Even Rome Had To Burn.

Logan

Henley is hiding something. When you’re like Henley, you have to be hiding something. She’s so fake, she must be. Whenever we go to visit her and Spencer, she’s all smiles; all fake laughter and giggles and he falls for it every time. But she treats me like such a kid, because sometimes I get all bored and start drumming on the table and then she smiles at me all phony and then tells me, “Logan dear that is a lovely song but please save it for after dinner.”

Then Spencer chuckles like she’s the funniest thing in the world and our parents laugh too as though they thing she’s the best thing since sliced bread and that their eldest son couldn’t have picked a more perfect wife. I will admit that Henley IS beautiful, with all that shiny hair the color of wet autumn leaves, all coppery and red. And she did a very nice job with their apartment, making it all bright and modern. But it’s so fake, doesn’t hardly look like anyone lives there ever, everything all neat and clean and perfect.

After dinner everyone always forgets about my song, and if they did remember I certainly don’t so I couldn’t play it for them if they asked, so the adults all talk in the living room and I go outside to the deck so I don’t have to listen to Henley’s fake laugh any longer. Also the deck has this really nice view of Los Angeles. At night it’s all pretty and lit up and stuff.

Anyways, one night we were having dinner and stuff, and Henley was laughing her stupid phony laugh and when I went to go outside it was raining, so Henley showed me to the library. It’s one of those real library-like libraries, decorated unlike the rest of the apartment. It has dark mahogany book cases that are filled with all these famous books and thick, leather-bound volumes, encyclopedias and psychology books and the like, because Spencer is all into that stuff and I guess Henley is this real educated babe. There are also dark red couches and one wall has this enormous tapestry.

The tapestry is dark red like the couches and has all sorts of animals stitched on it in gold, mostly land animals but in the center there is this huge goldfish. It looks a little weird ‘cause it’s so big, sort of dominates the entire thing.

I became sorta obsessed with the tapestry after that. We went to Spencer and Henley’s every Sunday for dinner, and every time I would commandeer the library and pretend to read one of those stupid books that they have. None of them were particularly interesting, all sort of fake books to make you look smart and showy. So instead of reading them I would stare at the goldfish and try to guess what was behind it because sometimes I heard noises like crying, but then I realized that Spencer and Henley’s son, Liam, lives across the hall from the library, but there was still something weird about the tapestry.

Eventually I got the courage to move it and there was this door behind it, but just as I was about to open it I heard them saying goodbyes, so I was thinking I would have to wait for the next week when I saw Henley in the library door watching me. After that they started asking me to join them for coffee after dinner. They said I was old enough; that eighteen means I can be with the adults which I guess is true but I knew it was because of the tapestry with its goldfish and secret door.

Then spring break came along and I asked Spencer to meet me for lunch because I was out of school so we met at this real fancy place, filled with all these business-y Hollywood type phonies eating, producers and the like, executives and stuff like Spencer all meeting to discuss business of some sort. Fake tans and really unnatural white smiles, shaking hands and buying each other rounds of drinks. There were almost no women around. I guess all the women were busy doing whatever women do and eating wherever women eat. There were only women waitresses though, all real pretty in their uniforms. I sort of sauntered over to the hostess and told her I was there for Spencer Blanchard, party of two, and her eyes sort of lit up when I mentioned Spencer’s name. Turns out he’s a bit of a regular, goes there for lunch nearly every day. When I explained that I’m his brother she got this real odd expression but then she said, “Oh, he talks about you all the time,” but I could tell she had no idea I existed.

When Spencer finally got there he ordered “two of the usual and a Perrier” and then we just sort of shot the breeze a bit. He asked how school was and if I was still going around with Eliza. School was boring as usual but I was doing well; Eliza was now seeing some UC Berkley bastard (Spencer laughed a bit at that – he went to Stanford) and I had a date later that day with a new girl, Anna.

He obviously had no idea why I wanted to meet, but I guess at some point I had to tell him and honestly I was really quite tired of the idle chatter that preceded the meal and then the silence while it was being eaten, so I ate as quickly as I could and waited impatiently for Spencer to finish. “The Usual” was quite delicious and I made a mental note to find out what it was and come back to order it again.

“What’s behind the tapestry?” I demanded as soon as my brother put his fork down.

“What do you mean?” he asked innocently.

“You know,” I said. “The goldfish. In the library. On the tapestry. What’s behind it?” I study him carefully. “There’s a door. What’s behind it?”

“The door?” He actually looks slightly dumbfounded. “What door?”

I stare at him. “In Henley’s library. Behind the goldfish. You live there, Spence. You know what I’m talking about.”

Spencer shakes his head slowly. “No idea what you’re talking about, kiddo.” He looks a little concerned and confused, and I believe him. If there’s one person in this world who I trust it’s Spencer. His face always betrays his lies, but he looks completely honest. All of the sudden, though, he looks interested again. “The tapestry has a fascinating history, though. It’s real cool. You should ask Henley about it.” He waves for a check and I take the conversation to be over.

“You’re sure you don’t know?” I ask.

“Positive, little buddy. I’m as confused as you are. Ask Henley about the tapestry.”

I nod politely and thank him for his time. He shakes my hand and pats me on the back with a smile. “It’s always nice to see you, Logan. Good luck with Anna, don’t treat her too well.” He winks.

