For English -- Short Storeh!

[failivrin]

I'm putting this on public so my friends who don't have LJ can read it. My first big original story!

Title: Asylum
Author: Missa Gray
Rating: PG-13? R? Hm.
Genre: Horror, angst, humour
Summary: An excerpt from the journal of a man named Julian Ferris.
Feedback: Yes, yes, please! This is only the first draft, so any and all feedback would be very, very appriciated.


Asylum

October Thirty-First, Year Two-Thousand Eleven.

Thus follows a story of myself and my brothers. Specifically, my oldest brother and my only younger brother. Kenneth and I were very close, once upon a time. All of us were very close. This is what changed it. A petty argument, yes, but it drove us apart forever. Devin could have saved our friendship. But he was too wrapped up in his own troubles, troubles we didn't see. Or that we ignored.

"Getting drunk again would be nice right about now." I swiveled my head around and blinked at my older brother, Kenneth. He was lounging panther-like on a good half the couch, his short hair falling messily around his ears. He was going for the wild look today, but he ended up looking more like a stray. I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Well, at least Kenneth did not seem to mind being used as a pillow. His shoulder was bony, but he did not mind me poking at him to get into a better position. I rested my head against the hollow beneath his shoulder blade and closed my eyes with a sigh.

"Beer?" I quipped. "That tends to get you drunk. Highly unpleasant." I could feel more than see my brother shrug.

"I eat small potato-like edibles at you," replied the blond, sounding very put-out. I imagined his face on the inside of my eyelids. It amused me.

"Bryan *never* gets drunk," I said, going off on a tangent, "so he's always there to lord it over me..." I could almost hear Kenneth's answer: 'Like a big brother should. Really, little brother, you need to be kept in line.' But Kenneth stayed silent. After a moment, I realized that he was contemplating our motionless little brother on the couch opposite them.

"Just like Kenny is now!" I exclaimed quietly, to fill the silence. Kenneth either didn't hear me, or he ignored me.

"Being drunk is fun, before the hangover part," said Devin dryly, distracted enough from his musings to add his two cents. I opened my eyes half way and looked at him. He looked even worse for wear than I'd last seen him, last year, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced and his smile a little too tired. A question about his life died on my lips. It really was not my place to ask about his life -- in the madhouse, no less. They thought he was a lunatic because he spoke to ghosts once a year. No, it really was not my place.

Now that I was dead, though, and I had been for eight years, I thought it was the Living who were insane. They denied the existence of the Dead, though we could not interact with most of the population. Only a few people of the Living could visit this plane. I could not when I was alive -- not for lack of trying -- nor could Kenneth. Mercifully for us, Devin was one who could.

A growing feel of discomfort rose in my chest and I turned my face into my brother's tee-shirt. My arms went under his back, with difficulty. At least I had one brother who I could see all the time.

"Julian," he wheezed, "I'm dying here." I loosened my grip after a few moments and looked up at him. I imagined my expression to be somewhat dark; an idea only enhanced by Kenneth's wince.

"Dying is painful. Are you sure you want to do that again?" I raised an eyebrow at him pointedly. He rested a big, warm hand on my shoulder. Devin tittered with amusement.

"It's better than the alternative," drawled Kenneth. My short bark of laughter startled him, and he gave me a slightly wary look before relaxing.

After a moment, I pushed myself off the couch and to my feet, stretching. I winced when my arm made a sound like a small firecracker.

"Now I'm all alone. Yay," exclaimed Kenneth with exaggerated hurt. I dropped into the stretches with an ease born of constant repetition. Even in death, it seemed, I would stiffen up if I did not loosen up the muscles.

"I seem to remember something along the lines of 'to be a leader is to be alone'," I remarked, dropped into splits. I heard Devin's muttered 'Ouch!' and fought the urge to go further down just to hear his reaction.

"I seem to remember it differently." He gave me the look he used when I screwed up, and I shrugged and fought the heat suffusing my cheeks.

"I didn't pay attention to it," I muttered. "Don't give me that look, Ken."

"Which one, the disgruntled one, or the rolled eyes?" Kenneth's smile was tolerant. I dropped heavily into the hollow his legs made against the back of the couch and jabbed him gently in the ribs.

