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TWENTY-FIVE

Alderney State Penitentiary,

Dear Amethyst,

I also thought my father would threaten my life, but he demanded to see my bloody hands and asked what went through my head as I tried to beat my brother to death.

Since we were in the school’s parking lot, I didn’t think he would inject me with poison, so I told the truth. I hadn’t done anything to deserve daily beatings. It wasn’t fair that I got to sleep in a box while everyone else had rooms. Having nothing to lose but my life, I told him to release me into foster care.

He stared at me for the longest time before saying, “I’m proud of you, son.”

And then he smiled.

I thought it was a trick. Many others approached me as a friend, only to lure me into an ambush to gain my brothers’ favor. I backed away, refusing to get into the car because I thought that moment would be my last.

When he reached out to touch my shoulder, I ran.

It’s nearly impossible to get lost in Queen’s Gardens, since it’s a gated community of mansions surrounded by high fences. A security guard picked me up hours later and delivered me to my father, who wasn’t the least bit angry that I’d bolted.

He took me into his study, sat me down on the leather sofa, poured me a glass of scotch, and made me drink. I was ten years old, and the only alcohol I’d ever tasted was my mother’s rum and raisin ice cream.

My father reported that I’d put my brother in a coma and asked what I thought the older two would do when they returned from middle school.

You need to understand that I lived in a constant state of stress. I had enemies at school, but the worst were at home. Only three people alive in the world saw me as worthy of life: the housekeeper and her two daughters.

When I didn’t answer, he outlined how his sons would exact their revenge. His tone was calm, almost detached, as if he wasn’t detailing my gruesome demise.

I was drunk, terrified, and wanted to throw up. I pictured him standing by with my stepmother, watching the brothers beat me to death.

Then he made me an offer that he would come to regret.

Xero

P.S. The toy should have arrived by now. Let me know if you don’t get it by Friday, and I’ll commission another mold.