Page 60 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘– I heard everything you said.’

‘Luke, listen, I –’

Billy cut in now, stepping back, shoulder to shoulder with Luke. Half his brother, half not. This man they shared, shivering before them. ‘– No, you listen, Dad. I thought this would hurt you most,’ he said. ‘This ending. You’ve lost everything for Luke. And now you just lost him too.’

Luke sharpened his eyes, that earthy green, so like Jet’s.

Dad shook his head, staring at Luke. The only son he saw.

‘I asked you,’ Luke said, a growl hiding behind his voice.

‘The night Jet died. I asked you if you had anything to do with it. You swore to me. You said it wasn’t you.

You lied! You killed her!’ The growl didn’t hide anymore, splitting his words in half, that temper rearing, up his throat.

Billy stepped back from him, half a step.

‘Calm down, Luke.’ Dad raised his hands again. ‘Let’s talk.’

‘Don’t tell me to calm down!’ Luke couldn’t stand still, vibrating inside his funeral suit. ‘You killed her!’

‘I was just trying to protect you, Luke. I did it for you. All for you.’

‘Why?!’ Luke roared. ‘So I’d get the company, is that all?!’

‘You deserve it – it should be yours!’

Luke balled his hands, knuckles straining through the skin, almost healed. ‘Why? It won’t make me happy. There are more important things. My sister was more important!’

Billy looked at Luke. That was what Jet said to him in her letter, her final goodbye.

Luke could be scary, Luke had a temper, but maybe Luke could change; maybe he was even changing right now, in front of Billy’s eyes.

Was this what Jet would have wanted? She never got the chance to tell Billy the ending she would have chosen.

‘You’re right, Dad,’ Billy spoke up now, standing between them.

‘A recording wouldn’t have been admissible in court.

But now there are two witnesses who heard your confession, both your sons.

And there’s evidence too.’ He paused, pointed up the stairs.

‘That Coleby tool kit, I returned it to you, it’s in the closet upstairs.

The police will find it when they search the house.

We’ll tell them everything. We’ll go tonight, after the funeral, after I say goodbye to the girl I loved. Right, Luke?’

A click in the back of Dad’s throat.

‘It means nothing,’ he said. ‘You coerced it out of me, threatened me with a gun.’

Billy pressed his lips together. ‘I don’t see a gun. Do you, Luke?’

He turned back to look at Luke. Jaw still ticking, counting down to something, hands itching at his sides.

‘Luke?’

His eyes darkened, neck strained, ridged with tendons, threads pulled too tight.

‘I do,’ Luke said, lunging forward.

Billy didn’t have a chance to stop him.

He grabbed the gun from the table.

‘Luke, no!’

Luke raised the gun, pointed it at Dad’s head, finger on the trigger.

‘Dad, run!’

Billy barreled into Luke.

An eruption of sound, cracking the night into two. The before and the after.

Plaster rained down on Billy’s head, white dust on his jacket, a bullet hole in the ceiling.

Luke growled. He righted his arm, pointed the gun again, but Dad wasn’t there anymore.

He was running.

Past them.

Out the open front door into the night beyond.

Luke didn’t hesitate. He shoved Billy back and chased after him, gun at his side.

‘Luke, stop!’

Billy’s legs flew, and so did his heart, fight-or-flight or something in between.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Outside, Dad was past the fence, sprinting across the road, toward the Masons’ driveway.

Luke on his heels, bearing down on him.

Billy followed. No thoughts. Just Jet. What would Jet do?

Three suits, one gun, stained silver by the same moon.

Up the drive, a dozen cars parked in messy rows.

Dad wound between them, colliding with a blue Range Rover. The alarm went off, a mechanical scream, red lights flashing.

Luke followed him, past the Range Rover, catching up.

Billy chose a different path.

‘Luke, no! There’s a better way!’ he shouted.

Dad had reached the house now, pummeling his fists against the red-painted door.

‘Dianne!’ he screamed. ‘Help!’

Luke stopped behind Dad.

Billy behind him.

‘Dianne!’

Billy saw her, through the window into the living room. Red-raw face, black dress, peering into the darkness outside the glass, at the chirping car.

Luke raised the gun.

‘Luke, don’t!’

‘Dianne! Help!’

Dad pressed the doorbell instead, that up-and-down song. The camera didn’t blink, watching this all happen. Inevitable now.

Luke swung his left arm forward, held the gun with both hands.

‘LUKE!’

A thunderclap.

Not inside Billy’s head, from Luke’s hands.

A flash.

Billy blinked.

Dad fell to his knees.

A spatter on the front door, a darker red, the color of hellfire.

‘No,’ Billy whispered.

Another crack, another burst of white.

Dad fell to the ground.

He didn’t move.

Billy blinked.

Not the ending he’d planned, but an ending he could live with. Because he was the one who had to live.

For Jet.

The front door opened.

Dianne and Scott and Sophia.

Someone screamed.

Billy blinked.