Page 21 of Rhet

“Yeah,” the other two say.

I walk back to the chair and sit. Reaching to the back of my waist, I pull out my Glock 19. The room becomes silent when they see the weapon. I feel the weight of gun in my wrist as I hold it loosely and begin to beat my open thighs with it.

“I’m about to treat this like my fucking therapy session. I advise you to join in.” I nod my head and the three bodies in front of me nod right back.

“I think that everything before death is a regret. I regret many things, especially not being there for my brother. Now that opportunity is gone.” I bite my bottom lip ‘till it hurts to stop my tears from coming.

“A part of me thinks this is a dream and I will wake up eventually. I’m so numb.” I swallow my pain as I watch the red head squirm, inching by slowly trying to get away.

Closing my eyes, I blowout a deep breath. “I said stop fucking moving. Please.”

I open my eyes and look the red head dead in his.

“You took the best of us away from my family. I wish it was me you’d killed. My mom would be in less pain.”

My back begins to tighten in pain.

“I’ve never questioned God before, but this time, part of me wants to know why. Why leave the devil and take the angel? You get what I’m saying?”

All three nod as if they were agreeing with me.

“I just want to know who killed my brother.” I stare at the three of them, leaning back lazily in the chair.

“Who the fuck is your brother? We don’t know—” A shot rings out, hitting inky hair in the ankle. His scream echoes throughout the house. The other two looked at me with renewed fear. I smell the scent of urine. I guess one of them peed themselves. Good, I want them to realize how serious this situation is.

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like you don’t know. My brother was Trent Banner.” I wave my gun with a loose wrist at them then place it on my thigh.

Trent’s name makes them all still, even the one rolling on the ground in pain.

“My other question is, why did you kill my brother?” I ask the first guy.

His eyes darts to the other two, as he tries to sit back up, bloods seeps out from his ankle.

My shoulders are tight.

“Man, we didn’t kill your brother. Please let us go.”

I don’t realize I pull the trigger, but the boy with the inky hair falls back. The other two scream, trying to get away from the blood pooling around their friend’s head.

I lean forward on my legs, pressing the slide of the gun against my nose and forehead.

“Who killed my brother?” I question them again.

“Man, we didn’t kill your brother. We got the mark from Marcus.” The red hair spoke up.

Marcus? As in my brother’s fiancée.

“Marcus Brown?” I ask, for clarification.

“Yes, he plays linebacker for Lakeshore,” the guy with the deep eyes replies, “He said your brother disrespected an important member of the alumni and he needed to be taught a lesson,” the red head says as his voice trembles.

“Who are the alumni members?”

“Bro, I don’t know. We just got the information from Marcus. He’s our brother.” The red head says.

“So, you’re in a fraternity?”

“Yes. I live in the house he doesn’t.” The red head nods to the other guy.

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