Derek and I had never been close. Not as close as brothers should be. If I had known then what I know now, I would have tried harder.
I suspect our differences was because of our ages. See, I was fourteen when he was born. So, when he was three-years-old, I was seventeen, graduating high school with a full ride scholarship to University of South Carolina. At the time, we lived in Woodruff, which was a little over a two-hour drive from the university. My mom still lives there to this day.
When I came from for holiday breaks, such as Thanksgiving or Christmas, Derek would often remain closed off to me, usually staying in his room. I always tried to go with him, have a conversation with him or something, but our interests were too different. He was into Dungeons & Dragons; I was into football and basketball. Naturally, those conversations always ended awkwardly with minutes of silence in between, both of us not knowing what to say next. As always, I got bored in his room and left to rejoin my parents.
As any mom would do, she continued to encourage me to try harder with him. She told me he had no friends at school and suspected that he was being bullied. I nodded, thinking I would take care of it.
That day, when I brought up the subject of bullying to Derek, he broke down crying and called mom a liar. More awkwardness ensued.
“Man—this is some willy foo-foo shit!” he yelled at me.
I blinked. “What the hell does that even mean? And where did you hear that from?”
At that, he kicked me out of his room and slammed the door my face. Then I did the worst thing I could possibly do. I left him alone, getting nothing accomplished.
As the years passed, because of the traveling distance between us, I hardly saw him. Sometimes it would be years before I laid my eyes on him again. In the back of my mind, I always thought I should be there; be the big brother I should be. Like a coward, I never did.
When I was twenty-four, my father passed. Derek was ten at the time. While struggling to deal with my own grief, I tried to be there for him. After the funeral, we came home and I offered to take Derek out for ice cream. It was the only thing I knew he liked.
At the Marble Slab, not a word was said between us. We shared a banana split, each starting on the opposite side, making our way to the center. That whole time, I felt myself, wanting to break down over the loss of my father, but I couldn’t. Not for the sake of my little brother. I needed to be brave in front of him to show him that if I could be strong, so could he. At least I hoped that was the message I was trying to portray.
As we finished eating our banana split, he met my gaze. In his eyes, I saw hurt. Pain. Anger. I don’t even know how I saw it. It’s not like you can physically see an emotion. But I did. No, I felt it in his expression.
I gave him a polite smile and handed him the pink punch-card. During that time, Marble slab gave out these punch-cards where if they stamped it ten times, you’d get the next ice cream free. So far, it only had one stamp.
“For next time, okay?” I said.
He sniffed, holding back a tear. Then nodded. There was a tug on the bottom half of his lip. It was almost a smile, but not quite. I feel quiet, letting the silence linger between us. We picked up our trash and then headed back home.
Over the course of that week, Derek and I never spoke a word and I don’t even know why. At the end of the week, I packed up my bags and got ready to get back to school to finish up my master’s degree in criminal law.
Before I left, I knocked on Derek’s door. No answer. I knocked again. Still no answer. I opened and found him in his bed. He was tucked in the blanket, the covers slowly rising and falling.
My lips pursed with regret. I was not going to be able to tell him that I was leaving. It was just such a dark time in my life. I was filled with so many emotions I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do to wake him up. Instead, I gently closed the door and left.
Eleven long years passed and I barely saw him. My life got in the way. After I graduated, I found a girlfriend who was pregnant a couple of months later. We got married and we bought a house. I made a life for myself in the city that was two hours away. With the baby on the way at the time, my life seemed to hit fast forward and I became a successful criminal defense attorney.
The next thing I knew, Derek was twenty-one years old. That’s when I got a call from my mom that rocked my world once again . . .
When I answered my phone, my mom was crying hysterically. Dread landed in the pit of my stomach. I knew something was wrong. Very wrong. My hands started shaking.
“What is it?” I breathed.
She didn’t need to tell me. Somehow, I already knew. Derek was dead.
I managed to find the strength to call my wife and tell her I was going to drive to my mother’s house. I had to fix things. During the drive home, again, I held it in. For two hours, none stop.
