Wishing well (short story)

back crimson. The floor is littered with trash. He finds a cloth and uses it to wipe the blood from his eyes.
He rises slowly, shedding old congealed blood that falls like dark hail. Hot beads of sweat run red down his shirtless body, his unkempt beard matted with it.
A shadow paints the hall as another figure appears from the lit doorway. Joe risks a glance, looking around the corner to see a man holding a blade of black iron, from an era before modern morality, ancient in its angle, cruel and effective. He reaches to the ground, searching for a

weapon; he finds a fist-sized stone. He nods to himself in the dark, his hands clenching around the stone.
The slow slapping of feet can be heard from down the hall as the man with the knife steps into the darkness. Joe takes a deep breath, tasting the heat and rot of the decaying building as he slowly creeps around the corner of the hall. Still concealed in darkness as he moves towards the man with the knife. The man with the knife is only a few feet from the doorway, eyes not yet adjusted to the dark.
Joe moves closer to the man and the light. He rolls each step from heel

to toe until he kicks a piece of glass that seems to scream in the silent moment. The man holding the knife tenses, pressing his blade into the darkness, then sputters out.
“Joe?”
Joe sprints forward, charging the man and feinting at the last moment while the man with the knife thrusts his blade into the darkness. Throwing his bloodied cloth at his face and stepping to the side, Joe brings the stone down hard on the outstretched arm with the knife. Yielding a satisfying howl of pain as he pushes past into the lit room.
His only payment is the sting of

the blade nicking his back as he pushes into the open room.
The room is the lobby of an abandoned school. Moonlight entered through the gaps in the boarded-up windows. The area is covered in burning candles of various sizes, with one side having several duffel bags. The air is hot and smells of smoke, blood, and a hint of cinnamon. A white sheet covers a mound in the darkest corner of the room. A camera in the corner, with its red light blinking, points towards the center where a pentagram twice the size of a man is painted in blood. Joe, standing at the pentagram’s centre, turns to the man

with the knife and screams.
“Wayne!”

Chapter 2.
10 hours earlier
“Wayne, Wayne, goddammit, man, wake up. I swear to god if we missed our turn, I’ll kill you,” Joe says as he drives down the Louisiana interstate.
Wayne, waking up suddenly, says.
“Hold on, bro, we didn’t miss shit. What road did we last pass?”
“We just passed exit 11, Hopewell Rd.”
Joe chuckles without humor.
“Isn’t that ironic?”

Still frazzled, Wayne stretches down to his feet to find the map he let fall off his lap, slightly crushed. Wayne looks in the mirror, brushing his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes.
“Goddammit Wayne, you had one job, and you fell asleep. Did we miss our turn?”
“Just give me a second, man.”
Joe’s patience is a thing of the past as he clenches his jaw. Wayne turns the map upright, struggling to locate their interstate. A truck passes by; the deep rumbling of the engine and high pitch whistle of the turbo pulling at Wayne’s frazzled mind.

Joe rings the steering wheel as if it were his brother’s neck, his white-knuckled temper plain to see. Joe, in his early thirties, is stocky, his thick jaws just like his father’s. Wayne, a few years younger and lanky with a sharp face, looks more like their mother. Wayne brings the map inches from his nose, wincing with anticipation. Like clockwork, Joe yells,
“That’s it! I am pulling over! What type of man can’t read a map at thirty? It’s embarrassing you were a Boy Scout, for Christ’s sake.”
“I never wanted to be; Dad made me do it. You were the Eagle Scout, not

me. If you hadn’t cheated on the knot test for me, I would have stopped then.”
The worn sedan rumbles over the ribbed interstate shoulder as Joe pulled off.
“I helped you cheat, so you wouldn’t embarrass Dad. And I have been picking up your slack ever since.”
“Well, Dad isn’t around anymore, so you don’t have to worry.”
“Yeah, thanks for reminding me Dad's dead and you’re as helpless as ever, Wayne. Now give me that map,” Joe says, snagging the map.
Wayne looks away towards the tattoos on his thin arms. He runs his

finger along his veins, passing over scar tissue on track marks formed from a lifetime of using drugs.
A heavy sigh comes from Joe as he says.
“I am sorry, I,”
Wayne interrupts,
“No, I am sorry. The last thing you need right now is to worry about me.”
Joe doesn’t disagree; instead, nodding his head, focusing on the map.
“Looks like we didn’t pass our exit by too much. I should know how to get there from here.”
“Now that we are almost there, can you tell me where we are going or at

least how close? I really need to piss.”
Joe fully tucks the car on the side of the road.
“Yeah, let’s take a piss.”
Heat from the fading day lingers along the interstate, the air thick with the scent of burnt rubber . The only sound between them is their steady streams on dry grass. Joe breaks the silence, chuckling to himself. Wayne shifts uncomfortably and chuckles back.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking of all the road trips with Sarah. How annoyed she would get at me for needing to pull

