All them white-coat bastards said he had some “neurological condition.” Said he needed constant care. I said he needed a kick up the ass and to give us a hand on the farm.
But when Dad died in that mine shaft, I took over payin for his treatments. Never told nobody. Didn’t see the point in broadcastin that my brother was broken.
Willy spent half his life hooked up to machines, lookin like one of them science experiments on the telly. Tubes up his nose, cords hangin off him like a stupid puppet. That aint a life.
Every time I visited, he’d grab my hand and beg, “You’ll come back, won’t you, Frank?”
And I’d lie. “Sure, Willy.”
But I rarely did.
Couldn’t stand the smell of that place. Bleach and piss and somethin that don’t smell right.
Back in ’94, I bought Willy a little place in town. Figured maybe havin a home of his own would make him normal again.
Didn’t work. Just made him lonelier.
Every week he’d call, beggin me to come visit. Said the walls were whisperin to him.
I told him to grow up.
One day, the neighbor went to investigate a stink and found Willy dead. Willy had overdosed on the damn pills that were meant to save him. They called it accidental. I call it mercy.
Maybe that was the smartest thing he ever did.
He’s not buried in the family plot. Didn’t see the point. He hated Koolaroo.
I still own that house he died in, though.
That’s where I’m sittin now, writin all this shit down.
And fuck me if the damn walls don’t whisper, just like he said. But I’m not stupid enough to fall into that bullshit. It’s just the damn wind, cuttin through the cracks.
Anyways, guess the secret’s out now. I had a brother.
* * *
But sometimes, ya family is the biggest disappointment of all. You either sort that shit out, or you bury it deep and pretend it never happened.
You Branson kids had best figure that out before your bullshit ruins the lot of you.
Frank Branson
Chapter 17
Mitch
* * *
I exploded forward, charging at Doug. Four strides, and I locked my hands around the rifle barrel, forcing it up and away.
Doug fired, and the bullet screamed into the empty sky. The muzzle blast was deafening, the recoil jerking through both our arms.
Charlie's cry of terror barely broke through the ringing in my ears.
I punched Doug's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him in a wet gasp. He doubled over, but his grip on the rifle didn't loosen.
Stubborn bastard.