"Both."

"How about at the same time?"

"The first one is too amusing for me to remain dignified, and the second makes me lament the fact I don't have a knife on hand," I opined.

"Heh. No running with sharp objects," he said, and he waggled a finger just like he did when I was six.
"Why not?" queried Devin.

"This is Kenneth we're talking about," I told him in a conspiratorial tone. "The one who says 'be careful' and then runs out into a thunderstorm without even telling anyone where he's going." Devin shrugged.

Kenneth ignored us. "Because poor Julian will damage something - probably himself," he said.

"No, but I could call cousin Basil. He might do it," I flat lined, just to see the expression on his face. It was worth it; he puckered up like he had tasted something sour. It was underhanded on my part -- the pink scar across my brother's cheek had been because of an error in judgement on the part of our cousin.

"Cheap shot, Lucifer," he complained. I winced. It was not that I did not dislike that, my middle name, but it was a little too appropriate. The resounding sound of the sparse chuckling in courtroom three as I announced my name before the trial haunted me.

"Of course, Caleb," I said smoothly, trying not to hint at my inner disquiet. It was his turn to be less than impressed by my use of his middle name. It meant 'dog'. I used to tease him ferociously about that, but I had mellowed out since. It used to be a running joke between Bryan and I that our parents must have had an episode of bipolar disorder when they were naming us all.

"Shall I take another swipe at you, now that no one is here to sort it out?" asked Kenneth. I glanced pointedly at Devin then gave him a flat look.

"Just try it."

"'Cause I'm confused. Right..." grumbled Devin under his breath.

"I just remembered that there are about eight different things I should be doing right now," said Kenneth to himself. I looked at Devin from the corner of my eye in time to see his face visibly fall into a neutral mask.

"Oh..." he said. I jabbed my elbow in under Kenneth's ribs sharply. Could he even understand the implications of that? Devin got to see us here on this plane once a year, he got imprisoned in a pathetic little place because of it, and my oldest brother could not even be bothered to show an ounce of appriciation.

"Should you go do them, then?" I inquired of Kenneth, hoping I sounded as hostile as I felt.

"Nah," he said, looking at me as if wondering the reason for my about-face in behaviour. "I'm procrastinating."

"Way to slack off, Ken," I muttered, and I reached up and gave a lock of his hair a good yank. Devin laughed quietly. It sounded forced.

"Let's see, edit vague writings, write pointlessly, read books about a country I should not know, or suffer through my brother's company. Choices, choices." Kenneth put on a good show of trying to decide which.

"Not 'suffer', brother," said Devin. He appeared to be at least trying to recover, which was more than I could say for myself at his age -- though he was one year older than I was when I had been executed. "Brothers exist to torment the superior."

"Of course I get stuck with my two *favourites*, too," commented Kenneth. "Where's cousin Colin when I need him?"

"Colin?" asked Devin, most likely unaware of the close attachment our brother had formed with our cousin post-mortem.

"Colin," confirmed Kenneth with a nod of his head.

"Oh..." Devin looked around the area. "Not here..."

"Fortunately," I cut in. "They gang up on me."

"Bah," said Kenneth.

"It sucks," I said to Devin in a quick and fast attempt to get sympathy from him.

"I'm sure," he said, and he tilted his head as if to say 'what can you do?'.

"Colin wouldn't do that. He's too interested in his viola. But still. At least he mediates the irritation," said Kenneth, and he stretched out his legs briefly beforr returning them to their previous position. "And I need to red-pen my story."

"Who would have thought Ken would be a writer?" I asked. That had been a surprise for me. As far back as I could remember, he had loved to write, but had been unable to keep any one idea in his mind in between everything he had to do.

"Not Ken," he said with a shrug, before adding: "I use you as my inspiration. Books need more realistic villains." Devin snorted.

"I'm flattered," I drawled. It made sense, though.

"I thought you might be."

"Of course. And did you use yourself as a model for the 'tragic, but ultimately stupid and suicidal anti-hero'?"

"No. That's Bryan."

"True enough."

"I'm the narrator. I get to make sarcastic comments." He grinned impishly. The expression looked misplaced on his weathered face.

