Brothers
By
Joshua
M. Lunsky
Brothers
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009
Joshua M. Lunsky
Cover
Cain Slaying Abel (1608)
Peter Paul Rubens
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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The distant humming of a motor broke the silence. The only thing odd about the sound was that he had noticed it at all. Even though tourism had increased and brought more money to the islands over the last few years, fishing was still the main industry. He'd stopped hearing the boats years ago but today the sound was different; today it was a single boat on the water. Rick looked over the top of his book towards the main island and the lone boat.
Just yesterday he had received a long awaited box of new books, which came once every two months in cases of thirty providing him with forty days of new reading. The rest of the time he reread from his collection. He didn't mind re-reading; he set up the delivery schedule of new books specifically to give him time to reread the classics and his favorites. But the day after a new shipment was always sweetest. Alone on his island, surrounded by the vibrant greens of tropical forest broken only by small patches of beach, he could read in silence and peace. He was a hermit, his religion was books, and there were six holidays a year. Today was one.
He saw the speck of movement on the calm sea and went back to his book trying to ignore it, just as he'd been doing for years. It was no use; he couldn't ignore it. It was like a mosquito in a tent torturously keeping sleep away from even the most fatigued and tired. So it was with the buzzing of this single motor, this intrusion into his special day that he so carefully planned to coincide with market day.
That was the problem. It was market day, and everyone went to market on market day. Whether or not they had something to sell or needed something to buy, everyone went to market. It was the main focus of all the activity in the region. People from the islands sold fish, fruit and crafts. People from the mainland sold meat, fruit and vegetables. Weddings were arranged and happened on market day. There were no boats in the water on market day. Yet, today was market day and there was a boat in the water.
Looking again he tried to see who it was that had skipped going to the mainland in order to disturb his day but the boat was still too far away. A wave of dread made him shiver through the ninety-degree heat of the equatorial sun. The chill didn't fade with a fleeting emotion. He stared at the dot heading for his island and took a deep breath to calm himself. He had conquered the dreads many years ago and wasn't about to let them back in now. There was nothing to fear. Some young tourists probably rented or stolen the boat while everyone was away at market, it had happened before. Moreover, if they had spent any amount of time in the area, they would have been told stories about the crazy hermit from the small island.
He went to his hut, got his gun and binoculars and went back to his hammock and book. They were still at least thirty minutes away from his island but he figured that if he were prepared for the usual scaring off gunshot, he would be able to concentrate on the book. Settling back into the hammock slung between two palms just off the beach, he picked up the book. The words vibrated with the incessant droning of the motor. He looked through his binoculars; still too far to see whose boat, though he did see that there were three people other than the driver and they didn't look like kids. Dread, again.
Sitting on the edge of his hammock, he stared intently into the sea and at the approaching boat. It had been ten years since the accident. If they were going to come for him they would have come a long time ago, that is if they could find him. There couldn't be any reason to come now. They were dead. Ten years dead. He thought that, perhaps, his mother was dying and wished to see him. He dismissed that as the only crazy thought he'd ever had, despite what they said. His mother had been indifferent towards him before the accident; she certainly wasn't going to find love for him after.
The twitches were back. He hated the twitches. The uncontrollable shrugging and winking that got him the nickname Crazy Cagney from his brother. That was the cruelest part, being made the source of merciless teasing by his own twin brother. Crazy Cagney he was called and no one ever tried to stop it or make him feel better. They would just smile with their insipid, fake compassion and ask, 'Did you take your medicine, Ricky?' He wasn't crazy though, they were. The whole lot of them, psychopaths. Hadn't he proven that these last ten years on the island?
"I'm not crazy." he screamed through clenched teeth.
He looked again through the binoculars. The boat was closer now and he wanted to be done with the dread and the physical pain it brought. He just needed to see that they were tourists, or maybe just bureaucrats coming to kick him off his island. He needed some reassurance that they weren't from Chicago. He held his breath and focused the lenses.
No, he thought, it couldn't be him on that boat. He wouldn't come here. But there he was, standing in the bow. Ten years hadn't changed him much and now he was here looking for Rick.
He couldn't go back. He wouldn't go back. He ran from the beach with his rifle and binoculars, grabbed his paddle, ran for the other side of the island, and left in the kayak. If he hurried he could paddle around behind the next island and be out of sight before they even stepped onto his beach. The exercise calmed the twitches, slightly. His mind was a blur of questions and effects. He wanted to know why they had come for him after so many years, but he couldn't risk being taken. Besides, it was obvious why they had come; they were crazy, all of them, crazy and obsessive and out to get him.