over to piss all the time. I started to bring a piss bottle, but that annoyed her too. Mostly because I would say she was jealous. She would say how she never needed to stop for the bathroom. But later she would complain about headaches, not enough water. She loved it when I pointed that out.”
Both streams ended. The brothers stared in silence at the swampy forest, the deep shadows reaching. Wayne says,
“You were the only one there for me when Anna died, and I will always be thankful. I know I wasn’t there for you when Sarah passed, and I miss

her too, but what are we doing out here? We really need to talk about Mary.”
Joe wheels on Wayne,
What gives you the right to speak about Mary?
“She is my niece.”
“Ohh now you want to pretend to be her uncle on her fucking deathbed. Well, it’s a little late. I spent more money and time on rehabs and bail for you than I have on my own daughter.”
Wayne stutters, looking down. “I am sorry. ”
“No! No more sorry, no more won’t happen again. I don’t want to hear

it. You are here because I need someone who won’t question me, someone I can trust. Now is that you, Wayne?”
A tractor-trailer speeds by, honking, startling Wayne. Joe’s gaze is unflinching. The still heat of the day beats on their backs as Joe places a hand softly on Wayne's shoulder, saying,
“Look at me, Wayne.”
Wayne rubs sweat from his eyes.
“I need you; you’re the only person who can help me now. Are you with me?”
Tears form in the corners of Wayne’s eyes as he looks into Joe’s,
“Whatever you need, I am with you.”

The two brothers turn back to the beat-up car and see the stretching smile of a golden retriever waiting for them in the back seat. The old girl’s Cinnamon’s tail wags slowly as the men approach.
Joe looks away from the dog and says.
“Wayne, take that damn dog on a short walk. I can’t even look at her.”
“Yeah, sure.” Wayne opens the door, grabbing the leash.
“oh Cinnamon, big stretch, let’s go potty.”
Cinnamon’s greying face yawns as she stares at her owner, Joe. Her old hips wiggle in excitement as she

approaches Joe, placing her wet snoot against his hand. Seemingly startled, he pulls his hand back harshly and says. “No! Bad dog. Go! Go!” he points to the grassy side.
“Wayne, don’t take long. We don’t have much time after our missed turn.”
Sweat forms fast in the Louisiana heat as Joe returns to the shoddy air conditioning of his old car. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he mutters a curse at the map.
Pulling out his phone with a familiar flip, his fingers glide like second nature to his favorite photos; a crack running through the center of

the screen divides the picture-perfect family. Joe, a junior detective, his uniform sharp, hair short, no beard. Sarah in scrubs leans on Joe’s back, her long blond hair down to her waist, her round face so kind with an ageless smile. Little Mary comfortably sits on Joe’s shoulders with her book bag and is a spitting image of her mother, looking so proud from finishing her first day of school. Wayne’s arm around Anna’s shoulder, all of them so happy frozen in that moment.
The picture goes foggy as the tears come. Sweat stings his eyes as they find a new path down the grieving

man’s face. Joe looks at the haggard man in the mirror with bloodshot eyes, hair and beard an unkempt mess. Joe hardly recognizes the man in the mirror and his girls, a dying memory. The tears are gone as quickly as they came as Wayne approaches the passenger side of the car.
Wayne opens the back door of the car, letting the noise and smell of the interstate in as he attempts to convince Cinnamon to jump. Patting the seat, he says.
“Come on, girl, up.”
pat pat his voice getting progressively higher. jump Cinnamon, up in 3,2,1 up.” Cinnamon looks back with a

panting smile as she doesn’t budge.
Locking eyes with the stranger in the mirror, his eyes glaze over. Squeezing the steering wheel, he shouts.
“Pick that damn dog up and get in the fucking car!”
Once all are settled in their seats, Joe takes off at a deliberate pace. His knuckles are still white as he grips the wheel. His eyes passively scan the road as his mind dreads tasks yet undone. The silence of the car is filled with a cacophony of bottled emotions. Wayne could never handle silence; unstimulated, his inner demons lashes out. Looking at his

brother, usually a pillar of strength, usually so kind, is on the edge of breaking after so much tragedy. He holds his tongue. Letting the inner demons win, he stares down at his arm. A tattoo of a young woman, her face frozen in a tragic smile, tears drip down her cheeks in the form of his track marks, darkened in ink as a permanent reminder of his sins. The name below is signed Anna; the A’s replaced with hearts is of an older ink. He caresses her face as he runs his finger along his scarred veins.
As they make their way off the interstate onto the back roads of rural

Louisiana, their melancholy silence feels appropriate as they pass through forgotten small towns. The few remaining residents’ only comfort is memories of better days. The quiet is broken abruptly by the screeching chimes of Joe’s phone. Wayne jumps, waking Cinnamon as Joe pulls out the phone. With a heavy sigh, Joe answers it.
“What, Ruth?”
The voice of the woman on the phone can be heard clearly.
“What Ruth? Is that really what you have to say?”
Taking a deep breath, Joe says,
“I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I don’t care if you’re sorry. Where are you? Mary needs you?”
“I know Ruth; that’s why I have to do this.”
“Joe, come on, please. You know there is nothing you can do; the doctors have done everything possible. What she needs is her father.”
The tears are back as Joe says,
“I can’t do that. I can’t give up on my little girl.”
“It’s not giving up; it’s facing reality. Please come back to us.” Sobbing can be heard as Ruth’s voice cracks out. “I can’t do this alone.”
“I am sorry, Ruth, do it for Sarah.

