For Arthur

Hang in there, little buddy

John, where are you?

"Honey, I'm sure John's fine. Maybe he just lost his phone or something?"

"No, Ari, you don't understand. John isn't fine. I've called him twice now, and it keeps saying he's out of range."

"So? That happens all the time."

"Not to John. I don't know what calling plan he uses, but he always says I can call him whenever I need him and he'll be there. That's not the sort of promise he takes lightly." John had a worldwide, zero dead-zone phone service. I don't know where one would get such a thing, and whenever I asked, he say it was a secret.

My brother has a lot of secrets.

"Besides, I won't be long. I'll probably be here before you get back from work. I'm just going down to Madison to check on him. I'm sure he's fine." I hope he's fine.

Ariel leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm sure, too, baby. Be careful on the highway, okay?"

"Of course, babe. Have fun at work."

"Always."

I'm a lucky guy.

. . .

The drive took almost three hours. The rain didn't help, but at least the highway was mostly clear. The gas shortages have been keeping a lot of people off the roads lately.

I visit John pretty often, but never on a whim like this. Ever since he gave me Mom and Dads house, he moved to
Madison with his friend Dutchy. I call him every few days and he visits almost every weekend.

Ariel was an only child. She couldn't understand the knife of dread that pierced my heart even as I drove down the cloud-darkened streets of the city that had become my older brothers home. She couldn't understand the fear that lanced my soul when I went to John's apartment, only to find it locked.

I knocked and waited. He should be at home. He normally sleeps this time of the day.

I waited for a long time.

With no other way to get in, I decided to try finding him at the bar where he works. I walked out the apartment building and was almost to my car when I was jumped by a gang of homeless people. They wanted my wallet, so I calmly pulled out a few hundreds and passed them out, shaking each of their hands and telling them to buy themselves something nice.

They waved goodbye as I pulled away. The random act of kindness did little to ease my feelings.

I pulled up to Dirty Mike's Bar and Grill, the most recent establishment John had been earning petty cash in since he retired from his 'Secret Job'.

Not that he needed to work any more. Ever since he retired, John had more money than he knew what to do with. Hence the three grand that was currently on my person, which was just a percent of a percent of my 'Christmas Gift' from last year.

John's 'Secret Job', as he'd been calling it since I was a teenager, was exactly that; a secret he'd kept from me since the day he came home with a strange Dutchman and a pair of bullet wounds in his neck.

That was the first, but definitely not the last time, that I feared my older brother would die.

. . Flashback Time, Motherfuckers . .

I chewed a hot pocket as I screwed around on the internet. I was a bit of a multi-tasker, I was simultaneously writing a 'My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic!' fan fiction, coding a zombie survival video game, watching a Japanese cartoon, and listening to Now You're Gone by Basshunter.

Needless to say, I'm a lot less single-minded than my brother.

It had been less than a year since Ma and Dad died, John had dropped out of college and moved back in to take care of me. I distracted myself with the normal teenager stuff, spent hours at a time on the internet, did my best in school, and hung out with my then-girlfriend-now-wife, Ariel.

John took it harder than I did. He'd moved into my parents room. Sometimes, he'd keep me up all night with his constant pacing, a habit he'd gotten from Dad. He'd stay in there for days at a time, only coming out to say goodnight and work at the bar in town. But he paid the bills, bought groceries, and helped clean the house, so I couldn't complain.

Tonight was a little different, though. I drove home from school, dropping Ariel off on the way. He'd been in the kitchen, washing the dishes, his tan arms clashing with the white bubbles. He was singing along with the radio, obviously in a good mood.

"I kissed a girl, and I liked it,

The taste of her cherry chapstick.

I kissed a girl, just to try it,

Hope my boyfriend don't mind- Hey, Mike!"

"Hey, man." I set my backpack down on a chair, and started digging through cupboards on an epic quest for munchies.

"How was school?" He continued without looking up

"Sucked balls, as usual." I stuffed a cookie in my mouth and grabbed another.

"Well, hang in there, buddy."

"Ariel makes it better."

"Hmm?" He turned the radio down with a bubble-studded hand. "Who's Ariel?"

"My girlfriend?" I said through my cookie before swallowing. "I thought I told you about her."

He turned off the radio and flicked water at me, then dried his hands. "Was I drunk?"

"Maybe."

"Probably." He threw the towel at me and sat down in one of the chairs. "Pop a squat, little man. We gotta talk."

"Oh, shit, not this. John, you realize they have classes for this, now, I know 'the birds and the bees' and all that."

"I know, I know, gimme some fuckin' credit. I'm talkin' ground rules, buddy." He began ticking off fingers. "Rule One: Don't ask, don't tell, meaning, if I don't ask, I don't wanna know. Rule Two: No hanky-panky while I'm in the house. I don't pork girls while you're here, return the favor. Rule Three: Protection. All the time. No exception. I'm not taking care of your spawn. Other than that, have fun, and don't get caught. How long's this been going on? What base you at?"

"Almost all year." I laughed and willed my face to stop being so red. "Second."

