marriage and the target of their mother’s fury with the world. Their father had been mostly absent, consumed with his research and the acquisition of knowledge and he cared nothing for raising children. They didn’t know what he did with his time, only that when he was at the house, he shut himself away in his study. He often travelled, bringing back strange objects he kept locked away from their prying eyes and sticky hands. The twins were hardly seen and definitely not heard; their mother made sure of that for she was the one who roamed their nightmares. When they were young, she had made them wash all the time, calling them dirty and filthy. She made them scrub with pumice stones until their young skin was raw, chapped and bleeding, even on their private parts. They were stains she wanted to erase from her crumbling world.
Michael was the older twin by minutes and played the protective role, deflecting their mother’s attention from Joseph. For this, she would beat him with sharp metal tools from the kitchen then shut them both under the stairs in the dark. Michael would hold Joseph until his terrified sobbing stopped. He often slept in his brother’s arms there for there was safety was in being together. Apart they would die, but together they were strong. Perhaps I still believe that, thought Joseph.
They had growth spurts in their early teens and Joseph started to become more resilient and able to fend for himself. At 13, Michael had stopped speaking, communicating only with his hands or writing on scraps of paper. Joseph found he could understand his brother just as well, they had a kind of sign language but it was the control over his own body that their mother couldn’t bear. In a rage, she had held Michael’s hand onto the hob of the cooker to make him scream. He hadn’t made a sound and she only stopped when the stench of burning flesh brought Joseph running to help.
At 15, Michael tried to cut off his penis with a knife in the kitchen in front of their mother. She had laughed and urged him on. Joseph had wrested the knife away from his brother but the cut was deep. As he bled, she had just stood there watching as if she would finish the job herself. Joseph called 911 then and told them everything. Social services had taken them away. Michael entered his first psych ward, and never emerged, his condition worsening every year. As Joseph had grown into a wealthy businessman, he had moved Michael into better facilities and always stayed close to the ward so he could visit all the time. Despite his riches, he sometimes felt he was still trapped in that closet with his brother. He needed Michael.
Shaking his head to clear the memories, Joseph turned into the drive of his property, the gates swinging open silently at the touch of the remote. He drove into the underground car park and pulled in next to the other two cars, his own Bugatti Veyron and his wife’s BMW Z4. This meant that she was home, but she would keep to her wing of the house. Joseph had charmed and married the Arizona socialite early in his business career, tempting her with his extravagant lifestyle in order to fulfill the public role demanded of him. He gave her everything she thought she wanted in return for her discretion, her presence at official functions and his privacy. She had learned early on not to ask any more of him, having spent a week in hospital for her audacity. The scars from the beating had marked her, but he had been careful to ensure she could still wear low-cut dresses and short skirts. It was important to maintain a good image at the many community functions they attended. He gave a great deal to the charities and projects of the state, his public life one of power, money and charitable giving. Yet Joseph’s smile was ultimately a mask over the demons of his private life.
Getting out of the car, he walked through the house to the large open plan study that was his real home within the grand
Michael was the older twin by minutes and played the protective role, deflecting their mother’s attention from Joseph. For this, she would beat him with sharp metal tools from the kitchen then shut them both under the stairs in the dark. Michael would hold Joseph until his terrified sobbing stopped. He often slept in his brother’s arms there for there was safety was in being together. Apart they would die, but together they were strong. Perhaps I still believe that, thought Joseph.
They had growth spurts in their early teens and Joseph started to become more resilient and able to fend for himself. At 13, Michael had stopped speaking, communicating only with his hands or writing on scraps of paper. Joseph found he could understand his brother just as well, they had a kind of sign language but it was the control over his own body that their mother couldn’t bear. In a rage, she had held Michael’s hand onto the hob of the cooker to make him scream. He hadn’t made a sound and she only stopped when the stench of burning flesh brought Joseph running to help.
At 15, Michael tried to cut off his penis with a knife in the kitchen in front of their mother. She had laughed and urged him on. Joseph had wrested the knife away from his brother but the cut was deep. As he bled, she had just stood there watching as if she would finish the job herself. Joseph called 911 then and told them everything. Social services had taken them away. Michael entered his first psych ward, and never emerged, his condition worsening every year. As Joseph had grown into a wealthy businessman, he had moved Michael into better facilities and always stayed close to the ward so he could visit all the time. Despite his riches, he sometimes felt he was still trapped in that closet with his brother. He needed Michael.
Shaking his head to clear the memories, Joseph turned into the drive of his property, the gates swinging open silently at the touch of the remote. He drove into the underground car park and pulled in next to the other two cars, his own Bugatti Veyron and his wife’s BMW Z4. This meant that she was home, but she would keep to her wing of the house. Joseph had charmed and married the Arizona socialite early in his business career, tempting her with his extravagant lifestyle in order to fulfill the public role demanded of him. He gave her everything she thought she wanted in return for her discretion, her presence at official functions and his privacy. She had learned early on not to ask any more of him, having spent a week in hospital for her audacity. The scars from the beating had marked her, but he had been careful to ensure she could still wear low-cut dresses and short skirts. It was important to maintain a good image at the many community functions they attended. He gave a great deal to the charities and projects of the state, his public life one of power, money and charitable giving. Yet Joseph’s smile was ultimately a mask over the demons of his private life.
Getting out of the car, he walked through the house to the large open plan study that was his real home within the grand
Similar Books