Cinnamon’s ears perk up at the mention of Sarah, her old eyes looking around hopefully.
Ruth says,
“When Mary is delusional, she thinks I am Sarah.”
“Then be Sarah for her.”
“I can’t just be my sister. I never could be; she was the best person I ever knew. She would have the right words for her little girl. I am no mother, not like her.”
Joe rubs his wedding ring.
“I miss her so much Ruth I am lost without her, and the only other thing I care about on this fucking world is my little girl, and God wants to

take her away from me.”
They pull into the parking lot of an abandoned school, overgrown by the wooded swamp.
No, Joe, don’t say that; you need to have faith. You need to get back here and pray with us.”
Shaking his head with a deeper tone, Joe says.
“I went to God after Sarah’s death, and all I got in return was hollow answers and empty promises. No, for my little girl I’ll give everything, do anything. I will save her. I will find the wishing well. Don’t call back unless something changes.”
Joe hangs up the phone with force.

He rests his head on the steering wheel with a thud, keeping his eyes closed with force to keep the tears locked away.

Chapter 3
Wayne sees nothing besides the darkening woods and the abandoned school covered in Spanish moss, giving the appearance of a spider’s den. Wayne says.
“I am sorry brother, What’s next?”
With a deep breath, his head still on the steering wheel, Joe reaches down and opens the trunk. Wordlessly he steps out of the car, leading them to the trunk. Gesturing to four

duffel bags and a medical cooler, he says,
First, let’s bring all this inside before sunset.
“What’s in all of these?”
Joe, hefting two bags, says,
“I’ll explain everything once we are inside. Let’s go before the mosquitoes come out in force.”
The brothers ferry the bags to the locked front door while Cinnamon meanders about, smelling the country air. The door isn’t simply locked; it has a proper chain around the handles. The sturdiest part of the building appears to be the boarded-up windows. The remains of caution tape can

be seen around the building; the yellow had faded to white. Wayne reaches down to the lock holding the chain together, giving a tug, and says.
“Do you have bolt cutters in one of those bags?”
Joe smoothly pulls out a key and opens the lock with a satisfying click. The chain slides off a thousand clinks of metal, making one racket. The double doors open to the lobby of the school, tattered art clinging to the walls along with some graffiti of a mother with 2 children at a fountain. The smell of musk is amplified by the humidity. The lobby has little in the way of furniture besides

a bench pushed against a wall; only a solitary hallway goes down the center.
“Let’s go,” Joe says, grabbing two bags.
Wayne stands outside the room, the only light of the waning sun, his shadow stretching down the darkening hallway. Joe places his bags on the ground, and with a commanding breath, he whistles and snaps at the ground, making eye contact with Wayne. The brothers remain still, their eyes locked. The silence lingers until the jingles of Cinnamon’s collar can be heard approaching, moving past at her senior pace. Wayne breaks his

gaze and grabs the other bags and enters the room.
Joe first gets to setting a floodlight in the corner, bringing an artificial comfort to the dreary room. Wayne peers around the room, noticing the whole room is covered in a thick layer of grime, all besides the center, that seems to have been cleaned more recently.
Wayne says,
“This place gives me the creeps”
Joe's phone rings like a scream through the silence, as both brothers jump. Sweat pours from Joe’s face as he mutters to himself.
“No, it’s too soon, no.”

Joe pauses for a moment before answering.
“Yeah, Ruth.”
A voice too innocent for this world stutters out,
“Daddy?”
Joe runs a hand through his hair,
“Baby?”
“Daddy, I’ve been looking for you all day and no one would tell me where you are.”
Wayne pets Cinnamon quietly, listening to the conversation.
Joe’s voice, usually so controlled, breaks as he says
“I am here, baby.”
“Where are you? I am scared.”

“I am with Uncle Wayne; we are going to make you feel better.”
“Thank you daddy, I don’t feel good, and people are coming into my room and looking worried. Aunt Ruth said I am going to see Mommy soon, but Mommy is dead. Am I going to die? I don’t want to die, Daddy.”
“No, baby, you’re not going to die. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. I just need you to be brave. Can you be brave for me?”
Joe can hear the crying through the phone.
“Yeah, I am brave.”
“Okay, baby, put Ruth back on.”
“Ok daddy. I love you.”

