I KILLED SCOTT

 

I killed my brother. I didn’t actually do it… but I killed him. Why did I do that? What was I thinking? I killed my brother. I hated him but he didn’t deserve to die. I killed him… I killed Scott.

 

/ // begin story \\ \

 

“Dave get your ass off my spot!” Yelled Scott to his younger brother. The Moffatt family was getting ready for a “family night”. That night’s agenda had been to eat popcorn and watch a movie. Simple enough yes, but for the Moffatts that meant canceling a concert, pissing management off, and breaking their fan’s heart. Well for one night anyway.

 

“Get you ass another spot!” Dave reeled back.

 

“My ass wants that spot damn it!”

 

Clint, who had already made a “reserved for Clint Moffatt” sign for the recliner, laughed good-heartedly at his brothers.

 

“Dave if I get back in there and your ass is still in my ass’s spot I swear I am going to kick your ass.” Scott screeched back. He was in the kitchen with his brother Bob and their step-mom Sheila.

 

“Yeah well if your ass comes in here and sees my ass in your spot then when your ass tries to kick my ass my ass will kick your ass back, okay!?”

 

“What?” Scott asked sticking his head in from the kitchen doorway.

 

Clint giggled at Scott’s question.

 

“Just get your ass out of my spot okay?” Scott said as his head went back into the kitchen.

 

Frank, their father, walked in the room just as Dave was giving his little speech. “Alright boys we’ve exceeded the 'ass saying limit' for tonight. Cut it out.”

 

Seeing their father holding three movies in his hand both Dave and Clint jumped up to see what he had rented. Scott took that moment to whiz past Dave and land in his original spot on the couch.

 

“I am the king,” Scott whispered to himself.

 

“Not that movie again Dad.” Clint whined.

 

Perplexed Frank asked, “what?”

 

"The Jackal?" Clint plopped back down on his reserved recliner. “I’d much rather go to sleep.”

 

“Hey The Jackal'? Alright Dad!” Bob said as he came into the living room with two bowls of popcorn.

 

“Yeah you would love that movie, you can watch it a hundred times and never get tired of it. What else did you get?” Clint whined.

 

“Quit your bitching Clint.” Said Scott from his spot.

 

“For you guys? That’s it. These two are for Sheila and me. I’m sorry Clint; I thought you wouldn’t mind watching it again.”

 

“Yeah well I do mind! I’m going to sleep.”

 

“Hey it’s family night, no one leaves on family night.” A stern Sheila said.

 

“Well find some other damn movie!”

 

Pissed off, Scott said, “Clint chill! Let’s see what’s on TV.”

 

Scott turned on the television and looked through the on-screen menu. Nothing was on that tickled Clint’s fancy so he sat in a sulk throughout “The Jackal”. His father backed Sheila up by saying that no one, unless deathly ill, was allowed to skip on family night.

 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Clint mumbled.

 

When no one acknowledged his announcement Clint stalked off.

 

“Stupid movie. We’ve seen it how many fucking times? Damn Scott, damn Bob… Damn Dad too.” He passed the bathroom and walked on to his room. “I’m starting to hate that movie.”

 

The room that Clint shared with Dave was relatively neat. His side was well kept and in order. Dave had a few sloppy areas but for the most part Clint approved. He flopped down on the carpeted floor and dug under his bed for the wooden box he kept under there. When he felt it he pulled it out and opened it. Lying on velvet lining laid his knife. It was a gift from one of his friends.

 

“Pretty, pretty… pretty knife.” He turned it and examined it. He even polished it quickly before putting it away when he heard footsteps in the hallway.

 

“What?” He asked Scott who was standing in the doorway.

 

“Nothing… you’re never going to use that thing you know.”

 

“What thing?”

 

“Duh? Your knife. You’re always going to stare at it and wonder what will become of it. But I can tell you right now what’ll become of it. Nothing. It’s always going to sit on the velvet lining and you’re always going to polish it and you’ll never do anything with it.”

 

“Just leave me alone.”

 

“What’s been your problem lately? It seems your bitching on everything lately.”

 

“You are! You keep ragging on me. You think I like having you be a major pain in my ass? I don’t and I swear if you don’t…”

 

“…if I don’t what? Leave you alone? You’ll what? Huh Clint? What will you do to me?” Scott walked over towards his brother and stared down at him. Clint stood up and stared his older brother in the face.

 

“I swear you’ll regret it. Just leave me alone for one fucking week and I’ll be fine. If you can’t do that then… I’ll get you for it. I’d be fine without you on my case.”

 

Scott smirked, “right Clint. I pick on you a few times and you’re going to kick my ass for that?”

 

“A few times! A few times! I don’t think so. First it was about dating Becky. She’s not good enough for me you said. She’s disgusting you said. Then it was about my voice; suddenly my voice sounds like shit on one song and you ask to have Bob sing it? Bob! Then you borrow my sweater without asking, after you gave the three of us a long-ass boring lecture on sharing clothes. I mean God! A lecture on borrowing clothes!”

 

“…okay I get it! So I’ve bothered you a few times. Chill out!”

 

“No Scott,” Clint started, “it’s more then a few times and I will not chill out unless you make a promise to leave me alone for a week.”