He slapped me five. "The tits. Nice. Real talk though, I gotta leave in an hour. I'll leave money for a pizza or something."

"What's going on?"

"Biz."

"Kinda biz?"

"None-a yo biz." To this day, he hasn't told me what happened after he left. He did as he said and left some money, however, I ordered Chinese as opposed to pizza. I considered inviting Ari over, but it seemed in bad taste, since John essentially just gave me permission to have sex with her. So I went on the Internet.

I couldn't sleep, so I ended up cruising the web for a long time. At about a quarter to one, a car pulled into our driveway. It had begun raining, and I hadn't noticed it.

Now, who could that be?

I ran down the stairs to the door and opened it. I didn't like the look of the stranger who got out of the car that looked suspiciously like my brothers. He ran around the car and helped someone out of the passenger side.

I pulled my glasses out of my pocket. I'd inherited Mom's nearsightedness. Putting them on, I saw a familiar shock of golden-blond hair and an equally familiar black leather jacket. John?

. . .

John hated lying to his brother.

But he had to. To protect him.

Ever since that day, nearly a year ago, now, he'd been lying to Mike. He told him that he'd gotten a job as a bartender, when in reality, they were living off Mom and Dads life insurance. He told Michael he was getting better.

He wasn't.

But it was going to get better, now. He had them pinned. Almost a year of tracking, scheming, reading newspapers, going to the library, fucking around on the internet, hundreds of dollars in bribes, gallons of blood in torturous beatings. The loving father-figure he was to Michael was the polar opposite of the vengeful, bloodthirsty beast he became at night, when his little brother thought he was working. In a way, he was.

All of it for the medallion.

A golden sheep impaled on a golden sword.

He'd found it on the ground near where his parents died, where they were murdered. On the back he found a code. The code started the journey. And now he was going to finish it.

Build a bridge of blood all the way to Heaven.

Yeah, I'll build you a bridge to heaven. With blood, if you want it.

The drive took four hours, and it started raining in the middle. He pulled up to a seedy motel directly out of every shitty horror movie, and tonight, he was the antagonist, and they would be the helpless victims.

The Cult of the Sacrificial Lambs were the lambs now, and John was the tiger. He stepped out of his car and pulled up his hood against the rain. He went around to the trunk and opened it. And used a key from his pocket to open the silver case.

He'd spent a long time choosing his weapon. He'd eventually decided on the Desert Eagle. He'd obtained it through perfectly legal means, and waited the required period. Said it was for home defense. Luckily, the guy hadn't asked why one needed a silencer and hollow-point rounds for home defense.

He'd made his choice partly because it was ironic. The Cult of the Lambs got stared in Israel, and the Deagle was an Israeli weapon. Born of the desert, die by the desert.

But he'd mostly chosen it because it was the biggest damn handgun he could get his mitts on. I don't want to kill them. I want to destroy them utterly.

His hands shook with nervous excitement as he screwed on the silencer and tucked the Deagle into his jacket. He then put two spare clips into each back pocket, and put the box of bullets in his other jacket pocket. Finally, justice would be served. Finally he would get his revenge.

The Lambs were careful. Careful and cunning. They made every one of their sacrifices look like an accident. John had done so much research in these months, he probably knew more about them than their own members. The medallion and the code had been the key. Even now, as it bounced against his chest, he thanked the poor sod who'd been his deliverence. They'd gotten sloppy leaving evidence like that.

John Salem entered the hotel with murderous intent. It was exactly as you'd expect a dingy motel to be. Puke-yellow, peeling wallpaper, ugly, stained maroon carpets. The pretty lady behind the counter smiled.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have any vacancies right now!"

"I've got a room in reserve. Here's my key." I pulled out the medallion and dropped it to the desk. It jangled and her eyes widened when she recognized it. Everyone in this hotel was a Lamb, in one way or another.

She reached for a hidden button under the desk. John grabbed her wrist. She looked into his eyes, terrified.

"There's no need for that." He pulled back his hood, eyes tender, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Then slammed her face-first into the desk. She rocked backwards, blood spurting from her nostrils. John pulled out the Deagle and pointed it at her. She was still terrified.

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll have plenty of vacancies... in Hell."

Clack

Clack

A pair of roses bloomed on the hostesses chest, spraying little red ink dots over the desk.

John calmly reloaded the Deagle. Killing his first human being wasn't as hard as he thought it would be.

He leaped over the desk and stuck his hand down her shirt. After a bit of groping, he found what he wanted. He pulled out the bloody medallion, identical to his. He tucked it into his pocket, followed by his own, then checked the desk and drawers for any more information. In a locked drawer, which was quickly broken open, there was a notebook with the Symbol of the Lamb on it.

Flipping it open, John found dates and pictures. The pictures appeared to be taken from afar, and some of them had big red X's through them. Sifting through them, he found many people he didn't recognize. The last two pictures to be crossed out didn't surprise him. But they still hurt.

Johnathan C. Salem, Sr.

Bellefille L. Salem

The dates underneath the pictures were the same day they died.

