Brian's Destruction

Brian’s Destruction

When I woke again, I found myself back in the room where I started. I was lying on the bed with the blanket over me. The furniture in the room was just as austere, but it was made of dark stained wood. In the fireplace was laid a smaller fire than had been there previously. The light coming in from the window was a pale white, like the illumination cast by a full moon.

A young man sat in the chair at the side of the bed with his eyes closed. He appeared to be in his early twenties with blond hair and a tanned complexion. His face was familiar yet foreign to me. It seemed that I should know him, somehow.

The person opened his startlingly blue eyes and looked at me. A tired, careworn smile crossed his face.

"You’re awake," he said hoarsely. "Good."

He stood and stretched mightily before coming to stand beside the bed. It took me a moment, but I recognized this person standing in front of me. His facial features resembled what I thought the boy I knew might look like in his early adulthood.

"I thought you said you’re never coming back," I said petulantly.

His expression changed to one of concern. "I never said anything like that, Brian, but I’ll leave if you want me to."

"No. How long has it been?"

"Since… when?" Pete asked with confusion.

"Since you were here last time?" I asked.

"Uh, Brian, I never left."

"What?" I asked incredulously.

"I’ve been with you the entire time," he replied.

"Since when?"

"Since the end of seventh grade, Brian. You remember… the bleachers…" Concern again dominated his expression. "They said you might not remember."

I seized the opening. "Who are ‘they’?"

Pete ignored my query. "Do you remember what happened?"

"What happened when?" I asked, raising my voice slightly.

"Do you remember why you’re in here?" Pete asked patiently.

"I don’t even know where here is!"

Pete took my outburst in stride but his face seemed to fall just a little bit, sorrow invading his smile.

"Why are you so old?" I asked bluntly.

"How old should I be, Brian?" Pete asked with great interest.

"Fifteen maybe," I replied.

"What grade in school?" Pete questioned.

"Sophomore year. You shouldn’t be here. I haven’t seen you in two years!"

"What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?"

"Falling asleep on the floor somewhere… out there."

"How old are you, Brian?" Pete asked. His face now put his age in the late twenties.

"Fourteen. What’s going on here?" I asked nervously.

"Where are you?" Pete’s voice asked, emanating from the man’s body beside me.

"I don’t know." I answered quietly.

"How did you get here?" The voice asked again.

"I don’t know!" I replied with some ire.

I looked at the man sitting next to me. He was in his mid- to late- fifties. His face strikingly closely resembled Joe Jameson’s features. The man peered at me from the chair at my bedside.

"Who are you?" He asked with gravity.

"Brian Kellam."

"That is your name. Who are you?" the man asked again.

"Brian Kellam!"

"You don’t know who you are?"

"I’m Brian Kellam! I live with Kathlene and Chris Forn!"

The man shook his head. "I’m sorry, Brian, but I can’t help you unless you start helping yourself. I’ll come back and see you again next week. Maybe by then you’ll figure out who you are."

He stood up from the chair and walked to the door.

"Wait! Don’t go!"

My words went unheeded unacknowledged as the door closed, leaving me alone once more. In a panic I leapt from the bed and raced to where the door in the wall was, but search as I might I could detect no hint of an opening. Panic began to set in as I ran around the perimeter of the room, my path taking me from wall to wall with reckless abandon. My breathing began to get difficult as I charged from one side of my cell to another, and shortly my vision started to close in. I fell to my knees in the center of the room, crying, as blackness overcame me.

I awoke again and the scene before me had not changed but for the candlelight illuminating the window in the wall and the now-guttering fireplace. I was still on the floor in the middle of the room. Standing took an effort, and when I was at last upright I could see that another form had occupied the bed. I approached slowly, warily watching the body lying under the thin blanket. I had to walk around to the other side of the bed to recognize that the person in the bed was Pete. Studying his face, I saw that he was as I remembered him from the day we first met.

The child was sleeping quietly, his face unlined and peaceful. The cares of the world had not yet descended onto his thin shoulders. Sitting in the chair, I continued to observe him as he slept, marveling at the innocence that suffused him. It seemed a thousand years and more since my world had come crashing down about me because I had fallen in love with a boy… this boy.