 

Scott smiled, “you’re serious? Well I’ll tell you what. I won’t promise and wait to see how you 'get me', okay? I want to see what you’ll do about it. Just for my curiosity.” With that Scott walked out of the room.

 

“Curiosity killed the cat Scott.”

 

Twenty minutes later Clint calmly walked back into the living room and sat down on his recliner. He finished “The Jackal” in silence not really watching the movie. When it was over and everyone announced that they were going to sleep he didn’t say one word to anyone. Instead he walked, just as calmly as before, into his room and lay down. He closed his eyes and peacefully went to sleep.

 

Dave stared at him for a few minutes. Something just didn’t seem right about Clint.

 

“Eh… I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow,” Dave whispered to himself.

 

Early in the morning, around 2:30, Clint woke himself up and kneeled on the floor in front of his bed. He reached under and grabbed the familiar box. Out came the knife and there went Clint in the direction of Scott and Bob’s room.

 

He opened the door and walked over to Bob’s bed. Staring down at his sleeping twin Clint whispered, “I love you Bob.” Then he turned to Scott’s bed. “I hate you Scott,” he whispered.

 

He raised the knife over head and held it in air for three seconds. As he swiftly lowered it Scott’s eyes opened and he rolled over on his side. The knife ripped through Scott’s pillow.

 

“What the…” Scott asked but was cut off as Clint raised the knife again.

 

“I hate you Scott.” He brought it down again but Scott jumped off his bed and put himself behind Clint. He reached in front of his crazed brother trying to get the knife away and shut his eyes, expecting the blade to cut his skin. When it didn’t and he had the handle in his right hand Scott pulled it away and backed away from Clint.

 

Clint turned around and silently charged at Scott. Scott raised the knife in hopes that he would scare Clint and at that moment he felt Bob grab the knife away from him and then felt a sharp, hot pain in his back.

 

The knife was pulled out if his back and he slowly turned around to face his brother.

 

“Bob…?” Scott fell over and never got back up.

 

Frank ran into the room and flipped the light switch on. What he saw was enough to make his stomach turn. On the floor lay his oldest son with blood practically pouring from his back. On the bed sat his second oldest son who looked to be in shock; kneeling in front of him was his third oldest son who was yielding a blood-covered knife.

 

“Clint? Are you okay? Clint!” Said Bob who was trying to wake Clint up from his shock.

 

Clint turned toward his twin and said, “I love you Bob.” Bob smiled through tears and hugged him close.

 

“What… what happened?” Frank asked.

 

Both boys turned toward their father, Bob stood up. He looked down at his right hand and saw the bloody knife. All at once he dropped it as if it burned him.

 

“Dad… I… what…” Bob looked down at Scott and fell to his knees. “What did I do? Wait… no… no! No Scott get up. Come on Scott get up! Damn it, get up now!”

 

Frank leaned on the doorjamb for support. Clint stared straight ahead, expressionless. Bob continued shaking his brother desperately trying to wake him up.

 

The next few hours were all bad for everyone. Sheila and Dave walked into a horror scene. Frank called an ambulance.

 

When the ambulance finally came they put Scott on a stretcher and Frank rode with his son. Sheila and the boys piled into the black minivan and drove to the hospital. Clint, still emotionless, said nothing. Dave asked questions and Bob refused to answer. Sheila, an emotional wreck, wept softly. When they reached the hospital Bob ran to meet his father.

 

Frank, wide-eyed and pale, stared at Bob for the longest time before bursting out in tears. “Bob… he’s… you… Scott’s dead… you killed Scott.”

 

Bob shook his head and ran into Scott’s room. A white sheet covered his oldest brother’s body. He ran up to it and pulled the sheet off of his face. Scott’s face was pale yet peaceful. His eyes were closed

 

Crying, Bob hugged his brother. “No! No Scott don’t go. You can’t leave. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t… I’m sorry! Come back! I love you, don’t leave me.” Bob hugged his body and finally let go when Scott wouldn’t wake up. “I didn’t want to kill you, I didn’t mean to.”

 

When Bob walked out of the room he saw his father hugging his wife and openly crying. Sheila was crying too. Along with Dave. Clint sat still and unmoved on a chair that was next to the door.

 

An hour later Sergeant Morris was questioning Bob in an empty room at the police station. He told the officer everything he knew about what happened. “I didn’t mean to kill my brother. He was… he was going to hurt Clint. I thought he might have hurt me too. So I… but I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want Scott to die. He was my brother. I loved him. He tried hurting Clint… I didn’t mean to…”

 

The case was filed as ‘self-defense’ with the assumption that Bob was protecting Clint from an attack from Scott. Bob, meaning to stun Scott, had punctured his heart. Scott died moments after the knife cut through him. Bob didn’t go to jail but he was placed on a short probation term and on servalence.

 

The night of Scott’s funeral Clint sat up in his head whispering to himself, “I killed my brother. I didn’t actually do it… but I killed him. Why did I do that? What was I thinking? I killed my brother. I hated him but he didn’t deserve to die. I killed him… I killed Scott.”

 

/ // end story \\ \

 

© 2000 KimbersAnn