"What am I then? A minion?" quipped our younger brother.

"Mmm... More or less," replied Kenneth with a see-sawing gesture.

"Oh joy." More sarcasm could not be heard elsewhere than Devin's opinion of that.

"Silly little brother," I said dismissively. I slipped off the couch and went over to Devin, giving him a pat on the head. I chuckled when he batted at my thighs half-heartedly.

"I'm getting petted," he said, voice high with indignation.

"People have petted me before," said Kenneth with a rather bemused expression on his face.

"I was trying to tame your hair and be subtle about it." I tried to save face for myself.

"Really..." Devin, as always, was a bit of a skeptic.

"... They can reach the top of your head, Kenneth?" I asked him when I finally recovered enough to recall what he said. Devin let out a short burst of laughter.

"Sort of," said Kenneth. "They stand on tip-toe, usually. And a chair."

"You don't say." I raised an incredulous eyebrow. He was at least a foot and a half taller than I was, and I was not short, but he was not nearly as tall as he claimed.

"No, I'm lying. Except for the fact that three or four people have petted me."

"I'm sure that if I tried that I'd probably whack you in the face instead," I said airily. "Accidentally, of course." I held my hand up to demonstrate, feinting a swipe at his face to see him flinch away.

"Of course." Kenneth sounded slightly wary.

"Are you sure there?" Devin, by contrast, sounded amused. I smirked.

"And I might accidentally sit on you," said Kenneth. What an appalling thought.

"Lovely," said Devin with a wince.

"Yes. Squished by our too-big older brother. What a way to go." I grimaced. Kenneth looked me up and down, as if judging me.

"It suits you," he said innocently.

"Shut up, Ken," I growled.

"I love you, too." Kenneth pouted at me. I grabbed his lower lip and pulled, much to the amusement of Devin.

"Who doesn't?" I asked him, and I fluttered my eyelashes at him for emphasis.

He snorted, after I took pity on him enough to let go. "Mother?"

"I'm just that loveable," I boasted with a grin. "... In between conspiracy to murder --"

"Actual murder --" interjected Kenneth sharply.

"-- and kidnapping." I pretended I had not heard Kenneth say anything.

"Poor cousin Oliver. We really had it in for him," said Devin quietly. Ha! I snorted in amusement.

"Not all of us considered killing him our greatest accomplishment," muttered Kenneth. "But there's always that." I made a face at him. He laughed. Devin looked thoughtful.

"Hmm... Can I have some water?" he said. Kenneth waved a hand carelessly and a bucket of water appeared in front of Devin. The rough landing slopped some out of it, which ran down the front of his shirt.

"Have fun," murmured Kenneth. Devin snorted. In one motion, he picked up the bucket and emptied the water in it at Kenneth.

"I've always wanted to do that," he said happily as Kenneth and I spluttered.

"...Bleagh." Kenneth made a face. I was sure mine matched his as I fountained some onto the floor.

"Be careful where you aim." I ducked when Kenneth shook out his hair like a wet dog, but still ended up wet.

"Oops," said Devin through his laughter, "sorry, love." I blinked. How long had it been since I had been called that? I could not remember. "I wasn't aiming for you," continued my younger brother, while I stared at nothing in particular, oblivious. My pillow having a paroxysm of laughter disturbed me from those thoughts, which likely would have turned dark.

"What is so amusing, Kenneth?" I grouched at him. He grinned at me.

"The concept of anyone calling you "love." I doubt anyone did that." He wrapped an arm about me.

"Not that you'd know," I said bitterly. "It's none of your business."

"Hm. All these things sound so much more amusing when imagined with Bry' shouting 'Oh burn!' after them," said Kenneth, contemplatively. I swallowed thickly, feeling like a dozen bricks had just been dropped on my chest. Bryan's death had always been a sore point for me; an open wound, one might say. My inability to speak with him in this plane had just made it worse.

"... He'd do that, too," I said, so softly I could barely hear myself. I wanted to see Bryan again, so very badly.

"Thank you for reminding me, Jules. I'd forgotten," commented Kenneth.

I only realized after several seconds that my mouth was hanging open. I closed it with a snap. Kenneth smirked triumphantly at being able to catch me off-guard with my much-hated nickname.