John tore up the pages with his parents pictures on them. The fact that the Lambs had their likeness on hand was an insult to their memory. He was considering burning the notebook when he noticed the first person without an X.

Laura T. Rodriguez

The date underneath her picture was today.

They were going to kill her tonight, here in the hotel.

John didn't intend for that to happen. If there was a ritual happening tonight, all of the members would be present. John couldn't let this opportunity slip though his fingers. He lit the notebook on fire with his cigarette lighter, and dropped it in the trash can. He wiped a leftover tear from his eye and grabbed his gun from the table.

Now, he had to find the door. The hotel itself gave the Lambs a constant supply of money and victims, but John doubted they conducted their rituals in any of the rooms. There was likely a basement, hidden behind a false wall or cellar door.

After almost fifteen minutes of knocking on walls and checking under rugs, John found it. A false wall in a janitor's closet. He decided politely knock before knocking really hard.

"The Lion chases the Lamb, but there is no need," came the answer from the other side. The proper reply was: 'For the Lamb offers themselves willingly. John, however, didn't know this, so instead he replied:

"Well, the Lion is sick of the Lamb's shit," and proceeded to put his foot through the false wall. He felt it connect with flesh, and grinned. The guard had been directly on the other side.

Using the false wall's new window as a handle, John tore the entire structure off and threw it aside. He entered the small room and it was like entering a new building entirely. The dingy, peeling walls were replaced with gray stone, and the flickering, exposed light bulbs were replaced by fancy golden candelabras.

The guard John kicked was curled up on the floor, holding his stomach. John strode to him and grabbed the collar of his maroon ceremonial robes, lifting him completely off the floor. He pressed the silencer to the man's throat.

"Alright, little birdy, sing for me. Where's the sacrifice?"

"Who are you?!?" The young man bellowed, terror in his eyes. John pistol-whipped him savagely.

"Class is in session, I suggest you pay attention. Where. Is. The. Sacrifice?

The guard spat out a tooth. "Downstairs. The ritual's already started."

John grinned again. "Good job, you passed the final exam. Here's your gold star."

He pulled the trigger, blasting red paint all over the boring gray walls. He dropped the guard, who was now drowning in his own blood, to the floor, and began looking for the stairs.

Down said stairs, Brother Steve had the familiar, blocky golden dagger in his palm. With Brother Herman passing on tonight, he had taken over the ceremonies. Brother Herman and the sacrifice lay together on the stone table, naked. The old man had his eyes closed and was unrestrained, as opposed to the sacrifice, who chewed her gag as her eyes rolled about the room fearfully. Brother Steve stroked her head soothingly. "Be still, little lamb. The sacrifice goes to heaven, too."

Brother Herman took a deep breath. "Enough dawdling, Brother. Send the lamb and I to the lion's jaws."

"Yes, Brother Herman." The gathered cultists began to chant in the old tongue.

"بناء جسر من الدم على طول الطريق إلى الجنة"

"Build a bridge of blood all the way to heaven."

Brother Steve spread his arms, dagger in his right, medallion in his left. His eyelids fluttered as the words filled him.

"لا ذبيحة واحدة يمكن أن تذوب خطايا الرجل."

"No one sacrifice can dissolve the sins of man."

Brother Steve raised the dagger over the tribute. His eyes closed, so did hers, and tears ran down her face. He felt a sliver of apprehension, but quickly brushed it away. For Brother Herman to go to Heaven, this young woman had to die.

"يجب أن يكون الطعام بين فكي الأسد ولحم الخروف."

"The jaws of the Lion shall be fed the flesh of the Lamb."

Clack

Brother Steve felt a strange force, like someone had punched him in the chest.

"I can't believe you guys started the party without me!" Brother Steve looked toward the intruder, who brandished a smoking pistol. Surely he hadn't?

He brought the hand that held the medallion to his chest. Only when he saw that it came away bloody did the pain of getting shot hit him. As the life bled from the wound in his chest, he gently set his medallion and knife down before falling dead to the floor.

"Haven't you guys ever been to a party before? You blow out the candles, THEN you cut the cake." The intruder raised the gun again and shot Brother Herman, who'd leaned up wondering why he wasn't dead yet, in the face.

Sister Melissa grabbed the dagger from the offering table. "Murderer!" She screeched as she charged the man. "He was about to ascend!"

He caught her arm just as she was about to plunge the dagger into his heart. His grip was like steel, and Sister Melissa felt the bones in her forearm crack as the stranger spoke through gritted teeth.

"Me, a murderer? If I'm a murderer, what are you? Me killing your boyfriend and your grandpa there was no different than when you killed my mom and dad, and all those other people in your little notebook."

"They were sacrificed! They went to Heaven!"

"Then you can join them." He pressed the gun to her soft belly, causing her to gasp slightly.

Clack

Clack

Sister Melissa slumped to the floor. He aimed the pistol again. Only one of the cultists took cover behind the stone table.

Clack Brother Alistair began breathing through a hole between his eyes a split second before he fell to the floor with a dry thump.

