four alarm fire // matty healy

Tantrum

My hand recoiled to my chest, the sting still fresh on my skin. I gazed into the shadow and tried to hide the despair in my eyes. Uncle's figure emerged from the darkness by the door. He wore a sick smile on his face and I did my best not to let it phase me. I lunged for the door handle again but he wedged himself between my body and my only way out.

He never faltered, he didn't even blink.

His sinister expression changed as he reached for the square in his jacket pocket and blotted perspiration from his forehead. The rest of his head stayed shiny.

Uncle and I weren't always on the best of terms, and I was reminded of the first falling out we had in this very moment. It was a standoff much like this, face-to-face and in the thick of our emotions. I had just turned 16 and I wanted to celebrate with my friends. After Uncle told me I couldn't but I snuck out anyway.

I thought he would tell me something I had heard before: "Maybe of you worked harder, like your brother, you wouldn't be such a fuck up."

"Your mother was right to leave, because you'd never learn anything from her weakness."

"You are a stupid, naïve bitch for betraying us like that."

But what he said now was far worse and stung so much more: "You shouldn't have come back."

I felt my eyes starting to blink like an old film projector as I weakly stepped backwards. Uncle's figured seemed to tower over me. He stood so tall that it brought terror to my bones. It caused me to tumble onto the floor.

His face twisted wickedly as he pushed his jacket to reveal a heavy holster. His hand sat upon the gun with malicious intent. Evil. Footsteps from the back of the room caused both of us to look back at Isaac, who stopped in shock when he saw what Uncle was holding. When I turned back to face my doom, I was staring down the barrel of Uncle's Sauer P220.

It was his favourite gun. He said it made him feel like one of those actors in an old American cop show. He always said he was the spitting image of the guy from Kojack when he lined up for a shot. I assumed he was right, but I never bothered to check. Uncle said he only used the gun for serious business. I couldn't tell if he was talking about himself or the bloke from Kojack.

I started to sweat. The Sauer fit snug in his hand, like it was supposed to be there. Never expected it to be pointed directly at me. I felt betrayed. He was angry. I could tell by the fire burning behind his eyes.

Uncle spat on my boots, harsh and fast. I spat back where he stood and watched him grimace. He leaned over my frame and stood on my feet. My ankles crunched under his weight and I wailed in agony.  He dug into my leg, all the while his gun is still aimed between my eyes. Isaac's voice was calm as I tried to coax Uncle's feet off of mine.

"Stay calm, there," I looked back in pain but he looked cool as a cucumber, except for the air of desperation in his face. His arms were extended as he took slow steps forward. "No need to do anything hasty."

"She's a traitor, Isaac." Uncle didn't pull his eyes away from the pile of Eris on the floor. He stared at me like I was the raccoon that had been eating his prized vegetable garden, and he had just caught me red-handed. He sneered at me, "Eris is no longer welcome here."

I don't want to be a part of this anymore.

"I don't want to be a part of this anymore." Don't let your voice shake. Look at his bald head to stop from crying. Your ankles are most certainly not sprained.

He slammed his boot down with the force of a wrecking ball hitting a steel building. I cried out to nobody in particular and shoved his feet off my leg. Uncle lost his footing is the scuffle and landed on his stomach with a harsh splat on the floor. I cursed and coughed and squirmed toward him, all the while Isaac watched in horror.

I leapt atop of Uncle and pinned his arms behind his back, one of his hands in a hard vice-grip on his gun. My legs still throbbed in a warm, searing pain. I knew I couldn't keep him down for long. I had to think of something else. Quickly.

Isaac yelled, telling me to get off of him and he might let me live, but I didn't listen. I was burning like a wildfire, I didn't even realize what my arms were doing. My knees held him in place as his head came up and then down, up and then down. The thud of his head hitting concrete grew softer in my brain. I just felt rage, but Uncle felt more rage. He rolled me off his back and held my shoulders against the ground again. Cold.

He spat blood onto my face, which grew into a harsh sneer. His breath was heavy as I felt hot air billowing across my nose.

"I promise," I said between heaves, "I won't say anything, I won't call the police. Just let me go. No strings, no funny business. I will leave everything I once knew behind and I won't say a word."

Uncle laughed. He stood up and looked down at me, the blood trickling off his nose and onto my shirt.

"You've betrayed me. Your brother. The Den. Everything I stand for." He wiped his bloody face on his sleeve. "And you want me to let you go, no questions asked? I don't think that's a fair trade."

"Then what now?" He walked around me now and stood at my feet and crouched. I wasn't about to kick him in the nads, but the thought crossed my mind.

"Well, seeing as you've hurt my integrity and my face... what would you say the is the correct price?" I couldn't stand his superiority. He always had to be right, even when he wasn't. Uncle was coy and smart, and I hated him for it.

"Just kill me and get it over with." I mustered my strength to taunt him, but I still hoped he would let me go.

"No. I think it has to be something worse." He scratched the top of his head with the barrel of his handgun. He other arm laid akimbo, as if asking me for help again. Minus the nosebleed, he looked like an improv actor. He wore a strange expression, like he was waiting for me to say "Yes, and?"

Uncle's head turned slowly and locked on Isaac.

No.

He and I gulped in sync. Isaac and I hadn't felt like this since my mother threatened to take us away from Uncle. We were eight years old, and I had come home with a note saying that I punched one of the boys in my class for lifting the hem of my skirt. She shouted at him that he was an irresponsible cunt and unworthy of our childhood, but Uncle told her that she wouldn't survive it on her own. And she couldn't.

We wanted to stay together because it was all we had known. Staying together was the safest option and Isaac and I knew that. We were kids, but we weren't dumb. The nights when mum and Uncle would yell and fight, Isaac and I would lie in our respective beds and stare at each other, listening and telling each other it would be okay without saying a word.

"Isaac! Run!" but Uncle was a step ahead. His arm raised in a swift motion and shot a single bullet. The muted sound from the Sauer's silencer echoed in my brain. Isaac's body folded in half, then hit the floor with a hollow thud. Time started to move in slow motion as I desperately ran toward my twin. My heart started to beat a million times a minute as I shuffled my body across the floor, my ankles still sore and swollen. You have to save him.

Uncle seemed to vanish into thin air. It was only me, Isaac and Isaac's blood filling the room. He groaned when I removed his hands from the wound. His clothes had torn and become stained in seconds. My vision grew red as tears began to brew. There's no way this is how he'll die.

"I've got to be honest with you, E," he winced but remained stoic. "I didn't think this would be the way I go."

"Don't worry," I said to him, running a hand through his hair. I tried to chuckle at his cheeky comment, "You're not getting away from me that easy."

"It hurts really bad," he said in a tiny voice. He smiled weakly. Isaac's phone had fallen out of his trouser pocket and I flipped it open with a shaking hand. Urgently, I pressed 9-9-9 into the device. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Oh God, someone help please.