"Gotcha."

"Keeeen," I whined, taking a half-hearted swipe at him. Well, Caleb, do you have any other bright ideas?"

That brought him up short. "Killing you sounds nice," he said. I looked around at the ceiling, bright with simulated aurora borealis, and then down at my own translucent hand.

"There's a problem, though," I remarked easily.

"I still have my bucket at hand, brothers," cut in Devin.

"Aren't both of us dead?" I raised an eyebrow at my oldest brother and crossed my arms, before turning my head toward Devin. "... Oh dear. Don't want to anger Devin. He has a bucket."

Kenneth raised his eyebrows at me. "If we're lucky, he'll put it on your hea--" He cut himself off as Devin took a swing at me with
the bucket as if it was a baseball bat. I yelped in surprise and ducked. "--or that".

"Shut up, Ken," I said sourly, trying to ignore Devin's rather smug look.

"Yes, 'love'," said Kenneth. He snickered quietly to himself. I leaned up close to his and braced myself with my forearm across his collarbone.

"Jealous, Kenny?" I whispered, so close our noses almost touched. "I can call up Fleur Constantine and arrange a date for you, if you'd like. Or Morgan Avarill. Or Lucy-Anne What's-her-name." I pushed myself back upright with a smirk; it was his turn to be speechless. All three of the aforementioned girls were classmates of mine throughout high school, and all of them seemed to hold a candle for Kenneth. He, of course, could not stand any of them. I chuckled darkly and closed his mouth for him.

"That goes above and beyond the call of duty, thrice-damned Lucifer," he snapped irritably. I barely heard him over the combined laughter of myself and Devin. It was not often Kenneth was surprised at all, so this was a rare opportunity.

"Where's Basil?" said Kenneth, glancing around as if the living man might suddenly appear. "He might be willing to help knock you about a bit. Yes, I can do it myself, but everything's more fun with a friend to help, isn't it?" He coughed behind his hand, not bothering to disguise his smirk. "Not that you'd know, Julian." Another fake cough.

"Yes," I said dryly. "A 'friend'." I raised my eyebrows and gave him a tooth-baring grin. There was my revenge for making me consider what I considered the darkest time of my life. Nothing offended my dear oldest brother faster than such implications, even if they were untrue; especially if they were untrue. Kenneth took a swing at me, which I caught.

"Honestly, do you know how suspect the two of you are?" I continued recklessly. "It makes me embarrassed to be around you." There was nothing there to suspect, anyways. Unlike myself and my own would-be lover, for instance.

"For that, you die," said Kenneth sharply. He lunged the length of the couch and landed on me, swinging. I managed to push him off with my legs; we scrambled to opposite ends of the piece of furniture, breathing heavily.

"How I wish I'd thought to bring popcorn," said Devin blithely. He watched us with one cheek resting in his hand and his elbow on the arm of his couch. Kenneth exhaled through his teeth in a half-demented smile.

"How undignified," I remarked.

"It suits you, Jules," shot back Kenneth.

"No, but watching you two is just so entertaining," breathed Devin. I sort of gravitated towards Kenneth, and he wrapped an arm about my shoulders. His eyes were unfocused, however, and he obviously was not aware of what he was doing, where his hands seemed to go on their own. He would not have been doing it otherwise. Or was that my own mind, just spiralling out of my control? Was I going mad myself?

"You're so desperate you're driven to tease..." I murmured, snatching his hand as it made its way across my chest to wrap me into a warmer embrace. Unbidden, images flashed across my mind -- my first kiss, a birthday present on my sweet sixteenth; stolen moments where Kenneth and Devin could not see; a head of fair hair, whiter than Kenneth's; a boyish smile -- and I forced them down uncomfortably as my eyes started to water. "Should I try to find Basil for you?"

"Isn't it, though?" Kenneth said, and despite the fact I was leaning against him, his voice sounded far away and faint compared to the roaring in my ears. I could feel the exact moment he registered my comment, because every muscle in his body tensed. I jumped off the couch and dashed away, my legs easily recalling the easy rhythm.