He would have to find a new island somewhere, Indonesia maybe. Until he could do that, he would have to hide. They were coming for revenge and it was being served up very cold. They were evil, insanely evil. Only crazy people would chase him down after ten years. They were dead, nothing could change that and nothing should. They were dead and it was right that they were dead. They were psychopaths. It was him or them. Kill or be killed, so he killed. He wasn't crazy, they were.
"Turn off the engine." said the man standing in the bow, "I don't want to spook him."
Kam,
the driver, turned off the engine and the boat glided into shore.
"Why
off? You Mr. Ricky's family, yes?" asked Kam.
“Yes, Kam, I am his cousin and I've come to take him home after a very long time away. His mother and brother need him." Tom looked over at Kam and saw that he wasn't satisfied with that response.
"Mr. Ricky likes be alone. He not bother people. I think we go back." Kam said and made to turn on the engine.
"At least let him decide. If he wants us to leave him alone after he hears what I have to say, we'll leave, O.K." said Tom.
"He already decide." said Kam, "He saw you with glasses and leave."
"You saw him leave?" asked Tom.
"Today market day. Mr. Ricky always read alone on beach on market day. He not here. He see you and leave." Kam explained.
Kam turned back to the engine and was stopped by a large hand from one of the two large men that had accompanied Tom. It wasn't a violent movement, the guy simply put a meaty paw on top of Kam's comparatively diminutive hand. The touch was gentle but the implication was frightening. Kam stopped and looked up at Tom, very much afraid of what might happen. Kam had heard Rick's stories; everyone had heard Rick's stories. They were part of the reason people thought he was a little crazy. Now Kam feared that perhaps Mr. Ricky wasn't crazy at all.
"Joe,
put your hand down." said Tom, Joe did as he was told. "Kam,
I assure you we only wish to speak with him. If you think you could
bring him to me on a different island that would be fine. But, I
really must speak to him."
Kam
wasn't entirely satisfied, and even though Tom was trying to put him
at ease, he was still scared. In the mean time the boat had drifted
to shore and Joe started to get out.
"Sit down Joe." Tom said. Again, Joe obeyed. "Listen to my story Kam and if you still want us to go back, we'll go, happily." Kam nodded, something about Tom was very trustworthy.
"First, you need to understand that Ricky is a very special person. He is very smart, so smart that he has a little trouble trusting people. Since he was a baby, he was very smart, but never quite right in the way he thought. Do you understand what I mean?" Kam nodded. "And, as you no doubt know, he is as gentle as a lamb. But, he was always very scared of things that weren't real. As he got older, Kam, it got worse. Doctors gave him medicine to help but sometimes he wouldn't take it because he thought the doctors were bad. Ten years ago, something happened, he hurt some people and ran away. We've known he's been here for many years. We never tried to contact him or bring him home because we didn't want to cause him any more pain. I'm here now because his twin brother is very sick and Ricky is the only one who can help him. All we want to do is ask Rick to help his brother."
Tom stood in the door of the hut awed by the intellect it reflected. It was a ten by ten room with a cot in one corner. Every other inch of space was filled with books, floor to ceiling, except for the labyrinthine paths through the piles. Over the cot a door had been cut into the wall. Tom made his way over the cot into the next room and found a second hut, twenty by twenty, three quarters of the way filled with books in the same labyrinth of piles which, Tom had no doubt, was a well organized library system. Coming back through to the front door he scanned the pile of books closest to the bed. Jung; Freud; Schopenhauer; Foucault; along with a few other names he didn't recognize but was certain fit well with the rest as useful for an in depth study of madness.
"He's gone." said Joe as he stepped into the door of the cabin, followed by his shadow, Sam. "There were skid marks on the other side of the island leading down the beach and into the water, like he took off in a canoe or something. Damn that's a lot of books. Think he read them all?" Sam giggled.
“Do they have enough pictures for old CC?" said Sam. Joe smirked.
Tom put down the book he was glancing at and, rubbing his face, turned to the men in the door. "Two things! First, RICKY, has an IQ estimated to be between 180 and 190. Just for perspective that puts your intelligence, closer to a chimp's than to his. Second, if I hear you refer to him as anything other than Rick, Ricky or Mr. Mondlen, your employment with the Mondlen family will be over, forever. He's scared. We need to make him feel safe and comfortable so he'll come home and help Mike. Is that clear?" Joe and Sam nodded contritely.
"Kam. I'm going to need your help again. Ricky has left in a boat. I don't imagine he went very far. Would you have any idea where he would hide?" asked Tom walking back to the boat.
Kam, still sitting in the stern of the boat and pointing at the many islands all around, said "Anywhere!"
