Rabid
7th May 2008, 12:34 AM
I've wanted to write a story about belief for awhile now- not necessarily belief in a higher power or something religious, but belief and faith in another person. Although this is something of an odd scenario, I think it fits the concept and it has also been fun to try out a more casual tone than my usual emotional imagery. This isn't a short story but it's not quite a novella- somewhere in between. I'll post it in chapters just because it's easier that way. Not many peolpe will probably read it, but all I can hope is that whoever's reading this enjoys it :).
WARNING: Moderate language. Probably nothing you haven't heard if you attended high school, but just thought I'd warn you.
If Belief Were Enough
Chapter One
Things started small when he found his partner conversing with the departed in a dilapidated gas station bathroom in the middle of nowhere. He knew that becoming involved in the special investigation unit had taken its toll on Liam, but it had never so much as crossed his mind that the city-slicked, crimson crime noire that was their life would have such an adverse influence on his partner. Not just his partner- his brother.
He had sent Liam into the ramshackle and definitely unhygienic building with strict instructions to take a piss and buy them both a cup of the caffeinated addiction that was like sweet ambrosia in their line of work, nothing more. He had thought it was a simple task, had noticed that Liam seemed a little pensive but chalked it up to the moody little-brother lifecycle of conflicting emotions that he would never understand and sent him on his way.
In retrospect, he shouldn’t have done that. He should have been sensitive and perceptive to his brother’s feelings just like his mother had always encouraged; he should have grabbed Liam by the shoulder and told him to fess up before he put the job and their lives in danger. He should have, but he didn’t. Since when had it been included in big-brother protocol to care about anything other than prank wars and the life-and-death, touchy-feely stuff that he avoided like the bubonic plague?
Touchy and insightful was Liam’s territory, not his. Too touchy. Too insightful. Too precious and too damned sensitive for this job.
He supposed he should have thought about that. Then again, he was never one to think about consequences and repercussions and the future and all of that other bullshit associated with planning ahead.
There was here, there was now, and that was all that mattered.
He pulled the gas nozzle from the lustrous black coupe’s tank (being in special investigation sure had its benefits) and glanced at the crumbling building. The place was essentially abandoned, save for an uninterested teenage cashier. How could it possibly take his brother so long to relieve himself and push a wad of crumpled bills at the clerk?
Jamming the nozzle back into its protective holster and straightening his tie to maintain the pompous appearance of James Bond-esque professionalism that they were instructed to radiate, he muttered to himself as he shoved open the dirty glass door. “You better have fallen in and drowned to make me wait this long,” he warned lethally as he entered the bathroom, disgusted by the molded walls and rusted conveniences.
“Dude, she was a ten!” he heard his brother’s highly enthusiastic voice resonate from the farthest of the three stalls. “The good ones are always taken, though.”
…What the hell?
He raised his knuckles to rap on the stall door before it surprisingly swung open to reveal his younger brother. Black tie loosened, the handsomely childish features he seemed never to have grown out of were twisted into an amused smile, deep laughter echoing from his throat. He leaned against the putrid tile wall with the casual ease of someone in familiar surroundings, hazel eyes fixated on dead space.
“… Liam?” he questioned warily, hand straying to the .45 in its protective holster. “Who the fuck are you talking to?”
Liam looked up and his face burst into a virtuous grin. “Oh, hey Rob,” he greeted cheerfully. “Just catching up with Andy.”
“Andy? Andy Carlisle?” he repeated dumbly like a fish out of water. Andy the chain-smoking head case that killed his son? Andy the whack job who had more smarts than they’d previously thought and found a way to hang himself while incarcerated? “Liam, Andy’s dead,” he insisted.
Liam looked at him, perfectly affronted and patronizing as though he were speaking to a preschooler. “Dude, he’s right here,” he claimed. “Said he had a lead.”
“Dead people don’t have leads because dead people don’t talk,” he growled, pushing the door back further and entering the stall with a superstitious notion of Andy’s translucent apparition materializing and screaming boo. The cramped space was so narrow that his back was pressed against his brother’s well-built chest, reminding him of the sultry summer nights when the skinny five-year-old runt used to crawl beneath the sheets and curl up against his back whispering about the monsters under his bed.
“Well, he said that we’d find Aidan out west,” Liam reasoned, long fingers splayed across his back to shove away the close personal contact that they both avoided like the West Nile virus. “Get off me!”
“Don’t be such a douche,” he muttered, twisting his shoulder blades to free himself. “And who the hell is Aidan?”
Liam nailed him with that damned condescending expression that made him feel like a third grader who couldn’t memorize his multiplication tables all over again. “Andy’s son, duh… missing person case… have you been drinking?”
