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    My Evil Brother
    My Evil Brother
    My Evil Brother
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    My Evil Brother

    By Giuseppe Cristiano

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A summer of video games was all Sam had planned while his parents were busy in their corporate world of finance. There was nothing out of the ordinary until Brennan, his older brother, showed back up unannounced from a long absence. Their bond undiminished, Sam spends all summer with Brennan, learning some useful tricks like thievery, scams, and some fast-talking trouble. What it leads to is more than Sam expected and soon, he'll have to face the truth about his brother and himself.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSeagull Editions
    Release dateMay 18, 2023
    ISBN9798223533955
    My Evil Brother

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      Book preview

      My Evil Brother - Giuseppe Cristiano

      Giuseppe Cristiano

      My evil brother

      © 2021 Seagull Editions s.r.l.

      www.seagulleditions.com

      Prologue

      I know how I got here, and to be perfectly honest, it was a rush. However, they say hindsight is twenty-twenty and I’ve never been lucky enough to have perfect vision. It wasn’t as if I had planned it this way, or even expected it. I’ve never had the perfect family life, and some would say it was privileged, which I could agree with. But when your parents ignore your existence, a mind will do anything to comfort an impressionable little boy.

      That’s what my lawyer said I was - an impressionable little boy. I remember her speaking in my preliminary hearing, pleading with the judge to try me as a minor. I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she told me I wouldn’t serve prison time. I wasn’t so sure of that, even when she spoke to me and my mom in our weekly meeting. We’d been having weekly meetings since the preliminary hearing, which kept my mom up to date on the court stuff. Personally, I found it confusing and boring considering neither my mom nor my lawyer spoke directly to me since the preliminary date. They were too busy talking about possible convictions and likely scenarios.

      On the plus side, the weekly meeting got me out of that small solitary cell they had me in at the state facility. It also got me back into the real world, amongst honking horns, talking people, and everyday life. Not to mention I got my favorite breakfast sandwich from my favorite golden arches every week. It was a great bonus considering I’d been cooped up in a single cell, with little interaction, for the past month. I kept occupied with the one book a week deal until I ripped an illustration out of the last one. I couldn’t help it; the gray and white bleakness of the cell walls was driving me mad.

      They must have thought so too because they haven’t asked me for my book selection for this upcoming week. I don’t know what they expected when they shut up teenagers in small cinderblock cages. Teenagers who grew up on the internet with unlimited access to whatever they wanted to read, view, play, or design. It was maddening for the first week, unable to keep my mind occupied with anything other than a short and uninteresting fiction novel. The worse part about the book was that it was made into a movie already, so I knew the ending. That first week really breaks a person down and I think I would have lost all hope and heart if it hadn’t been for the meds. A nice sedative and three square meals can really mellow a person out, the jitter of inactivity a low rumble by now.

      As the lawyer droned on about likely convictions, potential judge biases, and a plea deal, I watched the scene outside the window. Every week we would come here, to the nice café with a private booth near the huge bay window. My mother would force me to sit near the window, boxing me in so I couldn’t escape. Then she would order me a cocoa and give me my breakfast sandwich from across the street. I was forced to wear an ankle monitor to these outside meetings, which were granted because of the monitor and a few kickbacks to some worthy non-profits made by my mother and father. I found the corruption, and lengths my mother was willing to go to for me, to be charitable. I only recently found out that she didn’t really care for me, more of her reputation as a mother.

      As I munched on my egg and sausage sandwich, I watched out the window as a woman waited at the crosswalk. Her big designer purse was hanging off her wrist lazily and she seemed occupied with taking a selfie on her phone. As if on cue, a man came lunging out of nowhere, snatching the bright green bag before bolting off down the sidewalk. She had barely registered her bag was missing and immediately began screaming, crying, and pointing. The people around her seemed uninterested, a few watching her, others watching the thief. He had disappeared down the street, into a crowd of oncoming suits, making her jump and crane her neck to try and see him. She was speaking on her phone frantically to someone and then she turned, walking into the boutique right next door.

      It was comical to me that she decided that the best place to go, after having her purse snatched and her problems ignored, was a designer store. Some people just had all the best ideas and it made me chuckle out loud. I guess I shouldn’t have done that because the table around me got silent, a few smatterings of egg still stuck to the big clean window.

      Manners, my mother reminded, her dark and perfectly decorated eyes narrowing at me. We’re in public, Samuel.

      Right, because I blend in with the café crowd so well, I scoffed, rolling my eyes at her.

      The long dark jacket that my mother had forced me to wear over my beige jumpsuit didn’t allow me to blend with anything, really. She watched me a moment before turning to the lawyer with a soft, sorrowful smile.

      He’s just irritated, she explained, the pretty dark-haired lady with the pant suit nodding her understanding. We need to see if the judge will reconsider house arrest.

      I can file a motion, but the defense will fight it, the lawyer explained, glancing at me. Her voice was strong but soft and I wondered why she was putting on such a pleasant and optimistic face. She certainly didn’t feel that way about the case. The judge will want him to undergo further psych evaluations and I’ve already petitioned to try him as a minor. It’s going to be tough to swing house arrest as well. 

      But surely he’d benefit from being at home, where he can get the help he needs, my mother pushed, putting on her soft caring mom-voice.

      He can get help in state facilities and it will help our case if the judge sees that he is making more of an effort to atone for his crime, the lawyer explained, picking up her steaming cup of coffee.

      What is this? An inquisition? I asked, eyes narrowed out the window again. The way they spoke, on and on about trials as if they were some sort of exclusive game was annoying. Atone? What does that even mean? Do they want me to do Hail Mary’s or whip myself in public?

      Samuel, my mother sighed, her voice strained. We’re trying to help you avoid serious prison time. Why are you being so difficult?

      Because for the first time in my life, you’re actually paying attention to me, I spat, unable to stop the rage inside my gut. "Maybe you shouldn’t be blaming me for what happened.

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