“I love you, Mary. Be brave and hold on.”
Joe bites his knuckles between the shuffling of the phone until Ruth says.
“I am sorry, Joe, but you've gotta come back. She doesn’t have long.”
Joe says through gritted teeth,
“No, Ruth, listen up. I am going to save her. Now don’t fucking call back unless something changes. Do you understand me?”
Ruth pauses
“Do you fucking understand me!”
“Yes, Joe.”
Joe hangs up the phone with a flip. Silence smothered the room until

Joe screamed something primal and punched the wall, breaking through the decaying sheetrock with ease.
Cinnamon stands up. The old girl wants to comfort her owner, but Wayne holds her back, knowing his brother wants to be left alone.
Joe chuckles to himself as he stares at his bleeding hand. Tasting the blood and dust,
“Do you still wanna know why we are here, Wayne?”
Looking around at the strange circumstances, Wayne says.
“Yeah, of course, man.”
“Well, you just keep sitting on your lazy fucking ass and keep petting

that damn dog. I’ll set everything up and I’ll tell you about my last. case I’ll tell you about Jessica.”

Chapter 4
Joe moves around the room, placing and lighting candles, referring to large pictures he brought. Wayne is sitting on the dirty floor, petting Cinnamon, watching Joe.
“The last case I worked on before Mary got sick was the most disturbing one I ever had.” Looking at Wayne, he says. “It was my most important case.”
“Sarah had been gone for 8 months, and I was finally cleared to go back

to full, unrestrictive detective work. I welcomed the distraction.”
Joe places down a scented candle near Wayne, looking at Cinnamon, he says,
“This was her favorite.”
Turning away sharply, he continues on with his story as the smell of Cinnamon fills the room.
“It had been over a year of petty crimes, and then Jessica’s case slid onto my desk. On paper, it was simple. Missing mother. Missing children. I had no idea how damned the case really was. She was an elementary school art teacher, hard to be a single mother on that salary, especially

to a terminally ill boy.”
Joe moves his hand slowly through the open flame of a candle.
“The boy’s name was Alex. I remember his room was covered in art and trophies. He was about 7 and he was dying of a brain tumor. The other child’s name was Grant, only a few months old. The reason the case had to come to me so quickly was that the people in Jessica’s life had reported she was suffering from serious postpartum depression on top of her regular depression of having a terminally ill child.”
Joe places a camera in the corner and turns it on. The red light blinks

at a methodical pace.
Wayne says,
“What’s that for?”
“Don’t interrupt the story, Wayne, but this is proof that what we did today worked, proof of innocence.”
“Now where was I? Yes, young Jessica had gone missing along with her two children. I was called in to investigate after the police had gained access to her room. By all accounts, she appeared like a normal mother going through an incredibly hard time. Once I stepped foot into that room, nothing has felt normal since. The wall was her canvas, and her art was twisted dedication to desperation.

One wall was a writhing sea of souls, a lone ship burning a pentagram on its hopeless deck, untouched by the wind. The other wall was an ancient city. The people leap into a well of flames with smiles on their faces and pentagrams of blood on their foreheads. A lone man standing untouched in the center of the flame is holding a twisted blade. Another wall was a child wearing a mask of wood with the same blade stabbing at an unseen victim. The last wall was a woman wearing a wooden mask. She was weeping tears of crimson. Her eyes exposed were massive, like a mirror showing a normal room, a pentagram

painted on the ground in blood. a baby being slaughtered in the center.”
Wayne’s nerves get the better of him as he pets the dog a little too much for her comfort as she adjusts away from him. Alone on the floor, Wayne says.
“Damn, Joe, this is really starting to creep me out.”
“I wouldn’t believe you if you said it wasn’t. I had seen rapes, murders, all forms of human filth, but that room was the darkest thing I had ever seen. When I told you Jessica was a teacher, it wasn’t because she loved kids; no, she loved art, and damn, she was good at it.”

Joe pauses, looking at the walls, and pulls out an old pack of cigarettes, lighting one on a candle.
Wayne says,
“I thought you quit smoking when Mary was born.”
“Today isn’t a day for quitting.
Wayne moving closer to Cinnamon again asks,
“Well, can I have one?”
Joe looks at his brother for the first time since he started telling the story and says.
“Yeah.”
With a flick of his lighter, both brothers breathe in their cigarettes. Wayne's fingers are damp with sweat

as he smokes. The open flames of the candles only add to the heat.
Wayne wipes beads of sweat from his face, saying,
“Fuck it’s hot, come on man, I don’t like this.”
Wayne looks down the hallway, his mind playing tricks on him in the shadows.
“What are we doing? We should go.”
Wayne moves to stand, but Joe looms over him, the dark circles under his eyes like rings.
“We aren’t going anywhere until it’s done. I made a promise, Wayne, and I keep promises unlike you.”
Joe peels off his shirt. Beads of

sweat covering his body are dinner bells to mosquitoes that make their way in through the cracks in the windows. Joe kills one feasting on his shoulder as he gets back to setting and lighting candles.
Wayne says,
“Well, what happened next? What happened to Jessica?”
“We did all the usual things. We called friends, family, and old lovers to see if anything came up. By the book, but I knew the answer was somewhere on those twisted walls. I got lost in that dark art and I had eliminated the ship and ancient city, focusing on the remaining two. I