Aidan? Aidan the charming little boy that they had found face in a bathtub of his own scarlet blood because they had arrived a split second too late? Aidan the child that they had both felt guilty over for weeks but never fessed up about?
“…April Fool’s?” he tried, grinning wickedly but unknowingly letting the smile falter at his brother’s expression of puzzlement. “… Happy Halloween? Dude, if you’re kidding, it sure ain’t funny. You know we’re not even working a missing persons case right now.”
“I’m not kidding!” Liam insisted, folding his arms across his chest as though outraged at the idea that his brother would have the slightest measure of doubt in his capabilities. “Seriously, I think we can still save this one.”
Save him. There were times when wondered if saving people was even possible. Their job was so undercover and complicated that the success rate was shockingly low, and the finality of the mounting number of manila case files stamped with a crimson ‘unsolved’ scared him, sometimes. They couldn’t stop Andy, they couldn’t save Aidan… there were so many things they couldn’t do. So many times that they were just too late. So many people they couldn’t save.
If belief were enough, they would never fail. They would never be too late. No one would ever die. Everyone could be saved. But all of his cynical conviction, all of Liam’s belief in the heavens above and a higher power and the good in all of us could never be enough. He was one man in a filthy gas station bathroom trying desperately to convince himself that his brother wasn’t crazy, and one man couldn’t be enough to move mountains and change the world. Save lives, maybe, but it seemed that he was incapable of doing even that.
Four minutes into this twisted conversation with his brother and freaking Casper himself and he couldn't take it anymore. Four minutes and he was tired of this perverse charade, this make-believe, this sham, this travesty in which his brother was fucking crazy. He wanted to believe that Liam was sane, wanted to believe it more than anything he’s ever tried to have faith in, but reminded himself of their case load and their failures and Liam’s fiancée’s murder and just didn't know if he could.
“Look, Liam,” he growled, tangling a fist in an expensive black lapel and using sheer force to push his kid brother against the contaminated gas station wall. “Andy’s dead. Aidan’s dead. We can’t save them. Get yourself together and you can be crazy as hell when we finish this case.”
“Rob,” Liam whispered, a desperation in his hazel eyes so genuine that he hadn't seen since Halle died. “This is important. You have to believe me.”
And he wanted to believe Liam, he really, truly did. He wanted to believe that Andy was standing behind them with an impish grin and that Aidan was out there somewhere hoping for a miracle. And even if he can’t, he figured that he can humor his little brother for a few days before he started thinking about whether they need to consider an asylum or not. “Alright,” he responded, loosening his grasp before smoothing the posh black fabric of Liam’s suit in an effort to make amends. “We’ll go west.”
WARNING: Moderate language. Probably nothing you haven't heard if you attended high school, but just thought I'd warn you.
If Belief Were Enough
Chapter One
Things started small when he found his partner conversing with the departed in a dilapidated gas station bathroom in the middle of nowhere. He knew that becoming involved in the special investigation unit had taken its toll on Liam, but it had never so much as crossed his mind that the city-slicked, crimson crime noire that was their life would have such an adverse influence on his partner. Not just his partner- his brother.
He had sent Liam into the ramshackle and definitely unhygienic building with strict instructions to take a piss and buy them both a cup of the caffeinated addiction that was like sweet ambrosia in their line of work, nothing more. He had thought it was a simple task, had noticed that Liam seemed a little pensive but chalked it up to the moody little-brother lifecycle of conflicting emotions that he would never understand and sent him on his way.
In retrospect, he shouldn’t have done that. He should have been sensitive and perceptive to his brother’s feelings just like his mother had always encouraged; he should have grabbed Liam by the shoulder and told him to fess up before he put the job and their lives in danger. He should have, but he didn’t. Since when had it been included in big-brother protocol to care about anything other than prank wars and the life-and-death, touchy-feely stuff that he avoided like the bubonic plague?
Touchy and insightful was Liam’s territory, not his. Too touchy. Too insightful. Too precious and too damned sensitive for this job.
He supposed he should have thought about that. Then again, he was never one to think about consequences and repercussions and the future and all of that other bullshit associated with planning ahead.
There was here, there was now, and that was all that mattered.
He pulled the gas nozzle from the lustrous black coupe’s tank (being in special investigation sure had its benefits) and glanced at the crumbling building. The place was essentially abandoned, save for an uninterested teenage cashier. How could it possibly take his brother so long to relieve himself and push a wad of crumpled bills at the clerk?
Jamming the nozzle back into its protective holster and straightening his tie to maintain the pompous appearance of James Bond-esque professionalism that they were instructed to radiate, he muttered to himself as he shoved open the dirty glass door. “You better have fallen in and drowned to make me wait this long,” he warned lethally as he entered the bathroom, disgusted by the molded walls and rusted conveniences.
