Moth(12)

With the funeral only one day away I decide it’s best to wait until it’s over before I start investigating the life of Windy Lewis. I’m hoping it’s a dead end and that my dad was just out of the loop when it came to my brother, but I’ve been wrong before, and after what happened in Guatemala, I can’t take risks and assume anything.

I’ve never been one to understand the reasoning behind viewings and funeral services where people stand over a dead hallowed out body and talk to the person as if they can hear them. Even if they could, they’re no longer in that body. It’s odd. Absurd even. How I want to say goodbye to my brother would be to climb out on the roof and drink a bottle of our dad’s hidden stash of bourbon. I’d like to spread his ashes into the beautiful abyss somewhere in the middle of the ocean. It’s beautiful and the way I’d want to go. I don’t want to be buried six feet under the ground where cold hard dirt keeps the sunlight from getting to me. It’s morbid.

At any rate, I have to respect my father’s wishes. He’s holding it together, but I’ve never seen him so distraught. Don’t even get me started on Jamie’s mother. She’s a mess. Every time I see her she’s got a handful of tissues and swollen eyes. Jamie died too young. It’s horrible, and nothing I say could ever make them feel better, so I say nothing at all.

Watching people I know grieve reminds me of why I live alone. I don’t wear my emotions on my sleeve, nor do I want to. I’m not saying I’m heartless. It’s a damn shame my brother is gone, but he wouldn’t want us miserable because of it. He’d want me to go out there and find the mother f*cker who did this and make sure they pay for it.

That’s exactly how I intend to morn my brother.



It’s been a long time since I’ve had to iron anything. No matter how many times I run the steaming machine over my pants they’re still coming out with lines. Finally I give up. Frankly I don’t give a damn what they look like. It’s kind of like my father checking my bed when I was a kid. If it wasn’t military grade pristine, he’d rip off the blankets and sheets and make me redo it again. Once I did it four times. If he was attempting to teach me a lesson, he did. I learned to never want to put a flat sheet on my bed again. When I buy a set I throw that one in the trash immediately. They haunt me, and they’re useless.

My father meets me at the front door only to look me up and down and shake his head. “Did you forget your shoes?”

I lift up one foot. “Nope. These are my nice ones.”

“You do this stuff to piss me off, don’t you?”

“No,” I lie. “I do it because I’m comfortable, and that’s what’s important to me. Look don’t get on me about what I’m wearing. We both know why I’m here.”

He starts to say something but refrains. “You’re right. Today needs to be about Jamie.”

It’s no secret I’m not the favorite son. I’m sure he wishes it was me in the casket. I’m the one with the life-threatening job. I’m constantly in harm’s way. Not that I’ve done anything terrible in my life, but he’s never been one to be proud of my accomplishments, no matter how much I’ve done for my country. He’s a hard man, but for some reason he’s always been fond of Jamie. I think it’s because he actually loved his mother, in his own strange way of course. He still took her for granted and treated her like shit. That’s why she left him and never looked back. At any rate, he spoke about Jamie whenever I got around to calling and checking up on him. I think I always knew Jamie was around in case the old man needed something. Now he was alone again. It’s obvious he knows the responsibility falls back to me, and he most likely assumes I’ll leave him for dead before ever considering to take care of his grumpy ass.

He might have been a stern parent with no real idea how to raise a child, but he kept a roof over our head and taught us to be respectful. In this day and age that is hard to come by.

Of course I volunteer as a pallbearer. I never thought I’d be carrying my little brother to his early grave. I have to keep clenching my jaw and thinking about work to keep my mind from allowing me to display emotions I refuse to admit are lingering. I hate listening to the sounds of his mother and aunts sobbing and sniffling. My father remains silent, even as the pastor says his last prayers and finalizes the ceremony.

I wait for the crowd to clear before standing over my brother’s casket. It’s a burgundy color with dark pewter lines throughout. I think he would have liked it, but what do I know? He was basically a stranger.

I place my hand on the top. It’s cold from the tent keeping the sun off of it. “Brother, I promise I’m going to punish whoever did this to you. I may not have been around to save you, but I’ll be damn sure they suffer an equal fate. I’m sorry I never reached out to you, man. I guess the apologies are a day late and a dollar short. I’ll keep up with dad too. You have my word. I’ll be seeing ya on the other side.” I tap the casket twice and back away. For a moment I can feel my eyes beginning to burn. I have a lot of regrets. Maybe if we were closer in age it would have been easier to bond with him. Now it’s too late for what ifs. Nothing will bring him back. Not even justice.





Chapter 5


Windy Teresa Lewis is a twenty five year old graduate of the University of Pennsylvania. She’s enrolled at the same Virginia school my brother went to in order to obtain a graduate degree. It’s nearly an hour from where my father resides. The day after the funeral I grab my things and hit the road. I have a full copy of Jamie’s police report, including the information I’ve gathered on Windy and the rest of the people he associated with, including his teachers, his science teachers more to the point. I’m not ruling out anyone until I’ve investigated their lives fully.