"No, enraged comes nearer the mark," called Kenneth from behind me, and I heard his footsteps on the ground that was rough, and smooth like ice, and so clear you felt like you could fall through it, and solid as obsidian all at once. I kept running, but I circled around so as not to leave Devin to the mercy of whatever else in this place might find him. I looked behind me to see Kenneth catching up to me with quick strides of his longer legs. For a second I panicked, before the instincts that had saved me from being killed myself took over. It took only a quick kick out backwards to trip my brother up and a quick sprint to get out of his reach as he toppled over. Well, the bigger they are the harder they fall, and you could not get much bigger, frame-wise, than Kenneth.

"Sorry, Caleb," I called back as he propped himself up on his elbows and checked to see if he had knocked a tooth loose.

"I have a friend with a bow, Jules," he growled in reply.

"And I have Bryan," I replied. "Bryan would not shoot me." If there was anything anymore that I was positive about, it was that. "And Bry' has better aim than cousin Basil." Bryan had had a small shelf in the sitting room of our apartment for various archery things. The first arrow he had ever gotten a bull's-eye with. A few medals from competitions. Some of those competitions, I remembered with amusement, Basil has also entered. Once or twice Bryan had beaten Basil when they had gotten matched up.

"Bah! Bry' could not hit Everest at fifty paces." Fighting down inexplicable outrage at Kenneth using my nickname for Bryan, I smirked as I came to a second conclusion. Kenneth had very, very selective memory.

"Of course not," I scoffed, promptly wiping his triumphant smile off his face with: "He's not stupid enough to fire at a mountain."

"Are you sure about that?" He said. "For myself, I have doubts."

"He'll listen to me when I tell him not to fire at a mountain." Kenneth chuckled.

"Whereas Basil will listen to me when I tell him to fire at you," he drawled.

"He's not eager to be a murderer, though." I rolled my eyes. "At least, that's what I remember. Goodie two-shoes." I sighed. What was this? Treating the desire to murder like the desire to get a super soaker. "But he would listen to you, yes. The puppy's trained attack dog?" There was laughter from Devin's general direction.

"Cheap shot again, Lucifer. Are you so desperate for wit?" Kenneth looked sour. I smirked.

"I'm not desperate for anything. Unlike some I could name," I replied, walking closer only to dance back when his hand went for my ankle.

"Ah, of course. Forgive me." He finally realized he should have picked himself off the floor, and did so. "You need at least a little wit to desire more." I wrinkled my nose in indignation as Devin laughed again and Kenneth joined him.

"No, you don't. You've proved that quite dexterously," I said with a would-be innocent smile. It took him three steps to reach me with those long legs of his. He raised his hand, but I did not give him a chance to strike me before I simply reached up, grabbed his shoulders, and shoved him over backwards.

"He isn't your carpet," said Devin. I looked at Kenneth. He lay supine on the ground, still stunned from his second fall in as many minutes. How easy it would be to kill him, I thought. I could just step onto his chest with both feet, and one little bounce could crush his ribcage. One little bounce...

What in the seven levels of hell was I thinking? I could not do that to my brother. Cousin Basil, if he had attempted the same, perhaps, but not Kenneth.

"No, but he's my seat," I said to Devin. To prove my point, I promptly sat on him.

"Ah, I see," said Devin sagely. I looked over at him before my whole world turned upside-down. I blinked up from my spot pinned against the ground to see Kenneth glaring at me. His hands were wrapped around my neck. He had struck like a viper -- I had not had a chance to even understand what was happening, let alone stop it. Fortunately, this position left my hands free. It was easy enough to bring my foot up towards my hand and snatch a dagger from inside of it. That done, I brought the blade up behind his neck and pushed, gently. His eyes widened.

"Sharp objects again, Jules," he scolded. I was granted a momentary reprieve as he removed a hand to wrench the dagger from my hands -- blade-first -- and toss it out of reach.

"Stop it before I aim for something significantly more painful for you." Kenneth brought his hand back down and squeezed all the harder. I felt his blood, colder than anything due to his being dead, drip down neck. I heard his hiss as the sweat on my neck seeped into his cut fingers.

