Acheros Edgerton stood calmly staring out the window of his apartment, his gaze unsettled by the various figures drifting far below his perch. His blue eyes gazed from the behind the protection of his wire rimmed, golden glasses, betraying little of the emotion stirring far beneath the surface. Who was she? He ran a shaking hand through his closely cropped brown hair, smoothing out the creases as they rose beneath his fingertips. So much like She had been. Her face, her features. Even the way she walked. It was exactly as Ro recalled Her. But it couldn’t be. Could it? There was no way it could possibly be Her.

    “Ro, are you even listening to me right now?” 

    Ro cocked his head, tearing his vision from the crowds streaming below his window. His blue eyes led his vision to that of Atticus, his elder brother. Atticus was far more solidly built than Ro, as he was called. At 6’2”, 215 pounds, he was the spitting image of their father. And Ro was envious of that. Perhaps if Ro had looked more like his father, his life could have been different. Better, easier. But he didn’t look like Arthur Edgerton. And his father refused to even mention the features of Karen, Acheros’s mother. It was “too much pain” he had always said. So, Ro didn't know who he resembled in their long family line. 

    “I’m sorry, say it again.” Ro’s voice was detached, wary. His brother had never spoken more than one kind word to him in a single meeting, and he was no doubt busy lambasting him for another of what was sure to be a heavy offense in his eyes. That was how it had always been. One mistake after another. He could never catch a break with either Atticus or Arthur.

    Atticus rolled his big, brown eyes, throwing his arms towards the ceiling in exasperation. “Unbelievable. Brother, you have no idea how much grief you cause me on an average day. I am ashamed to call you part of this family. If it were my place, I’d have you removed, strip you of your name and everything you ever had from this family. But it isn’t my place, and Father thinks too much about the honor we have to put a blight on our record like that.”

    Ro let out a long sigh, turning his back once more. He wiped away the condensation gathering on the window, again glancing over the crowd in an effort to locate the mystery woman. The weather outside was dreary, rain fell in droves and the trees were nearly bent sideways from the brisk wind. Dark, ominous clouds denied any remaining hope of a bright ray from the sun, and the air must have been middlingly cold, Ro knew. “Did you have any point other than your hatred for me? You know, I have news of my own I’d like to share, if you’re quite finished.”

    Atticus snorted, folding his arms across his chest. “I am not finished, dear brother,” he sneered the words in the exact manner Acheros had always been accustomed to. “Of course I have a point in visiting you, God only knows I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Father has asked you to return to the estate back home. I have no idea what he wants from you, but he said it’s urgent, and expects you there within the next few days.”

    Ro laughed, the sound foreign even to himself. Since She was gone, everything felt foreign, even still. But his father? What could Arthur possibly expect from his outcast son? An update on his business? A look into how Ro’s finances could benefit the Edgerton name? His father didn’t love him. No one loved him. Not like She had, at least. She had been his world, his only care in all he did. “No doubt he wants to lambast me just as you have. Do you have any idea why I moved away from the two of you?”

    Atticus shrugged his shoulders, his head turning to glance at the mess of boxes strewn about Acheros’s makeshift living area at the moment. His gaze was indifferent, as it always was when Acheros was the topic at hand. “No, I can’t think of a single thing.” Ro would have laughed at that, too, had it not been serious. Atticus had never been one to fully grasp reality. He didn’t have the intellect that Acheros possessed.     Acheros drifted from the window, his feet carrying his weight on a whim of their own. He passed by a stack of boxes just to the left of the window, and plopped himself carefully down in a soft, cushioned chair he used for business. Letting out a long breath of air, he gazed over the top of his glasses. “You never did quite understand what you did to me. You are barely a brother to me. In fact, you aren’t. We may share the same blood, but in all other facets, you are nothing but an enemy. Long have I loathed you, and Father, for what you put me through as a child. Every little mistake, every small mix up. Even things that were never my fault, always found a way to circle back to me. And you gave me hell for every one of them. You’ve always hated me, and don’t try to deny it. Hated me for something over which I had no power, no ability to control. Mother died after I was born, and my place in the world was immediately determined by you and Father. I would never amount to more than dirt, according to the two of you.”