looked for the clueless in that dark art at the price of my peace. Suddenly, I had my answer. My only problem was that I didn’t know Jessica. I had everyone who knew her, who lived close, come through the room and stare into the masked woman’s eyes as they cried crimson. Because in those eyes was a modern looking room, someone would have to recognise. No one left that room the same. Many left crying as they locked eyes with the masked woman; her mother needed to be carried out. All that pain was worth it when a fellow teacher said the room was in the elementary school lobby, only ten minutes away. 12

hours since she was reported missing, and I had her.”
Wayne stands up, looking around the abandoned building with fear as he says.
“Joe, are we at th-.”
“Dont fucking interrupt me!”
Joe takes a long drag on his cigarette, staring daggers at his little brother.
“We were there in five minutes. It was a moonless night; the only light coming from the school windows. I kicked in the door, my weapon drawn to a scene of horror. Candles scattered the room; a large pentagram of blood was in the center, and at its

center the baby Grant lay dead still, impaled on that twisted blade. Jessica cradled the other child, brushing his hair with bloody fingers, whispering.
“Wishing well, wishing well, who I send to hell. They love I hate their fate they can’t escape.”
“She kept repeating that for weeks after. As I pulled Alex from her arms, she didn’t resist. I asked the boy if he was okay, and she said,“He is all better. Grant made him better.”
And it was true that the boy was unharmed. Of course he was terrified, but actually he was as healthy as

they come. This made no sense. The report said the boy was on death’s door. As I stared around the room in the now chaotic police lights, I couldn’t help the feeling I was being watched.”
Joe tosses his cigarette to the ground and lights another without offering one to Wayne.
“She got sent to the loony bin as she deserved, but when she was on the stand, she pleaded she did what she had to do to save Alex, who had recovered. Those who didn’t know any better called it a miracle. No one wanted to listen to the cries of a mother who had brutally murdered her own

child; everyone just wanted to forget. When Mary got leukemia and the doctors said they had done everything but her time was running out, I remember Jessica and I went back and I listened. When I went and interviewed her, she was broken, barely speaking or only in gibberish besides that damn line. “Wishing well, wishing well, who I send to hell, I love their hate, their fate, they can’t escape.”
Joe reaches down into one of the bags and, pulls out a paintbrush.
“I was able to figure out how the ritual works.”
Joe walks over to the medical

cooler and pulls out two IV bags, one labeled C and the other M, filled with a dark liquid.
“The way I understand it, to cast a wish in the well, you have to hate the thing that you are sacrificing, and the thing who is being sacrificed has to love you.”
“Joe, I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
Joe chuckles with a twinge of madness as he cuts the IV bag open labeled C. Pouring the blood into a bowl, he swirls the blood around with the brush, saying.
“I am here to find the wishing well. I am here to save Mary.”

Chapter 5
Wayne stands quickly, his body alight with fear as he looks toward the door. Joe blocking his way, Wayne says,
“wh wha what are you sacrificing?”
“I am sacrificing that damn dog.”
Ashamed to feel a bit of relief, Wayne says.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am deadly serious.”
Taking a knee to guard the dog, Wayne says,
“Enough crazy talk, man. You are going through so much and you haven’t thought this through. Let’s go. We can make it back to Mary if we leave

now.”
Joe coldly walks to his brother and takes a knee within arm’s reach. The scent of poor hygiene wafts from Joe. An unusual smell from a man who has been a pillar of stability all through Wayne’s life.
“We aren’t going anywhere until this is done. I didn’t stumble into this. I have been planning this for some time. I have looked for every other option. I have hoped beyond hope, but she can’t last much longer.”
Wayne, on the verge of tears, says,
“Joe, please!”
“No Wayne! When things get hard, you run, you quit. Not me! I have the

strength to do what needs to be done.”
Joe says as he gives Cinnamon a treat. Surprised the old dog doesn’t question the spontaneous gift as she devours it quickly, remaining on her belly.
“What did you give her?”
“I gave her a treat filled with trazodone to keep her calm.”
“Joe, this doesn’t make any sense. You said you had to hate the thing you sacrificed. You love Cinnamon. You practically lived your lives for that dog until Mary was born.”
Joe looks away as he walks back to the bowl of blood, lighting another

cigarette. He breathes deeply.
“That’s why I hate her. She is a walking reminder of everything I have lost. I can’t look at her without reliving my best days only to be haunted by the worst of them. I can’t stand her.”
Leaning over, Joe gets to painting the pentagram in blood; his strokes are a crude, labored maelstrom of emotions.
“If Cinnamon could understand, she would do this for Mary.”
“I know I wasn’t there for you when Sarah died, and I’ll always be ashamed of that, but I will be there for you when Mary is gone, Joe. I