Clack Sister Susanna clawed at the beautiful red flower on her chest before it's lead roots ended her struggle and she succumbed to the darkness.

John tucked the pistol into his jacket where it belonged. "I don't particularly feel like reloading. So let's make this a little more personal, shall we?"

The man knelt and picked up the knife Sister Melissa had tried to kill him with. He took a second to close her eyes.

"Now, let's play a game. If you manage to touch the door behind me, you get to live." He didn't really plan on letting any of them touching the door, and even if the did, he'd kill them anyway. But the robed cultists that remained didn't know this. They thought they had a chance.

The ritual forgotten, the first contestant stepped up to the plate. He was a little taller than John, which was an impressive feat.

"Our brothers and sisters have suffered dishonorable deaths by your hand. When I touch the door, my hand will be stained with your blood." He pulled a ceremonial knife from the folds of his robes. "Prepare to do battle."

"Are you gonna attack me, or talk about it all day?"

Brother Joseph bellowed a battle cry and charged at John. He felt a pain in his wrist, then a stinging sensation in his neck, then nothing at all. His body fell against the door, the new stump on his wrist leaving a smear. John shook the severed hand from his new knife, then threw it at Brother Andrew. It stuck fast in his neck, and he gurgled and fell against the wall.

"Two contestants left. I think this calls for a bonus round. You have two choices: Fight me, or fight each other. Winner gets to live."

The remaining cultists looked at each other. Suddenly, Sister Josephine tackled Brother Justin and began to claw his face. Grabbing his temples, she slammed his head against the stone floor until he stopped screaming, stopped struggling, stopped breathing.

She stood, breathing hard, and began crying. Her voice was hoarse from screaming apologies to her victim. She felt a pair of comforting arms wrap around her from behind, and leaned into them. It was only when she felt the knife slip between her ribs, did she wonder exactly whose arms they were.

John gently laid the last of his victims on the floor. He felt a strange nothingness in his soul, not an emptiness, but an absence of emotion. The warm pleasure of a job well done leaked through him, but other than that, he felt nothing for these people. As he'd trained to fight them, tracked them like a bloodhound, even as he painted himself red with their blood, they'd been the object of his revenge, his hatred.

Now that'd he'd slaughtered them, it wasn't the same. They were a job that needed doing, trash that needed taking out. He felt nothing for them.

John felt nothing.

He dropped the knife and checked on Laura. She seemed to have fainted. He undid her restraints and began gathering the cultist's medallions. He'd kept the first medallion as evidence to himself that his parents hadn't been victim to a random accident, but victims to a sacrificial cult's rituals. Now he needed them to remind himself that, tonight, people had died by his hand.

"What are you doing?" John spun, surprised at the voice. Then he mentally kicked himself. The cultist who'd hidden under the stone table crawled out and dusted himself off. John pulled out his pistol and fumbled to reload it. The cultist spun and kicked the gun and clip across the room. "No need for weapons, vriend, I'm not one of them."

John didn't bother trying to get the gun. He had a feeling it would just get knocked out of his hands again.

"Really? Then who are you?"

"Sir Doctor Inspecteur Sebastian Lied van de Rivieren, at your service." He spoke all his titles with total seriousness, and in an obviously Dutch accent, probably Amsterdam.

"I'm going to call you Dutchy, rather than remember all that." Dutchy rolled his eyes and continued.

"Americans." He grumbled under his breath. "Alright, fine, Dutchy it is. Now answer my question: What are you doing?"

"Collecting their medallions."

"May I ask why?"

"I... don't know."

"Well, I'm going to ask you to stop." He pulled the cloak off over his head, revealing a man who looked a little older than John. His short, black hair had silver streaks in it, and a matching short salt-and-pepper beard cloaked his chin. A massive, ragged pink scar cut his face in two, going from the upper right of his head, all the way down to the base of his neck on the other side. He wore a brown trench coat over a red plaid button-up and a pair of rancher boots poked out underneath his faded blue jeans. "And then I'm going to ask you why you're here."

"Revenge."

"Who'd they get?"

"Parents."

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Less than most."

"Ahhh, the strong-silent type. What's your name?

"John."

"Salem?"

"How'd you know?"

"You're not the only one who read their little red book. For what it's worth, I'm sorry your family fell victim to these varkens. I would ask you to remain uninvolved, but it's a little late, now, nee?" Dutchy pulled out a jade dragon carving that he'd hollowed out into a pipe. He began calmly packing it. "Well, now that I know why you're here, I should probably tell you why I am. I'm an operative for a company known by the acronym UNJO, which stands for United Nations Justice Organization. A misnomer, given we're not affiliated to the United Nations. We've actually been around longer."

"So, you're a secret agent. A spy." John wasn't surprised. When he began his search for the Cult of the Lambs, John entered a world beneath the skin, a world where conspiracies were real, and big brother was always watching.

"No, I'm not an agent, I'm an operative, there's a difference. But, yes, I am a spy. I was planted to track this coven's movement's, then dispose of them. Thank's for doing my job for me, vriend." He lit his newly-packed pipe and took a puff. "And congratulations as well. You've managed to impress me, not an easy feat."

