Preface
The man who claims to be my brother is not my brother.
His body, his face, his smile, his laugh; they are not his.
They belong to someone else.
I was the last one to see his body, his face, his smile and to hear him laugh.
The man who accompanies me is not the son of my father, but the son of the Devil.
See, I murdered my brother. I killed him. So how can it be that the man you call my brother is truly my brother?
He has been long dead, good sir.
Oh, please do believe me.
I must tell someone.
And you are that someone.
I did not kill him solely for the purpose of envy, or avarice. Surely those characteristics that I possessed did affect how I acted towards my brother. But the real reason I decided to murder him was for my parents.
Let me start from the beginning, and let me fill you in on what I have not stated beforehand.
~

My name is Matthew Grant, and I am the first son of the blacksmith, Gregory Grant.


My brother is, or should I say was, James Grant. Growing up, I was repeatedly told by my late mother, Laura Miller, that James and I were of the same blood, sons of the same man, and that together we must stand forever.


But, alas, one night, my father opened the door to a poor man who claimed to be the real father of James. He entered our small cottage and knelt down, with his face in his hands. He constantly sobbed, “Son, I am here to retrieve you.”


And at first, we, but for my mother, were all very confused. Who gave this man the right to disturb our peace and cry that he had a son here?


My mother, upon seeing the face of the stranger and listening to his plea, made a face I cannot rid my mind of. The shock she felt was so great, she collapsed.


“Laura, tell me, what is going on?” my father asked her. “Who is this man who claims to be the real father of one of my sons? Am I not the one who impregnated you with the boy?”


“Laura, what lies do you tell? Sir,” the man said, turning to my father, “Laura spent one night with me in return for a dinner to feed her child. She said to me that she was a widow who was willing to do what she could in order to help her one son survive.”


“Laura, is he telling the truth?”

“Kind husband, he…he…why should I fib any longer? YES! This man…he…h…speaks the…truth,” Mother responded. Tears were running down her face at a great speed. “It was when you, you left for the trip to Barcelona. Matthew was starved, and I, being only a woman, had no food to feed him. I had to care for Matthew!”


“Sons, leave me alone with your mother,” Father said to us. Never had we seen our father hit our mother, nor were we of age to realize what was happening. If I recall clearly, I was nine years of age, and James was seven. Being ignorant to the anger that had swelled up inside my father, both of us left and went to our bedroom.


I heard many noises, but never did I think that Mother was being abused. I sat in silence against the wall, with James’ soft head lying on my thighs. He fell asleep, and I did too. It was the last peaceful sleep I would ever receive.

Some moments later, I was woken by my mother. I could not see her face clearly, for it was dark. But I felt a warm liquid drip on my bare legs. She caressed my face, as well as James’ and made me promise one thing to her.


“Matthew, you are the oldest boy here. You are the only man I consider strong enough to complete the journey I will send you on. Restore the honor of our family. When you are of age, you must fight for me. I am going away now, okay?”


“Where, where are you going?”


“I am going to the kingdom of the kindest soul in this world. Or perhaps the kingdom of the most evil being in this world. But wherever I am, I will be watching you and James.”


She left the room, delivering only a kiss to my forehead, and left. I felt as if it was a dream; just a vision conjured up by my subconscious mind. But the scream that I heard proved to me that I was still awake. If I was asleep, I would have jolted from my place. But I heard it clearly and ran to the front of the hovel, leaving James’ head on the floor. The sight that awaited me was so horrible; no words can accurately describe what I saw.

The body of my father lay lifeless on the floor, blood pouring from his head. And the body of my mother was adjacent to his. I saw a thin layer of blood floating atop her opened eyes and a dark red liquid splashed across her face.


The stranger approached me, his hands were maroon, and he pushed me to the floor and asked me where James was. I answered, “In the bedroom.”


He ran to the room and returned with a still sleeping James in his arms.

“Where are you taking my brother?” I asked.

“He is not your brother. He is my son. You will never see him again.”


The man ran, leaving me surrounded in the blood of my parents.


And I swear to God, the only emotion I felt was anger. There was no grief, nor depression, just rage.
I ran to the door and screamed, “You will have to answer to God one day!”

