What They Took from Me

The summer heat felt like fire as I carried bottled water to Victor in a cheap T-shirt soaked through with sweat.

I was supposedly the younger son of the wealthy Dacre family, yet I lived worse than most ordinary people.

Because Victor was the child my parents truly loved.

Nausea rolled through me. I braced one hand against the wall, struggling to breathe as waves of itching crawled across my skin.

A damp medical report was folded inside my pants pocket.

I swallowed a pain tablet, forced myself onward, and carried the water into Victor's lake house. I had barely set it down in the basement when I realized the door had been locked behind me.

Victor's cruel laughter came from the other side.

"Julian, enjoy yourself."

I began shaking and pounded on the door until my fingers hurt.

"Victor, let me out! Please! Please let me out!"

No one answered, no matter how hoarse my voice became.

I knew he was tormenting me again.

The heat drained the color from my face, and sweat ran heavily down my body. The basement was nearly empty and so dim that fear pressed in from every side.

I tried calling my mother, but she didn't answer.

I called again and again until my phone finally died.

I closed my eyes against the dirty wall and clawed helplessly at my itching arms. Everything hurt.

There was no water. I forced down another pain tablet dry, gagging from the bitter taste and the rawness in my mouth.

Tears streaked through the dust on my face as I collapsed onto the floor and stared at the locked basement door.

I waited there for a full day and night.

The silence became terrifying.

Hungry and exhausted, I felt myself drifting toward sleep.

My head throbbed so badly that reality and hallucination blurred together, and eventually even crying took more strength than I had.

My heart raced harder and harder until everything stopped.

When awareness returned, I saw my own thin body lying on the concrete floor and understood what had happened.

I was dead.

After so much pain, the realization felt strangely clear.

I was dead. My parents probably wouldn't grieve for me.

The body on the floor was only nineteen, filthy and alone in a windowless basement, with no one there to watch him go.

I looked at my own arms and saw how thin they were, covered in angry marks from years of scratching and illness.

Why couldn't I even look healthy in death?

I covered my face with both hands and laughed bitterly until ghostly tears slipped between my fingers.

Then an invisible force pulled me somewhere else.

I found myself inside an extravagant private club, where Victor sat laughing with a beautiful young woman tucked against his side while she held a drink to his lips.

The instant I saw him, I rushed toward him with burning eyes, only to pass straight through his body.

I was dead.

I stood there stunned while his friends joked around him.

"Victor, you locked your brother in the basement. You sure nothing's going to happen?"

Victor sneered and threw an empty cup toward the speaker.

"Don't bring him up. You'll ruin the mood.

"What could happen to him? He was always the healthy one. If Julian hadn't taken it all in the womb, maybe I wouldn't have spent my life sick.

"If he suffers a little, he deserves it."

"Exactly. You're the son your parents actually care about."

When Victor's phone rang, irritation flashed through his eyes. He motioned for everyone to quiet down before answering.

"Mom, I'm eating with friends. Fine. I'll come home later."

The moment the call ended, Victor frowned.

"I'm leaving. Put everything on my tab. My mother is unbelievable - she calls every day to check on me."

My spirit was pulled automatically after Victor as he left, and one bitter thought followed me.

The kind of concern Victor found annoying was something I had never received once.