Brad entered the house and tossed his car keys onto the coffee table. They landed with a loud clunk, and he grimaced,  hearing the ghost of his mother yelling about scarring the polished cherry wood. He settled into the overstuffed couch and pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

Suddenly, the girl's face jumped out at him from the flame of the match.

He could see her clearly in his mind. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her eyes were a sapphire blue and wide, like the painted dolls in the toy stores. Arched eyebrows framed the turned-up nose that sported several freckles. She had hair that was so blonde it could have been white. And as petite as she was, she was developed nicely on top.

But the one thing that stuck most in Brad's mind was the scar he saw when she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. It gave him a feeling of deja vu. 

Brad's reverie was interrupted when Barry entered the room. His eyes were red as he plopped down on the other couch. He planted his feet on the table, stuck a joint between his lips, and fired it up.

"Want a hit?" he asked.

Brad shook his head. 

"Come on,” Barry insisted as he continued to hold the joint out to Brad. "Let’s cop a buzz.”

"Not today.”

"Not yesterday, either. Or the day before. Ever since you met that chick at Kelly's, you're boring, man. What the fuck did she do to you?"

Brad remained quiet.

"Come on," Barry nagged. "Just one hit and I won't bother you for the rest of the day."

Brad grew irritated at the interruption of his thoughts. "Feet down," he warned, pointing at the floor. "You know Mom would have a fit if she saw you do that."

"Well, Mom's dead," Barry said, his eyes cold.

The callous remark hit Brad like a dash of ice water, and he was startled into silence.

"I need money," Barry stated bluntly. "The bank wouldn't let me cash a check. They said you froze the account."

Brad had been expecting this conversation, but not quite this soon.

"Did you?" Defiantly, Barry ignored the warning and left his feet on the table.

Brad nodded but said nothing.

"You can't do that," Barry said quietly. "You don't have the authority."

"I do now."

"How? Vince is our legal guardian." A sudden light dawned in Barry's eyes, and his feet hit the floor. "Vince. . ." he whispered under his breath.

"It's not what you're thinking, Barry."

"Bull!" Barry exploded as he rose quickly from the sofa. "You guys had this all planned out! You couldn't wait for us to turn the legal age to screw me over! Both of you!"

Despair settled over Brad like a black, gaping hole. He had warned Vince that Barry would react this way. But Vince informed him that his parents set up the trust to make sure they would be okay if anything happened to them.

There was nothing Barry, Brad, or Brenda, for that matter, could do about it. The legalities of their finances were chiseled in stone. The only way Barry could fight this would be to hire an attorney, and Vince agreed with Brad that no attorney would touch the case after learning all the facts about Barry's possible involvement in their mother’s death.

"Sit down, Barry," Brad sighed. "Give the dramatics a rest, huh? Please? Let's talk about this?"

For once, Barry reigned in his fury and sat back down, his face red and his breath whistling through his nose as he tried to control it.

Brad breathed a sigh of relief. "Mom and Dad set everything up a long time ago. The biggest part of the insurance money is staying in escrow to pay the house's taxes and insurance. It has to be that way. If we don’t pay the property taxes every year, we lose the house. If we don’t pay the insurance, and the place burns down, we lose the house just the same."

Brad rushed on before Barry's temper returned and tried his best to explain the circumstances.

"I went to the bank with Vince, and they explained it all to me. If there is any kind of emergency, we can get to the money. Otherwise, we leave it alone, we let it collect interest, and the bank automatically deducts what it needs when the taxes and insurance come due.

"If we do have any kind of emergency, then I'll go to the bank and withdraw the funds we need. If we don't need the money, then the bank sends us a monthly check for us to live on and pay our monthly expenses." Brad took a deep breath. "Okay?"

Barry didn't answer, and Brad suddenly realized he had either said too much or had said something wrong. Unknowingly, Brad had pushed a button in Barry, and the fire simmered in his eyes.

"Okay?" Brad asked again.

"You'll go to the bank?"

There it was. "Come on, Barry, you got it all wrong."

"Oh, no, I got it all right. You and Vince. Always you and Vince. You two are the friggin' odd couple, ain’t you? Always got your heads together, always whispering behind my back and shuttin’ up whenever I get too close.” Barry rose from the couch, his face red with anger. He paced back and forth, pointing an accusing finger at Brad.

 “I got every right to that money, same as you, and I want my share without having to beg you or Vince for it. Don't forget, buddy, when you turned legal age, so did I."

Brad's mind raced to find the right words. "But you're not good with money, Barry." He tried reasoning with him. "What we have has to last us until we both can support ourselves. Just because there’s no mortgage on the house doesn't mean we're in the clear. We still have to pay for electricity and…"

Barry hissed through his teeth. "Should have known," he kept repeating. "You and Vince."

