The Wrong Family

Harris looked down at his dying , gasping brother and sighed to himself. ‘Don’t die too quickly Gordon,’ he murmured as he crouched and opened his brother’s tuxedo jacket with the end of the silencer attached to his compact 9mm. He reached several fingers into the right side pocket. The jacket was quickly soaking up blood and the twill undershirt was already mostly saturated. The shirt pleats formed channels for the blood. Red rivers leading straight to the cummerbund, where the blood ran horizontally to the sides and fed the growing pool of crimson under Gordon’s body. The small bullet wound to his chest still pumped out blood and Harris really wanted to avoid getting too much of it on himself. ‘I intentionally missed your heart to prolong your death you know big brother. No need to waste the opportunity to watch you suffer,’ he sneered, his hands finally locating his target. He carefully slid the little black notebook out from the satin lined pocket. He stood, smirked, and placed the book in his trouser pocket before taking a handful of seconds to admire his handiwork. ‘Twenty thousand dollars may not be much to you Doctor, but it’ll certainly buy me some serious breathing space’.

Harris really had always hated his brother. Even knowing that Gordon was already dying he had to fight the urge to kick him in the face. He wanted to release his full rage against his despised sibling, who even in death looked arrogant and mocking. He really wanted to defile his face somehow and ruin it for eternity, or at least enough to terribly shock his sisters when they went to view the body. Harris had always felt that there was no greater curse in a person’s life than being born into the wrong family. There was nothing more unbearable than growing up surrounded by people you cared nothing for and who cared nothing for you either. A failure in the cosmic birthing system, delivering souls to the wrong homes. No opportunity for rectification. Just a continuous state of suffering for the ill-matched life who found themselves among strangers instead of loved ones. It didn’t matter anymore. The little black book was his ticket out of town and he would never have to see any of them again.

Harris walked over to the window and peered out into the dark, foggy yard at the front of his brother’s manor. He saw no movement anywhere but didn’t expect to given that Rose and the children wouldn’t be back for hours. The lights that lined the drive looked washed out and pale in the misty night. Harris turned back to the room and caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror at the other end of the room. He liked what he saw and straightened up his tie and shrugged his jacket back into position. ‘I always was the better looking brother,’ he quipped and walked to the doorway. He stopped. His hands curled and uncurled, forming and releasing fists several times as his breathing quickened. He sighed deeply, walked back over to Gordon’s body and gave him a swift kick to the side of the head. ‘Petty I know,’ he sneered, squatting down next to Gordon’s head, ‘but that’s for being born first”. He stood, rolled and stretched his neck several times, took a couple of deep breaths and left.

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“I, Terence Merlit, residing at 90 Whitten Drive, Southhampton, New York declare this to be my last will and testament,” began his father’s lawyer, Toby Morrence. He was old and fat when Harris was a child and had only gotten older and fatter since. His voice faded into the background for Harris as he looked around the room. His eyes took in Gordon sitting attentively to Toby’s left, Rose’s hand holding his. He fully looked the part of the deeply mourning but still perfectly composed, model son. A chip off the old block. The kind of son every successful man wanted. Someone to take over the reins and further the wealth. Someone to shepherd the younger children and manage everyone’s affairs. He hated him. With a passion that ran so deep he scared himself sometimes as to what he might be capable of doing to him. Rose. Beautiful and devoted wife. Of course. The only hiccup in Gordon’s perfect life was breaking his arm when he was twelve years old after Harris pushed him out of a tree. He’d missed his school play because of it and had cried all night. Harris smiled.

‘’To my daughter, Ella, I leave the following…” continued Toby. Ella. The youngest. Always pretty. Always delightful. Always helpful. Always loved by everyone. She sat next to him at the large mahogany table wearing a bright yellow dress. Her eyes were red and she let out a sniffle as her name was read. Her hands rested on her lap as she fidgeted and twisted a screwed up tissue. Harris remembered the joy he had felt setting fire to her precious trio of dolls when she was eight. He had been sixteen. Ella had been devastated at their loss and he had thoroughly enjoyed bringing some pain to her otherwise perfect life. No one ever found them though because he had thrown their melted remains into the lake. He had still been blamed however despite the lack of evidence, his father furiously berating him for hours. Whatever happened to being innocent unless they could prove that you were guilty?