"You're turning blue, Julian." Suddenly, Devin was beside us, watching. Only someone like him, who had grown up in a household with such violence, would look on something like this and not react. Perhaps he trusted Kenneth not to hurt me more than I found I did now.

"I could drown you, if you like," said Kenneth. He brought his knee up and pressed it into my chest. I pushed at him ineffectively.

"One eight-hundred jenny twenty, Ken..." I gasped. He shook with laughter, his hands loosening their grip slightly, but my vision was already starting to tunnel and fill with spots of bright colour.

"You might not want to kill each other," commented Devin. He rested a hand on Kenneth's shoulder.

"Get off, NOW, or I will either stab your rear or suffocate," I shouted as loud as I could, but it came out rather weak.

"You might NOT want to kill each other," repeated Devin, turning Kenneth to face him with a grip on his hair.

"I really have no choice!" It sounded like one whole word coming out of my mouth.

"Probably, I could make you choke without resorting to such underhanded methods as you yourself have previously used." With that, Kenneth let go. I gasped loudly in relief before a fit of coughing seized me. Somehow, I managed to get the other knife from my boot and hold it against me.

"You're slow, Jules." Kenneth nudged me with the toe of his worn sneaker. I pushed myself into a sitting position, with one hand, the other pressed against my forehead. All of a sudden, I had a pounding headache. The constant coughing, trying desperately to get air into my lungs, was not helping. Kenneth clapped me on the back and I lost balance and tumbled to the ground again. I endured Devin's soft chuckling until I could get enough wind to shout. And shout I did.

"Have you no sense of decency, Kenneth Caleb? I could have died again! I thought you didn't want to kill family."

He smiled patronizingly. "For you, I make exceptions."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot," I spat.

"So nice of you, Ken. Is Julian standing yet? Or still sprawled on the ground?" Devin was off fiddling with something by his previous seat. His back was to me. A fresh wave of pain from my head forced me to curl in on myself again.

"I think he's still sprawled," observed Kenneth dryly. Devin wandered back over and crouched by my head.

"I'd suggest oxygen before your brain starts dying," he said softly to me. He straightened out my mussed hair with his fingers.

"...To heck with that," replied Kenneth. "In response to your 'Jenny' comment, Jules: 'What, don't you think I'd look *smashing* in a bikini?'" I choked. "Now he stops breathing altogether," snorted Kenneth.

I rubbed at my face again. "Kenneth, we aren't in a bodice-ripper. And you aren't female. Unless there's something you haven't told me." I got a wet raspberry in reply. "Do keep your tongue in check." Sometimes, I could have sworn I felt like I was supposed to look after him.

"As long as you respond in kind," he muttered after a pause.

"I can hardly do anything, Ken," I said as sharply as I could manage, throwing myself to my feet with one smooth movement. It did not work so well, though, and I stumbled and nearly fell upon landing.

"Recovered now have we?" inquired Devin with a raised eyebrow. I walked towards him, swaying drunkenly, and looked at him. His face seemed to split into two and reform into one. I rubbed my eyes.

"Hardly, brother mine." At least my vocal chords were working.

"Oh well." Devin clapped me on the shoulder. I staggered. "Try not to choke him again in the near future, hmm, Kenneth?" He tilted his head towards Kenneth with a bemused half-smile.

"If you even think of sitting on me," I snapped at Kenneth, "I won't be held responsible for the consequences." I brandished the dagger at him for emphasis.

"I wish father was here," he said softly.

I stopped short. "He would be... intrigued, to say the least."

"... No, wait. I retract that statement."

"Good idea." I snorted in amusement. Our father would not be particularly pleased to see evidence of his choking me (my neck was ringed with bruises that I felt more than saw) and my knifing him (he had fresh blood on his hands and the back of his neck).

"He took my side last time we had a spat." It was a miracle he remembered that, given that he'd been about thirteen at the time. Maybe he thought about it often, smugly. Maybe it was something he recalled solely to use against me. He was planning even then to betray my trust in him! In a reflex born of habit, I shifted onto the balls of my feet and bobbed up and down gently -- ready to strike if need be. "Aside from the 'going to fetch Basil is taking it too far.' I still think we could have saved a lot of trouble if I had," he added.

