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Her BrotherBen had been home from Korea for three years and Caroline still did not know what he did over there. Not the official story—everyone knew Ben was a scout in the army, part of something called reconnaissance that involved going into places regular soldiers were not supposed to go. That much she knew from the letter his commanding officer had sent their mother, written in careful, precise...0 Comments 0 Shares 15 Views 0 Reviews
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Her BrotherThe storm arrived on a Thursday in July, the kind of Mississippi storm that comes all at once—blue sky one moment, black wall of clouds the next, and then rain so heavy you could not see the porch from the edge of the lawn. I was seventeen, sitting on the back steps of the Thorne house with a book I was not reading, listening to the rain drum on the tin roof like someone trying to get in. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 37 Views 0 Reviews
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Her Brother's CaseDanny died on a Tuesday. Karen was holding cookies for her granddaughter when the phone rang. She did not cry. She put the cookies on a plate, drove to Pittsburgh, and identified the body. Danny was wearing his favorite jacket, the one with the beekeeping scar on his left hand from a sting he got when he was twenty-three. The police said they had their man. A former military sniper. Confessed....0 Comments 0 Shares 13 Views 0 Reviews
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I didn't always know my brother was dying.For the first two months after the accident, I thought he was just getting better. That's what it looked like, anyway. Marcus was always strong—stronger than a warehouse job should allow, stronger than a guy who ate canned beans and instant coffee should be—but after the accident at Sunset Park, the strength became something else. Something I couldn't explain. The first time I noticed, he was...0 Comments 0 Shares 12 Views 0 Reviews
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I was eighteen the first time I realized my brother was dangerous. Not in the way that makes people cross the street to avoid him, but in the way that makes people trust him too much.It was 1950, and Thomas was twelve. He had just turned twelve three days before, and he was already too tall for his age—thin as a rail, with dark eyes that seemed to see around corners. We were living in a house on Marigny Street, the kind of house where the paint peels in long strips like sunburned skin and the garden grows whatever the soil will tolerate. Thomas stood on the corner of...0 Comments 0 Shares 44 Views 0 Reviews
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My Brother Became a MonsterI never thought I would write this. I am not a writer. I am an accountant. I work for a mid-sized logistics firm in Queens, I drive a ten-year-old Honda, I pay my mortgage on time, and I have never, in forty-three years of life, had a reason to put anything I felt onto paper. But my brother did something to himself, and I do not know how to help him, and if I do not write this down, I think I...0 Comments 0 Shares 48 Views 0 Reviews
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Pale BrotherI I felt her first as a vibration. Not a sound—sound is for creatures with ears. Not a sight—sight is for creatures with eyes. I felt her as a rhythm in the stone, a pattern of pressure transmitted through the wet walls of the tunnel, a sequence of touches that said: here I am, here I am, here I am. She walked differently from the others. The others were quick and heavy—men with boots and women...0 Comments 0 Shares 12 Views 0 Reviews
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The BrotherThe Brooklyn skyline from the roof of our apartment building looked like someone had taken a box of toothpicks and scattered them against a sky the color of wet cement. I was sixteen and I had been smoking too many cigarettes and thinking too many thoughts that my dad would not approve of, which was basically everything. Cate sat next to me, her legs dangling over the edge, her book open on her...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
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The Brother at BosworthThe mist came down thick over the field outside Leicester. It clung to the ground like something alive, swallowing the world knee by knee. I rode with three other men. We were a Lancaster patrol, small enough to be overlooked, large enough to die unnoticed. The ground was soft. Mud had been the true enemy of this war long before either side drew a sword. The horses sank to their fetlocks with...0 Comments 0 Shares 27 Views 0 Reviews
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The Brother at Hemlock ManorI. The fog clung to the Yorkshire moors like a shroud, thick and suffocating, as Arthur Blackwood guided his horse through the gate of Hemlock Manor. He carried three things: a rifle, a forged commission paper, and half of a silver pocket watch. Thomas Whitmore, the London lawyer he had taken captive three days ago, sat shivering in the saddle behind him. Thomas was a soft man, Arthur thought....0 Comments 0 Shares 28 Views 0 Reviews
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The Brother I Never HadThe nursing home smelled like boiled cabbage and institutional cleaner, the particular combination of scents that Julian Hartwell had come to associate with the slow, grinding erosion of his father's mind. "They changed it," Robert Hartwell said from the window. He was sitting in the same chair he had occupied for the past three months, facing the same view of the parking lot, saying the same...0 Comments 0 Shares 28 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded QuadrantThe Faded Quadrant By Edmund Ashworth The house at the end of Harlowe Lane had always smelled of dust and memory. Not the cheerful dust of an afternoon sunbeam, the kind that dances and makes you think of childhood attics and grandmother's trunks. No—this was the other kind. The kind that settles when nothing new is born, when the walls themselves have exhaled their last warm breath and...0 Comments 0 Shares 9 Views 0 Reviews
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