Am I My Brother's Keeper?

The rain fell like drops of piss being shaken off of a drunken God’s flaccid manhood.

But it didn’t deter him.

It was dark, too. The type of dark that gives rise to all the ghost stories inside a man of who he should have been and why he’s not enough. No streetlight’s out here in “god’s country”.

Rob Williams had never seen a god in this part of the world.

Just sickness.

Physical, mental, emotional. The trifecta. If there were any other type of sicknesses he was too ignorant to be aware of, this place had them, too.

Around the final turn Rob planted the pedal to the floor and all four barrels of the Holly carburetor opened, the 383 Stroker screaming his arrival like a demon crawling from the depths of hell.

He has been busy since ReVival: chopping wood and carrying water. Literally.

In the days immediately following his “inheritance”, Rob did what Rob does best and disappeared. He’s been in the wind since the moment he got the keys to Cooley’s baby blue C10.

Probably drinking and snorting and whoring, right?

Wrong.

Like a man possessed, Rob has been playing carpenter.

His works lay in the bed of the truck.

They’re ugly and imperfect, just like his soul. But they’re his. He made them.

The brakes cry out as the truck slides into the gravel parking lot. The engine stops abruptly.

In spite of all the rain pitter pattering on the metal roof, Rob can still hear them inside the cab of the truck.

They wail and yell. Sounds more like a sanatorium than a house of god.

A blue hue bathes the parking lot from the aftermarket headlights, exposing every defect in the warped and faded sign hanging over the double doors.

Talking Rock Road Baptist Church

“Baptist my ass.”

In the past he would’ve sat in the truck wondering if this was the right thing. He would’ve cursed himself for being so dramatic. Maybe he would’ve turned the truck around.

Not tonight.

Before he can slam the driver side door, Rob’s clothes are drenched through.

The rain has gone from the last few shakes to a full had too many piss now. It’s unusually cold for May in Georgia and Rob isn’t dressed for it. His cowboy boots sink into the dirt as he lifts his little art project from the bed of the truck.

He is undeterred.

He heaves the monstrosity up onto his back, wrapping one arm around it and grabbing the baseball bat with the other.

Judgement. He’d named it that at one of his horse and pony shows - blaming everyone else for what he had done. How dark it is before dawn.

Three steps to the door.

One more horse and pony show.

Wet wood is much heavier than dry wood. Rob is tired. Driving through the night from Rhode Island to Georgia will do that to a man.

First step.

His mind is made up, though. It was made up in the rafters of Amica Mutual Pavilion. It did not waiver through DC or Maryland or the Carolinas.

Second step.

Really, it was made up the moment John told him to finish the fucking job.

Third step.

He takes a breath at the top step, looking up to the sky and feeling the raindrops dancing on his face. Yes, he’s ready. To lay his chest bare to all of his demons. To face the music.

To pay his debts.

One big cowboy boot is all it takes to knock both of the cracked and splitting doors open in an almost cartoonish fashion.

The scene inside would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

Twenty or thirty mountain people writhe and shake and scream out in tongues. A quick scan of the lot gives confidence that there probably isn’t twenty teeth or a single health insurance plan amongst them.

Rob’s gray mane lays wet on his face, rain and dirt dripping off his boots onto the red carpet that runs up to the altar.

They finally notice him - a hulking giant with gray beard and hair holding a cross on his back. This is the sign they’ve all been praying for.  This is why they have been coming, communing with whatever deity would curse them to this god awful world they live in: life in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.

This is the miracle he promised.

Todd Haywood is the last to see Rob.

With a copperhead wrapped around his right arm and a diamondback wrapped around his left, Todd sees Rob. And he smiles. A big, white, toothy smile.

“And the Lord asked Cain where is your brother Abel? Where is your brother, Cain,” Todd speaks directly to Rob. To his soul.

Of course he’s talking about Cooley. Playing to Rob’s guilt over not being there for his friend.

The cross creates a zig zagged wet line in the carpet as Rob silently moves towards the altar.

“But God knows what happened. He knows Cain’s sins - just like he knows yours and mine. And Abel’s blood cried out from the ground. God cursed Cain - cursed him to forever walk the Earth with his shame.”

The sound barrier bends and stretches under the stress of the congregation’s disgusting babel, but Rob’s silence seems to be louder than any of it.

He never takes his eyes off Todd.

Something cracks in Todd as Rob’s steady stride breaks past the fourth pew.

He doesn’t let go of the smile, but his eyes show his hand. He subtly nods towards Rob. Big and Little appear on either side of the altar like the snakes on Todd’s hands - ready to strike.

Rob gets to the foot of the altar and stands tall, his muscles glistening in the candlelight.

“Finish the story, Todd.”

“Robbie, it is SO good to host you here once aga-”

“Finish. The. Story.”

How many times Todd has told this story of the man cursed to walk the world alone because of his shame. Alone and afraid - telling the righteous god that he is too weak to carry out his sentence.

“TELL THEM, TODD! Tell them what God promises Cain.”

Todd blinks first.

Little and Big move towards Rob with violence in their hearts.

Splinters fly from the wooden altar as Rob slams the cross down between them - stopping the brothers cold.

He pulls Judgement up and points to the center of the cross. A check is nailed to it.

Everyone stops. It’s quiet as… well, a church.

“God promised Cain that the mark would keep him safe, Todd. And that any man who did Cain harm would be paid back sevenfold.”

Stepping forward, Rob lays the point of Judgement square in Todd’s chest.

“Say it’s over.”

He twists the bat slightly, the callous wood gripping at Todd’s blood red dress shirt.