“Dude, she was a ten!” he heard his brother’s highly enthusiastic voice resonate from the farthest of the three stalls. “The good ones are always taken, though.”
…What the hell?
He raised his knuckles to rap on the stall door before it surprisingly swung open to reveal his younger brother. Black tie loosened, the handsomely childish features he seemed never to have grown out of were twisted into an amused smile, deep laughter echoing from his throat. He leaned against the putrid tile wall with the casual ease of someone in familiar surroundings, hazel eyes fixated on dead space.
“… Liam?” he questioned warily, hand straying to the .45 in its protective holster. “Who the fuck are you talking to?”
Liam looked up and his face burst into a virtuous grin. “Oh, hey Rob,” he greeted cheerfully. “Just catching up with Andy.”
“Andy? Andy Carlisle?” he repeated dumbly like a fish out of water. Andy the chain-smoking head case that killed his son? Andy the whack job who had more smarts than they’d previously thought and found a way to hang himself while incarcerated? “Liam, Andy’s dead,” he insisted.
Liam looked at him, perfectly affronted and patronizing as though he were speaking to a preschooler. “Dude, he’s right here,” he claimed. “Said he had a lead.”
“Dead people don’t have leads because dead people don’t talk,” he growled, pushing the door back further and entering the stall with a superstitious notion of Andy’s translucent apparition materializing and screaming boo. The cramped space was so narrow that his back was pressed against his brother’s well-built chest, reminding him of the sultry summer nights when the skinny five-year-old runt used to crawl beneath the sheets and curl up against his back whispering about the monsters under his bed.
“Well, he said that we’d find Aidan out west,” Liam reasoned, long fingers splayed across his back to shove away the close personal contact that they both avoided like the West Nile virus. “Get off me!”
“Don’t be such a douche,” he muttered, twisting his shoulder blades to free himself. “And who the hell is Aidan?”
Liam nailed him with that damned condescending expression that made him feel like a third grader who couldn’t memorize his multiplication tables all over again. “Andy’s son, duh… missing person case… have you been drinking?”
Aidan? Aidan the charming little boy that they had found face in a bathtub of his own scarlet blood because they had arrived a split second too late? Aidan the child that they had both felt guilty over for weeks but never fessed up about?
“…April Fool’s?” he tried, grinning wickedly but unknowingly letting the smile falter at his brother’s expression of puzzlement. “… Happy Halloween? Dude, if you’re kidding, it sure ain’t funny. You know we’re not even working a missing persons case right now.”
“I’m not kidding!” Liam insisted, folding his arms across his chest as though outraged at the idea that his brother would have the slightest measure of doubt in his capabilities. “Seriously, I think we can still save this one.”
Save him. There were times when wondered if saving people was even possible. Their job was so undercover and complicated that the success rate was shockingly low, and the finality of the mounting number of manila case files stamped with a crimson ‘unsolved’ scared him, sometimes. They couldn’t stop Andy, they couldn’t save Aidan… there were so many things they couldn’t do. So many times that they were just too late. So many people they couldn’t save.
If belief were enough, they would never fail. They would never be too late. No one would ever die. Everyone could be saved. But all of his cynical conviction, all of Liam’s belief in the heavens above and a higher power and the good in all of us could never be enough. He was one man in a filthy gas station bathroom trying desperately to convince himself that his brother wasn’t crazy, and one man couldn’t be enough to move mountains and change the world. Save lives, maybe, but it seemed that he was incapable of doing even that.
Four minutes into this twisted conversation with his brother and freaking Casper himself and he couldn't take it anymore. Four minutes and he was tired of this perverse charade, this make-believe, this sham, this travesty in which his brother was fucking crazy. He wanted to believe that Liam was sane, wanted to believe it more than anything he’s ever tried to have faith in, but reminded himself of their case load and their failures and Liam’s fiancée’s murder and just didn't know if he could.
“Look, Liam,” he growled, tangling a fist in an expensive black lapel and using sheer force to push his kid brother against the contaminated gas station wall. “Andy’s dead. Aidan’s dead. We can’t save them. Get yourself together and you can be crazy as hell when we finish this case.”
“Rob,” Liam whispered, a desperation in his hazel eyes so genuine that he hadn't seen since Halle died. “This is important. You have to believe me.”
And he wanted to believe Liam, he really, truly did. He wanted to believe that Andy was standing behind them with an impish grin and that Aidan was out there somewhere hoping for a miracle. And even if he can’t, he figured that he can humor his little brother for a few days before he started thinking about whether they need to consider an asylum or not. “Alright,” he responded, loosening his grasp before smoothing the posh black fabric of Liam’s suit in an effort to make amends. “We’ll go west.”