John was about to ask what he meant when they were interrupted.

Brother Justin finished reloading the intruder's pistol, pulling back the hammer with a click. Brother Shawn had been a traitor, and their entire coven was slaughtered by a single person. From his vantage point on the floor, he watched as the traitor and the stranger had a nice chat, mere minutes after his brothers and sisters had been slaughtered before his eyes. He aimed the pistol at Brother Shawn. His betrayal was unforgiveable.

"Die, infidel." Brother Shawn's eyes widened when he noticed the gun barrel pointed at him. But, as he pulled the trigger, the stranger stepped in front of him.

John stood there as the bullets tore through his neck. He felt himself being pushed aside. He heard a gunshot.

"Nee!" Sebastian pulled out his own gun and shot the surviving cultist in the forehead. John stumbled slightly from Sebastian pushing him, but remained on his feet, blood leaking from the base of his throat. The cultist surely dead this time, he rounded on John.

"Domkop! I could have dodged that!"

John opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, a sickening gurgle and a copious amount of blood came out. He rocked on his feet for a second before falling into Sebastian's arms. Surprisingly, the Dutchman could hold his weight.

"No, do not speak." Sebastian probed the wound with a finger. John gurgled in pain. "Ach, this is not good. We will need a professional. Not a civilian hospital... Ah, I know just the person for the job."

He reached up and pinched his earlobe with bloodied fingers. "Nest, this is Cobalt Cobra, over... Mission was a partial success, I need a cleanup crew ASAP, several bodies and an unconscious civilian, over... Negative, Nest, one of the Lambs escaped, I'm going to hunt him down. I'll may be out of contact for a while, over... Cobra out."

He threw John's arm over his shoulder. "That should buy me a few hours. We need to get out of here, do you have someplace safe?" John pointed at Laura, still passed out on the stone table.

"The cleanup crew will be here before she wakes up. They'll take care of her, but we need to be gone before they arrive. I ask again, do you have somewhere to go?" John nodded and pointed up the stairs. Dutchy helped him climb them into the office on the first floor. One of the bullets had lodged in his spine, his body refused to obey commands from his brain. Somehow, he managed to quickly write down some directions on a pad of paper make it to the his car. Sebastian staunched his throat-hole with a towel from one of the guest rooms.

"Much as I hate to leave my baby here, do you have your keys?

John handed his key ring to Sebastian, and they tore down the road mere seconds before the cleanup crew arrived.

. . .

Why did he come home with some stranger? And why is he limping?

I yanked the screen door open and ran to him, the gravel stinging my bare feet and the rain soaking my back. Lightning flashed and I saw that his arm was around the strange man, a bloody white towel pressed to his neck. The stranger had a massive, disfiguring scar over his entire face.

"WHAT DID YOU DO DO MY BROTHER?" I shouted. I reached the man, and tried to pull him off John. An iron arm twisted around both of mine like a tentacle, then pinned my neck in an unbreakable grip. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable. He didn't even have to let go of John to do it.

"Be still, de kleintje, help me get your brother into the house. We will talk, then. He's lost a lot of blood." He had an odd, but obviously European accent. John smacked him softly in the chest.

He let me go without another word. Not knowing what else to do, I moved to John's other side and put his arm over my shoulder. I looked at his face as I supported him. He was smiling, despite his obvious pain. He tousled my hair weakly. When did I start crying?

We got into the house and set John down in a kitchen chair. "Hold the towel to his neck, keep the pressure. I need to make a call."

"Now? He's bleeding!"

"We need someone to fix him. I'm a doctor, but not that kind of doctor. I'll make a call, then we'll stabilize him, ja?" I did as the strange man said and held the towel to my brother's throat. The man stepped back and pinched his earlobe. He began to speak in French.

Of course, I understood every word. "Patch me in to Doctor Ivoire, secure channel... Hello, Èbène? Yes, I need your assistance... Yes, bring your tools... No, your other tools... Èbène, please, not so many questions, my new friend is bleeding out and you're the only one I can trust... Of course, anything you want, my dear."

He turned to me again. "The doctor is on her way. How is he doing?"

John gave a thumbs up. I glared at the stranger for putting him in this state. John obviously couldn't talk because of the throat wound that, for all I knew, this man had given him.

"Ah, but where are my manners? My name is Sebastian, you must be John's brother?" He extended a hand that had a pink scar circling the wrist

I looked to John for wisdom. He nodded. It's okay, Mike, he's a friend.

I shook Sebastian's hand, still holding the towel to John's neck. "Well, Sebastian, my name is Michael, and if you don't mind me asking, what happened to my brother?"

He looked at John, who shook his head and pointed toward himself. I'll explain. Sebastian turned back to me. "That is probably something you two should discuss alone. I will go and wait for Doctor Ivoire."

I realized that we couldn't discuss anything if John couldn't talk. "Sebastian, could you grab a pen and a piece of paper for John? I would, but I'm kind of keeping him from bleeding out. There's some on the desk in the living room."

