think I was in love with her. I think that’s why my brother’s indiscretions had made me so infuriated.
