The Trial (The Tree House) (2 page)

He opened his own mouth. “Ben Morgan!” he shouted causing me to jump. “Get down here or your brother is dead!”

Finally, he appeared at the top of the stairs and I almost let out a sigh of relief before realizing we were both going to die anyway. The two of us kept our eyes locked as he started down taking each step slowly. He only looked at the man when he was standing beside me.

“What do you want?” Ben asked.

The corner of the man's mouth twitched. “For you to come with me.”

My brother's head began to shake from side to side. “We’re
not going to do that,” he said. His voice quivered like mine had.

I looked at Ben, my eyes wide. Did he want to get us shot? I shifted my gaze back to the suited man in front of us. His lips were pursed together and his finger was
dangerously tight against the trigger of his shiny black gun. “Ben,” I whispered, hearing the soft rustle of his jacket as he shifted nervously behind me. “What are you doing?”

“Tell us what you want,” he
said, his voice a little steadier.

The man rolled his eyes impatiently. “I don't have to tell you anything.”

“Guess we aren't going with you then.”

I snapped my head around to look at my brother. “Seriously Ben, shut it,” I hissed
, feeling my heart beating in my temples.

Ben's eyes met mine. “I know what I'm doing,” he uttered.

“Yeah, you're trying to get us shot. That's what you're doing. Now, shut it.”

“You shut it.”

The man with the gun let out a frustrated grunt. “Both of you shut it,” he growled, pulling back the hammer with his thumb. “I don’t have time for this.”

My body went rigid and I shut my eyes just before hearing an earsplitting crack. I expected to feel a shooting pain or ice creep through my veins.
Anything. Instead I felt nothing. Slowly, I opened one eye and then the other.

The first thing I noticed was the trail of smoke drifting up from my shoulder.
Then the silver barrel of a gun pointing past my neck. I don't know why I noticed the gun first. Especially since there was a dead man lying on the floor directly in front of me. Now, my eyes fixed on the pool of blood forming like a halo around his head.

Ben lowered his gun and stepped down beside me. “Alright,” he said tucking it under the back of his shirt. “See if he has a wallet.”

I unfroze and twisted my neck to stare at my brother. “Are you serious?” I asked him. “Geez, Ben, you just killed the guy!”

“You always were the smart one. Check his jacket.”

“No way,” I said shaking my head repeatedly. “I'm not touching a dead man. No way.”

Ben let out an annoyed sigh and nudged me off the stair and out of his way. “Seriously, J. Grow a pair, will ya?” Then I watched him trudge straight over to the man's body, stepping in the blood pool as if it were a puddle on a sidewalk.

He knelt down, careful not to put his knee down in the blood – probably afraid he'd stain his pants – and stuck his hand into the man's jacket. After rustling around for a second, he pulled a plain, brown leather wallet back out. I stood there frozen again, watching as my brother casually opened this dead man's wallet and began picking through the pockets, searching. Then he let out a frustrated grunt and dropped the wallet. It landed on the guy's unmoving chest with a hollow thud. “Nothing,” Ben muttered. “Not even a freaking library card.”

“Well, I don't even have one of those,” I whispered, my voice still quivering.

My brother glanced at me with a sarcastic sneer then straightened up. “Help me,” he said positioning his feet to line up with the guy's shoulders. I stepped forward and stopped at his shoes.

“What are we going to do with him?” I asked as the two of us bent down to pick up either end of the body.

We lifted at the same time and stood there holding it awkwardly. Then Ben started pulling toward the kitchen. “Let's take him out back.”

“And then what?” I asked grumbling. “Bury him next to Sparky and Mittens?”

“I thought they ran away while we were at camp,” Ben joked as we started for the doorway. “Careful you don't slip.”

As if on cue, my shoe slid on the slick floor and my legs flew out from under me. I landed on my back in the blood as the dead man's feet hit my chest. A girlish squeal escaped my throat and I tried to squirm back out of the
blood but it was no use. My hands took off in different directions and I fell splat on my back again. I could feel it, warm and thick, seeping into my clothes, soaking my skin.

I screamed again, throwing curse words left and right when I finally was able to scramble back and up onto the stairs. The hair on my arms was plastered to my skin with the slimy, red stuff and I could feel it running down my back and seeping into my boxers.
“No way!” I screamed at Ben as he tried to keep a straight face. “This is ridiculous! Look at me!” I threw my arms down, spattering the wood floor with dark droplets. “What are we even doing?” Now my brother let out a loud laugh before coughing to cover it up. “How is this funny?” I continued then pulled my shirt up over my head. I could feel it oozing over my ears and up the sides of my face. Then I threw my shirt to the floor where it landed with a wet splat. “You're a psycho,” I yelled, stabbing my finger in Ben's direction. I turned to go up the stairs and heard him let out one more snicker. “It's not funny!” I called back when I had reached the top.

As I stood in my old room – or rather what was left of it – I couldn't help but feel a twist in my gut. My walls had been stripped bare of all the posters of my favorite bands and pictures of my friends and family. The shelf above my bed that had once held my football and soccer trophies was empty.

I went over and sat down on my bed knowing full well that there was going to be a big red bloodstain on the mattress when I got back up. I didn't care. This place – though empty – was still full of memories. I learned how to play guitar here. Had my first kiss sitting on the edge of this bed. Written my first of many love and break up songs here – not that they had been any good. I'd spent many late night hours watching YouTube videos at my desk. Most of them involving cats or idiots hurting themselves in one way or another. My room had been my sanctuary. But now...

Now it was just a shell. Emptied of the things I had
once loved. The things I had once needed. Right then though, I just needed a freaking shirt. I stood up, feeling my jeans peel off the mattress. Oh yeah. Big ol' stain to freak out the next person that saw it. Hopefully that wasn't going to be any time soon. I went over and opened my dresser not really sure if I expected to find anything.