"Oh, yes, I forgot."

When he got the pen and paper, John began scribbling in his curving, loopy handwriting.

what do you want to know

"Why are you bleeding from your neck?"

I got shot

"How in the hell did you get shot?"

that is a long and painful story that Im not going to tell you

just know that I helped Seb do a really dangerous job

and that mom and dad can finally rest in peace

I tried my best not to scream at him. "John, you need to let it go. I miss them, too, but the truth is that they're gone and can't come back. It's not fair, but there isn't anything we can do, and obsessing about it isn't healthy, for you or me."

one day when youre older Ill explain all the way

but for now you can hate me if you want

A tear ran down my cheek. "John, I could never hate you. You're all I have."

dont make my cry because if I start

sobbing its going to hurt really bad

"I'd give you a hug, but I'm a little busy keeping your blood in your body." He smiled sadly. I chuckled, then sobbed. It was tearing me apart to see the strongest man I'd ever seen, bleeding and unable to even walk by himself. "Don't die, John. I already lost Mom and Dad, I can't lose you, too."

I promise that I will never ever die

"The doctor has arrived. Gentlemen, may I present to you, Madame Èbène Ivoire. Michael, She's going to fix your brother." At first, I thought he was kidding. Surely a woman of such beauty would be married to a doctor, not one herself? She was the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen, and she wore a cliche' white lab coat over an elegant form-fitting black dress. Simple makeup, complete with classic rouge-red lipstick, accented her already beautiful face, and a pair of square glasses perched on her delicate nose.

As if this wasn't enough to get my teenage hormones raging, she held a large black bag in front of her with both hands, causing her arms to squish her boobs together in that special way that all guys and lesbians love.

"Merci, Sebastian. I'm assuming zis is ze patient?" Her accent reminded me of my grandmother, which rather than turning me off, somehow made her more enticing. She quickly set her bag down, pulling out a pair of rubber gloves and putting them on.

"Doctor, I'm ready for my check up!" I blurted suddenly, then flushed red.

"Aww, you are cute. But non, you are too young for me, petit goujon." Guys obviously hit on her all the time. She handled that like a champ.

"Hey, I'm legal!" I exclaimed, scandalized.

She laughed. "Si mignon! Be a dear and help Sebastian lift ze patient onto the table."

I blushed again and did as she said. Despite my brother's situation, I was having trouble keeping my eyes off her. She pulled out a syringe and flicked it. "Alright, bel homme, Sebastian already explained what happened, I'm going to put you under sedation, c'est bien?"

John nodded, blatantly staring at her tits. So it wasn't just me. She put the needle into the side of his neck. The wound was in the front, where his chest met his throat. I removed the towel, and saw that it was not one wound, but two ragged round holes, as if a vampire or a giant spider had bit him.

"Ahh...de toute beauté. What was the caliber of the bullet?" She used a flashlight to look in the holes, sounding extremely pleased, despite the man dying in front of her.

"It was a Mark XIX Desert Eagle, chambered with .50 Action Express hollow points."

Doctor Ivoire's eyes widened behind her glasses. "He should be dead!"

Sebastian nodded gravely. "I know."

She opened John's mouth with a gloved hand, and what seemed like a gallon of blood and saliva spilled onto the table. She shivered, and her legs smacked together oddly. "He should definitely be dead. A normal human would be."

Instead of asking what she meant by that, I opted to grab John's hand. I squeezed it and he squeezed back in his sleep. Doctor Ivoire spent the next few minutes digging around in the wound. The wound began to bleed a little more when she pulled the first bullet out, so she clamped a few arteries shut. For some reason, I smelled something I hadn't smelled since I was last making out with Ariel.

Female arousal.

And Doctor Ivoire was the only female in the room.

Sebastian wiped sweat from her forehead. She smiled as she informed me, "I'm doing the best I can, but the wound is very bad. There is going to be scarring, and the second bullet is in his spine. There is a chance ze nerve damage was too great and he will spend ze rest of his life as an invalid. I will not know until I remove ze bullet. Allons-y!"

She enthusiastically plunged the forceps into my brother's open neck. He began to violently spasm on the table as his nerves were violated. I had to help Sebastian hold him down.

Finally, after almost a full minute of induced seizuring, John fell limp and Doctor Ivoire triumphantly held up a mangled chunk of lead. "Je l'ai fait! I've done it!"

She set the bullet on the tray with the other one and inspected the wound again. "I have ze good news, and I have ze bad news. Ze bad news, ze nerve damage was as bad as I thought. He will not walk by himself again."

Thank God, he's going to live.

"Unless," She continued. "I use my special treatment. And in order to do that, I need Sebastian to do me a favor."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Of course, Èbène, we already discussed your payment. You brought your tools, I assume? So, administer the treatment, as I'm sure we're all getting impatient."

I was on the other side of the table, but I plainly saw him reach over and squeeze her butt with his left hand, which was missing its ring finger. She purred, delighted, and reached into her bag of tricks, this time pulling out another syringe, bigger than the last. It was full of a creamy-looking, off-white fluid.

