Author's note: Please forgive any grammer mistakes. I do not have an editor (Email me if interested) and when I proof read, my mind corrects any of my mistakes because I know what I was trying to say.
This is the first of a series. Each installment will star the main character but the stories can be read seperately. Happy Reading!
Games of Deceit
My Brothers Family:
What makes a happy ending? It's an important question to have an answer to when you are entertaining yourself with that movie, book, or television show. Is it when the guy gets the girl? How about when the protagonist defeats the evil that is plaguing the world? I suppose you could say 'yes' to both of those and live out your life saying 'damn that was a good book or movie.' But what about the guy that didn't get the girl? He wanted love just the same and fell short. What about the evil wannabe dictator who wanted to rule the world whose life ended when some person with a hero complex kills or puts them in some impossible prison with no chance of escaping until the top executives that be demand a sequel? Was it a happy ending for them? The difference is point of view. Why do I mention this you ask? Because life is the same way. Your happy ending didn't come because you didn't get that promotion at work, but for the person who did get the job, they couldn't be happier. For people who were conned out of substantial wealth, it was a nightmare, not a day of happiness. The fortune I accumulated by manipulating those people from their precious securities, well I'm happy. The difference between me and the so-called villains in entertainment is that I know I'm the antagonist and this is my life. Part of it anyway.
My life is a string of adventures. You may call them swindles but once again, that's point of view. I had several plush bank accounts, including one in Switzerland, but I didn't have a personal residence or a place of business. I had everything I needed in a duffle bag and I live in worn down motels or homeless shelters as a vagabond. I just roamed the earth in search of my next victim. It is how I made all my money. See, I told you I'm the bad guy as I'm already lying to you. I also made some of my money, $200,000 to be exact, when my parents died. Don't get me wrong, it's not one of those stories either. I wasn't the good kid and then lashed out because I lost the stability my parents gave me. I was twenty-three when that miracle happened. Nope. I was a wretch for as long as I can remember, and I have eidetic memory. And yes, I remember that balmy, humid 97-degree day when the air conditioner was broken in the daycare we shared in which I stole your lunchbox when we were two (the tuna fish sandwich had too much mayonnaise but the chocolate pudding was good).
My condition has helped me in so many ways. First, without any effort, it got me through elementary and junior high. But it was too easy and I quit caring when I landed in high school. I purposely wrote answers incorrectly because I thought they were funny. Did you know Helen Keller was the first man to climb Mt Everest? I also tested myself. I answered questions to the prior period's exam on the current one. -5(1-5x)+5(-8x-2)=-4x-8x solve for x. Instead of x=-5, I wrote the raven first signifies the dark and depressing loss of Lenore. The writer then hopes (since a raven in folklore carries souls away) that the raven will take his soul so he could once again reunite with his beloved. If the teachers would have matched up the tests, they were flawlessly answered. Good times. Later, I used my talent for more mischievous means. I clean up well. When in a suit and not dressed like a bum, I can find little old ladies and spew bible quotes at them until they hand over their entire bank account to me because they know I'll do "so much good with it." To me, it's all about the challenge. I do what I want, when I want, until boredom takes me to another place. And that's where my brother Adrian comes in.
I was born eight years ahead of my brother. I was his idol. He was my resentment. All he wanted was to be my best friend. All I saw was the difference our parents treated us. That was partly due to financials. My parents were broke when I was born, and only slightly better off when they brought my brother home. But both of their careers took off when I went into high school. They bought him everything and me nothing. By then, I was already a few years down the road of my troublesome nature and they didn't want to encourage me anymore by spoiling me. Whatever. Was I really hurting anyone? Then, I mean. No. When I was seventeen, I fled and didn't return. I didn't care. I didn't even make it to the double funeral.
It was January 17th. I had just taken a car dealership in an insurance fraud and I was bored. The idiot didn't see it coming. Even thanked me afterward. I was in Ridgedale, four hours away from my hometown of Hilldale. I wouldn't have even considered it on any other day, but my family's reunion is always held at my uncle's house on January 18th, the day my parents died. It's been a decade since I've even seen a family member and that was just a passing on the street in Los Angeles. My cousin didn't even recognize me nor did I say anything to him. I smell a challenge. How many members of my family would know who I am? How many thought I was dead? How many would I be able to recognize after years of age has done its toll? Definitely my type of game. Besides, free food.
I dressed in my best or worst, depending on point of view, homeless outfit. A black sweater ripped at the seam all the way to the arm, jeans that had holes on both knees and an overly used overcoat from 1974. I hadn't shaved in days and I intentionally arrived late. All I wanted was to play my game, grab a bite to eat, and leave. I entered the house and heard all the adults in the dining room talking. There were eight kids in the living room, two young teen boys playing a video game, an older teen girl with black glasses reading 'The Catcher in the Rye' sitting on the couch while a slightly younger girl was enjoying the latest teen magazine at the other end. The remaining four kids were five and under and were playing with various toys on the floor. The youngest girl just happened to look up at me and gave a blood-curdling scream at my presence. I had to hold in my smile to the fact I scared her. This trip was already worth it. The little kids and the girl with the teen magazine scampered away. The two boys stood up to face me. One was petrified. The other was smug.
"Who the hell are you and why are you in my house?" He actually looked me up and down as if he were sizing me up for a fight. The eldest girl was staring at the scene over the spine of her book. She tried to give the impression she was still reading. She was used to being a wallflower.
"Billy, watch your mouth. You and Wally get in the kitchen. Katie you should go too." My Aunt Gertrude came to investigate the cause of the scream. Billy and Wally left the room. Katie made it appear she left the room, but I saw her watching the scene through a mirror around the corner. "David!" Aunt Gertrude shouted. Her tone clearly stated something was amiss and every adult member of the house came into the foyer.
My Uncle David was in front. "Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?"
"I'll call the police," Aunt Joyce reached for the phone.
"You have two seconds to answer me before I beat the living shit out of you!" Uncle David was cocking his fists.
One.
Two.
"That's it you son of a bitch." Uncle David's arm went back.
"Wait Uncle David." It was Adrian. He was just as I remembered, but older. Clean cut and stocky with his eyes portraying his kind heart and his black hair parted to the right. He pushed his way through the crowd and faced me. "Patrick? Is that you?"
"Hello, dear brother. I came to finally say goodbye to mom and dad." It was the only thing I could think of to explain myself.
Adrian hugged me and started crying, "It's been too long, please come in."
To be honest, I was disappointed. My brother recognized me, I was hoping for zero and having to see if I could test my memory by answering useless family facts like how I set my now deceased Grandpa Randolph's toupee on fire when I was six. On top of that, I remembered everybody but the kids and new spouses, and only because I've never met them. But I did now and in ten more years, I would see if they recognized me when I showed up clean cut and in a limo. My brother did well for himself in the relationship department. Lillian, his wife, was a business executive for Ingenious Ingenuities, a research and development company. She was polite, conversational, and her body was attractive as well. Her brown hair seemed to cascade down to the middle of her back. I could tell she was the mother of the wallflower on the couch. The only difference was the teen was a bit more slender and awkward in appearance and she had nowhere near the confidence. I grabbed a plate and loaded it with food as I sat at the head of the table, Adrian right next to me. I told them I had very little and I had a health condition that prevented me from work but I was doing great and had no regrets. Despite no one wanting to leave because I had returned, it was getting late for a Monday and the kids had school and the adults had work in the morning. I made as if I was going to the bathroom, but I was really leaving. I was done here anyway. I was bored with idle chatter about random family crap and ready to scheme for my next adventure when Adrian stopped me at the door.
"Where you off to?"