I fought down my first response -- 'Basil. Isn't. Dead! Stop acting like he is!' -- and shifted again. Anger did not help my pounding headache very much, but apparently it helped my balance out. "Just try it. See if I don't try and run the both of you through." I twirled the dagger again, and it flashed as if catching the light. I was too incensed to wonder where the light came from.

"Try." I could tell he did not really care whether I did it or not.

"I would do it."

"Peculiarly, you aren't really known for your skills with pointed objects, whereas Basil and I are." I narrowed my eyes at him. Neither of them was renowned for being the only suspect in one of the bloodiest murders in the country. Certainly, neither of them committed said murder. It was not skill with a blade that mattered, so much as intent. It was just a game to me. A game I had never yet lost. This would never do, though. I was too worked up. I took a calming breath before answering.

"Nor am I known for trying to keep my temper in check," I said. It came out lighter than I meant it to, but Devin, behind Kenneth, took one look at my face and backed away towards the seating area. "But that's what I'm trying to do." Kenneth looked amused. "You're the most damned selfish man ever -- and I don't say that lightly! -- but you're my brother. I'm supposed to love you." Supposed to. I did not anymore, not really. Kenneth shrugged. It hurt me beyond words to find that he did not really care, in the end, if I trusted him or not. If I loved him or not.

"Bah. Selfish? My actions say otherwise." He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at me.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in irritation. "Otherwise?"

"I kept you alive for years." Now that was absolute bull. Kenneth knew damned well I could look after myself and then some, most likely better than he ever could. I had been doing so since before I came of age. Granted, he had been pretending he was an adult when he was fifteen and working full-time so he could afford our apartment, but I thought I would have been well suited to the life of a street-urchin. The cold, rational part of my mind -- the same part that had said murdering Oliver was a good idea, and then reasoned out how to do just that and not get caught -- was positive he did that merely to provoke me. The rest of me, considerably more aggressive, was all for using the knife in my hand and inflicting as much damage as possible.

"That's it," I snarled. "Get lost, Ken, I don't want to talk to you." My voice would have chilled even me, if I had not been so angry.

"Ta, then," murmured Kenneth with a shrug. He always was remarkably calm in the face of my rage -- before, I had appreciated it, but now it just made me want to punch him in the face all the more.

"There goes my entertainment," said Devin from where he was flopped out on the other couch.

"I never said I wouldn't speak to you, Devin."

"No. But your banter was amusing," said Devin, off-handedly. For a worrying second, I thought he had the same sense of humour that I did. The sense of humour that found murder hilarious.

I settled on Devin's couch. Underneath his fierce look, Kenneth seemed amused. Somewhere in that incorrigible mind lay the comparison of me to a ruffled hen smoothing her feathers. I knew him well enough to tell. The concept did not sit well with me.

Devin, on the other hand, turned his wide, dark eyes on me. I stared back, losing myself for just a moment. I wondered how much of me he could read. Could he see my anger? My indignation? Could he see the hurt beneath that? Finally, he turned back to the scrapbook and leant against me just as I had done earlier with Kenneth. I slid a hand around him and gave him a squeeze. He shivered, faintly, and I removed my arm. I had forgotten. Devin was less hesitant during the first Hallowe'en we had spoken to him, but we had taken his words to heart. Rarely did we touch him. He had said that our skin felt like ice to him, and even my flannel turtleneck was very cold. It was not fair. My youngest brother, struggling to make ends meet -- for why else would he have old, patched clothing? I was sure I had seen some of my old shirts -- because of our family's reputation, and he could not even seek refuge in the arms of his long-dead older brothers once a year without feeling the chill of the Dead.

It was only after a few minutes of brooding that I came up with the answer. Here, in this plane of the supernatural, we of the Dead could control everything just by thinking about it, up to and including our appearances. So could we not change our body temperatures to something resembling normal? I tried it; it was not like I had anything more important to do. I barely felt the change, but Devin turned and threw me a shocked look over his shoulder. He pulled my arm over his chest and settled back with a soft sigh. I heard Kenneth shift position, but did not look at him. Keeping the changes required conscious effort on my part, not unlike holding something tightly in my hand. It was tiresome, but I rationalized it like so: Devin deserved it.

