Read Online The Other Brother by Brandon Massey - Free Book Online
Authors: Brandon Massey
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seeing the guy in the flesh.
He and Gabriel looked so much alike, it was almost as if he were viewing a film of himself.
They had the same complexion, the identical lean, sixfoot-tall build. Similar facial features.
He zoomed in for a closer look.
On closer scrutiny, he noticed differences. Gabriel's face was pudgier than his, as if storing deposits of baby fat. Gabriel had a short fade haircut, too, and a goatee, while Isaiah was clean-shaven and his dome was completely bald.
Isaiah wondered if they shared the same gray eyes. He couldn't be sure; the binoculars weren't powerful enough to allow him to discern eye color.
Gabriel moved differently, too. His movements were slow, a bit lazy-the movements of a man lulled by a sedentary, privileged lifestyle. Isaiah moved with the quick, economical grace of a man who'd spent his entire life on the edge.
As Isaiah watched, Gabriel set the broom against the wall and picked up a cordless phone. A grin spread across Gabriel's face. He rubbed his belly.
It was the perfect tableau of a man gorging himself on the good life.
"Spoiled motherfucker," Isaiah muttered.
Grinning and laughing as he talked to someone on the phone-probably a woman--Gabriel shuffled out of sight, disappearing deeper into his luxurious house. He reappeared moments later in the living room. He sat on a sofa and propped his feet on an ottoman. He sipped a glass of iced tea. Still yapping on the phone.
Isaiah had to restrain the urge to explode out of the car and rush to Gabriel's house.
"Patience," he advised himself. "Patience"
But patience wasn't his strong suit. He hated waiting, for anything. That was one of the reasons why he'd committed so many crimes back in the day. Why work a minimum-wage job and sock away pennies in hopes of purchasing a new television, when you could easily break in someone's house and just take the damn thing? When every day might be your last, you learned to take the things you wanted to satisfy your desires immediately-because tomorrow might never come.
But he was a stronger person now. More disciplined. He had to stick to his plan.
So Isaiah quelled his turbulent emotions by imagining that he was the one sitting on Gabriel's sofa in that huge house. Sipping iced tea. Talking on the phone to a fine woman who was begging, eager to come over and fuck him.
I could live that life, Isaiah thought. It could be mine.
He continued to watch Gabriel, and his imagination was so vivid that, soon, he was sitting on that sofa, living that lavish lifestyle, and he looked out the window of his tastefully appointed living room and saw Gabriel Reid, standing in the front yard, bedraggled and beaten-and Isaiah waved at him, snapped the curtains shut, and poured himself another delicious glass of tea.
Chapter 8
fter the episode in the bathroom, Gabriel cleaned the -house thoroughly. As he put things in order and sanitized and swept various surfaces, he felt as though he were putting his thoughts back in order, too. By the time he had finished cleaning, he'd reached a conclusion about what had happened.
It was a fluke.
Everyone, at some time, experienced an event that could not easily be explained. For example, you think of your friend and how you'd like to talk to him, and a minute later your phone rings and it's him calling. Or you start humming a favorite song, and you switch on the radio, and lo and behold, that very song is playing. Or you decide to drive a different route to work, just for a change, and you find out later that by taking an alternate route you avoided a three-car wreck.
Or a bathroom door appears to open on its own...
Those things happened to everyone once or twice in a lifetime. Those incidents were coincidences, and could likely be explained by statistics-or, in his case, by someone with a strong grasp of physics.
A fluke. He wasn't losing his mind. It was nothing worth dwelling on.
While cleaning, he talked on the phone with friends and family, and when he
He and Gabriel looked so much alike, it was almost as if he were viewing a film of himself.
They had the same complexion, the identical lean, sixfoot-tall build. Similar facial features.
He zoomed in for a closer look.
On closer scrutiny, he noticed differences. Gabriel's face was pudgier than his, as if storing deposits of baby fat. Gabriel had a short fade haircut, too, and a goatee, while Isaiah was clean-shaven and his dome was completely bald.
Isaiah wondered if they shared the same gray eyes. He couldn't be sure; the binoculars weren't powerful enough to allow him to discern eye color.
Gabriel moved differently, too. His movements were slow, a bit lazy-the movements of a man lulled by a sedentary, privileged lifestyle. Isaiah moved with the quick, economical grace of a man who'd spent his entire life on the edge.
As Isaiah watched, Gabriel set the broom against the wall and picked up a cordless phone. A grin spread across Gabriel's face. He rubbed his belly.
It was the perfect tableau of a man gorging himself on the good life.
"Spoiled motherfucker," Isaiah muttered.
Grinning and laughing as he talked to someone on the phone-probably a woman--Gabriel shuffled out of sight, disappearing deeper into his luxurious house. He reappeared moments later in the living room. He sat on a sofa and propped his feet on an ottoman. He sipped a glass of iced tea. Still yapping on the phone.
Isaiah had to restrain the urge to explode out of the car and rush to Gabriel's house.
"Patience," he advised himself. "Patience"
But patience wasn't his strong suit. He hated waiting, for anything. That was one of the reasons why he'd committed so many crimes back in the day. Why work a minimum-wage job and sock away pennies in hopes of purchasing a new television, when you could easily break in someone's house and just take the damn thing? When every day might be your last, you learned to take the things you wanted to satisfy your desires immediately-because tomorrow might never come.
But he was a stronger person now. More disciplined. He had to stick to his plan.
So Isaiah quelled his turbulent emotions by imagining that he was the one sitting on Gabriel's sofa in that huge house. Sipping iced tea. Talking on the phone to a fine woman who was begging, eager to come over and fuck him.
I could live that life, Isaiah thought. It could be mine.
He continued to watch Gabriel, and his imagination was so vivid that, soon, he was sitting on that sofa, living that lavish lifestyle, and he looked out the window of his tastefully appointed living room and saw Gabriel Reid, standing in the front yard, bedraggled and beaten-and Isaiah waved at him, snapped the curtains shut, and poured himself another delicious glass of tea.
Chapter 8
fter the episode in the bathroom, Gabriel cleaned the -house thoroughly. As he put things in order and sanitized and swept various surfaces, he felt as though he were putting his thoughts back in order, too. By the time he had finished cleaning, he'd reached a conclusion about what had happened.
It was a fluke.
Everyone, at some time, experienced an event that could not easily be explained. For example, you think of your friend and how you'd like to talk to him, and a minute later your phone rings and it's him calling. Or you start humming a favorite song, and you switch on the radio, and lo and behold, that very song is playing. Or you decide to drive a different route to work, just for a change, and you find out later that by taking an alternate route you avoided a three-car wreck.
Or a bathroom door appears to open on its own...
Those things happened to everyone once or twice in a lifetime. Those incidents were coincidences, and could likely be explained by statistics-or, in his case, by someone with a strong grasp of physics.
A fluke. He wasn't losing his mind. It was nothing worth dwelling on.
While cleaning, he talked on the phone with friends and family, and when he
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