    “Now wait a minute, Ro. That’s--”

    Ro held up a single hand, stopping his brother midsentence. “I told you not to deny it. All of it’s true. And I am far from finished. Long have I held my tongue against the two of you. Long have I sat in dejected silence, contemplating just what I did to deserve my plight. Do you know what kind of turmoil I went through? For 22 years of my life, do you have any idea what kind of mental instability your hatred caused me? I can’t count how many times I stood with a rope fastened in a noose, held in this hand,” Acheros held up his right hand, the golden band on his ring finger glowing from the ceiling light. “But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And I discovered why I couldn’t during my 22nd year. When I met Cecilia, and I found out for the first time what love truly felt like. Not just what it was like to love someone, but what it felt like to have someone love you. I don’t expect you to understand, Atticus. Even if you were intelligent enough to grasp the concept, you’d never fully appreciate things from my view. When you spend a lifetime shadowed in hatred, a single person’s love is akin to the light from the sun. And for eight years, I loved her and she loved me. Eight long years, Atticus.”

    “Acheros. Please, I never--”

    “No. No, no, Atticus. I don’t want you to defend yourself. I don’t want to hear your explanation of why you treated me the way you did.” He paused, staring at the shocked and ruined visage of his brother. “And I am not finished.” His tone dipped into a well of anger that had seldom been tapped in thirty two years. “Cecilia Beck was everything to me. She was my joy. She was my heart and soul. I was set to marry her, that beautiful, perfect woman. But do you know what happened?” A terrible, strained silence grew for a few moments in the room, as Acheros calmly stared at the brother who had always thought nothing of him, who had treated him as no more than a boy pulled off the street. He shook his head, laughing in contempt. “She died, Atticus. She died in a car crash that I caused. And now, my heart and soul and life is gone. The only person who ever loved me as I am is dead and now I’m left with two men-- barely even family-- who treat me like nothing. Who is a disgrace to our family, to the Edgerton name? You are, Atticus. Arthur, our father, is. You made me the way I am, you set the path of my life the moment Mom died. And because of that, I never trusted myself. Never loved myself. And I lost the one person who ever did. So why in Hell would I ever return to the estate that forever fucked up my pretty life? No matter what Arthur expects to hear from me, or expects to tell me, I want nothing more to do with this family. You can tell our loving Father that I won’t be joining him.”

    Atticus struggled to stand, his heavy build and strong shoulders trembled. he collapsed to his knees in the middle of the floor, his wretched, eyes staring straight back at Acheros, as though he were pleading with him to say anything to appease his pain.  “Brother, I know I never treated you fairly, but I am sorry. I know what grief can do to a person, I know what pain you feel at losing Cecilia.”

    Acheros bounded to his feet in an instant, throwing his arm wide, he knocked a lamp from a table, the sound of it crashing to the floor barely an afterthought in his mind. Acheros’s eyes clouded over with rage, his tone louder and far angrier than he had ever felt it before. “Don’t you say another God damn word, Atticus. You know nothing of her. You know nothing of what I’ve felt the past two years without her. You never once experienced even a sliver of the pain I feel every single day.” Taking in a deep, fresh breath, Acheros calmed himself, moving away from the blind rage he felt. After a few moments, his eyes firmly squeezed shut, Acheros felt himself relax, the anger subsiding from the forefront of his mind. He continued, though his tone was far more subdued, personal. “Atticus, get off your knees. You’re better than that, at least.” He waited until his trembling brother had gathered his emotions sufficiently and risen to his feet. “Now then, I did have news to tell you, before we launched into this episode. What I have been meaning to tell you for some time is that I am moving. I’m leaving Kansas entirely, and heading East.”

    “East? What’s out East? And, Acheros, I am so sorry. I don’t know what else to say about-- Well, about it all.”

    Acheros shook his head, smiling absently. “I didn’t expect you to say anything, Atticus. You never were able to say anything intelligent. As for what could bring me out East, I don’t know. But I can’t suffer another day here, knowing that she died blocks away from where we’re at right now. And I don’t want to be close enough for a family who has never loved me to come calling the moment I’m needed for whatever shit you dream up. Maybe I’ll see Baltimore, I never got a chance to appreciate it before we moved. Who knows. But I’m leaving tomorrow. So tell Arthur I won’t be joining him, and don’t bother to look me up. You won’t find me, I’ll make damn sure of that.”