I nod. “See you Sunday, Spence.”

I have my date with Anna in a few hours, so I take a bit to go home and freshen up. While I wait for her on the boardwalk, I think about lunch with Spencer and how he doesn’t know what’s behind the tapestry.

Henley is hiding something, I’m sure of it and I am determined to find out what it is.

All through my date with Anna I am distracted, but she is so chattery all I have to do is nod and say “yeah” at the appropriate times. My mind is far away from her idle chatter. I keep thinking about how Spencer doesn’t know and what Henley could be hiding.

After I drop Anna off, and as I’m walking home, an idea strikes me. I need to get into the apartment.

I go to Spencer and Henley’s the next day with the intention of asking Henley about the tapestry, then distracting her enough to open the door. But when I arrive, there’s no one there, so I just let myself in with my key. As usual, the apartment is filled with natural light, and smells buttery, like someone just popped popcorn. I head straight towards the library, push back the tapestry, and open the door. Just as I presumed – Henley is hiding something.

I step into the room, and feel resistance as my shoes pull away from the sticky blood on the floor. I inhale deeply, enjoying the tangy, salty smell. The room is cold, I assume to preserve the contents. Then I feel Henley’s eyes on me, turn around and see the knife fly through the air, then feel the warm rush as my own blood pools. And then…blackness.

Henley

I clutch at Spencer’s arm, hoping for some form of comfort. Watching Logan like this is painful, stumbling around the room while the men observe him. I turn to one of them. “Does he ever speak?”

“He keeps talking about the bodies,” one says. “’They’re everywhere, she keeps them behind the secret goldfish, the secret is behind the goldfish, look behind the goldfish.’ Can you think of any goldfishes that might be important?”

“When we were kids,” Spencer says, “Logan bought a goldfish, with his own money. He wouldn’t let anyone else see it. But that’s the only goldfish I can think of.”

“You can’t hide bodies behind a goldfish,” I say, stating the obvious. Everyone looks at me like I’m an idiot.

One of the men sighs as Logan slams into the window, the only non-cushioned part of the room. He opens his mouth, and I can see he is screaming. I bury my face into Spencer’s shoulder. The man hurries into the room, grabbing Logan and removing him from danger. As the door opens and shuts I hear a sliver of Logan’s shrieks.

“We should go,” Spencer says. I nod thankfully as we pack our things and leave Logan to his bodies and goldfishes and strange fantasies. Later, as I settle myself in my open, airy library, what caused him to be like this.

Sometimes you just have to say “fuck it” and forget. Whatever you use, whatever it takes — forget.

Just tell her to shut her fucking face and stop trying to be my mom, wish she would change but know she won’t.

Toss a few back so it doesn’t suck until tomorrow.

The world is spinning; my brain is going a mile a minute. Images flash by in my head. His body, cold and frozen, like a wax figure, on the bed, an empty bottle of OxyContin on the bedside table. Doctors are hurrying around, trying to bring him back. His dog is whining. His mom shrieks, begging someone, anyone, to save her little boy.

But he can’t be saved. I know because I killed him. I killed him the way I killed the last ones. I walk away shaking. I will myself not to lose control; not to break; because losing control means I have lost. Bottle it up. I plaster on a smile and tell everyone the same thing – everything is okay.

Being a killer is not easy. It’s not like I tried to kill them, you know. I killed them with neglect and disuse, like a plant you forget to care for. It sits in the corner wilting, unable to cry out for help. Plants need to be nurtured to live. We all forgot to nurture the first one and she ended up hanging in her garage, found by the neighbors a day later when the dog barked too much. The second one we cared for too late and she ended up falling from the roof of our dorm. The third was lost in the shuffle of our lives and they found a bag over her head. And now him, the fourth – I forgot about him, and so did everyone else, and he is lying in his bed.

And I killed him.

I walk away, far away, somewhere where no one can find me. I will never tell anyone I did this, but in this empty place, deep in these dark woods, I can be with my thoughts and be forgiven.

Their true graves are in different places, too far for me to visit, and here in my corner of the thick northeastern woods there are three sets of stones. They are pseudo-graves, places I ask them to let me apologize. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, placing my hands on each grave in turn. Then, in a fit of frustration, I grab a stick from the forest floor and hurl it as far as I can. Then, carefully, I stack a new set of stones, in his memory. “Forgive me,” I whisper to the stones. Only one other person has been here – I took another friend here after the third one so he could understand. This is my secret place.

I feel that surge of anger again. Before I know it I am on my feet, throwing everything I can. Rocks, sticks, handfuls of leaves – anything I can pick up, flying through the air. I feel better. I can face the world.

It doesn’t take long for me to be back. The world is impossible to face when no one knows the truth. Yes, they weep over his death, but I am an impostor in their midst, mourning the one I killed.

I settle myself in the leaves, the emotions duking it out in my head, competing for who will win. At first fury wins and I stand and scream; scream until my lungs feel like they will collapse. My noise startles birds overhead and in the midst of it I can’t hear him approaching, nor do I feel that he is there until his arms are around me, securing me before I can do anything else.

I collapse in his arms and finally sorrow wins a long-fought battle. I sob, my body shaking with tears.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he says softly. “You know…suicide is never your fault.”

Just breathe; smile; everything is okay.