Two: The Life And Death of Jerald Brown.

 

NEW YORK CITY.

"Mother, I'm back," came the deep, familiar voice.

Camila Brown willed herself not to startle, not wanting to alert her son that she had been lost in thought once again. With her back still turned to him, she carefully wiped away the tears that had welled up in her eyes as she set down the picture she had been gently caressing, lost in mourning.

She whirled around and managed a watery smile as she approached her son's imposing frame, enveloping him in a tight hug. At least, Jake was here, she thought painfully.

"How was your day at work today?" Camila asked, as she released herself from her son's embrace.

Jake smiled wanly, "It went great. Do you remember Sarah? We performed surgery on her today, and it was a success," he said joyfully.

Sarah was a familiar patient at Jake's hospital, a seven-year-old girl with a fragile heart. The little girl had spent several weeks in the large medical facility and had made many friends, including Camila. Sarah's kind-heartedness, despite her own health struggles, had touched even the most callous souls.

Camila suddenly felt a surge of happiness. "Wow! I'm so thrilled... Who conducted the surgery?" she exclaimed, hugging her son again.

Jake could breathe more easily now that the sadness had vanished from his mother's eyes. "I did, Mother," he replied truthfully, a proud grin on his face. He couldn't entrust little Sarah's surgery to another doctor, even though he knew he had skilled surgeons on his hospital staff.

"Gosh, I'm so proud of you, Jake! I can't wait to tell your father. If only Jerald were here right now..." she trailed off, sensing Jake's tension.

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but she quickly blinked them away. "I'll call William and share this wonderful news with him; I'm sure he'll be thrilled!" she declared, before walking away.

Jake watched her until she disappeared into her room. They both knew she wasn't going to make any calls. No, she was off to resume crying again...only this time, she'll bury her face in the pillow to make sure he doesn't hear. For the past six month, this has been their life.

And he couldn't even blame his mother, or think of advising her. Because they both know he wasn't doing any better either. For the past six months, he'd been feeling like one of his arms had been cut off. Like he'd lost a limb.

Jake headed for his own room, walked through the door and closed it quietly behind him. Then, he put away his suitcase, looking around in the awfully quiet room.

Part of him sometimes left like this was all a dream. That one day, he'll wake up and Jerald would still alive, smiling at him, laughing with him.

It's been six months since the death of Jerald Brown, but Jake Brown still felt like he was the one who'd died.

Jerald Brown was his elder brother by a year and five months—a fact Jerald never let Jake forget. However, you'd never know that when they stand together. They grew up sharing everything, doing everything together. They attended the same grade school and high school, but their paths diverged in college.

Jake pursued his dream of becoming a surgeon in medical school, while Jerald enrolled in business school with plans to take over the family business.

Yet, neither of them followed these career paths after they graduated. Instead, they enlisted in the army, fulfilling a promise they had made to each other as children: to serve their country, grow stronger, and see the world. Enlisting in the army seemed like the best way to achieve these goals.

They trained extensively for two years and excelled in all the training exercises, often ranking at the top. Their upbringing, which included street fights and local combat training, gave them an edge. After their training, they were assigned to the Python Team, an elite special operations group.

For three years, the Python Team never failed a mission. They were unbeatable and took on dangerous missions around the world. Jake served as the team's doctor, especially during emergencies, while Jerald used his keen mind to strategize. The team was composed of seven highly skilled individuals, including the Browns.

Six months ago, they were tasked with a mission to eliminate Khalil Mostafa Ali Reza, a notorious drug dealer and trafficker in Afghanistan. Mostafa was known for his elusiveness, evading capture by authorities worldwide. Rumors suggested that he had influence in high places. The mission, dubbed Operation Un-Done, aimed to capture Mostafa and extract civilians.

Jake lay on his bed, unable to shake the painful memory of that mission. He didn't bother taking headache pills as he usually did when it haunted him, and he let a single tear fall from his eye. Why bother? No one was there to witness his pain.

He couldn't help but remember Operation Un-Done, the mission that took away his best friend, the mission that got Jerald Brown killed.

"When we get back from this mission, we're gonna take a real break. Hell, we might even go on a vacation. What do you think?" Jerald Brown said to his brother, bending down beside his bed as he searched for his guns.

They were at Jerald's house in New York City. Last week, they had stayed at Jake's house, and this week was at Jerald's. They alternated every week, no matter how grown they were, they couldn't bear to stay apart from each other. They had just celebrated their thirty-three birthday. Both were dressed in their army uniforms, preparing for their mission.

"Hell, yeah. We deserve it, you know. We've been working nonstop for the past few years. I don't even have time anymore to visit my own hospital and see how things are going," Jake replied, watching as Jerald retrieved his guns from under the bed.