promise. You don’t have to do this.”
Joe snaps, pointing the brush covered in blood at Wayne.
“Mary isn’t going anywhere!”
Wayne wipes specs of blood from his face,
“Your promises are meaningless. You have never been there for me when I needed you, and I have always been there for you. When Anna died, I was the only one in your life who didn’t blame you. I picked you up when you were down, and now you’re here because you’re the only person I feel owes me this sin. And you want to abandon me, brother? “
The dark art almost complete, Joe

finishes the pentagram with Cinnamon’s blood. Pulling out the other bag of Mary’s blood, he uses a syringe to draw a healthy amount, placing it in the center. He plants his hand, leaving a bloody print as he mutters, Mary”
Like a nervous tic, Wayne looks to his arm to Anna a mural of his mistakes. After running his fingers along his vein, he says.
“I won’t abandon you, brother.”
“Good, now get her in the center. All I need you to do is pet her and keep her still while I get the rest ready.”
Wayne does as he is asked, leading

the girl to slaughter as she willingly lies in the center of the pentagram on her side, happy for the attention. Her tail is a slow drum as it wags on the floor. Thwap, thwap, thwap.
Wayne’s tears form as he talks to the dog.
“Ohh Cinnamon, you’re the best girl, yes, the best girl.”
Her tail moves slightly faster with the praise.
Joe turned away, speaking to himself out loud
“I hate, I hate, I hate. For Mary, for Mary, for Mary,”
Turning around, Joe is wearing a

mask of wood from an unknown era with no mouth; the only things exposed are his pained eyes. Wielding a small, demonic looking blade.
Wayne gasps, saying,
“Joe, you don’t need those, please.”
“We are doing this right! Jessica used these I will to. There will be no mistakes.”
Moving towards the center, Joe appears more monster than man as he mutters,
“I hate, I hate, I hate.”
Cinnamon lifts her head to look at her dad, someone she has loved her whole life who can do no wrong, and

wags her tail even faster.
Joe’s voice breaks as the unseen tears flow.
“Oh god, no! I hate, I hate, I hate.”
Dropping to his knees, he looms over Cinnamon. The blade raised above her shakes. She tries to stand, but Wayne holds her down.
“Joe come on man, what the fuck are we doing?”
Joe’s voice laced with indecision,
“Fuck man Shut up! Hold her still!”
Wayne holds her forcefully,
“Shhh girl, it’s going to be ok.”
Through gritted teeth Joe shouts “I Hate!”

As he plunges the blade into her heart. With a yelp she writhes for only a moment mercifully as her tail picks up a frantic pace. thwap, thwap, thwap as it splashes in the blood it slows as the brothers linger wordlessly in what they just did.
Thwap, thwap, thwap. Until even the tail ceases to move.
Wayne stands going to the corner retching. Joe’s moans of sorrow come unrestrained.
Chapter 6

The room smells of death and cinnamon. The wax pool deepens at the base of the candles as Joe stays on his

trembling knees staring at his phone waiting for a call. Wayne sits on the bench with his head in his hands beyond remorse for his role in tonight. Lifting his head he stares at Anna’s tattoo and says.
“What the fuck did we just do?”
Joe pets cinnamon’s faithful corpse and rises wordlessly, getting a cloth and covering the girl.
Whispers through bitten tears joes say to Cinnamon,
“It was for Mary, I am so sorry.”
Louder he says,
“I did what I had to.”
“Bullshit man, how do we even know it worked?”

Joe looks back at the phone, willing it to ring. Yet no ring comes, only the words of Wayne as he says,
“I told her she was going to be ok.”
The mask and blade seem so foolish now after the furfur of the moment is over. His fingers are led as they dial Ruth’s number,
Ring, ring,
“Joe? Joe? Joe, are you there?”
Joe’s voice is hoarse as he says,
“How is she? How is my little girl?”
“Oh god Joe it’s not good the doctors have stopped coming in the room. She isn’t asleep, she is just too

weak to do anything. One pulled me to the side and told me she won’t last the night and to make my peace. I can’t do this. She isn’t my kid. I am not strong enough. I have been praying for your plan whatever it is.”
Joe’s body is numb as he kicks the mask. It slides across the room colliding with the wall with a wooden knock..
“I failed.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“No Ruth I failed.”
“Just come back to her.”
Joe shakes his head and says “I won’t be coming back. goodbye Ruth thanks for everything. Stay strong for

her till the end.”
Tears can be heard as Ruth says,
“You can’t do this. Its not fair ple.”
Joe hangs up the phone. With a heavy sigh he sits on the bench next to Wayne and offers him one of his last cigarettes. Both lighting their cigarettes the two brothers lean against the rotting wall in silence. Eventually Wayne says,
“What do we do now?”
“We can’t make it back in time to see Mary and I can’t stand to think right now knowing my little girl is scared in some room surrounded by mostly strangers dying.” Joe says as he

places his head in his hands to weep but no tears come.
“I can’t even cry any more, I am so numb. Wayne, I need to be numb.”
Joe stands moving to one of the bags as he looks through it he says.
“I told myself I wasn’t going to need this but knew if this didn’t work out I couldn’t handle feeling anything for a while.”
Joe pulls out needles filled with a light brown substance. To Wayne, he might as well have pulled out the devil.
“Joe what the fuck!” Wayne says standing up walking away from his brother like he was holding snakes.