I stepped up to the bed and unconsciously brushed his hair out of his eyes, and then ran my hand along his cheek. He stirred as I did so, his eyes fluttering as he struggled for wakefulness against sleep. When he opened his eyes, they captivated me. Blue unlike any other blue I’ve ever seen stared into my eyes.

For the longest time we stayed there, neither of us speaking or moving. Again I ran my hand along his cheek as my eyes moistened. His expression changed from curiosity to uncertainty. He spoke in a voice created by the angels in heaven.

"What are you doing, Brian?" He asked.

"Just looking at you. It’s been so long."

Again I ran my hand down his jaw, soaking in the feel of his warm, soft skin. He giggled nervously.

"Um, what are you talking about? You just stayed at my house last night."

The voice from the angels had spoken words from hell. The illusion was exposed for what it was, and I ripped myself away from the bedside.

"Brian, did I do something wrong?" Pete asked with a hint of panic.

I didn’t answer him, instead sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. With my legs pulled up against me, I let my head rest on my knees. The demon still continued to torment me.

"Please, Brian. What did I do?" The phantasm asked again.

"Go away!" I yelled through gritted teeth.

"You know I can’t do that, Brian. You’re my friend," the child said earnestly.

"I don’t want you!" I shouted. "Leave me alone!"

A long shocked silence erupted before the boy spoke again.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"What?" My head shot up and I stared into his now disgusted expression. "What did you say?"

"Who are you? I don’t know you anymore," Pete said as he turned to walk away.

"Pete, please don’t go. It’s just been…"

"Yeah, whatever. Bye, Brian."

I watched helplesslycharged forward as the young form of my friend walked out the non-existent door. It slammed closed in my face. When it shut, I collapsed back into the corneragainst the door, again resting my head against my legs. The tears that had been threatening to flood my eyes evaporated.

What is going on here? I wondered. Am I insane?

"No more than usual," said an incorporeal voice, sounding strangely like my own.

The room faded, and my surroundings changed. Bleachers towered above me, lending an awful familiarity to the scene. There was no mistaking where I was for anything other than my old middle school, and given what I saw, there was no doubt of the day.

Two boys approached me. One was in tears, struggling to hold the sobs in check while the other watched him with concern. The young Pete collapsed against the bleachers and cried. The child I used to be, the child who had died four days after this event, tried to comfort him. They sat in silence for a moment and then began talking. Dread overcame me as I knew with certainty the agonizing words that were to be spoken.I didn’t have to listen to their words, for I had them memorized. They were burned into my memory forever. Dread overcame me as I knew with certainty the painful words that were to be said.

"Bri, I love you."

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t turn away. I was forced to watch as the boy that had once been me professed my love in return and then kissed him. It was a beautiful thing, full of innocence and the promise of love. When it seemed like the memories were about to overwhelm me, the scene changed abruptly, leaving me reeling.

A loud crash sounded above me. Glancing around I saw the same two boys cowering on a couch, eyes wide with fear. The young men clutched at each other while the confrontation raging just beyond the top of the stairs reached its climax. A familiar, terrifying voice boomed from above, and what I felt on this that day came back with frightening clarity.

"He’s no son of mine!" Joe Jameson bellowed "You had your chance to raise him. He turned out to be a faggot. Now I have to teach him to be a man."

The door at the top of the stairs opened. The two boys were galvanized into action and bolted for the sliding glass door leading to the back yard and safety.

"Oh, no you don’t, you little homo," the powerful man shouted. "yYou’re not going anywhere!" The powerful man shouted.

I closed wanted to close my eyes, because I knew what was going to happen and I didn’t need to see it again, but for reasons unknown to meI didn’t understand, I forced myself to re-live the scene.

I saw the younger Brian reach down for his backpack and miss. He made a second grab at it and was caught up short as a meaty fist closed over the back of his coat collar. A scream ripped out of the child’s throat as he slipped out of his jacket by some miracle and bolted out the door followed closely by a massive fist.

Again my surroundings shifted and I found myself standing in the place and time I most wanted to forget with all my soul.