    Atticus nodded slowly, reality finally setting in. He understood. After all those long years of hardship Atticus had caused Ro, he finally understood. “Alright, Ro. I’ll tell Dad. But I wasn’t lying. I understand grief. Maybe not the grief you’re going through, but you aren’t the only man to experience grief. Whatever you do out there in the East, I hope it brings you some peace. I hope it settles you. I think we both know you won’t find it here.”

    Acheros snorted, striding to his doorway. He wrenched open the heavy, metal door with a single pull of his wrist, motioning for his brother to leave his place for good. “Maybe I will find peace out there, but it can’t be any worse than living another day here. Goodbye, Atticus. I wish I could say that I’ll miss you, but I’m not sure I will. And I know the sentiment wouldn’t be returned.” 

    Atticus shuffled awkwardly through the open door, his gate almost apologetic. Acheros slammed the door, and-- after locking it tight-- leaned his aching back against it. He sighed, removing his glasses with his free hand. Rubbing his eyes to remove the fatigue he felt, Ro pushed himself from the door with a surge of energy.

    His feet echoed dully throughout the complex, leading him to his bedroom door. Carefully, hesitating a moment, he held the golden, freezing doorknob in his left hand. He pulled the door open, old hinges creaking from the effort. Sliding inside the dark room, his hand felt blindly along the wall for the illusive light switch. Finally finding purchase, the room was bathed in bright, white light. The walls were the same drab gray they had always been. Cecilia had planned on painting it. Something bright. Something happy. But that was a long time ago. Before him, as always, sat his bed, barely unkempt. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep in it, not once in the past two years had he disturbed the setting. It was as She had last made it, no different. Shaking his head to clear his emotion, he strode to the closet on the left wall of the room, protected by a solid wooden door made of heavy oak. It was kept under a heavy key lock, to which was only one key, always in the possession of Acheros. 

    His hands trembling, he inserted the tiny, metallic key into the lock, turning it until the familiar click signaled its opening. The lock fell from the door, landing on the floor with a heavy thud, but it made no difference to Ro. His heart beat sounded far louder within his mind, every beat echoing immensely. Slowly, ever so slowly, he inched the door open, one tiny crack at a time. With each crack, more and more light from the bedroom streamed into the closet, bathing much of the interior in a cold, white brilliance.

    A tremulous, tightly curled form was slowly revealed, legs bare save for a pair of what barely passed for shorts. Throwing the door open wide, Acheros gazed with melancholy at the fully revealed figure. She was nearly the spitting image of Cecilia. Her feet were bare, tiny toes curled up as though to defend herself. Her legs were bound together by a terribly tight rope at her ankles. Moving his gaze slowly up her form, Acheros noted how striking a resemblance she bore to Cecilia. Her arms were tied tight behind her back, the rope matching the one around her ankles. Her loose t-shirt was the only article of clothing she had been wearing when Acheros had discovered her. It was simple, really. She had been even easier than the others before her. But, like all the rest, she would never do. She wasn’t Cecilia. She could never be Cecilia. None of them could be. It was as plain as the hideous, brown birthmark staining the skin at the base of her neck. Cecilia never had a birthmark, no scars to speak of. She was bare. Beautiful. This woman was not her. No woman would ever come close to Cecilia.

    “God, what have I done? What have I done?”

    Her mouth pressed against the thick tape Acheros had drawn over it. She would never break it by sheer will, none of them ever had. And Acheros had become very adept at ensuring this was so. Her green eyes, startlingly bright, were hidden behind a sheen of tears. 

    “I can’t. I’m so sorry. I can’t let you go. I thought--” He choked back feelings deep in his throat. “I thought it could be Her, but you just aren’t the same. I’m sorry. I’ve got no choice, don’t you see?” Acheros tried to get her to understand. She had to understand.

    But they never did. Acheros resigned himself, pulling from some hidden strength he didn’t even know he possessed. “I am sorry, but this is what must be done.” Acheros reached into his back pocket, a cold, glistening knife emerging in his right hand. The blade was sharp enough to cut at a single touch, and long enough to do damage if used correctly. Acheros sighed, he hated this part. But it had to be done. Leaning forward, the cold steel glittered in the cold light, and the woman’s silent scream was like a needle in Ro’s hardened heart.