When I got to my mom’s place, a police cruiser sat in the driveway. I got out of the car and rushed over, asking what happened. The cops explained that my brother had gotten so drunk for his twenty-first birthday, he fell asleep in his car. In the middle of the night, he vomited. With him being so drunk, he was unable to get the puke out of his mouth. Basically, he drowned in his own vomit. He was found dead in the bar parking lot the following morning.
Standing at the door, I went through too many emotions, I was unsure of what to do. I was experiencing regret. Anger. Emotional pain. I don’t even know why, but I decided to head into my brother’s room. I just needed to be in a place that he was in.
I closed the door and didn’t know what to do. My breathing came fast and hard. There was too much anger for me to think straight. Too much pain. My jaw clenched.
Even though he was dead, I needed some sort of memory of him. A memento to remind me of him. But as I took in the room, I realized just how different we were. Scattered around his room where anime action figures. On every wall, there were a variety of posters from One-man punch to Empire Strikes Back. All of his bookshelves were filled with Manga. It killed me how so different we were. I was more of a Stephen King reader. One thing that caught my attention was his mirror. Taped onto it was that Marble Slab punch card. One stamp. The creepiest thing though, was sitting on his dresser. It was a bleached-white opera mask that sort of simulated a mannequin face.
I sighed, holding back my tears. I picked up one of his Batman trade paperbacks off the floor when a picture fell out.
Cocking my head, I picked up the picture and eyed it curiously. It was a polaroid of a girl. My heart rate picked up. I swallowed. The picture that chills down my back. It was a close-up of her face with her eyes were rolled back and her throat was slit.
My head spun. It had to be a fake, right? Just how much about my brother did I not know?
I abruptly stood then began rummaging through all of my brother’s stuff. I ripped the Manga books off the shelves and started leafing through all of them. Out of twenty books, four more pictures fell. All the same style as the previous one. Outside my window, I heard conversations. I took a glance out the window and saw the cops were still here, talking among themselves. One of their radio’s chirps echoed. The one on the right gripped the mic on his shoulder and spoke something into it. Then they got in their patrol car.
I got back to work. For the next couple of hours, I continued to go through all of the books in the room finding more and more pictures. After a complete thorough search, I counted fifty-two pictures total. All of them were different ages and races, no younger than eighteen ranging up to the late seventies.
What made things more interesting was that each one had a date on the back as well as a playing card number on the front. For example, one of the pictures had two of hearts written on the corners. Another picture had the three of hearts on it, and so on. From the dates on the back, these pictures had been taken every two weeks. And the last one added to his collection was the ace of spades which was completed two months ago.
The only thing I could think to ask myself was who these girls are. What did that mean? I hoped and prayed that this was some sort of prop for one of his role-playing games. But, in the back of my mind, I doubted it. I needed some sort of closure that my brother was not a person who would do something so heinous.
An idea came to me.
Opening up his bedroom door, I went into my mother’s room and asked if she had gotten back his phone from the cops. I figured that was the best place to start. She nodded and handed it to me. From there, I went through his text messages.
There was one particular one that caught my interest from a guy named Todd.
The latest one read, “The Queen has arrived. She is now in her kingdom.”
I gritted my teeth. Judging from the pictures I had found, that did not sound good. Then a thought struck me. What if Todd didn’t know that my brother had died? Perhaps, I could get a hold of him and see what all of this was about.
I texted, “Todd?”
The reply came a second later. “What is it, my child?”
I narrowed my eyes at the phone. My thumbs flew across the screen.
“I need to see you.”
“That may not be wise,” the screen said.
“It’s important.”
Two minutes passed then nothing. I held my breath. Damn, had I blown it? Finally, the flashing dots appeared on the bottom of the iPhone, indicating that he was replying.
“Come to me . . .”
That reply did it. Something in me wanted to hurt this man. Perhaps it was because I was still mourning the loss of my brother, but a primal urge swelled inside of me to that wrap my hands around this man’s throat and punish him.