My younger self turned the corner and was walkingwalked toward the house. A woman put two bags into a car that sat in the driveway and then went back inside. The young boy walking down the street came closer, puzzlement plain on his face. The woman returned and placed another suitcase inside before retracing her steps to the house. By now my younger counterpart was standing at the end of the driveway.

"Please," I murmured. "Not this. Anything but this."

Brenda came out of the house again leading Pete by the scruff of the neck. He saw his Brian standing there, and his expression changed from anger to happiness to despair.

"Brian…"

"Pete, I’m so sorry!" my younger self cried.

"… I understand now! We’re going to Portland. She’s taking me away!"

Brenda’s harsh voice cut in, "In the car! Not another word out of your mouth, Peter!" She turned on me. "You stay away from my boy! You’ve done enough damage."

I watched with tears running down my face as Brenda’s words tore that little boy apart. He stood there dumbfounded as the woman got in the car and put it into gear. As the car began to back out, young Pete mouthed the words, "I love you," over and over again with tears running streaming down his face. Pete’s mother shifted the car into drive and started down the street. I could see Pete looking back through the back window.

I watched helplessly as the youngster I had once been collapsed to his knees and screamed. The sound crushed my heart. I knew exactly what he was feeling because I had felt it in full measure every day since.

Mercifully, the scene disappeared, but the tears running down my face did not. Again my surroundings shifted to a new place. I knew by instinct what day it was.

My younger self was walking toward the door of the Forn residence. Dried tears stained his cheeks and his breathing was ragged. He paused just feet from the porch, taking in the sights and sounds around him. I watched as the his tears began to fall once again, and with a deep breath, the child continued up to the entrance of the home.

A voice asked, "Who are you?" I spun around looking for the source, but no one was there except me and my younger self.

The boy wasn’t the only one crying. Tears raced down my own cheeks as I observed the aftermath of my parents’ betrayal. He rang the doorbell. An expression of miserable relief came over his face. The door swung open. The boy who had been my savior stood in the doorway.

"Hi… Brian, what’s wrong, buddy?" Chris asked with alarm.

"He’s gone, Chris. He’s gone."

I had to struggle to hear the words that had come out of my mouth that day. I watched helplessly as the boy collapsed into the arms of his friend.

"Mom! We need help!" Chris staggered back a step and allowed himself to roll onto the floor, holding the small body tightly. Footsteps could be heard upstairs. With morbid fascination I observed the events that had catapulted my life far, far away from the peaceful, if emotionally barren, life I had led up to that point.

"Christopher Michael! You’d better have a good reason for scaring the living daylights out of me!" Kathlene said hotly as she came down the stairs. She stopped short at what she saw before her. "Chris?"

"It’s Brian. He said, ‘He’s gone,’ and then just fell into me!"

The child in Chris’ arms was not crying. He was sobbing. He responded to nothing with his eyes vacant and staring off into the unknown. The only sign of life was the boy’s breathing and the tears falling down his face unheeded. He seemed catatonic. Kathlene knelt down and looked closely at the youngster in her son’s embrace.

"Okay, honey. Let’s get him up and upstairs into the spare room."

Between the two of them they managed to get my younger self up and walking by instinct. He took the stairs ploddingly as the Forns steadied him and guided his steps into what would become his room. Tears continued to fall as Kathlene and Chris undressed the young man, and put him into the bed.

"Chris, you stay here and keep him in the bed. I’m going to make a few phone calls," Kathlene ordered him.

"Okay, Mom. Mom?" Chris’s tone expressed the worry he felt.

She paused by the now familiar door. "Yes?"

"What happened to him?"

"I don’t know, hon., but I intend to find out."

She left for the phone.

The images dissolved and I found myself standing outside the door once more. The boys sitting on the porch were obviously older than the boys I had just been with, not much younger than I was now. Chris stood just as the door behind them opened.

"Come in, boys. We need to talk."

Chris offered his hand to help my twin stand. He took it, and they stood for a moment, meeting each others’ gaze. Brian abruptly dropped his eyes and moved past his now older, larger friend.

"Thanks, Chris," I heard him murmur.

"Any time, Bri." Chris said with a hint of something more than familial courtesy.

