Vendetta

Chapter 7

Nothing could be heard but high-pitched screams and someone begging for their life.

________

    Jeongin sat on the couch after feeling his way through the dark hallway to the living room. The yellow glow of light still trickled through the gap under Chan's door, giving away the fact that he was still awake. For some reason, sleep refused to carry him away. Maybe it was because of the screams he had heard from the basement or maybe it was because of the fact that Felix and Jisung had been crying relentlessly for hours.

    He craved nothing more than a warm glass of milk to help lull him to sleep, but he couldn't enter the kitchen on his own. If Chan didn't leave his room, Jeongin was out of luck. In the darkness of the house, the shadows seemed to writhe on the walls, twisting in silent displays of agony. They slithered across the floor in inky puddles, reaching out to him with thin fingers but never touching him. They weren't real.

    Not long after Jeongin curled up on the couch, the kitchen light turned on after the slight telltale creak of a door. He heard a short and breathy whisper, the words incomprehensible from the distance. Though he wanted to get up and greet Chan, he stayed where he was, inching his way out of the shadows to be visible. His heart quickened at the thought of being caught out of his room at night, even if he had an excuse.

    Chan stepped into view, one half of his face illuminated by the kitchen light. Behind him, Minho hobbled in, a yellow, white, and black checkered scarf wrapped securely around his neck. Jeongin was confused as to why he was wearing a scarf, especially when it was considerably warm but he decided against asking questions. It only took a few moments for Chan to notice Jeongin's silhouette, his features hardening.

    "Jeongin, what are you doing awake?" Chan asked in a pleasant tone that didn't match his expression in the slightest.

    "I couldn't sleep and wanted permission to get some warm milk."

    As Jeongin stepped into view, Minho began to sign to him before Chan had a chance to answer. After their parent's deaths, Seungmin went mute for nearly an entire year. During that time, Chan had taught everyone sign language so they could easily communicate since no one had a clue if or when Seungmin would ever start speaking again. Chan hadn't felt the slightest bit anxious about them learning since there was no chance of them saying anything behind his back. That was until now.

   "I'll get it for you," Minho signed, a nearly black bandage wrapped around his right hand was visible in the dim lighting.

    "Why are you using sign language? And why a scarf? It's not cold out?"

    "I have a sore throat," Minho responded, glancing at Chan for a fraction of a second. "It hurts to talk so I'll be using sign language until I get better."

    Seeing Minho covered in bandages and sprouting serious injuries was nothing out of the ordinary, but after the screams he had heard earlier in the day, Jeongin wasn't entirely sure who he could trust anymore. Minho scrambled into the kitchen, pouring a glass of milk and heating it up. The way he moved so gingerly made it look like any sudden movement would cause him unbearable pain.

    "There's some work I need to get done, so I'm trusting you two will be back in bed in ten minutes," Chan said with a gentle smile. "Sleep well, Innie."

    Jeongin smiled as Chan patted him on the back and gave him a dimpled smile before disappearing into his room. He loved Chan more than anything and he wouldn't know what to do with himself if what his siblings predicted turned out to be true. He had time to question Minho about it, but he wasn't sure he was ready to hear the answer.

    Moments later, Minho returned with a glass in hand, the liquid inside almost as cloudy as his blind eye. Jeongin wordlessly took the glass, feeling the warmth beneath his fingertips and tipping it to his lips, taking a large gulp before placing it down on the table. He made brief eye contact with Minho before glancing down at the scarf. It couldn't have been there because of a sore throat.

    "Can you lower the scarf for me, please?" Jeongin signed, not knowing if Chan was listening from around the corner.

    Minho gingerly shook his head, his unbandaged hand subconsciously reaching up to the scarf and tugging at it gently. Careful not to be conspicuous, Jeongin's gaze lowered to Minho's right hand. It was tightly wrapped in a bandage that had turned black with dried blood. There was a large and noticeable gap between his index and ring finger, the middle finger appearing to be missing completely.

    Swiftly, Jeongin grabbed the scarf from around Minho's neck and unraveled it. A rattling noise escaped from Minho's lips as his hands flew to his throat, blocking something behind them. He took a few steps back, but Jeongin was persistent, pulling Minho's hands away from his throat to inspect the damage. Afterward he thought maybe it was better to live in ignorance.

    Minho's throat was a mess of dried blood, raw flesh, and blue stitches going up a fresh zigzag wound. The stitches appeared in danger of reopening, extending from the top of his chest to just below the chin. Jeongin gasped as Minho shoved him away, nearly causing him to knock over a chair as he stumbled back. Minho used the opportunity to rewrap the scarf around his neck, his eyes wide with fear.

    "Did Chan do that to you?" Jeongin asked, hoping Minho would tell the truth. Tears of anger burned the back of his eyes. Maybe there was a chance that Chan was really a good person. He had to be. "Please answer me honestly."

    "Yes," Minho replied, his expression holding a sorrow to that Jeongin couldn't even begin to comprehend. "Please don't tell anyone else and don't you dare mention it to Chan. If he finds out that you know...he'll hurt you too. If you pretend not to know, you'll be safe. I'm going to bed. Finish up your milk and go back to your room."

    Jeongin's golden image of Chan shattered right before his eyes. His oldest sibling who brought everyone peace with gentle words and a kind smile. Chan who gave them the warmest hugs when he came home from work and held them close when they needed comfort. Was that all just a facade to cover the sadistic side of him that wanted nothing more than to watch Minho suffer? How could Chan be the same man who blinded, crippled, and beat Minho within an inch of his life? The Chan he knew was a lie. Only Minho truly knew the type of person he really was.

    "Is the project a lie too?" Jeongin whispered, tugging on Minho's sleeve to prevent him from leaving. His voice wavered and tears threatened to fall, but he held it together. With Minho suffering the way he was, Jeongin had no right to cry.

   "I can't answer that," Minho replied, trying to break away from Jeongin's grip.

    "One more question. Will you...will you ever be able to talk again?"

    "No."

    Jeongin forced a paper-thin smile, leaving his milk on the table to grow cold as he walked to his room, leaving Minho standing on his own. That night, his entire world was flipped upside down, exposing a horrific secret that had gone unspoken for years. As he climbed back onto the top bunk, he wondered if anyone else in his room, or the other room for that matter, had any clue what kind of person Chan really was.

    That night, it was Jeongin's turn to cry himself to sleep.