“Why the fuck do you have heroin?”
“I don’t want to feel anything any more. I can’t handle it. I need to leave this world for a while.”
Wayne licks his lips, scratching his tattooed arm.
“Joe you can’t be serious, you’re a cop and after tonight what are you thinking?”
“I think I got this from evidence. and the reason I am doing this is because of tonight. Look around, I can’t handle any of this. I need you brother, please.”
Wayne looks around the room at all the fucked up shit he is surrounded by. Pacing back and forth he says.

“Why do you have two?”
“I need you brother.”
“NO! You can’t be serious, you’re the one who got me sober.”
“I know Wayne but this time I need you to get high with me.”
Everyone of Wayne’s cells scream out pleading for the release. He relapsed a dozen times and after a night like tonight who could blame him.
“No I can’t, I promised I wouldn’t.”
“After all the times I have pulled you out of the gutter, paying for your bail risked my career, my marriage for you. You deny me tonight, my daughter is going to die. Please

Wayne, this is the one time I’ll ever ask you to do this with me please. I don’t want to do it alone.”
After everything his brother has gone through, how could he tell him no and besides he needs this to.
“ok I’ll do it. But then we can’t do it again.”
“Thanks brother I need to forget.”
Joe’s hands are slimy from sweat and blood as he hands over the needle to Wayne.
Joe quickly places his back against the wall and finds his vein out loud he says
“I am sorry Cinnamon, I am sorry Sarah, I am sorry Mary I have failed.”

he pushes the drug in with a heavy sigh closing his eyes.
Wayne watches his older brother go to sleep. Looking down at his tattoo Anna he says
“I am sorry but I am doing this for Joe.” He knows he is partly lying to himself; he wants relief more than he wants forgiveness. With seasoned dexterity he finds a vein in Anna’s eye pushing the drug home. Immediately Wayne can feel something is off as the drug hits. His body goes numb in a helpless way unsettling blackness surrounds his vision. From the darkness comes Joe moving in far too close to his helpless brother, Joe

says in a cruel voice.
“You didn’t do these drugs for me Wayne. You did them because you have no conviction, your life is worthless. Well I’ll find a use for your life. I’ll do whatever it takes to save my little girl.”
Wayne’s vision fades to black as Joe dons the wooden mask.

Chapter 7
The taste of a dirty rag is the first sense that returns to Wayne as he wakes from the drug. Eyes opening to the rotting ceiling, Wayne can’t help to feel this whole night was a dream. If only he could pinch

himself, he could wake. A hard request at the moment as Wayne’s arms and legs are bound by rope connected to concrete bolts at the edges of the pentagram. Straining to look around the room, the first thing he sees is cinnamon’s body covered in cloth with only her tail exposed. He can almost still hear the innocent girl’s tail.
Thwap, Thwap, Thwap
Wayne turns away squeezing his eyes as he whimpers.
Thwap, Thwap, Thwap.
Panic envelopes him, straining to breathe through only his nose. Wayne’s vision begins to fade again.

A light slap snaps Wayne out of his spiral only to be greeted by the hell of the moment as the man in the wooden mask looms over him.
“Wakey, Wakey little bro.”
Wayne thrashes in his restraints as he screams through the gag.
“Look at you as pathetic as ever. squirming like a worm dropped in a shallow puddle, too helpless to save himself. I have picked you out of that puddle your whole life but not tonight no tonight I toss you into the wishing well.”
Joe leans down to Wayne’s right arm where an Iv had been started on Anna’s face. Joe uses a syringe to

capacity to draw blood. Wayne whimpering continues as Joe turns his back on him depositing the blood in the bowl. Coming back for more blood Joe fully appears as the sadist. The mask hides all emotions, only small patches of his beard can be seen. His shirtless body is splattered with congealed crimson, his hands drenched in the loyal dog’s blood. The blade sheathed at his hip clicks as he walks
“I can see fear in your eyes, Wayne. Do you wanna live?
Wayne shakes his head yes as he mumbles through the gag,
“Please.”

Joe cocks his masked head slowly but his eyes are red tears flowing.
“What do you have to live for? Everyone hates you. Dads dead and he was ashamed of you. You robbed your own mother, she can barely afford her home because of you. Mom should hate you! But you’re her little baby.”
Wayne shuts his eyes screaming.
Joe slaps him across the face,
“Come on little baby open your fucking eyes! I would have thought you would be used to being helpless, no shame in it. What are you scared of dying? What do you have to live for? Everyone in Anna’s life blames you for her overdose. She was off the

drugs before you. Who else do you have in your life that cares about you?”
Joe taps a bloody finger to the chin of the wooden mask,
“That’s right you have me. Your big bro, your best friend, the one who has carried you through your worthless life. I hate you and I have for years but you love me Wayne don’t you. You’re like a beaten dog that keeps going back to his owner’s unconditional love.”
Wayne writhes trying to get free as the tears flow freely, Wayne screams through the gag,
“I hate you.”

