Read Online Beneath Ceaseless Skies #172 by E. Catherine Tobler, Erin Cashier, Shannon Peavey - Free Book Online Page A
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sounded like, “You’ve always known it better.”
“I know,” Cary said. “You don’t even know when you’re lying.”
That’s enough,
Leo said, and he grabbed Cary’s jar by the neck and tucked it under his arm.
“Where are you taking me,” Cary said, and Leo stayed quiet.
He left the camp on foot and snuffed out his lamp. He could barely see in the darkness and he kept stepping badly, ramming his toes into brush and rocks. “You’re gonna get snakebit,” Cary said, but Leo ignored him and kept walking on.
The sky was an arc of stars. Off to the west, a coyote yipped and another one answered it.
When the lights of the town and the medicine show caravan fell out of sight behind him, Leo dropped to his knees and set Cary aside. A flat spot, near a stand of palo verde. The soil was grainy and loose. He dug with his hands.
“No.” Cary bared his teeth. “You can’t do this to me.”
Leo kept digging. It didn’t need to be a very big hole. Just deep enough to keep the coyotes from bringing him up again.
“Leo,” Cary said.
Leo dug and dug and little rocks wedged up under his fingernails and he ripped his knuckles bloody and kept on digging. The knot of resolve in his gut grew thicker and heavier until he felt like he’d swallowed a stone. His brother’s voice was a dull whine at the edge of his hearing. He didn’t let himself listen.
He stopped when his fingers scraped rock, and he pulled back on his haunches to look at the hole. It was big enough. Deep enough for his arm a bit past his elbow. Not too wide, but wide enough to hold Cary’s head without the jar.
“Leo, we’re a pair,” Cary said. His voice was raw and scraping, like he’d been talking for a long time. “Truth and lies. Without me, you’re not anything.”
Just because you hear the truth doesn’t mean you have to speak it,
Leo said, and his mouth said, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t kill you again.”
It made him laugh aloud to hear it.
“You won’t do it,” Cary said fiercely. “I know you don’t want to. I hear it when you’re talking. You don’t want to do this.”
Leo took Cary’s jar and unscrewed the lid. Alcohol fumes filled his eyes and made him blink. He poured off the alcohol and then carefully tipped Cary’s head onto the ground. The faint moonlight picked up the hollows in his brother’s dead face and chased light down his white-blond hair. Leo sat back for a moment, watching him. After all, he and Cary shared the same face. Maybe he would look the same, when he died.
But Cary coughed in the cold dry air and then he didn’t look so dead anymore. A little alcohol dribbled out his mouth.
“Even if you kill me again, it’s not gonna change what you are,” he said. “I told you before. And without me, you’re never going to be able to tell.”
Cary’s voice was much clearer and sharper in the open air. He’d always had that kind of voice, the kind that sounded like the word of God made manifest. Leo picked his brother up and held him aloft. His fingers wrapped under the corners of Cary’s jaw, by the stump of his neck. He thought,
Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it again.
He remembered the feel of the knife jammed through Cary’s windpipe, the rush of hot blood over his hands. It had been far too easy. Barely any resistance at all.
“Nothing about you is real,” Cary said, his voice low enough that Leo had to strain to hear it. “Because even when you talk to yourself, even when you think, you’re only telling yourself what you want to hear.”
I’m not going to listen to you any more,
Leo meant to say, and his voice would be calm and almost
“I know,” Cary said. “You don’t even know when you’re lying.”
That’s enough,
Leo said, and he grabbed Cary’s jar by the neck and tucked it under his arm.
“Where are you taking me,” Cary said, and Leo stayed quiet.
He left the camp on foot and snuffed out his lamp. He could barely see in the darkness and he kept stepping badly, ramming his toes into brush and rocks. “You’re gonna get snakebit,” Cary said, but Leo ignored him and kept walking on.
The sky was an arc of stars. Off to the west, a coyote yipped and another one answered it.
When the lights of the town and the medicine show caravan fell out of sight behind him, Leo dropped to his knees and set Cary aside. A flat spot, near a stand of palo verde. The soil was grainy and loose. He dug with his hands.
“No.” Cary bared his teeth. “You can’t do this to me.”
Leo kept digging. It didn’t need to be a very big hole. Just deep enough to keep the coyotes from bringing him up again.
“Leo,” Cary said.
Leo dug and dug and little rocks wedged up under his fingernails and he ripped his knuckles bloody and kept on digging. The knot of resolve in his gut grew thicker and heavier until he felt like he’d swallowed a stone. His brother’s voice was a dull whine at the edge of his hearing. He didn’t let himself listen.
He stopped when his fingers scraped rock, and he pulled back on his haunches to look at the hole. It was big enough. Deep enough for his arm a bit past his elbow. Not too wide, but wide enough to hold Cary’s head without the jar.
“Leo, we’re a pair,” Cary said. His voice was raw and scraping, like he’d been talking for a long time. “Truth and lies. Without me, you’re not anything.”
Just because you hear the truth doesn’t mean you have to speak it,
Leo said, and his mouth said, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t kill you again.”
It made him laugh aloud to hear it.
“You won’t do it,” Cary said fiercely. “I know you don’t want to. I hear it when you’re talking. You don’t want to do this.”
Leo took Cary’s jar and unscrewed the lid. Alcohol fumes filled his eyes and made him blink. He poured off the alcohol and then carefully tipped Cary’s head onto the ground. The faint moonlight picked up the hollows in his brother’s dead face and chased light down his white-blond hair. Leo sat back for a moment, watching him. After all, he and Cary shared the same face. Maybe he would look the same, when he died.
But Cary coughed in the cold dry air and then he didn’t look so dead anymore. A little alcohol dribbled out his mouth.
“Even if you kill me again, it’s not gonna change what you are,” he said. “I told you before. And without me, you’re never going to be able to tell.”
Cary’s voice was much clearer and sharper in the open air. He’d always had that kind of voice, the kind that sounded like the word of God made manifest. Leo picked his brother up and held him aloft. His fingers wrapped under the corners of Cary’s jaw, by the stump of his neck. He thought,
Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it again.
He remembered the feel of the knife jammed through Cary’s windpipe, the rush of hot blood over his hands. It had been far too easy. Barely any resistance at all.
“Nothing about you is real,” Cary said, his voice low enough that Leo had to strain to hear it. “Because even when you talk to yourself, even when you think, you’re only telling yourself what you want to hear.”
I’m not going to listen to you any more,
Leo meant to say, and his voice would be calm and almost
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