Page 138 of Losers, Part I
My worry hadn’t dissipated; I could tell his hadn’t either. But I felt a little steadier at least. He went to stand in his doorway,leaning against the frame as he listened for them to come back into the house. In the meantime, I tried to occupy my nervous energy by having a look around.
The first time I’d seen his room, I’d assumed it was a guest room because it was so empty. But there were signs it was lived in; his bed was unmade and the laundry basket in the corner was overflowing. The dresser was old, covered in scratches and stains, but there were a few items on top that caught my attention.
There was a small wooden figure that looked as if it had been whittled by hand, a candle scented like chamomile and lavender, a deck of cards, and even an old GameBoy. I picked up the wooden figure, turning it over in my palm. It looked like a cat — I could see little whiskers on its face and claws on its tiny feet. The deck of cards appeared well-used, and the GameBoy had a Pokemon Red cartridge inside it.
Shoved toward the back of the dresser was a boombox, its plastic exterior cracked and scuffed. It was clearly old, equipped with a cassette player and AM/FM radio, but nothing else, not even a CD drive.
The front slot was open and a cassette was inside. I pulled out the tape, curiously reading the handwritten label on the front.Best Mixtape Ever!was scrawled with a red pen in messy, child-like letters.
The floor creaked softly as Lucas came up behind me. I turned, holding up the tape. “Did you make this?”
Something painful flickered over his expression. He took the tape, turning it over in his hands.
“My brother made it,” he said. “But I named it. It’s old, the audio is fucked up in some spots…”
He put it back into the boombox and pressed play. The volume was low, but after a moment, I recognized the tune of “Heaven’s On Fire” by KISS.
“What’s your brother’s name?” I said.
He stopped the tape. The softness of his expression was still guarded as he picked up the wooden cat and rubbed his thumb over the rough wood.
“Benji,” he said, keeping his eyes down. “He’s five years older than me.”
An older brother. It was difficult to imagine Lucas as anything other than he was now: hard as stone and just as immovable. But as he spoke, I was able to picture him differently. As someone far more innocent and gentle, a child that the world hadn’t yet broken.
“I thought he was the coolest guy in the world,” he said. “I followed him everywhere when I was a kid. Probably drove him fucking crazy. He’d sneak out with his friends and end up with his kid brother tagging along, but he was always nice about it. He’d keep me with him and make sure I was safe.”
He cleared his throat and set the cat down on the deck of cards. His face was unreadable now, wiped clean of whatever emotion I’d seen there before.
“What happened to him?” I was afraid he’d close up, that I’d ask one too many questions and destroy this fragile openness between us.
To my surprise, he answered bluntly, almost numbly, “He’s in prison. Been there for thirteen years.”
His tone was so even that it didn’t hit me right away what he’d said. Then my eyes widened, realization dawning, and I blurted out, “Thirteen years? What did he do?”
That question had required far more tact than I’d given it. I gasped the moment the words were out, grasping for an apology that I’d gone about this all wrong, but Lucas didn’t seem bothered.
His voice remained detached as he explained. “He fell in love with a girl. I guess an older kid had a thing for her too; I’m notsure. A lot of the court case was…” He paused, rubbing the back of his head. “It was a lot. I was little. I didn’t really get it. But apparently…” He frowned, as if he didn’t fully believe what he was about to say. “Apparently, Benji was really possessive of this girl, and he didn’t like this other kid being into her. So he…” His frown deepened. “He lured the kid out of his house, hit him over the head with a brick, took him out into the woods…and killed him.”
He said it so calmly, but the words washed over me with a cold chill. “Oh my God…”
“They put him away when he was fifteen,” he said. “They kept saying he was so dangerous, but he was just my brother. He liked rock music, and Pepsi, and he could create shit like no one else could. He was an artist. He was patient. I never even heard him raise his voice.” He exhaled heavily through his nose, shaking his head. “But they said he did it. Locked him up. The whole community knew, there was practically a target on my back at that point. So my dad took me with him, and we left. Mom got sicker…”
I didn’t know what to say. My little sister could be a pain in the ass, but I couldn’t imagine her being taken away. And for something so heinous, at such a young age…it was horrific. It was unimaginable.
I laid my hand on his arm. He was very pointedly looking anywhere except at me, but it was because the shield over his face was gone. I could see the sadness in his eyes, the confusion. As if he knew the story but refused to believe it was real.
“Do you miss him?” I said, and he finally looked up. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
“Yeah, I miss him. Every damn day.”
The sound of the front door opening made us both jerk our heads toward the hallway, footsteps tramping heavily into the house.
“They’re back,” I said.
Lucas took my hand again. He lifted it to his lips, kissing my knuckles tenderly. “Let’s go see what happened.”
We reached the bottom of the stairs right as Vincent was closing the door behind them. Their faces were drawn, the relaxed energy from not even an hour ago now completely sapped. Little Haribo was in the living room, up on his back legs so he could look out the window with Jojo toward the gate, both of them clearly on edge. Manson’s eyes were hollow, sunken in shadow.