“Don’t try to save yourself, it won’t work.”
Joe pulls more blood from the Iv, before turning his back as he goes to the equipment.
Wayne watches his brother with rage. Who is he to say all these things? To sacrifice him to this insanity. He struggles for his life thrashing against the restraints and this time his right arm comes free, the knot coming undone, joes knot. Bewildered, he stares at his arm, at Anna. With a silent prayer he thanks her and gets to work quietly untying his other limbs.
Looking around the room he finds

the door has been chained shut from the inside. He could run. Joe’s back is still turned but Joe is faster. He would catch him.
No, he only has one option. grabbing a stone, his grip white knuckles as he approaches the masked man creeping in the candle light. Joe stands still staring at what Wayne does not know. Wayne practically upon him, Joe turns around at the last moment before the stone hits his skull, the mask absorbing some of the strike flies across the room. Instinctively Joe draws the blade only to be hit again dropping it. Joe dazed but always the stronger fighter gets a hold

of Wayne tossing him on to the bench with a roar. Wayne dives for the knife, standing quickly to see Joe running into the darkness of the hallway.
Wayne alone in the room looks for any way out while keeping an eye on the darkness fearing his brother will return at any moment. The boards are too strong and the chain too tight. He needs that key. With a heavy sigh he enters the threshold of the hallway blade at the ready. The silence is clouded by Wayne’s beating heart as he sees the masked man in every shadow.
The shuffling of glass alerts him

to danger, like a frightened boy he says,
“Joe?”
From the darkness charges his brother no not his brother a monster he stabs for him only to have his vision covered by a cloth and a strike to his arm. He swings wildly, hitting something.
Turning back, Wayne sees Joe standing in the center of the room with a stone in his hand, face covered in fresh blood. Joe says through panting breaths.
“Wayne! You have been helpless your whole life and now you grow a pair, god I hate you. Just die for me.

Your life is worth less than hers, it’s worth nothing! You are nothing!”
Wayne swipes the blade in the air, the handle smoothed from a thousand tragedies. Joe doesn’t move from the center of the room. Wayne voice raw as he says,
“Your a fucking monster!”
For a moment joes bloody face looks relieved nodding as Wayne continues,
“I don’t love you, Joe. You think you’re better than me, you always have. You’re not! I spent my whole life trying to make you proud, never as good as my big bro. Well fuck you man! You never wanted me to be better

than you and now you want to fucking kill me, because your going crazy. Give me the keys.”
Joe raises the rock over his head,
“I am gonna save her and no one is going to miss you.”
“She is already dead Joe, can’t you see that.”
“Liar! As long as I live it’s not over.”
“I don’t want your fucking pity! I want your useless fucking soul.”
Joe takes a deep breath and says
“You killed Anna Wayne, you got her back on the drugs, you’re the only reason she is dead! Now I am going to kill you.”

Joe charges stone raised, Wayne meets the charge screaming
“I hate you!”
Joe stone about to strike purposely stops at the last moment while Wayne’s wicked blade does not. Waynes strike is sound as Joe steps back blade still firmly in his chest. Joe only has moments as all malice leaves his eyes as he lies in the center of the pentagram.
Wayne’s eyes go wide stunned at what he did as Joe pulls his phone out to the picture of his family. Tears in the corner of his eyes with his last breath he says.
“I love you little bro, I always

have. ”
Joe’s eyes drift to the photo one last time, the faintest smile on his lips as His chest stills and his eyes glaze over.
Wayne stands above his big brother stunned his body still shaking with rage he blubbers out,
“What? I don’t understand. Why?”
He falls to his knees cradling Joe’s lifeless body. He shakes him,
“Please wake up, please.”
His words fail him as he lets out a wretched cry. Wayne’s eyes closed are unable to see a shadow void of light in the shape of a hand forms on Joe’s chest moving up his body and

caressing his face as it pulls a faint light from his lips, fading to nothingness.
Wayne’s tears are relentless as he holds his brother in the candle light room the red light of the camera blinking, the camera still methodically blinking in the corner.
“I am sorry, I am sorry, please, please get up please.”
“I am so sorry, what have I done? No! Why, why did you make me do it. Is this what you wanted?”
“Ring, ring, ring,”
The piercing ring of Joe’s phone startles Wayne as he opens his eyes in a gasp to see Ruth is calling.

Wayne’s fingers numb from the withdrawal of adrenaline struggles to answer with a click
Ruth begins to speak.
“Joe, are you there? Joe? you’re not going to believe this but Mary just woke up a minute ago. We are taking her to get a CT scan but the doctors can’t explain it. She seems perfectly healthy. Oh god it’s a miracle. I don’t know how you did it but you did it. Someone wants to speak to you.”
“Daddy, I feel so much better, I knew you would save me. Daddy are you there? Daddy?”
The end.