More Jason and Mary Ellen (also of the Whitakers) - 6

It was almost more than Jason could stand – first Mary Ellen and now Bart, his nearly forgotten stepbrother.  It was a double nightmare that couldn’t end soon enough for him but was destined to engulf his life in ways he could not now imagine.  Bart – where had he come from and why now?  He had thought Bart was long gone, disappeared into the nether world of darkness, deceit and . . . he shuddered to think what that final thing might be.1

Yet his mind raced backward - remembered things he had seen and heard.  The story of childless parents, his own, and a sudden chance to adopt a young baby boy, only two days old, whose mother had decided at the last second to give him up - Bart.  And, as so often seemed to happen, three years later, a couple of new drugs available and then a son of their own, Jason.2

He’d often wondered as he grew up and had even read a little about it, whether it was heredity or environment that controlled things.  In his opinion, there seemed to be a lot involved with heredity as he and Bart were as different as two brothers could be.  And, standing here looking at that adopted brother, it was all he could do to keep from hitting him.  It was an almost uncontrollable urge, born of frustration and empathy for his parents who loved him as much as they loved Jason.  But, rather than return the love, Bart had sucked them dry, then left when they were weary and empty.3

“I know you don’t like me much, Jason,” Bart said, that sinister smile curling the corner of his mouth.  “But, it don’t really matter 'cause this ain’t about likin', it’s about survival.”  He looked off toward the food counter.  “My survival . . . and yours” he continued, rolling his eyes around toward Jason.  “But you see, I can’t get a damn thing from mom and dad,” and the hatred that was wrapped up in those two words was almost more than Jason could stomach.4

“Get out of here, Bart, before I hurt you,” Jason snarled under his breath, not even daring to look at his brother.5

He heard a faint chuckle.  “Yeah, sure, buddy.  Like, I need some money.”6

Jason closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.  Again, he thought.  How many times was this going to be repeated?  7

“No, Bart,” he said viciously.  “No more money.”8

“Do we have to go through this every time, man?  It really gets friggin' annoying after a while.  In fact, it’s so annoying that it ain't funny no more.”  9

Jason sensed the change in tone of Bart’s voice, and it sent a chill racing down his spine.  As he had done so many times before, he quietly questioned why God had placed this aberration in his life.  He knew that it was only a matter of time until there was going to be physical damage done to someone, not just the mental anguish that Bart seemed to relish subjecting people to.  His mind and body recoiled at the thought – it was so foreign to his make up, and his tightened, then flopped at the thought.10

“You still don’t seem to understand, Jason,” Bart continued, and if Jason had been looking at him he would have seen his eyes narrow and go flat, like depthless pieces of hammered metal, the color and life faded away.  “It’s gonna happen.  You like to protect mom and dad,” he sneered.  “So do your thing again, or I’ll have to show up on their door step.”  A sinister chuckle escaped Bart’s curled lips.11

Jason knew he couldn’t allow that to happen.  It went back to something that had happened in the past but Jason flushed that thought from his mind immediately – it was too painful to even contemplate.  He put his hand to his forehead and slowly drug it down across his face, as if that gesture could wipe away what had just happened and the person who was standing before him.12

“Or . . . “ Bart, continued.13

Jason’s head snapped up, and Bart could see the fire in those eyes as the sense of where Bart was about to go, struck him.  “I’ll kill you first,” he whispered through clenched teeth.  Their eyes locked and this time Jason didn’t look away, couldn’t look away, because he knew what he had just said, as abhorrent as it was for him to say it, was the truth.  He’d never felt quite this way before and it terrified him.  But, there’d never been anyone like Mary Ellen before, and that changed things – changed them dramatically.14

And Bart, evil and uncaring as he was, was no dummy.  He knew that Jason was serious and he blinked, then looked away.  It was the first time his stepbrother had ever stood up like that and, it was not through respect that he backed down, but through fear.  Self preservation was what motivated him and was the driving force behind his life and being.  He wasn’t like so many of this generation, who just “did”, without considering the consequences, even to the possibility of death.  He calculated carefully and made his decisions within his own mental realm very carefully.  But, his concern was strictly for himself and no other human entered into the equation.  Thus, he was not as dangerous as some, yet dangerous just the same.15

Bart looked back to Jason and shrugged.  “Okay,” he said.  “We understand each other.  Just get me the money. Ten thousand bucks will do it.”  He smiled and turned to leave.  “Nice to talk to ya, brother, as usual, and I’ll be in touch,” he said over his shoulder as he hunched over and disappeared through the door of the cafeteria.16

Jason slumped into a chair, staring blankly at the wall.  This was all familiar ground, territory he had covered before so he should know exactly what to do.  But, so much had changed lately – so many things and people were different.  As he stared at the wall he could see Mary Ellen’s face, that puzzled look there as she fought to remember.  If only he could be in her place, not able to remember, and now know what was going to happen.  He fought the tears that formed in his eyes, clenched his fists and gritted his teeth against them, all to no avail.17

“Paging Jason McKeever.  Paging Jason McKeever,” the strident voice blared from the speaker directly over his head.  “Please dial 784.  Please dial 784.”18

Jason closed his eyes, squeezing the tears till they ran down his cheeks.  “Please God,” he murmured.  “Something good, please.”19