"What's that? It looks like..." Semen.

"I know what it looks like. It is my treatment, I call it Touche de la femme. Sebastian will explain, my English is not good enough."

Sebastian did as he was told. "Èbène will be injecting your brother with, as everyone but her calls it, 'The Miracle Cure', or just Miracle. Miracle is a substance composed of unaligned stem cells and proteins. The stem cells will absorb your brothers DNA and use it as a map to rebuild his throat. It is very expensive to produce, and it isn't perfect."

She pushed the plunger down and stated proudly, "Ze latest batch has only twenty-five percent chance of ze cells becoming cancerous!"

"You're joking, right?" She hummed as she began closing the wound. "Right?"

She sewed him up, and John came to as she wrapped gauze around his neck. The whole surgery had taken less than an hour. "Before you speak, don't. Even with ze Touche de la femme in your system, you will need a few days to heal. No talking."

John nodded. He pointed at his chair in the living room. I need to sit down.

I helped him up and helped him walk to the living room. "Doctor Ivoire? He's not gonna be like this forever, will he?"

"Non, petit garçon, I injected ze Touche de la femme directly into the wound. He will be healed in a few days. I will leave my number in case zere are complications. And please, call me Èbène."

John had me fetch the pad of paper from the kitchen. until then I could use a drink

Surgery over, Sebastian helped the good doctor out of her coat. "Très bon! Zat is a good idea. Alcohol will numb ze pain and disinfect your throat. Do you have any wine?"

just boxed

Mike could you get it please?

I fetched the box of wine from the fridge. Sebastian laughed when he saw it, and helped himself to a glass. "Wine in a box! Now, I've seen everything! Ahh, Americans..."

Mike you should get some sleep

Ill call school write a note to excuse you from school tomorrow

but you'll need to take it there.

"Are you sure you're gonna be alright?"

Ill be fine go to bed

I didn't go to bed. I went up the stairs and waited, listening. I could only hear what Sebastian and the doctor were saying, since John couldn't speak. They made small talk for a few minutes, but suddenly Sebastian brought up something that confused and concerned me.

"John, do you remember the offer I made you in the car on the way here?"

I heard John scribbling something.

"Now that you are capable of doing so, what is your answer?"

John wrote something, crossed it out, and wrote something else.

"How old is he now?"

Scribble, scribble.

"Then you have nothing to worry about, John. You can call him any time you want, you can visit. Hell, I visit my sisters all the time!

Scribble, scratch.

"As I said, you have nothing to worry about. We take care of our own."

Èbène chimed in, speaking French and sounding drunk. "Oh, you two are boring me, all you do is talk. Sebastian, I'd like to be paid, now. The wine, it makes me so horny!"

I raised an eyebrow. John wrote something.

"Good, you won't regret it. Now that that's settled, do you have a guest room? Èbène and I must retire for the night. And I believe my dear wants her payment for the night, hmm?"

Èbène growled and John wrote his final note for the night.

"Thank you very much, John. Again, you won't regret your decision." Oh, shit, he's coming up the stairs. I quickly, but silently padded back to my room. For the next hour, I endured the sweet siren song of Sebastian and Èbène having what sounded like very rough sex in John's old room.

When they were done, I heard a knock on my door and the now-familiar sound of Sebastian's voice. "Michael, I know you are awake. May I come in?"

I stood up from my bed and let him in. I'd opened the door only to notice he wasn't wearing a shirt, and was covered in blood. "Holy shit! You're bleeding!"

"Perceptive, aren't you? This is what I get for putting a woman's needs ahead of my health."

"What do you mean? Did Doctor Ivoire do that to you? I thought you guys were just..."

"Of course. And we were. Èbène is a rare and precious gem who needs very special treatment. I do my best to tickle her fancies."

"I still don't understand."

"She suffers from hematolagnia. I'm one of the few who is willing to tend to her needs."

"Hemato-what?"

"She likes blood."

The gorgeous doctor suddenly became slightly less attractive to me. Slightly. "Whatever. What did you need?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." He sat down and patted the bed beside him, being careful to not get blood on the sheets. I sat down next to him. "Michael, I'd like to tell you a story."

His eyes grew distant. "Once upon a time, there was a man. He was a kind and loving man, and one day he decided he wanted to help people for a living, and devote himself to the needs of others. But his father told him that helping others was pointless, and that he would only get himself killed. He did not listen. He defied his father, and became so good at helping others, he gained the attention of the worlds greatest men and women, and he joined their ranks.

"And so, the man traveled the world. Many good things happened to the man in his travels. He saw things that had not graced the eyes of mortals in a thousand generations. Tasted foods fit for the gods, heard songs that made him shiver in ecstasy. He made love to hundreds of men and women around the world and touched the hearts of children everywhere.

"But bad things happened as well. He killed dozens of men and women and children, and watched even more die by the hands of others. He had his heart broken, he was tortured, beaten, burned, and cast aside. He killed his best friend, he watched his twin brother die in his arms. He felt anger, sadness, vengeance.

