Hardest Hit

For many years, creaking stairs invoked fear and the smell of a drunkard's breath. The only staircase in my house led to my Uncle's room in the basement. He ascended for food three times a day. The smell on his breath ruined every meal. So did the fear of his outbursts. Twice a week, he ventured outside for more booze. His presence made life unstable for us, but my father maintained his brother wouldn't be thrown out into the street. We all knew it came from his fear of retaliation and nostalgic love of the person his brother growing up.

The years passed and he wandered off. I lived in the basement now. The stairs creaking meant a visitor, but never a pleasant one. My parents yelled at me for being stuck at home with a minimum wage job. My thirteen-year-old brother kept borrowing CDs he never returned. I knew the person coming down wouldn't improve my day. Exasperation replaced the old fear.

I sighed and leaned back on my couch when I saw my brother's sneakers moving slowly and without much coordination. That meant Jace wanted to borrow something big. I dreaded what he'd try for this time.

"Tony!"

"What?" I leaned back over the open hard drive in front of me.

Jace fell silent until I felt the cushions sink next to me. "We have a problem," he said.

"Do we?" I asked, focusing on my work.

"Well, you more than me." He paused for a moment. "For now."

I sighed as I narrowly avoided damaging a circuit. Setting down my screwdriver, I looked at him. A large weight landed in the pit of my stomach. The right side of his face turned black and blue under a stinging red. "Who hit you?"

Jace met my eyes. "Our uncle's back. Dad's talking to him now. I got out of there before he saw the bruise."

Hatred made my skin tingle. No matter how foul Jace could be, my brother didn't deserve abuse. "What'd he accuse you of?"

"Not letting him inside fast enough. I can't go through this again." Jace's eyes searched my face. "You're old enough to move out, but I can't." My mask of apathy must have remained. "You'll do something, right? Dad won't touch him, Tony. It's up to us. What can I do?"

I didn't answer. The stairs were creaking again. Jace cowered with every step while my blood boiled a few degrees higher. The creaks were the hesitant steps of inebriation. My teeth ground and my breath burned. I stood and moved behind the stairs. This section was open. Looking up, I watched the stairs sink under his weight. Patience kept me under control. I glanced at Jace, who stared open-mouthed at me. I shook my head and willed him to keep silent.

My brother swallowed hard before turning to the salvaged hard drive. He might know what I planned on some level, but his youth and innocence would protect him until the last second.

I understood his distaste, but felt my pain more. Patience held the years of torture and fear back. The stairs directly above my head were sinking. I watched so I wouldn't miss my chance to send a violent man to the hospital. With any luck, a broken leg would keep us safe for a few months. A concussion would by us more time. Or maybe not, but I was short on ideas.

Hesitation gripped me. Long before Jace learned to walk, Uncle was ambling downstairs to fall into bed. I followed to see if I could trail behind without alerting him to my presence. After a few unsteady steps, he pitched forward. I remembered the shock and reaching out. My small hand brushed his shirt before he rolled down.

I didn't have enough sense to run upstairs and hide. He beat me that night. I spent three days in bed. My mom told me if I weren't following him so closely, I wouldn't have knocked him down. Since I was in too much pain to speak up, my parents sort of believed him. I remembered being so thankful my parents didn't believe I did it on purpose that I kept quiet.

Those days were gone. The board right above me sunk, creaking as dust fell into my hair. He would not be staying. I readied my hands. We would suffer no more because of him. He managed the next step and I saw the heels of his boots. Uncle wore his usual long pants. I'd have time to make a plan so I'd never have to worry about the creaking stairs again.

Jace, eyes locked on our uncle, pushed himself back until he sank into the couch cushions.

The boots reached level with my hands. Patience dissolved. I grabbed the pants and held on, tugging the cloth towards me. No way he'd tuck and roll to bounce up and beat me half to death again.

Jace screamed and scrambled up the back of the couch until he hit the wall.

A sickening crunch reached my ears and I came around the stairs. My uncle was sprawled on the floor. Empty eyes observed us as blood pooled around his head. I circled him, waiting for a response. Then I saw the handle of a hammer jutting out from the back of his head. More than blood poured from the wound.

"We were sitting on the couch when he fell, Jace," I said, turning to him. His eyes wouldn't rise to mine. "Jace, I have to call the cops. Tell me you'll say he fell." I moved in front of him. "Jace!"

He looked at me. "You killed him."

When I saw the tears, I swallowed. "By accident. It's more permanent than the hospital visit I wanted, but I can't help that now. Are you backing me up on this?" I knew I should've been scared, but felt vindicated and calm.

"Of course."

I touched his shoulder and made him stand. I marched him up the stairs and into the kitchen to see my father race into the room. The stairs didn't creak at all.