1968

Brad Crawford stood quietly by his mother's coffin, her face peaceful in death. He reached out to stroke her long chestnut hair, then quickly pulled his hand away and shivered. He dared not touch her again.

The mortician did his job well. Her hair was stiff and dull from hairspray. Her skin no longer glowed soft and warm but was hard and cold to the touch.

At least her face held a tender smile and showed no signs of the agony she suffered since the accident. But she was no longer in her earthly vessel. She was in Heaven with his father.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," Brad whispered to his mother. "I'm so sorry. I don't know if it was your time or not, but at least your suffering is over. Now you can be at peace."

He sighed deeply, still dry-eyed. He hadn't been able to shed a tear since he had found his mother dead, his brother Barry lying beside her, the ventilator tube from the machine in his hands.

Brad caught the scent of the jasmine oil even before he heard the rustling of his sister's clothing beside him. "You okay?"

He ignored her question. They both knew the answer to that. He only nodded without looking at her and cleared his throat.

"Have you seen Barry lately? I can't seem to find him."

Brad only shook his head and shrugged. He didn't care where Barry was.

Brenda studied him quietly for a moment. Then her next question shook him.

"Brad, you don't believe Barry did it, do you? He couldn’t have. He loved Mom." Brenda kept her voice low so only Brad could hear her.

Brad started in surprise. Why would she bring this up now, in front of their mother, with all these people around? Didn't they have enough to deal with?

"Can't we talk about this later?" he asked painfully.

"Something is going on, and I feel I have a right to know. You and Vince are acting funny. It makes me think that you guys are up to something. I want to know what that something is. Right here, right now, Brad.”

"We’ll let the judge decide, Brenda."

"Judge?" She raised one thick dark eyebrow. "What Judge?"

"In court, Brenda," Brad said testily. "You know, the guy that sits at that great big desk at the courthouse and looks down at people and taps his hammer? The one who will preside over the hearing?"

"No, I don't know, Brad." She whispered angrily. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." She flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and glared at him. "But I think you better start telling me, pronto."

"I thought you already knew," he sighed. "I'm sorry."

"And how would I know?" she demanded, her temper flaring in her green eyes. "How do you know?"

Brad raised his gaze and stared quietly at her. This time, his brows rose knowingly.

"Vince," Brenda said.

Brad nodded and shrugged. There was nothing else to say.

Without another word, Brenda spun on her heels and headed across the room. He was glad she was gone. He was starting to feel sick. Inhaling deeply to fight the nausea didn't help. It only left him wanting to choke on the scent of the flowers that turned his stomach. The hushed whispers of the guests echoed loud in his head, throbbing and vibrating. The sight of his mother in the coffin, still and silent, made him dizzy, and he knew he had to get away before it was too late.

He thanked God that the restroom was empty. His shoulders sagged, and he forced his feet to move. At the sink, he flipped on the water tap and stood waiting, his hands holding tight to the sides of the basin, his head drooping as his vision grew cloudy.

Suddenly, a great sob heaved from his chest. Still clutching the sides of the sink, he slid to his knees. Guttural moans came from his throat. He let loose of the basin, landing on his elbows, his head buried in his hands. Then he rolled sideways and fell to the floor.

He lay on the bathroom floor for what seemed like hours. Paralyzed by the sobs coming out of him, Brad didn’t hear the bathroom door open, only knowing it did by the cold rush of air on his face. A small moan escaped his lips and his face flamed with humiliation.

He was lifted from the floor by a pair of strong, muscular arms and set on a toilet seat. 

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?"

Brad almost smiled in relief. "I'm having a nervous breakdown," he whispered.

"Is that so?"

Brad nodded.

"I hear that happens a lot in places like this." Vincent Gerard rested his six-foot-three-inch frame on his haunches and studied Brad quietly for a moment. "Can I help?"

"You're always helping." Brad tried again to smile but to no avail.

Vince shrugged. "That's me. That’s what I do."

"I don’t know what the hell we would do without you. How long's it been? Three years since you started taking care of Mom?"

"Yep." Vince's head bobbed. "Just about."

"Believe me when I say how grateful we are, Vince."

"I know, Brad. But it hasn't all been work, you know that."

"Yeah," Brad nodded. "You're pretty much a part of the family now. Oh, did Brenda find you?"

"She found me."

"I guess I forgot to tell her. I guess I just figured you would tell her."

"I was going to after the funeral, Brad, but you know your sister."

The heaviness in Brad's chest that threatened to suffocate him was easing up, and he found that he could breathe normally. He pulled some toilet paper from the roll on the cubicle wall and blew his nose. "Yeah," he agreed. "I know her all right. She’s about as subtle as a bull."

"I did my best to give her the edited version of what might happen just to calm her down. I don't think this is the place to discuss your brother's future or his mental state.”

"I know. Brenda won’t like this, and Barry’s not going to be very happy either. I don't know anything about judges or courts," Brad sighed, then added, "or jail."

"He won’t go to jail, Brad," Vince said. "Besides, this is only an evaluation. Just a formality. They only want to assess Barry’s mental state when your mother died.”

"I hope you're right."

"So do I," Vince replied. "So, why don't you wash your face and get your shit together. I'll come and get you when it's time to leave for the cemetery. Cool?"

"Yea, cool." Brad nodded gratefully.

Brad's shivers subsided not long after Vince left the restroom. He rubbed his face vigorously with his hands.

The water still ran in the sink, so he got up and turned the tap off. When he glanced up, the face in the mirror looking back at him was his but didn't belong to him.

"Barry.”

"Yep, it's me." His twin glared at him in the mirror.

Brad's mind whirled. He had been sure the restroom was empty. But in his panicked state of mind, did he even check? How much of the conversation did his brother overhear?

"You can't let them take me, Brad."

Evidently, he had heard more than Brad wished.

"You know what will happen if they do." Barry put out a hand. In his palm was the little zippered pouch that made Brad's heart contract. "You know you'll never make it without me." He shoved the pouch against Brad's chest. "Take it."

Brad shook his head. He knew what was in the small case. "I don't want it."

"You do.”

Brad stared at the case, and shame rolled over him in waves.

He didn't want it. He wanted to be clean. He wanted to go back to when they were both innocent before he felt so dirty before Barry introduced him to the heroin.

Barry nodded at the works in Brad's hand. "Go on, get yourself a fix. It might be your last if you let them take me."

Brad's hands trembled visibly as the need for the drug filled him. He didn't want to do it. He tried to hate Barry for this, but he couldn't. They were so close at one time. They always did everything together.

They even shared a womb.

"Here, let me," Barry said impatiently, taking the works from Brad's shaking fingers. "You're too friggin' dope sick."

Expertly, Barry filled the syringe. "Ready?" he asked, his face a mask of excitement.

Brad didn't respond, nor did he try to stop Barry from plunging the needle into his arm.

"Good shit, ain't it. I never had shit this good, Brad."

Brad couldn't answer. He knew it was a lie. Everything that came out of Barry's mouth was a contradiction or a straight out lie. He always had a hard time with the truth.

The heroin hit him instantly. His knees turned to water, and he sagged against the wall, his feet sliding out from under him as he slowly landed on the floor. "It's okay now," he whispered. "It's okay."

"Yea," Barry leaned back against the stall door. "It's all gonna be okay now."

Brad knew he still had to take care of the mess that Barry put them in, but right now, he didn't care.

Nothing seemed to matter.

His mind clouded over.

He closed his eyes in half slumber.

Suddenly, all of his pain was gone.

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