Tom looked at the cover of the book he took from the hut and then around at the islands. "Which island has the highest hill?" he asked. Kam pointed to the island just beyond Ricky's. "And which has the thickest jungle?" Kam pointed to the same island. "Please take us there. You will be well paid for your service."
With the kayak and paddle well hidden high in a tree, a hundred yards into the brush, Rick headed for the high ground. When he first came to live here he had reconnoitered this island and set up some strategic defenses and hiding places. He had secretly built a small, one man, fort of rocks and trees from which he could easily defend his position on top. He could also observe most of the island's coastline unseen by people coming ashore and there was enough eatable vegetation and fruit within the perimeter of his defensive position to last a long siege.
He was pleased with how quickly it all came back. He had given up his weekly night drills three years ago and had been cursing himself for becoming complacent. His supplies were all in place, bullets, canned food, a blanket, a tarp and a shovel. All that was left was to check was the tunnel. Vegetation was thicker over the entrance, but that was good, and aside from roots growing through it along the way it was clear. The tunnel ran from the center of the hilltop down to the shoreline behind, its exit was hidden from view by fallen palms. He took a deep breath. He was ready and maybe they wouldn't even find him. Even if they did, they wouldn't get him, this was his island and he had the advantage.
Tom had Kam drop him off on the island and told him to stay out of sight with Joe and Sam so he could talk to Rick, alone.
"Ricky, it’s me, Tom. Come on out and let's talk." he said yelling towards the top of the hill.
“I know you’re here, Rick. I have your book." he said after getting no response.
Rick looked down Tom with his copy of 'Guerrilla Tactics of Jungle Warfare'. It didn't matter though; everything was already in place.
"Ricky, it's time to come home to the family. They need you."
Tom sat on a rock at the bottom of the hill and prepared for a long day. He sat there and stared straight up to the top. Rick watched, camouflaged and hidden. Still, he felt like Tom was staring right at him.
"We've missed you, Ricky. We've always known you were here and still we stayed away. We stayed away for you, Ricky. We knew you were hurting, we could only imagine how much. Sure, at first, everyone was angry and shocked, but eventually we couldn't be anymore. It wasn't your fault, Rick. It wasn't anyone's fault and the family knows that." Tom paused, looked at the ground and kicked a fallen coconut. "Michael's sick and needs your help Ricky."
Rick froze. It wasn't true. It was a mind game. They were doing it again; trying to make him think nothing was real, that he only imagined things. Michael was dead; he'd killed him. No one could have survived that explosion. He knew he had to stay silent and not give away his position, but he couldn't let them win the mind game. The twitching was back. It had stopped when he reached the safety of his fort, now it was back. The twitching hurt and he couldn't focus when he was twitching. Now his hands were shaking. It had to stop.
“Mikey's dead!" he screamed hoping it would stop twitching.
Tom
looked up. Again it seemed to Rick as if he were looking straight
into his eyes. Tom was smiling. Rick's breathing was getting more
erratic; he was being mocked. They knew what they were doing. They
were psychopaths, here to try and drive him crazy. But, he wasn't
crazy; he was never crazy. They were.
Tom
continued to stare up, shaking his head with the same gentle smile.
"Oh, Ricky. We thought you knew. All these years we thought you knew." he paused. "Ricky. Listen to me. Mikey didn't die in the blast, only your father was killed. Mikey survived. He's paralyzed from the waist down and it took him a long time to recover, but he did. Your brother is very much alive Rick, and he needs you."
Never once had it even occurred to him that someone had survived the explosion. Of course he hadn't wait around to find out. Once he heard the blast and saw the flames, he left forever, carrying one shoulder duffel and a book with his account numbers. The only way Michael could have survived was if he wasn't in the car and if he wasn't in the car, he shouldn't have been hurt at all. He ran through every possible scenario to see if it were possible that Tom was telling the truth. The only way Mikey could have survived was if his father had put the car into drive before he was all the way in the car.
"Was anyone else hurt?"
"Sarah, was burned on one side of her face and left blind in one eye. She was kissing Mikey goodbye when the car went up."
For the first time in ten years Rick felt remorse. Killing his father and brother was the right thing to do; after all they were insane and dangerous. Not just to him, but to a lot of people all over the world. They were torturing and killing people testing their products. Of course, no one dared challenge them, not even after he sent the FDA a complete report. No, one little inquiry and they found everything was simply business as usual. As if a simple absence of complaints was enough reason to believe everything was O.K. when they had been given documented proof of their evil. It wasn't business. It was cruelty for amusement and profit. Only no one else could see it, or would see it. Rick stood alone and was labeled paranoid schizophrenic and forced to take drugs. He knew it wasn't him though, it was them; they were the ones, only no one else could see it. He knew why. He was the only person smarter than his father and brother.