Notice: This pasta is not written with typical horror fans in mind. It portrays more of our realistic, modern-day horrors such as domestic abuse and school shooters. This is just a note for the reader.
I loved no one more than my brother Luke. I didn’t like to show it, of course. I was a middle school boy with no real understanding of family values, or the fragility of a human life. Of course, most eleven-year-olds don’t think a whole lot about the mortality of themselves or their families. They don’t realize what would happen if they lost someone so close to them. They also take things for granted more often than not.
Luke was older, though. He also understood more than most boys his age, but not for the reason you’d think. Luke had autism, which may have been what made him somewhat “uniquely” intelligent. Despite the conception many people have about “special ed” kids, Luke was very smart. He went to a school for mentally disabled kids, but it was mainly to keep him away from bullies. Despite his intelligence, Luke was emotionally fragile. The tiniest things would make him cry, and the unfortunate cruelty of most kids in the world drove him to depression. I was too young to understand at the time, but my brother’s mortality definitely should have been something I was worried about.
Luke was also very selfish when it came to anyone but me and our sister. He hurt other people’s feelings in order to get what he wanted. He would yell and scream at our parents in order to get what he wanted. He even got into fights at school whenever someone did something he didn’t like. But at the same time, he was defensive as he possibly could be over me and our little sister, Willow. He was even known to beat up kids who he suspected were bullying us.
I wish I could say his love for us was his downfall. I wish I could say he died nobly defending us from some bullies. I wish I could at least say he killed himself after being bullied. But unfortunately, the brother I loved so much wasn’t as good of a person as I wished he was. What are you supposed to do when someone who had done so much for you turned out to have hurt other people? Are you grateful? Do you turn against him?
In case you’re confused, let me clear this up: Luke didn’t go on to become a serial killer. He didn’t become some infamous psychopath. He wasn’t a psychopath. He wasn’t insane. He was just a really bad person.
The night before it happened, Luke confided something in me.
“Danny, do you remember Ryan?”
I looked at him, confused.
“How much do you know about my relationship with him?”
“Well, you guys dated, he started being a jerk, and you guys broke up. Was there more?”
He sighed, looking like he was in pain.
“Danny, Ryan used to hit me.”
My eyes widened.
“Did you tell mom?” I asked.
“I will tomorrow. I’m too tired tonight.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
He sighed. “Because he did something today. Something I’m not going to forgive him for.”
I later found out that Ryan, who was much larger than Luke, had cornered my brother in the boy’s bathroom at school. He tried asking for my brother’s forgiveness, and when my brother rejected him, Ryan forced him into a stall and raped him. He thought no one saw, but someone walked in while it was happening. Ryan had left the stall door open, so all the other guy saw was Ryan assaulting someone who was yelling for him to stop. If nothing had been done, Ryan would’ve been confronted by school officials the next day - possibly law enforcement.
What I remember of the next morning wasn’t much. Fairly normal for me, except I heard crying coming from Luke’s room. I thought of what he had told me the night before, but decided to trust that he would tell our mother.
If you couldn’t figure it out on your own, that was my next mistake.
My understanding of what happened at school the next day was vague. It might have been the fact that I didn’t want to believe it was true, but this is what I know:
Luke took a knife and a gun to school. He led Ryan into the same bathroom where he had violated him, and slit the boy’s throat. Upset, he went and started to shoot everyone he saw, including his friends. He ended up killing four people, including his friend Mark, and injuring ten others.
He was arrested quickly, considering that the authorities were already there to confront Ryan. Our parents refused to testify on his behalf, and refused to allow me or my sister to attend the trial.
Ten years later, my brother is still in jail at age twenty-six. I went to visit him in prison just yesterday, and he told me one thing:
“I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t mean to. He just made me so mad, and I did the rest on impulse. Please, tell mom and dad I’m sorry. Tell them I miss them. Tell Willow too, if she even remembers me. Please, let them know that I love them and I’m sorry.”
I agreed, despite knowing the truth. Our parents don’t even think of him as a son.