A few minutes later, they were ready. They headed to the barracks, where they assembled with their team. After some encouraging words from their superiors, the Python Team boarded the helicopter bound for Kandahar, with the sole purpose of capturing the elusive drug lord and freeing his captives. On the chopper, the brothers sat facing each other, their army gear on, but tension gnawed at Jake's shoulders, tightening his muscles.

"Loosen up, bro. It's just another mission," Jerald said lightly, noticing how tense Jake was.

Jake smiled, trying to relax. "You're right. It's just another mission, and we're coming back together, right?"

Jerald seemed to notice the worry in his brother's eyes. Taking Jake's hand, he nodded. "Of course. Together, Jake."

The tension in Jake's shoulders released. Together. It was always them, together. Just like every other time, they'd win this mission and go celebrate together.

.

.

On his bed, Jake rolled over, wiping away the stray tears that had escaped his eyes. He got up and walked to the living room. It was well past midnight, so he was certain his parents had already gone to bed. He went to the wine storage, selected a bottle, and reached overhead to grab a glass. Flopping himself onto a high stool, he poured himself a drink and downed it.

What they didn't know was that it'd been a trap. Khalil Mostafa Ali Reza, was aware of their arrival and had prepared a deadly reception for them. Upon reaching their destination, a cave, they found no sign of Mostafa or his henchmen. Instead, they were greeted by bombs.

The wine burned down Jake's throat, tears streaming down his eyes. Jerald's last moment burned through his mind.

.

.

.

"Get out of here! Go, Jake, go!" Jerald screamed at him.

"I'm not leaving without you, never!" Jake screamed back as he struggled to remove the large rock that had fallen on his brother's leg, preventing his movement.

It was only a matter of time before the bomb would explode, and he couldn't bear to leave without his brother. Everything had been a trap. Mostafa had long since escaped, and the deal was sealed! The information had been wrong, and everything was a setup! A setup! Jake cursed repeatedly.

Jerald groaned in pain, but he held out his hand and caught Jake's, halting his brother's frantic movements. He locked eyes with Jake. "Please, just go. Leave me and go. It's obvious this is the end of my journey..." he said with a sad smile. "It's just a pity that I never got to use my master's degree, I guess."

"Jake! Let's go, the bomb's about to explode!" Adios, one of his team members shouted from outside the cave.

Jake shook his head vehemently, furious tears streaming from his eyes. "Don't say things like that, Jay," he implored his brother, and ignoring his teammates. "If you're not getting out of this cave, then I'm not either. It's always been us, together. You said we'd complete this mission together, remember? How can I go on without you? I don't know how to live without you! So we'll die here, together."

It was now Jerald's turn to shake his head. "What about mother and father? Especially mother? Do you think she can bear losing both of us at the same time? She'll die of heartbreak, Jake. Please, save yourself... And take care of mother too. I'm counting on you, Jake." Jerald said as he gently pushed his twin away from him.

"But...!" Jake began to protest.

"Go!" Jerald shouted.

His teammates then took him by the arms and began dragging him out of the cave while he struggled and begged them to let him go back to Jerald. They refused, and a short distance from the cave, the bomb exploded. "NOOO!!" Jake cried out furiously.

Jerald was gone.

.

.

.

Now, six months after his brother's death, everything had changed. Jake left the team and returned home. He had become a Cardiothoracic surgeon and started his practice in his own hospital. When their mother, Camila, heard the devastating news, it hit her hard—very hard.

Jake left his previous home and moved back to the family residence, The Brown Villa, to stay with their mother and keep a close watch on her. Their mother cried every day for Jerald, and her blood pressure occasionally spiked.

"You'll get yourself drunk, Jake, and you have to go to the hospital tomorrow morning, remember?"

Jake looked behind him and saw his father standing at the door of his room. Dave Brown was a sixty-year old billionaire, who always looked like he hadn't aged a day over forty.  But after the death of Jerald, Dave appeared to have aged twenty years in the last six months. Jerald's death devastated everyone in their family.

"Sorry, Dad. I was just lost in thought. I hope I didn't wake you?" Jake said, with his back to his father, wiping away his tears and trying to appear as normal as possible.

He heard his father's footsteps approaching him. "You didn't wake me, son. Come on, go to bed, sleep it off. You'll feel better in no time."

I wish, Jake almost snorted.

But instead, he nodded, rising. He made his way back to his room. At the door, he paused.

"Is it really working for you, Dad? Sleeping it off and waiting for it to get better?" Jake asked, a note of sadness in his voice.

Dave shook his head firmly. "No, son, it's not. If it were, I wouldn't be awake." He looked every bit his age in that moment, "But we have to keep trying. That's what keeps us alive, son."

Jake nodded in understanding. "Alright. Goodnight, Dad."