15 years later

Friday 3^rd May

I arrived in the middle of nowhere at approximately 3:30. First mission: record any suspicious behaviour. Weather is dry and harsh. Land is barren and wide. People are few. No suspicious behaviour really. What more is there to expect from an uninhabitable wasteland?

I reported back to head quarters at about 8. George wasn’t pleased. He told me to keep moving until I found the camp. They’re out there somewhere, he told me. And if they’re out there, their lives are in danger. He didn’t have to tell me that – that I was already sure of.

I will go looking for the camp tomorrow. It would have to be hard to miss. There are probably hundreds of poor souls out there.

Saturday 4^th May

I had no luck in finding the camp. I told George I was getting close, but I lied.

I have a feeling that my looking for the camp is very psychological. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I think I don’t want to find the camp, even though I do. It’s a confusing notion, but I can explain it fairly simply. I am frightened that when I find the camp, he might be there. No, he will be there. And I’ll have to deal with him.

I haven’t yet told George about my brother. It’s a personal struggle of mine, really. I’ll tackle it myself.

Sunday 5th May

Today I walked over the horizon about five times. The ground is hard and the air is dry. I wanted more than anything to be back in the city – back in civilization. I was near the point of insanity when I saw the rows of white boxes. Little houses. I found it… I found the blasted camp.

I contacted head quarters immediately. I was assured my cover had been set up, so I proceeded to the gates. I told the men waiting there my name and they left me to wait as they went to speak to their "leader." I was scheduled to meet with him tomorrow. All had gone well it seems… he expects to be meeting a brother, not a FBI agent.

I’ve returned to my safe distance and now I wait, constantly fighting the urge to run away; disappear back to the city. I don’t want to see him again and I don’t like what it is I’ll have to do to him.

Monday 7th May

It didn’t take long for Mum and Dad to grow weary of their burden. He burnt things, broke things, tormented animals and tormented people. They punished him first; every way they knew how. When punishment didn’t work, they just locked him up. Whenever visitors came round, they locked him in the "quiet room." I was too young to realise there was something wrong, but I felt sorry for him anyway. I often sneaked into the quiet room and brought him things. He was always sitting tucked in the corner, sometimes laughing for no reason. If he ever appreciated my visits, he didn’t show it.

As we got older, Mum and Dad stopped thinking of trying to punish my brother and started to try doctors and psychiatrists. When nothing worked, their final solution was an institution. I was furious at them for giving up. For some reason I didn’t want him to be taken away. I still pitied him. He had no friends and Mum and Dad had lost all faith in him. I still loved him after he buried Mr. Tubby alive… I still loved him when he bit me as I slept and giggled at my screams. Why did I put up with it? I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now.

Later I took up the responsibility of watching over him, making sure he wasn’t hurting himself or other people. I was placed under the false impression his condition was improving. His violence stopped and he took to acting civil around other people. But he would lie! About everything, even the most obvious of things such as the time of the day and what he was wearing. However it was his passion for religious philosophy that truly tested my tolerance. After reading books and books on the matter, he began to have crackpot theories about challenging God and using religion as a means to control people. This made me angry. Finally I decided to omit him from my life, and to this day I haven’t looked back.

It’s so late and I’m so tired. Only writing because I can’t sleep. Can’t sleep… but so tired.

Today I spoke to my brother for the first time in fifteen years. He told me about his plans with so much vehemence; it was like he expected me to be proud of him. I felt so sick, I didn’t say anything.

He’s gone and convinced some 100 odd idiots that he’s a prophet, and now he wants to harvest his efforts by having them all die at his hands. What more power could a man desire? he asked me. Having a mass of people die just because you tell them too.

I know it’s my duty to not let that happen. George says, when you find him you kill him. George doesn’t know he’s my brother. But George is probably right.

Tuesday 10th May

He handed me the poison himself, excitedly telling me of its power. His own weapon, his own Holy Grail. I was nervous so I said little. He continued to ramble on… his words were well chosen and his manner was earnest… I imagine this was the speech he would deliver to his cult members on the eve of his planned massacre.

When he turned his back I tipped the poison into the cup he had been drinking out of. Neither his fancy words nor our kinship had succeeded in preventing me from fulfilling my duty. What had to be done, had to be done. Hundreds of lives were at stake… I’ll be telling myself that for years to come.

The poison worked quickly and it was not long before I was explaining to the guards that my brother’s suicidal prophecy had been completed. I almost wished they had beaten me to death right there… I felt my story didn’t deserve to be believed and my murder not to go unpunished.

Hours later I was back on the road. The psychopath is dead, I told George. Weighed down with guilt, grief, remorse and every other feeling my brother had never known, I made my way back home.