“Can’t,” I typed back. “Mom took my car. Meet me somewhere close. Walking distance from my house. Can you come get me?”
Three minutes passed this time. No reply.
“Please.” I typed. Then I went for it. “I need you.”
“Where?” The screen flashed.
“Mr. Jalapeño. There is a table in the back. Wait for me. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
“Okay.”
It was done.
Before I left, I got dressed in black. For some reason I could not describe, a feeling perhaps, I grabbed the mannequin mask. Then I went back to collect the pictures. I put in a set of gloves and wiped down each one carefully with a damp cloth, removing any prints of them. After that was done, I put them in my jacket pocket and left my brothers room. On my way out the front door, I gave my mom a kiss on the forehead and held her for a minute. I whispered into her hair that I was going to take care of everything.
Then I left.
Mr. Jalapeño is a restaurant located a couple of miles from my mom’s house. They have decent food and great guacamole. I parked my car and waited. My heart pounded in my chest the whole time. I swallowed and kept my gaze on everybody who entered the restaurant.
At the twenty-five-minute mark, an older model truck pulled into the parking lot. Once the vehicle parked, a man got out, who was maybe in his early to mid-forties.
This was Todd?, I thought to myself.
He ran his fingers through his silver hair and looked over his shoulder, checking if anybody was watching him.
An idea came to me. Quickly, I typed on my brother’s iPhone. “Where are you?”
Then I kept my attention on this guy, seeing if he would check his phone. Sure enough, he did. He thumbed a reply. After he was done, he pocketed his phone and headed into the restaurant.
“Coming inside,” the phone displayed.
Everything inside of me yelled to go in there and pound this man into the ground for whatever brainwashing he did to my brother, but I couldn’t do that. I needed to be smart about this. I needed to know more information. So, I waited.
“Where are you?” The phone said.
I ignored it.
“I’m here. Waiting. Where are you?” It said again.
A couple of more messages popped on the phone but I didn’t read them. I didn’t need to. Whatever they said was not important. Instead, I continued to wait. Twenty minutes later, Todd came out of the restaurant, still casting looks over his shoulder every few seconds. He got back into his vehicle then drove off fast, leaving behind streak marks on the road and the smell of burnt rubber in the air.
I started my car and followed him. Twenty minutes later, he pulled off the main lane onto a dirt road, heading to a patch of land to the west. I couldn’t follow him here because that would have been too conspicuous, but I knew the area well. I pulled off on the side of the road and waited for a couple of hours.
The next thing I knew, it was 2:00am. By that time, I lost my patience. I’d been sitting for too long, stewing. I started my car and I pulled onto the dirt road. Turning off my lights, I drove slowly, creeping along the path. Low hanging branches skid along my window and the top of my car.
As luck would have it, I spotted Todd’s truck sitting in the driveway at the house to the right.
"Found you," I said in low voice.
I parked my car, got out and went and banged on the door. I was so pissed, my anger had got to me. I wanted answers. I didn’t care if it was 2:00 in the morning. Perhaps this wasn’t my smartest ideas, but, I needed this.
No answer. I waited then knocked again. Harder this time. Still no answer.
Just as I was about to kick down the door, something caught my attention. Whimpering. I paused. Next came a muffled female voice, calling for help. I shifted my gaze toward some of the forest area of the property and caught sight of a silver box, probably refrigerator-sized, with several chains were wrapped around it.
My jaw fell open. Next came the banging from the inside of it.
No, I thought. It couldn’t be . . .
I approached the box, feeling my heart pound inside my chest like a runaway train going faster and faster with each beat.
I swallowed. “Hello? Is somebody in there?”
“Help me! Get me out of here!” she screamed, pounding on the box over and over.
Panic knifed through my chest.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. All of the blood drained from my face.
“Hang on,” I called out. Instantly, I ran back to my car. My hands were shaking. I lifted the trunk and took out my tire wrench.