The dresser was cleaned out. My closet was cleaned out. My desk was cleaned out. Everything that had defined me in this room had disappeared without a trace.
Though I suppose that was the point. To disappear without a trace.

When I got back downstairs, both Ben and the body were gone. A blood trail snaked across the floor and disappeared into the kitchen. After following it through the kitchen and out the back door, I found my brother walking away from the shed with two shovels.

“You seem oddly calm with this whole situation,” I said feeling my teeth chatter.

“We'll talk about it later,” Ben muttered then pushed the shovel into the dirt before pulling up a big chunk of earth. “Let's take care of this first.”

Now I joined him, trying to ignore the bitter cold biting at my naked torso. “And then what?”

“Then we'll find you a shirt.”

“And maybe some pants too,” I added. “Preferably a pair that isn't caked in blood.”

As the two of us dug, my body began to go numb and before too long, only my arms ached. The rhythmic motions of stabbing the shovel into the earth and scooping the dirt out into a slowly growing pile soon had my mind wandering. I couldn't help but wonder where my parents were now. I looked down at the body we were about to bury. Were they still alive?

The morning the letter had come
, I was getting ready to go on a run. I'd been doing that every morning. At least since Ben had gone to London. The envelope was just lying on the floor in front of the door when I'd come out of my bedroom. Maybe it was something from the apartment manager about rent, or something else from someone else about something else. I hadn't thought too much of it. Though maybe I should have. What I hadn't expected was to find my name written in the familiar, messy handwriting of my father.

I'd stuck the letter between my teeth and gone to the fridge to take out a pitcher of orange juice. Then I opened the envelope containing the letter that would make the glass pitcher slip from my hand and shatter on the ground. I bet the floor was sticky and covered
with ants now. I hadn't wasted any time after that throwing clothes into a bag and running out of the apartment.

Once in the car, I'd driven aimlessly for a while, still in shock at what my dad had written to me. Where did he want me to go? Where could they be? Somehow I ended up at the car lot. Maybe my subconscious was hoping there was some sort of clue there. When I'd gotten inside my dad's office, I immediately saw the note and box of keys lying on his desk. “The least we could do” it had said. Then I'd noticed there was a message on the answering machine. I'd hit the button and put my head in my hands. My dad's voice crackled over the speaker. “Jack,” he'd said causing me to lift my head again.
“Sea-Tac, eight twenty two, Sunday night. Delete this now.”
Click
.

Ben threw his shovel down causing me to snap out of my stupor. “Alright,” he said clapping his hands together. “I think it's deep enough.”

The two of us rolled the body to the
edge of the hole and let it drop in. It didn't take near as long to fill it back in and then replace the grass, but by the time we were done, the entire upper half of my body was aching. While Ben took the shovels back to the shed, I trudged inside, tracking dirt through the kitchen, living room and then up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Ben called from the bottom of the stairs.

“I'm taking a shower,” I replied and turned into the bathroom. There was nothing more that I wanted at this point than to get some feeling back into my body other than this burning ache in my muscles. I just wanted to scrub until I finally felt clean. Though I'm sure no amount of water was going to get this blood off my hands. Or backside.

I heard my brother's feet pound up the stairs as I opened the cupboard in search of a towel. “We can't stay here,” he said appearing in the doorway. “There might be more of them.”

“So they're coming after us then?” I asked craning my neck to look on the top shelf.

Ben leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms. “It seems that way,” he said.

I slammed the cupboard doors shut. “It seems that way?” I spat. “It seems to me like you know more about this whole stupid situation than you're saying,
Ben
.” My brother's mouth snapped shut. Whatever he was going to say was now locked up tight behind his teeth – maybe never to be let out again. A look flashed across his eyes that I'd never seen before. It seemed to be a mix of familiarity and confusion which doesn’t make sense, but there’s no other way to describe it. “Do you know what's going on?” I asked feeling myself calm down.

Ben turned around. “We need to go,” he said. “You can put something of mine on.”

Now, I followed him back downstairs and out the door. “So where are we going?”

Ben got into the trunk and grabbed a black hoodie and a pair of jeans out of his bag. “I met a girl in London,” he said slamming the trunk closed again.

I started undoing my belt, not even caring that I was going to be standing in my underwear for anyone to see. “We're going to London?” I asked tripping out of my jeans and pulling Ben's on quickly.

“No, moron.
She's here.” He threw the zip hoodie at me annoyed and held his hand out to me. “Take this.” It was dark, but the moonlight glinted off the metal of the dead man’s black gun. I took it hesitantly and put it in the back of my pants without saying a word.  “We'll be safe with her. I think,” he continued then got into the driver's seat.

“You met her in London?” I asked once I'd gotten in on the other side.

“That's what I said.”

I put the hoodie on quickly and zipped it all the way up. “So does this have to do with something that happened while you were there?”

Ben put the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. “I'm afraid it might.”

“And if it does?”

“Then we're screwed.”

Chapter two

A crowded bar in Seattle was the last place I expected to end up, though I can't say my spirit didn't lift a little at the thought of how perfect a drink sounded right then. The place was busy to say the least. It took me a second to remember what day it was as I tried to make my way carefully through the crowd. Ben didn't seem to care about being polite. Or maybe saying “excuse me” just wasn't on the forefront of his mind at the moment. Either way he cut through the middle of the room, shouldering his way past couples and an intimidating looking group of guys. A few eyed him menacingly when he caught one of their shoulders. Ben didn't notice though. It probably helped feeling the cold, metal power of a handgun hugging his back protectively. He was untouchable. The black one under my own jacket was cutting into my skin like an invisible bad guy was pressing it into my back. How is a person supposed to act when they're concealing a deadly weapon?