Brad knew there was no reasoning now. Barry wanted money, and there was nothing Brad could say to make him understand. Slowly he rose from the sofa and started toward the kitchen. He sensed more the sudden movement behind him.

Brad ducked the blow by instinct and whirled around. He threw his hands out to ward off another blow, and Barry's next punch hit him in the shoulder. The pain traveled down his arm, making his fingers tingle. He shook it off and dashed at his brother, both hands outstretched, and knocked him to the ground.

Barry was fast on his feet and had Brad in a headlock before the tingle left his fingers. With one flip, he had Brad on his back on the floor and forced him to look him in the face. "You’ll never best me, brother," he said. “Never.”

Brad pushed Barry off his chest and wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"I need money," Barry hissed through clenched teeth. "And I need it now.”

“I don’t have any money,” Brad insisted. He never kept money in the house just for this reason. “I can’t help you.”

"Yea, I understand that," Barry rasped. "And you can understand this, Brad, next time you need a fix." Barry raised his middle finger and shoved it at Brad, then glaring at him one last time, retreated to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

***

Brad felt like a hypocrite. Correction, he was a hypocrite.

He collapsed on his bed and lit a cigarette. His hands still trembled. He pulled out the nightstand drawer and turned it upside down, spilling the contents onto the bed. Underneath, there was a package taped to the bottom of the drawer. Brad pulled at the tape, and the parcel landed in his lap.

He opened it with shaking hands. There among the bag of weed, rolling papers, roach clips, and hash pipes, he found the syringe. Along with the needle was the small plastic bag he was looking for.

Ignoring his reflection in the dresser’s mirror, Brad removed his shirt and studied the bag of heroin in his palm. Barry didn't know he had this, and Brad was not about to tell him. He didn't want Barry to notice that he was using so much. Brad was supposed to be the strong one. By only a minute and a half, he was the elder, but still the elder of the two. And if Barry found out about his stash, Brad knew it wouldn't last long.

***

The one time that Barry convinced him to try heroin turned into several, and now Brad found it more challenging to stay away from the little needle that promised the great escape. He remembered the first night Barry brought it home.

It was right after Brenda left, and they were both so hurt and scared. Barry produced a small bag of the powder from his jacket pocket and waved it under Brad's nose.

"Fuck her," he’d said. "We don't need her."

Brad was afraid at first. He told Barry smoking grass was one thing. He didn't want to mess with smack.

"Just this once, Brad. I want to try it. Please?" he begged. "Try it with me?"

As usual, Brad gave in to Barry's pleas, if only to take the pleading look from his brother's eyes.

He watched Barry add some of the powder to an old tablespoon and light a match under it. It turned quickly to liquid, and Barry filled the syringe, tapped the glass three times, and pushed the plunger to expel the air.

He motioned for Brad's arm.

"You've done this before, Barry," he said.

"Nah." Barry denied as he wrapped the plastic tubing around Brad's arm, tapping the inside of his elbow for a vein. "Someone showed me how to do this. We don't want to fuck it up, do we? Ready?"

"Not really," Brad whispered, but he let Barry stick the needle into his vein and slowly push the fluid into his bloodstream.

It was instantaneous. It was euphoric. Brad found his body easing into Barry's bed and felt like he had no muscles at all. The peace that settled over his mind and the ache for his parents was gone.

Brenda's leaving didn't seem to matter anymore, either. Hell, Brad thought, Brenda knew how to find her way home. That is if she wanted to come home. He laughed out loud at the thought. Guess he knew the answer to that one.

"Feeling good, Brad?" Barry interrupted his thoughts.

Brad nodded slowly. He felt too good and didn't want to answer or think about what he had just done. There was no worry in this world where he was transported. He could stay here forever. Nothing would ever bother him again.

* * *

It wasn't that long ago, and since then, it had been Barry bringing home the dope. Brad knew deep down that the first experience he had was not Barry's first time. Brad wasn't stupid but didn't want to accept the fact either. He felt old beyond his years, and any more issues that weighed him down were more than he could stand.

He tried not to experience that kind of high too often. He mainly stayed with the pot, hash, and of course, the pills the doctors prescribed. But lately, the injections were coming more frequent as he sought the comfort of the needle. He hated himself every time the pain of missing his parents and his sister overwhelmed him, and he ran like a coward to his little bag of dope.

Now, as he stared at the small dose of powder, the urge overcame him again, and he took the silver spoon and added a little of the powder to it. Just a little, he told himself, a little to get over all this bullshit with Barry. A small escape. He would not be gone for long, and surely, no one would miss him. Brad plunged the needle into his arm.

© Copyright 2026 k.l.warzala. All rights reserved.