‘To my daughter, Emily, I leave the following…” rasped Toby, stopping for a mouthful of water. A couple of coughs, a clearing of the throat and he continued. Harris’ gaze moved to Emily. She was staring straight back at him, eyes full of malice. God how they hated each other. They continued to stare menacingly at each other as Toby listed out her inheritance. Emily was the first girl in the family and number three child to emerge from their mother’s womb. Only one year younger than Harris she had the spirit of an amazon warrior her father had once said. A tomboy they had called her when they were young. She always responded by calling them untomgirls. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. She certainly thought it was clever and guffawed like a mule about it.

‘To my son, Harris,” began Toby, catching Harris’ attention. Toby again coughed and cleared his throat. ‘To my son, Harris I leave the following advice. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you when you’re full, then turn around and expect a hand out when you’re starving again. Taking into account the monies already provided to you during your lifetime and the outstanding loans you have accumulated with me I leave you no funds or assets from my estate.’. Harris could have leapt over the table and beaten Emily to death for the smirk that crossed her face. ‘I do however leave you my little black book. In that book are my notes and thoughts as well as the location of twenty thousand dollars in cash.’ Well that was at least something he thought. Twenty thousand dollars would certainly help him out of some of the troubles that always seemed to come his way. A world that seemed determined to beat him down and keep him there. ‘That book I place in trust with your brother Gordon, to be provided to you at such time as he considers it appropriate.’ Emily actually cackled. That ridiculous, horse faced witch actually laughed at him. He gave her a withering look as he pushed his chair back and stood. His blood pumped with rage as he gazed with hatred around the room. At least Toby had the decency to look startled. He briefly played with the idea of picking up his chair and beating them all to death with it, or even just Ella as he knew the deep grief it would cause her siblings. Gordon was watching him. No expression. Just watching. He had let go of Rose’s hand and placed his own hands on the armrests of his chair. He looked like a coiled spring ready to leap into action should Harris carry out his chair beating fantasy. So instead Harris threw the chair over onto its side, snorted with contempt and left the office. Emily was still sniggering.

---___---

‘Box 41327,’ Harris said to the bank clerk. The young man with the bro flow hair and ugly tie who had introduced himself as ‘Roger’ typed away at his keyboard while Harris waited. ‘Passcode please,’ he requested. Harris showed Roger the twelve digit number written on the last page of the little black book. ‘Thank you,’ responded the clerk, hitting several more keys before standing. ‘This way please’. Harris stood and followed Roger out of his oversized office and down a long carpeted corridor. He put the little black book back in his pocket. It contained twenty pages. The first page had been a statement that both the contents of the security box detailed on the last page and the ‘words of wisdom’ on the other pages were for Harris’ eyes only. He wondered if Gordon has respected the old man’s wishes and left the money in the box. Well of course he would have, he thought. That fool always did the right thing. He still couldn’t believe Gordon had survived and was in an induced coma at the hospital. There was no justice in the world.

The next eighteen pages had contained Terence Merlit’s ‘notes and thoughts’ alright. The old bastard had opined endlessly about where he had gone wrong with Harris. He could never understand why his second son bore so much ill will towards to the rest of his family. Harris didn’t really understand it himself if he was being completely honest. He detested them and he knew they detested him. A joke by God perhaps. His father had been glad that the ‘One bad apple hadn’t spoiled the bunch’. The loathsome bastard. The last page held the details for the safety deposit box at the bank.

‘Here you are, Sir,’ announced Roger. He handed Harris a key and left him to open the box already sitting on the table. Roger eagerly inserted the key and opened the lid. Twenty thousand dollars in four bound lots were in the box, sitting on top of a cardboard box and a piece of folded note paper. He picked the money up, crushed them to his face and smelled deeply the inky-cotton fragrance mixed with earthy greasiness. He let out a long sigh. That was the smell of freedom from his immediate troubles. He picked up and unfolded the note, his throat starting to feel a little tight with emotion. “Dear Harris. I don’t know why you were born a monster but I’ve spent my life trying to protect my other children from you. They deserved normal lives and you were horrible and evil to them for reasons I could never fathom. You’ve continued to vex me, and them, well into your adult life and I suspect that you will never stop doing so. So I’ve decided to stop you. The money you will no doubt have already handled like the greedy little grub you are has been sprayed with Anuratoxin. You’ll be dead in five minutes and it won’t be pleasant. I hope you enjoyed your inheritance. Don’t forget to open the other box. It might contain some answers for you.” Harris was having trouble swallowing and his vision was beginning to blur. He ripped the lid off the cardboard box hoping for an antidote of some kind to his father’s bad joke. He gasped as his heart was pierced by a dozen hot needles and his brain felt squeezed beyond its limits. He stared down at the melted remains of three small dolls. Algae had set deep into their crevices from their prolonged stay underwater. He collapsed, pain wracking his body.