I knew without a doubt what this Brian was feeling, because I was feeling it at that moment as well. We both needed human contact, and neither of us had any. This younger image of me craved the safety that Chris’ mere presence could provide. I hated that weakness could drive me to him.

I continued to watch as the younger Brian took a sharp right turn and ran up the stairs to the bathroom. The door shut hard. Forcing myself to walk up the stairs was difficult when I knew what was going to next occur.

Three loud bangs sounded at the bathroom door. My head hurt suddenly, as if I had slammed my head into the hard wooden portal.

Chris immediately called, "Brian, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute," came my voice from behind the door, cracking at the last word.

Another booming crash came from behind the door, and my headache increased four-fold. Then from behind the door came the faint sound of vomiting. I closed my eyes as I remembered the thoughts running that had run through my mind as I had sat there puking my guts out. Helplessness and hopelessness, self doubt and self-recrimination, an unwavering belief that I was not worthy of the love Kathlene and Chris gave me. I hated that I needed them; that I couldn’t take care of myself.

Chris came bounding up the stairs. He listened at the door for a moment and then said, "Brian? Are you okay in there?"

There was no answer forthcoming from the boy inside.

"Brian, I’m coming in," Chris said forcefully as he suited word to action.

I followed my friend’s image into the bathroom. Chris knelt next to that pitiful form that had been me as another heave hit. Nothing came out.

"Brian, are you all right?" Chris asked with caring concern.

Brian shook his head. When the spasm ended, he sank back and rested his forehead on the toilet seat, gasping for breath. Chris put his arm around the frame of the boy in front of me.

"Bri, what’s wrong? How can I help?"

Another retch produced nothing but bile from my double. I remembered the taste very well. When the heave was over, Brian collapsed sideways into Chris, who caught the boy as he broke down into tears. The show of weakness bothered me.

"Come on, Bri. Let’s get you to your room."

Chris helped the boy up just in time for another dry heave to send him once more to his knees. I leaned against the wall to watch the kid try to puke up his shoes. When that spasm was over, the boy once more collapsed against Chris. A sound came from deep inside that child and quickly grew to a outright roar. Chris picked him up and held him tightly much like a mother holds her baby. The scene continued as my annoyance turned to disgust. Chris carried that Brian into the large young man’s bedroom and sat on the bed, still holding the pathetic form in his arms. Kathlene arrived and joined Chris in comforting the person in front of me.

After I’d had all my stomach could take, I walked to the bedroom I used as mine, only to find the boy that had just been in Chris’ arms sitting on the bed. He stared straight at me, his expression fearful and uncertain. He started to speak, but changed his mind.

"Who are you?" Asked a disembodied voice.

"What?" I barked, startling him as I advanced.

"I didn’t say…You… You’re me!" Surprise and disbelief filled his voice.

"No, I’m not you!" I yelled back. "I’m nothing like you!"

"But we look the same, have the same voice, the same feelings…"

"That’s where you’re wrong, kid," I grated back at him.

"I don’t understand."

He seemed genuinely confused.

"We don’t have the same feelings."

"You don’t love Chris and Kathlene?" He asked. "They’ve been here for me… us since the day Pete left."

"So? That don’t mean I love them," I replied indifferently.

"How can you not?" he yelled.

"It’s easy!" I said sharply. "I learned a lot watching you, kid. I learned that they have a way of making you need them. They make you weak so you’ll love them and think you need them. I’m wise to them now, though. I know what’s going on. They can’t make me weak again. I won’t let them."

"You’re crazy! Why are you doing this? What did they ever do to you?" he demanded.

"Don’t you get it? They made you weak! They made you vulnerable, which is why you hurt all the time! If it weren’t for Chris, you’d…"

"I’d be dead or something!" Asserted the doppelganger hotly.

I stared at this thing that was pretending at being me and said slowly and deliberately, "Did you ever think that it might have been better that way?"

He stared back incredulously with wide eyes as his face paled, shaken by my suggestion. "Wh- what?"

"You stuttered. Not me."

"You can’t mean that," he loudly whispered.

"But I do," I replied flippantly. "Things would have been much better. At least then you wouldn’t be miserable."

