The Apparition Man - Part Eighty- Seven#

Chapter Twenty- Two- Part Eighty-Seven#1

I watched Oliver cry, but I did not help him. I did not even attempt to comfort him a little bit; but on the inside I felt compassionate. I felt utter sorrow for him.2

In some ways we weren't all that different from one another after all. We were both Two teenage boys with fucked up lives. Each one with our own traits of insanity. Each one with flaws that made us react in anger at the first sign of threat. 3

We were Two boys who had been lied to for god knows how long. Each being brought up with people we thought were our true family. Both of us in our own separate ways would feel the same kind of pain that this kind of betrayal would bring. 4

And although I could never forgive him for raping me. I had to wonder if this was what tipped him over the edge in the first place. For I knew only to well the kinds of anger that were bottled up inside for so long. 5

How the truth was never near. It was secret after secret. Lie after lie, and the adults expected us to just get over it. To move on and act like it never ever happened at all. Then they had the nerve to question us, to wonder why we were so hostile, so bitter, so resentful and angry, and why we completely snapped when our world came crashing down.6

No what Oliver did could never be excused, but he had triggered something inside of me. Something hit the core. It was like remembering all the things Grandma Jean had said to me All of those good things when I had been down, depressed, morbidly obsessed, and suicidal.7

“Never judge a book by its cover,” she used to always say.8

Was this the time to be a man. Go one step further than the adults were willing to go to comfort Oliver? After all, this could be a trick. 9

Though by the way he was hunched over, slightly curled up into a tight ball. His whimpers being the only thing I could hear in this hollow home; I doubted that anyone, psychotic or not could fake the kind of tears he was crying, The kind of pain he was releasing, and showing as he broke down; shattering into a thousand pieces right before my eyes. No one could fake that.10

We were like puppets in a charade, masquerading behind the masks of the people we thought we were. Both of us, fools in this game they liked to call life.11

“When an enemy is down, take him aside, offer him your help; Regardless for who he might be, for what he has said, and done. For your voice could be the one the helps save him from eternal darkness.”12

Grandma Jeans voice lingered through my mind. She was always one to help out when one was in need. A real good Samaritan, not corrupt. Although corrupt enough to lie to me all my life, her words stuck like spaghetti to a wall, slithering down through my mind. Causing me to think, provoking feelings of an even greater sadness.13

Could I be the one to reach out to Oliver in this time of need? Could I be the one to help him, to guide him through it, after all he had done to me? Could I push that aside, and think about the real situation at hand. The fact that although I despised him with a vengeance so sweet, and I was certain for sure now that we weren't brothers; That I new we were related, and somehow I felt it was my need to give karma a try, and maybe, just maybe Karma would not come back and bite me on the ass.14

Oliver needed someone. No one was willing cause they were all to busy being tied up in their own dramas, and I seriously doubted anyone would want to be within a Three inch radius of him, with his non consistent mood swings, and personality changes.15

No this time I would take the risk. I would be the one to step up to the plate. To be a good Samaritan.16

Oliver needed a friend, he needed help and support, he needed a good listener, and maybe, just maybe he needed a brother.