"He also experienced happiness, relief, contentment. Love." He sighed and came back to Earth. Then he looked at me. "Do you know what true love is, Michael?"

"I like to think so." Leave it to some weirdo who talks like Goldmember to make me doubt myself.

He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "True love is when you are willing to give everything you have and everything you are for another human being, without second thoughts or regrets. I know what true love is, Michael. The man from the story was me."

He stood, and I suddenly felt very small before him. "Sometime soon, your brother will tell you something you will not like, maybe even hate. All I can ask of you is to do as I did, and love your brother truly."

"What's he going to ask me?"

He patted me on the shoulder. "All in good time. Just remember; We were all put on this Earth for a reason, Michael. I know my reason. I think I can help John find his."

And with that, he swept out of the room and closed the door, leaving me confused in the growing light of the dawn.

I got a few hours of fevered sleep, and when I woke up, Sebastian and Èbène were nowhere to be found. I began thinking the whole thing had been a crazy dream, until I entered the living room and found John passed out in his chair, his shirt still bloodstained and gauze around his neck. I grabbed the note explaining the situation from the desk and brought it to school, then headed back, only to find John sprawled out on the floor, waiting for me to come home.

"You fell down." John nodded.

"And now you can't get up." He nodded again.

I spent the next few days off of school, taking care of John. Within four days, he could speak again, though in nothing more than a low growl.

"Here, put me in a chair, buddy, we gotta talk." He still wasn't strong enough to walk by himself, but he was getting better. Setting him down, I leaned back, my spine popping.

"If nothing else, hauling your fat ass around is giving me a good workout." We shared a laugh.

"Yeah, sorry about that." He sighed. "I'm sorry about a lot of things."

"Mm-hm. Like what?"

"I'm sorry for all the lies I told. I'm sorry for getting shot up and making you worry. I'm sorry for not getting a job, and getting drunk all the time. And I'm really sorry for what I'm about to tell you."

"What?" I'd been dreading this moment since Sebastian warned me about it those days ago. And now it was finally happening.

"I'm leaving." He wouldn't look me in the eye. "When you go to college in the spring, Sebastian's going to help me get a job at the company where he works. I can't tell you the details, but I have something that needs doing.

True love is when you are willing to give everything you have and everything you are for another human being, without second thoughts or regrets

I love my brother too much to see him suffer like this. So, I did the hardest thing in the world for me to do.

I let him go.

"John, I trust you enough to know what's best. If this is what you need to do, then I support it."

"Thanks, buddy. You have no idea how much that means to me."

"But, in return, you need to honor the promise you made to me.

"Which one?"

"The one you made when I asked you not to die."

He made to stand up. I tried to help him, but he waved me off. Then, for the first time since he'd been shot, he stood on his own, to his full height. He looked me in the eyes.

"Michael, I promise that, no matter what, I will always come back to you. I will always be there when you need me, no matter the challenge I have to face, because no hardship, no pain or suffering, is worth letting you down." He pulled me into a tight hug.

"I promise that I will never, ever die."

. . .

"Hey, Mike!"

"Hey Mike! Is John around?"

The other Mike scratched his chin, stubble crackling. He was at least a decade older than me, had a big old beer gut and a balding head. But he was nice. "I haven't seen him since last night, and I just got here a few minutes ago. Some chick dragged him into the back room, and I assumed they went home together. Why?"

The knife of dread pierced my heart again. "Could I see the back room please?"

Mike threw an arm around my shoulder. "Sure, man! It's before business hours, nobodies in there."

"Thanks."

He led me into and around the bar. "Mind if I ask why, though? He gone missin?"

"Well, he wasn't at his apartment, and he's not answering his phone"

"Well, that's not like him at all."

"I know." He unlocked the door to the back room and waved my in.

I couldn't understand what I saw. There was a cot in the corner, and it was torn all to hell. There were scorch marks on the wall, and several boxes had been overturned, as if there'd been a struggle. I moved to the side of the cot.

"Now, what the hell did he do to my back room? Ugh, this is gonna take forever to clean."

I inspected a burn mark on the wall. It gave me a bad feeling. "I don't think it's what John did, but what someone else did to him. Why is there a bed in here?"

"Andrew's parents kicked him out, so I've been letting him stay here till he finds an apartment. Why? What do you think happened?" I checked under the bed, only to find a badly shredded, burned piece of fabric.

I pulled it out and immediately recognized the pattern. I held up the Limited Edition Darth Vader boxers, which were John's favorite. And before you ask, I lived with the guy for eighteen years of my life, I know his boxers when I see them.

"I don't know, but these were his."

"Holy shit..." He took one look at my face and put his arm around me again. "C'mere, you need a drink."

"I don't drink." He plopped me in a stool and set an open Sun Drop in front of me.

"I know, gimme some credit, Mike." He patted me on the back. "I'm gonna call the cops. We'll find him, man."

I wasn't so sure.

John, where are you?

Author's Note

New longest chapter! The words are OVER NINE THOUSAND!