Chapter 004: Rest in peace, brother.

  Morning light filters through the heavy drapes, casting a soft glow that dances across the room Izriel has found himself in, a sanctuary of sorts, with walls lined by shelves of books and a single, large window overlooking a tumultuous sea. The previous night's storm has passed, leaving behind a sky washed clean, the horizon a sharp line between the colors of dawn.

  Izriel stands by the window, coffee steaming in his hand, watching the waves crash against the cliffs as if they too are trying to escape their past. He has sealed the last letter, tucked it away with instructions for delivery, and now he faces the task of unearthing more of his history, laying it bare for Jack.

  The desk before him is new, its wood unmarred by the passage of time or the weight of previous confessions. He places his mug down, the sound of ceramic against wood grounding him in this moment. From the drawer, he retrieves a fresh quill and an inkpot, the tools of his confession set against the backdrop of a new day.

  "I suppose every chapter brings with it the hope of redemption, or at least, understanding," he whispers to himself, the sea's roar his only reply.

  He pulls out a crisp sheet of paper, its blankness a stark contrast to the turbulent waters outside. As he dips the pen into the ink, there's a moment of pause, a silent whisper for the words to come. The sea breeze, carrying hints of salt and promise, brushes through the window, urging him forward.

  With the first stroke of the pen, he begins:

  "Dear Jack,

  Today marks a new beginning, albeit one shadowed by the past. As we move into my high school years, you must understand these events are a lesson in resilience, in recognizing the monsters that walk among us, and in the power of survival...

  Let us begin with a fond memory. In my middle school years we can conclude with mentioning my yearning to collect cards and legos.

  We can rewind somewhat, mentioning that in my elementary years I was into Pokémon cards as well as the games. I would go to the local card shop and play with random people to see who would win. I won a Pokémon tournament there at one point.

  It’s would have been right before we left the house my mom and Brett had, that I was building pyramids with legos. They were hollow inside and I used to keep my money in there as a piggy bank. Breaking it only when it was full to use on things at the store.

  Yugioh came in middle school, the card shop closed so I didn’t have as much interaction with random people. I did play with friends like Trevor, and often.. myself.

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  Transitioning into high school the card collecting took on a different tone. I gifted my Pokémon and yugioh cards to my cousin Crosby, and began playing Magic the gathering.

  Magic was interesting because it was first mentioned to me by John’s son Jake. I had mentioned earlier that he choked me out over darts, but he did show me the MTG game that same day. It was a little advanced for me at the time, but in HS many friends were getting into it.

  I was far better at magic than I was at Pokémon or yugioh. We would meet with friends at Taco Bell after school and play in a large group. A friend named Eli would host tournaments at his house. I won one of them, and I didn’t want the prize I just wanted to be crowned as the best. I split the prize up and gave it away. I played MTG for years, even after high school. I still have those cards today.

  I’ll tell you later about playing in Atlanta with Nicodemus and Peter, a really fascinating adventure later in life.

  At the start of high school I was somewhat overwhelmed with the amount of large books we had to keep track of. The short time between classes, and just how big the school was when compared to what I had been used to. I did not find myself amongst the popular crowd. I hung out with what most people would call the poor kids.

  The crowd was full of good people with great personalities and interesting lives. Many also wore band T shirts, black clothes, studded belts, chained wallets, weird hair, hand me downs. They listened to rock music and played guitar. My friends liked to skateboard, they didn’t cause a lot of problems and they were always there for you.

  We were subject to easy bullying by the popular crowd, the ones with nice clothes, new shoes, and tons of money for nice haircuts, new electronics, extra food, girls.

  They would do things like flip food or try to slap your stuff off your desk, try to trip you, various things that young kids do. I didn’t have it as bad as some of the others, but there was the occasional bout. I would always stick up for myself or fire back and they would find an easier target.

  When my mom started dating Steve she got pregnant. This is significant because she had been trying to get pregnant since I was born essentially, with no success but a few failures.

  It was half way into my first year of high school I believe, that the call came. I had to leave school early because she was being ambulances to indiapolis for complications.

  Her pregnancy had been complicated early on, she had way too much amniotic fluid which made her look like she had a massive belly even though she wasn’t that far along. I think she was maybe 6 or 7 months in when this happened.

  My grandparents picked me up and I remember my heart beating in my chest. I was excited to have a baby brother, I was an only child. We got to the hospital and she had given birth but the baby died shortly afterward.

  It may sound strange but we all held him as he lay dying in our arms. It was a very sad evening, and everyone was crushed. Trust me, holding your dead baby brother in your arms as a young high school child is no easy thing to deal with.

  That night we left Steve and my mother at the hospital and my grandparents took us to Eric and Shannon’s house nearby. My aunt and uncle were really nice people, they are the parents of Crosby, Danny and Mckinlee.

  As I lay there trying to go to sleep I got a text from Steve. Here’s exactly what I remember reading.

  “You’re not my son, you do not belong at my house. You need to get your things, and get out.”

  Mind you, I’m not even 16 at the time. I was somewhere around 14-15 years old.

  I didn’t know what to do, it was another dagger in my heart on such a already difficult evening. I woke my grandparents and showed them my phone. They hugged me, and told me everything was going to be alright. Eric and Shannon too, and it was nice to have someone in my corner.

  They said it’s fine, he was a bad guy anyway and they would take me in a heartbeat. So, you might wonder what my mom thought about all this.

  Her words were, you didn’t follow the rules of the house. So you’re going to have to get out.

  I’ll now get into just exactly what Steve had been doing to me this last year, and the events that led up to this moment.

  This is a difficult letter to write, but it must be explained. I want you to know my story, my thoughts, and how it all made me stronger on the other side.

  Let me pause this letter here, and I will continue with the full depth of Steve’s house when we pick up next.

  I want you to know that I’ll never allow the events that have taken place so far to occur to you, and I’ll always be the person in your corner. Sometimes you can’t face something alone, other times you are forced to.

  With love,

  Izriel.