The only noise there was was that of turning pages. I looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of a picture of all of us together. Kenneth was a preteen, at the time. Little Bryan stood proudly by his brother's shoulder. The sepia tone of the picture -- we could not afford a colour camera -- made their hair look the same shade. Kenneth held baby Devin in his arms. Even then, with his hair so short, it was obvious that Devin was the only black-haired child in the family. Our older brothers were blonds, most of our cousins and I were brunets... And cousin Oliver, too, was blond. Somewhere in my journal, I had secreted locks of hair from all my brothers and cousins. Oliver had two entries: one lock of hair from when I was first recording them, and a few bloody strands that came free from my knife the day I murdered him. So sweet. By reminiscing that past, I knew I was trying to avoid seeing my younger self, but there I was, smiling my little-kid smile and clinging tightly to Kenneth's corduroys. I did not remember when the picture was taken, and Devin's thumb covered the little date stamp. It seemed to me like that was on purpose.

"Is there music in this place?" murmured Devin. I jerked my head up like a student caught daydreaming in class. No sooner had he spoke than the sweet sound of classical music filled the area, surround-sound style. I glanced at Kenneth. His head bobbed to the music, his eyes were closed and he had a faraway look on his face. I think I changed the music to soft rock just to spite him. Kenneth made an indignant noise. Devin passed a hand over his forehead. "Country music?" I was faster, this time, and we were listening to country music. The song changed. "My favourite. Thank you, Kenneth." Oh. There was another silence. There seemed to be a lot of silences, this Hallowe'en.

Devin made a soft sound of dismay. I looked over his shoulder again at a very familiar newspaper front page. He made to slam the book closed but I stuck my hand in and forced it wider.

The article was dated April 17th, 1997. The accompanying picture was one of my own face, twisted in a cruel smirk. It detailed my arrest on that day for the murder of my cousin Oliver. I choked down a laugh. I had gotten acquitted of that case. Still, reading the article was something I used to do often, mainly for the witness quotes. 'If it really is him, he hid it very well. I didn't know, and I'm one of his closest confidantes.' That was Kenneth. 'Is he capable of it? Yes. But if he did this horrible thing, I have no doubt he wouldn't have allowed himself to be captured like that. Julian's too clever.' That was attributed to 'the younger brother of the accused, who is underage'. I smiled to myself. That was Devin.

"Amused, brother mine?" Kenneth's mocking comment cut across my musings. I scowled at him.

"Well you didn't kill each other," said Devin, sighing and closing the book as he shifted away from me.

"I have to go now," I snapped, getting up off the couch with what my brothers would call undue haste. "Good night, Devin. Sleep well." I nodded to him.

"May your soul rest in bliss," said Kenneth, also getting to his feet. He towered over me again, making me feel small and insignificant. "Farewell."

"Farewell, Kenneth Caleb." It did not sound particularly brotherly, which was good. I wished I was not related to him.

"Good night, then," Devin said. There was a trace of a smile on his face that was overshadowed by the concern in his eyes.

I gave him a brief hug and a grin I hoped was encouraging, before turning and walking away. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Kenneth drop a brotherly kiss to Devin's forehead and give him a warm smile. I whipped my head back quickly and clenched my hands, trying not to feel sick.

That is the story.
The late Julian Lucifer Ferris.

November the First, Year Two-Thousand Twenty-One.

It has been a decade since my death. I followed in my brothers' footsteps one more time, I suppose. But that does not bear thinking about.

I have only seen Kenneth once since the above entry. He remains unrepentant about alienating Julian. Perhaps he would care if he knew just how much damage he did.

And Julian...? Julian's gone. I do not know where. Even if he had told me, he most likely would have lied. He left behind this journal. Unfortunately, in it he left no record of his plans.

Julian is very, very dangerous. If he is angry at something, or someone, and feels it is worth killing them... Only bonds of love will stop him from doing so. Kenneth has made him break those shackles, now. I thought it was impossible to kill the Dead, seeing as we cannot be killed because we have already been killed. My older brother may be the first to find that it is possible to do. I hope he does not.

All I can do is sit here and pray.

The late Devin Ferris.