And the man just snickered, and his eyes turned red.
~
I understand you wish to hear of my journey and how I proved myself to be a hero and all, but first, I must briefly explain what the conditions were following the death of my parents.
The screams and cries attracted the attention of a priest who lived behind us. He entered my home, and listened to what I had to say. He, along with his companions, prepared a funeral for the deceased and told me he would take me and have me live in the Church.
So, for the next seventeen years, I spent my time working as part of the Church, educating those in the lessons of the Bible, but not a second passed without me recalling my parents and the man who murdered them. My mother’s words before dying hit me harder and harder every time I grew older.
“Restore the honor of our family. When you are of age, you must fight for me.”
During my time at the Church, I also gained many friends who would sit down with me and come up with ideas on how to attack this man of the Devil. But one was brave enough to come with me on my journey to find the man. His name was Joseph.
Joseph was an orphan also, accepted by the Father Jacobs. However, his parents died a more honorable death than my own parents’. They were murdered by a gang on their way to Bethlehem.
One night, we were both outside, on the front lawn, welcoming members inside for the evening prayers.
There was this one man who was passing the Church whose eyes, when they met mine, seemed to glisten red and he smiled. And at the same time, I felt a cold chill run down my body and I knew that the man was James. It was the first word that came out of my mouth when I saw him.
And he heard me.
“How do you know my name?” he asked.
My mother’s last words came back to me. James most likely lived with the man who killed my parents. I must fight for them. This was the only way.
I took James by the arm, sat him down, and told him everything that had happened in the past seventeen years, leaving out the part about who killed my parents, and instead, told him that they died in a car accident and we were separated by the Church. The whole time, I felt a great animosity towards the man.
James, in hearing my explanation, looked at me in remembrance and seemed to have recalled the past.
“Matthew, it really is you, is it not?”
“Yes, dear brother. We must meet each other in a place where I can see you!”
“I agree Matthew, and you must meet my wife and son. But the man who I called father died. Alas, it was a tragedy. He had a sudden heart attack in front of the Church one day.”
“Oh, how distressing!” I replied. And it came to me, if the man already died because of walking past a church, he was truly a man of the Devil. But my mission was not over. From that moment on, I was to set out on a journey; an odyssey to end the life of a brother.
~


The next day, I requested time off to visit James, along with Joseph. I told my companion of my reunion with James and the information I had received. Since the Devil man was dead, I had the duty to kill his son. The whole night Joseph and I stayed awake, and in the cover of the dark, we rewrote or plans on how to kill James. Joseph was not only my friend, but my guide as well. He was older than me by four years, but he still had a logical mind. His courage motivated me, and together, nothing seemed impossible.
The next morning, I wore armor made of hard leather, as did Joseph. On top of our protection, we wore long cotton tunics, and hid knives and a gun in a satchel hidden by the cotton robe. I was exceptionally skilled in the slaughtering of animals, for I was usually given the duty of sacrificing cattle for dinners at Church. As far as the visibility of my weapons, the Father did not notice, the prayers did not notice, and most importantly, James did not notice.
But at first, I was reluctant to kill him. He was not aware of his deeds, and God would never forgive me for killing my brother, even if he was from a different man. But I had a legitimate reason to end his life. He inherited the sin of his father, and the only way to end this inheritance was to kill James. That was the thought that I had placed in my mind on the journey from the town to the city.
The strategy was to act as if we were really true friends of James. We would earn his trust, and at the last moment, kill him. Joseph would take his son to the Church while I disposed of the body and kill the wife.
Nothing could go wrong.
Or so we thought.
~
We arrived at James’ home around evening. The sun was setting behind the tall skyscrapers and the chilly Spanish breeze whipped around my body. James spotted us waiting outside in the cold and rushed to invite us in. The sight of his smile was a stab to my heart. He truly was beautiful and happy. Surely he had nothing to do with my parents’ murder, but I had to kill him.
But the sight of his toddler son running behind his father in joy reminded me that I would never see my own father ever again. Although a sudden pang of guilt hit me, I was still infuriated.
James greeted both of us and we entered his beautiful apartment. I was entering his abode when I came to the realization that I was going to face my ultimate test. There was no one who could stop me.


“Matthew, this is my wife, Sasha, and my son, Philip,” James explained. “Sasha, Philip, this is Matthew and his friend, Joseph. Philip,” he said, bending down to reach the boy’s height, “this is your uncle.”
Once again, I felt tempted not to carry out the mission, but this time it was Philip’s eyes glistening in the light of the hall that made me resist pulling out a weapon.
They were such a happy family, mother, father, and son. They reminded me of my own family before James ruined everything. It was all James’ fault. How could he be so happy when I was so miserable? It was unacceptable. I needed for justice to prevail. Such angry thoughts floated around in my head and I decided it was best if I killed all three of them right now, at this moment.
And, without thinking, I took out the gun, and shot all three in the head.
I had achieved my goal.
~
Joseph stared at me. Nothing went as planned, but I had avenged my mother’s death. I had fought to restore her honor and glory. We left the apartment as fast as we could and returned home, discarding our weapons in the woods far from the Church.
But the road back home was living Hell for me. My success, I thought, was supposed to be pushing me to get home, but it was doing the opposite. I felt as if I was being watched the whole time. I knew I was being observed. Perhaps it was terror, perhaps not. Joseph did not seem fazed, nor did he notice anything wrong with me. I was now a new being, for there was no more animosity in my heart, but a great paranoia in my mind. I felt like an antelope on the savannah being stalked by a lion.
~
Later that night, I went to fall asleep, and was given my final reward, the first peaceful sleep in seventeen years.
The next morning, Father Jacobs called for me. He told me someone was here to see me. He seemed proud of me and gathered the whole covenant to accompany me outside.
When I exited the church, I saw a man, who was surely the most beautiful I had ever seen. But as I looked closer, I noticed the man’s face. He screamed, “Oh, look, here he is! My dear brother!” There was no mark where I shot him in the head. He threw his head back and laughed greatly as his eyes shone red.
He whispered to me, “No human can slaughter a man of the Devil.”