John and Nathan Clancy lived in the 'burbs outside of the city. The boys were exact opposites; many people couldn't believe they came from the same family, let alone that they were brothers.
John, the seventeen year old, was the wild one – always getting into trouble, always ready to start a fight. He spent most of his time skipping school, getting high, and generally pissing everyone off that he could. He resented having a stepfather, especially a goody-two-shoes like Blake. He resented his mother for marrying Blake. He resented his real dad for walking out on them all. He resented Nathan for being so perfect and making him look bad. He resented the world for being the fucked up place it was. But mostly, he resented himself for being alive; he knew he was no good. He was a disappointment to his mother. He sure as hell had been a disappointment to his father, who hadn't bothered to stick around for very long. John also knew in his own mind that he was a failure as a big brother. He couldn't help feeling like it was his fault that Daniel Clancy left his wife and children, that it was all John's own fault that the family had fallen apart. He couldn't face the pain and shame. So he hid it deep beneath his own rage at the injustice of it all. He even hid from the rage. He dealt with it the only way he knew how – by avoiding it.
Nathan was thirteen. He was a straight A student. He followed the rules, and worked hard to get the approval of others. He wanted people to be proud of him, to love him. He got this by performing – by being the perfect person. He drove himself hard, the classic over-achiever. But it wasn't to show anyone up, like John thought. It was because Nathan had to atone somehow for his horrible crime. Nathan was the reason that Dad ran away. It was only a couple years after Nathan was born that Dad left. Nathan knew he was responsible for it. He hadn't tried hard enough, he had made too many mistakes. He hadn't been good enough; he had failed his father, and his father left. Nathan wouldn't let that happen again. He drove himself to exhaustion excelling in everything that he could, in every way that he could. Because if he didn't do that, then more people might walk out of his life… and then he would be alone. So he dealt with it the only way he knew how – by driving himself to do better every minute of every day.
Nathan was out on his bicycle doing his paper route when he saw John by the interstate overpass.
"Hey Nate!" The younger boy stopped on his bike and John walked over to him. John laughed derisively. "Man, it's four a.m. and you're out delivering papers? Dude, don't you ever get tired of this crap?" He took a paper, looking at it. "Same shit, different day. So how's momma's boy doin?"
"Mom's worried about you, John," Nathan said carefully. His brother looked like he was strung up on something, and the last thing Nathan wanted to do was set him off.
"Yeah? Heh. I'm surprised she even noticed I was gone."
"Why don't you come home?"
"Why – just so I can hear her and 'Mr. Squeaky Clean' tell me how fucked up I am?" John gave a snort. "I don't think so, little brother."
"Will you at least think about it?"
"I've got a better idea." John grabbed Nathan's sack full of papers off the back of the bike. "How 'bout we have a little fun out here instead?"
"John – don't. I need to deliver those by five."
"I got news for you little bro," John grinned, keeping the papers from Nathan's grasp. "The world ain't gonna end just because you don't get your papers delivered by five."
"C'mon John – give them back!"
John laughed, papers slung over his shoulder and bolting for the bridge. "Come and get 'em little dude!" He ran under the bridge, footsteps on pavement echoing from the steel and concrete around him. He came out the other side and looked back. Nate was pursuing him on his bike. John laughed at him, and ran to the right into the old industrial park.
A screech followed by a blood curdling scream.
John stopped in his tracks. It sounded like it came from under the bridge. He listened.
Silence.
John dropped the duffle of papers. The early morning air suddenly felt cold and oppressive. "Nate…?
A cricket chirped.
John walked back to the bridge. A solitary bike sat on its side in the middle of the road, its back wheel still spinning.
"Nate, this isn't funny. Look, I'm sorry I took your papers – so come out and stop fucking around…"
Movement from the underside of the bridge, above him.
John looked up. He didn't even have time to scream.