In The End | Novella | Beginning of the End

him like a dog, especially in the run up to Christmas. I paid little attention, remembering how he’d spoken to me, and stayed focused on the TV. Mum soon switched to reminding me of the exams waiting for me when I went back to school.
They were only mocks and I had the whole of the next week to find enough enthusiasm to hit the books hard. At least that’s what I thought.
I woke early the next morning and sat on the sofa, staring at the decorations we’d put up only the other day; the tired-looking tree standing in the corner of the room barely decorated. Mum never did as much since Dad died, even though he always had the least enthusiasm to cover the rooms in shiny coloured plastic.
The loading screen of the console caught my eye as I stuffed in another mouthful of cereal. My attention drew away to the sound of someone stepping down the stairs in a disjointed rhythm.
It was Steve, the last person I expected to see, and he ignored my stare as he stumbled around the house as if getting ready to go to work, despite the stoop and with his right hand tucked in his shirt like a makeshift sling. He stank as if he’d been to the toilet in his trousers. If it wasn’t for him walking around, his white, drained skin would have told me he’d died in his sleep.
Despite shrugging at the thought, I couldn’t completely ignore him to concentrate on the screen and the pixelated zombies I needed to shoot before they hit me.
If Steve killed himself for the government, then who was I to say anything different?
Okay, I was secretly a little worried, but I’d never tell him that. Anyway, he didn’t look in the mood for anything I might have to say.
Leaving him to crash around the house, I only looked away from a great headshot as he stumbled out the front door. Guilt rose through me when I thought about him driving in such a state, hoping he’d get himself together before he drove away.
Mum must have heard the door and her footsteps rushed down the stairs.
Quickly hiding the white controller and switching the TV to the news, I settled back on to the sofa.
Whilst fastening the top buttons of her blue work tunic, she stumbled into the room, looking my way.
“Are you going to get dressed today?” she said, but instead of waiting for my shoulders to shrug, she peered around the room with her brow furrowed and rushed to ask if the sound had been Steve leaving.
“He’s going to work,” I said, watching her face flash with concern. I shrugged when she asked how he looked.
Sighing when I didn’t speak, she shook her head.
We weren’t close, my brother and I. He didn’t get me and I didn’t understand him.
He was some super-smart scientist living with me and Mum, back from university and sleeping in my bed, forcing me into the old box room.
His room was the biggest after Mum’s and when Steve left four years ago, I took my rightful space. Why should he get the bigger room when he only came back every few months and should have moved out when he finished his course?
But no, he went off for training at a place only a few miles down the road and couldn’t afford to rent a house of his own so early in his new scientific career. Mum buckled; she loved us being so close and he got the room back with a quick bat of his eyelids. That old trick.
But then again, none of that mattered anymore.
“He’s just left,” I said. “You might catch him if you’re that worried.”
Mum headed to the door to the sound of an engine revving on the drive.
I stood, knocking over the cereal bowl full of milk I’d rested on the floor. As I turned down to the mess, I held back from swearing when we heard the crunch of metal from outside.
Ignoring the spreading white puddle on the carpet, I walked behind Mum with her hand on the door. Trying to stifle my smile, I knew how much trouble the golden boy would be in when I saw his car embedded in the side of a Ford Focus.
The driver of the Focus was already out and rushing around to inspect the damage. Steve remained motionless, despite the growing tirade the guy whose car he’d hit shouted as he pointed in my brother’s direction with a reddening face.
As I rushed forward with Mum squealing at the sight, I watched the guy’s eyes bulge, gasping as he arrived at the window.
“No,” Mum shouted, but I grabbed her hand, holding her back as the driver rushed to pull at Steve’s door.
The door opened, and with relief I watched Steve sit up. A cry of pain called out, but I couldn’t tell who’d made the noise as the Focus driver staggered back, holding his own arm with Steve pulling himself from the car.
Letting go of Mum, we stepped forward and watched Steve fall on top of the driver as if he’d tripped. Then came the sound of an animal’s pained call.
Neighbours rushed out to the source of the noise and I watched as each reared back. A few turned and headed inside their houses. I imagined them running for their phones, others stopping, calling out for whatever was happening the other side of the car to end.
A guy in a T-shirt, Dave from number forty-eight, was the only one to come forward. He arrived before we came around the car, bending down and straining as if to pull something up.
Somehow I knew it would be my brother he was trying to pull away from whatever he was doing to the poor man.
As we circled to come around the