Chapter 4The Good Brother With A Deadly Secret

I was locked in.

The basement was a cold, dim cell, a perfect prison.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Grant came down with my meal.

The sight of him made me lunge.

“Why are you doing this to me? You’ve ruined me once. Wasn’t that enough?”

He easily caught my flailing hand, a predatory glint in his eyes.

“Who told you to come back, Elias? You left—you should have stayed gone!”

“I just want you to know that there’s no place for you here anymore.”

My chest heaved. My eyes burned with pure, distilled hatred. I couldn't speak.

He was perfectly composed, radiating calm.

“Honestly, that pill bottle was just flour. I told Savannah two sentences and she believed me. Just like last time.”

“Admit it, Elias. I’m just more important to your sister than you are.”

“I’ve been trying to hold on! Haven’t I been miserable enough for the past three months? What more do you want?”

I screamed, my eyes bloodshot.

He snatched a handful of my hair, a grotesque smile twisting his lips.

“What do I want? I want Savannah to hate you a little more before you die.”

“Elias Bellweather, you have blood cancer, right? If you don’t take your meds, it must hurt like hell…”

His voice was a soft, cold whisper—the voice of a demon—sending shivers down my spine.

“You’re insane, Grant. You are a complete lunatic!”

He slowly dropped the smile.

Then, without warning, he kicked out, sending me flying into the corner.

The pain and the anger. The three months of suppressed emotion finally burst.

I scrambled up, not thinking, and launched myself at him.

When my palm landed on his face, he didn't dodge. He took the hits and started screaming.

“Savannah! My sister! He’s gone crazy, come here, please!”

I barely registered his words. All I knew was that if I didn't unleash this storm of fury, I would choke and die on the spot.

I fought for every second, punching and kicking with every ounce of strength I had left. Harder, harder!

Suddenly, the basement door flew open again.

Savannah stood in the doorway, her face instantly turning to stone.

Grant struggled and yelled:

“Savannah! He’s having a fix! He demanded I go buy him more and when I said no, he attacked me!”

“I didn’t!”

I roared the denial, but I didn't stop hitting him.

He wailed, and in an instant, Savannah grabbed my wrists, her grip iron.

“Elias Bellweather, stop the madness!”

She pinned my shoulders down, her eyes burning with a mix of fury and worry, a look of utter disappointment.

“I’m trying to figure things out for you. Can you please stop causing trouble for me?”

My head was a loud, empty whirring. Everything had dissolved into chaos.

In my complete breakdown, only one coherent sentence left my lips:

“I am not an addict!!”

Savannah pressed her lips into a thin line, looking angrier than me.

“Of course you’re not going to admit it, Elias. Stop talking nonsense.”

“You are going to stay right here. When you’re better, I’ll let you out.”

She found a length of heavy rope and quickly, forcefully, tied me to a chair.

Then, she pulled Grant with her, walking out of the basement without a glance back.

As the door closed, I could still hear her worried voice:

“Grant, what about your face? Elias has always been spoiled, please don’t be mad.”

“Let’s get you some antiseptic…”

I clawed at my palms, my nails digging deep into the flesh.

I struggled until the chair toppled over, taking me with it. The ropes were impossibly tight, cutting into my skin, drawing blood.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart.

I thought that by letting go of everything, Savannah would at least be a little kinder.

Yet, Grant’s smooth lies were all it took for her to lock me up.

Tears splattered the concrete floor. My blood felt like it was turning to ice, growing numb, then a burning ache.

I couldn't even stand up. I lay on the cold ground, a worthless, useless mess.

From that day on, I was a prisoner in the basement.

Without my pain medication, the agony in my body intensified daily.

Grant brought me food, sometimes, throwing in a taunt or two.

I would just curl up on the floor, too weak to even acknowledge him.

My mind began to slip. I couldn't tell reality from dreams.

Sometimes my soul felt like it was lifting from my body, looking down at the tormented wreck of myself on the floor.

I knew my time was almost up.

This day, I dreamed of Mom.

It was the first time I’d seen her since she died.

She held me like she did when I was a child, gently stroking my head.

I found my harbor and cried, telling her Savannah had been cruel to me.

Mom’s eyes grew red.

“How can that be, Elias? Savannah always loved you the most, since you were a baby.”

I kept talking, telling her how Savannah favored Grant, how she hit me.

Mom was quiet for a long time. Finally, she stroked my cheek, her voice laced with sorrow:

“My boy. You have suffered.”

Splash.

I didn’t hear what Mom said next.

A bucket of cold water was dumped over my head, jolting me awake.

I opened my eyes. Mom was gone.

Standing over me, bucket in hand, was a grim-faced Savannah.