At that moment, the porch light switched on. The front door creaked open. Todd stepped outside with a shotgun. I dropped down and hid behind my car, leaving half of my body has cast in shadows. Slowly, I opened the back door and grabbed the opera mask.
I slipped it on.
“Is he somebody out there?” he called out.
Footsteps approached. The crunching of dry leaves crept closer and closer. I let go of my tire wrench.
“Hello?” he called out again.
I waited, holding my breath. When the crunching got close enough, I stood up as quick as I could and grabbed the shotgun. He struggled, fighting me for it. It went off, the loud explosion almost shattered my eardrums. I wrestled him to the ground. Even with the ringing, I could still hear.
His face darkened. “Derek?” he called out. “What are you doing!”
If anything, that pissed me off even further.
He continued to struggle, trying to out muscle me. But I had played football. I was bigger. With a sharp knee to his balls, he lost his grip on the shotgun and I pried it away from him. With the butt of the shotgun, I slammed it into his forehead. He yelped in pain and held his head. Before he could react, I stood up quickly and swung the butt of the shotgun like a golf club smashing him across the face.
That had gotten him. He was knocked him out. I rummaged through his robe and found his cell phone. I took it.
Then I picked up my tire wrench, ran to the box and pried the chain open. Once it was open, I kicked the top off to reveal a naked lady. It was her. The ace of spades. Her red hair was filled with dirt and there was a chain wrapped around her neck with a hook for a lease. The heaviest part of the dirty was on her hands and knees.
Was Todd walking her like a dog?
Quickly, I ripped off the opera mask so it wouldn’t creep her out. The last thing I needed was for her to think I was one of her abductors.
She squinted her eyes, probably seeing me through blurred vision. After a few seconds, her eyes sharpened as she set her gaze on me. I reached down and tried to help her out of the box.
“It’s okay,” I said.
As I hugged her, her face settling into my neck, I caught sight of something else. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another box. Then I shifted my gaze saw at least another three. Not only that, several parts of the land had been dug up to look like graves.
I gritted my teeth then handed her the phone. “Here. Call 911. I can’t be here.”
With that, I turned around and took off running. If they found me here, there would be too many questions. And it all could be traced back to my brother. I needed to protect him. Even in death. If he had participated in this horror, it didn’t matter. The right person had been caught. Besides, I couldn’t do that to my mother. She was already going through the loss of her son. The tragedy would only devastate her further.
Finally—the cops arrived. They also conveniently found the all the pictures on his porch. I waited back at the intersection just to make sure they would show up and catch the guy.
If you’re interested, you can find more information on my discovery here.
I’m not sure why; but, the media changed the story to make it seem like the deputies found the woman. But that didn’t matter.
There is one final part that I need to talk about. Since I was a defense attorney, I showed up at the court the next day. I signed in and told them I represented Todd.
As I sat in the interrogation room with him, he said something that still gives me chills to this day.
His lips curled into a grim smile. “I didn’t do none of it. If anything, this is some willy foo-foo shit.”
My jaw dropped. That catch phrase. It was the same thing my brother had said to me all those years ago.
How long had he known my brother?, I couldn't help but wonder.
My mind was flooded with so many unanswered questions. How did my brother meet Todd? Why those girls? Why do this, and what was the association with the girls and the playing cards? Why was she chained in that manner?
Fury consumed me. But I held it in. I needed to be smart.
I steepled my fingers and gave him a confident smile. Since I was his lawyer, I assured him he could trust me. That he could answer my questions and tell me everything. I had his best interest at heart.
Then, I decided to go over a defense strategy with him. When he brought up his partner, I shot that down. I told him to maintain his innocence, that he had no idea what was going in. My goal? Lose the case. Badly. I wanted him to pay. I would fail the case so bad, he would probably get the death penalty.
That made my smile widen further.
From my understanding, the state of South Carolina has executed 43 people since the ban was lifted in 1985. It was time to make that 44.
I was going to kill this man.
Legally of course.
Submitted November 21, 2016 at 11:33PM by ThomasGrave http://ift.tt/2gdJxWY nosleep
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