"But… But what about Pete?" He asked meekly.

"Ah, yes. Pete. Obviously he’s not here."

"He’ll be back, or I’ll find him," the kid said resolutely.

The laugh that escaped my mouth could only be called evil.

"He’s dead," I stated viciously. "He’s dead, and you’ve wasted two years of your life."

His face paled to the shade of new snow. A perverse sort of joy came over me as I realized I was hurting my twin. I could do anything I wanted to him and no one would ever know because he didn’t exist.

"You… you don’t know that," he said shakily. "You can’t know that!"

"Prove me wrong, then," I demanded "Tell me when he called. Show me a letter. How about a fucking e-mail! Show me!"

"I can’t…"

"You can’t because he’s dead. He’s dead!"

"Don’t say that," he begged. "Please don’t say that."

"Face it," I said. "He’s dead to you, and you’re still pining away, living for something that will never happen. And do you know what that makes you, besides incredibly stupid? Pathetic. Stupid and pathetic."

Tears began to run down my double’s face.

"Oh, here we go again with the fucking tears. God you’re pitiful. It’s amazing you can live with yourself."

The child’s tears grew more plentiful and a sob shook his body. I stood in front of him and got in his face.

"Stop your fucking crying!" I yelled at him angrily "It ain’t going to help anything!"

He shrank back from me as much as he could, but I stayed with him.

"God you’re a wuss. Of course ,what can you expect from a fag."

"Fuck you," came the choked response. "I’m not a fag."

"You like dick, right? That makes you a fag!"

"Don’t call me that," he said weakly as another sob sent a tremor through him. "I love Pete!"

I roared with frustration. , "He’s dead! The sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be!"

"No. I love him. I’ll never give up on him."

"Then you’re a fucking idiot, faggot!"

The boy jumped up off the bed and faced me, apparently ready to fight.

"I told you," he said in a low voice, "don’t call me that."

"If the label fits…faggot."

"If I’m a fag, then you are too! " he yelled defiantly. "You’re the same as me!"

"There’s a difference: I know when to give up. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back… fag.

With a roar he launched himself at me, but his attack was pathetically slow. I easily delivered a solid right to his nose and felt it crunch beneath my fist as blood sprayed everywhere. He staggered back and fell onto the bed before sliding down to the floor as I relished the feeling of crushing his nose.

Enraged, I bellowed, "C’mon! Get the fuck up, faggot!"

My entire body was tuned and ready to destroy this feeble pile of shit. I was literally vibrating as I watched the other version of me struggle to his feet. When he was at last standing, I delivered another punishing series of punches to his face and gut. He never even stood a chance.

As he was rolling on the ground in pain I heard him distinctly say, "I’m not a fag, and fuck you!"

It was all I needed to hear to place put me into a blind rage. I proceeded to methodically kick the living shit out of him. He’d fall on the floor and I’d prop him up so I could hit him some more. I paid no attention to the blood flying from the gashes my fists put in his face. I kicked him and hit him until I couldn’t do it anymore. When at last I wore down, I examined my handiwork. I smiled to myself as I watched the worthless sack of flesh lay sprawled on the ground, but my smile faded quickly. He wasn’t breathing.

Panic overtook me as I listened for a heartbeat at his chest, but all I could hear was my own pounding in my ears. I sat back and looked at the face of the person I’d just killed, and saw my own face, battered, bruised and bloodied staring back at me with lifeless, soulless eyes. The hope that had been behind them was extinguished forever.

The world around me changed with a violent convulsion. I fell down to the floor, landing hard on my knees in front of him. The room had reappeared. It was empty but for me, my twin, and the blood stains on the floor. The fire had burned itself out, not even embers remaining. The window in the wall was dark, a bottomless black hole opening up into the void beyond.

Tears formed in my eyes as, with startling clarity, the enormity of what I’d done struck me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sat beside the body of this boy who was me. Tears fell to the floor when I pulled his limp form to my body and held him as I would an infant. No matter how much I pleaded, he did not awake.

An ethereal voice asked me, "Who are you… now?"

No one was there to hear me cry.

No one was there to hear me scream.

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