The only sound in the church is rainfall on the tin roof and the diamondback rattling.

A fake smile washes back over Todd’s face.

“Sure, Champ. It’s over.”

Rob holds his gaze and then…

Turns to leave.

All eyes are on Rob as he floats down the altar towards the stormy night.

Todd looks around the room - at Rob leaving, at his henchmen turned to concrete, and at his flock watching The Legend. His necktie is suddenly two sizes too small.

“Cain never goes home, Robbie,” Todd calls out in a final grasp for power.

This man is the god that Rob ran from incarnate. The one that made him feel outside this world. Alone. While everyone in AA talked about a god of love and peace and forgiveness, this is all Rob could see.

Rob wheels around on his heels.

His sadistic smile glows in the candlelight, big enough to swallow the whole damn church.

This is exactly what he was hoping for.

“It’s over! It’s over!”

Rob drops Judgement.

He doesn’t need it anymore.

Just like that, he walks out into the cool mountain air.

Free.

The moon hangs big and low and lights the way home for Rob. It isn't a long drive from Jasper County to their place, but he doesn't feel the need to rush it.

He lets it all sit. Breathing in peace from the mountain air and the rumble of the 383. That old truck smell.

Around one mountain curve or another a notification pings Rob’s cell. 

PRIME BOOKING

ReVival 87 Main Event - Rob Williams vs. The Anglo Luchador for the 5 Star Title.

“Well if that ain’t fucking providence.”

It won’t be the first time Rob has gone against TAL. They have somewhat of a history.

He pulls a Marlboro Red from the pack with his teeth, rolling the window down as he pushes in the cigarette lighter.

Why did they stop putting these in cars?

It pops out and he holds the end of his cigarette to it, drawing in deep to fill his lungs with toxic smoke.

It tastes good.

Rob figures we’ll all get cancer one way or another. Might as well enjoy it. Plus, a man needs at least one vice.

He leans his head out the window slightly.

The wind blows through his hair and he feels alive.

What else is a man to do on lonely mountain roads but sit with his thoughts?

Do you know the story of Cain and Abel, TAL? 

You’re an eye-tie from Philly. I have to assume you’re catholic. If you've spent Sundays at church, even just the holidays, you gotta know that one. 

I’m going to try to tell it now, but understand that this is my understanding of it. 

Largely imperfect.

Cain and Abel were Adam and Eve’s sons. And here I thought my parents were fucked up. Anyways, Cain is firstborn. He’s a farmer, you know, man of the earth. 

Both brothers bring an offering to God. The one with the big G from all those stories. Abel brings a sheep or some shit and Cain brings the shit he farmed. For whatever reason, God favors Abel’s gift. Cain, obviously, feels spurned by this. He can’t figure out why Abel’s gift is better. 

Well, it eats his lunch.

So much so that he takes his brother out into a field and fucking brains him. His own flesh and blood. 

We already talked about with Todd about how this ends. 

I’m Cain and you’re Abel, Tom. But not in the way I always thought. 

I know I’ve talked a lot of shit about you, man. Called you washed up. Made passes at your wife. Jesus, man, I called your kid an invalid. 

But the reality is… I’m jealous. 

You’re everything I’m not, Tom. 

Your son is annoying because he has the security of his dad being there. Your wife talks on the Jabber cause she knows you’re coming home, not cause she’s looking for you. 

You fucking stayed. You had integrity. 

At every turn I have run away. 

I thought that I didn’t deserve any of this so I burnt all my bridges. Backed myself into every corner. When I found out whatsername was pregnant with Finn, I bolted. When Charlotte told me it was her or the game, I bolted. 

I’ve always worn my scars like a badge of honor, you know? Like "oh man my life has been so hard and so unfair." But really, you did what was hard, Tom. You kept your word. You stayed true to yourself. 

And you had the same choices I did. 

You were just brave enough to lean into them. 

I’m not tough, Tom. 

My favorite movie is Silver Linings Playbook. A broken and sad man finding acceptance from a beautiful woman. I fucking cry every time. 

Do you cry at movies, Tom? I bet if you do, you don’t try to hide it. You let your wife see it and she probably loves that about you. 

In the past, when we’ve fought, I wanted to hurt you. Wanted you to feel the pain looking at you - the man who is everything I wish I had the courage to be - made me feel. This time it’s different. 

I do not want to hurt you, Tom. 

The phone line trills.

One ring. Two. Three.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of…”

I should tell him he’s mine. That I’m sorry. Beg his forgiveness and promise. 

“Hey kid - sorry I’ve been MIA. Lots of shit going down with the Daytona match and all. When I hit Atlanta, it’s time to get serious about your training. Call me tomorrow.”

I want to honor you, Tom. 

This match is going to be amazing because… I respect you. And you deserve this. 

It’s well past midnight when Rob pulls into the parking lot of their little slice of heaven.

He looks at it for a moment.

A giant, plantation home with hulking pillars on the front of a wrap around porch.

He’s reminded of riding the bus to school as a kid. It’s visceral. The smell of the brown leather seats, the contrast of the booming heater to the frigid Georgia cold outside. Passing his house and the shame of seeing the notices on the door.

He could tell which utility was being cut off by the color of the tag.

That one house off Highway 124 he always stared at on the bus ride to school

Little Rob Williams didn’t know why he felt so drawn to it.

Every day he seemed to notice another rich detail of that home.

The long, straight driveway with the perfectly trimmed dogwood trees on either side. Precisely arranged furniture on the patio under the gigantic columns. How the sun gleamed off the white porch swing.

Peace lived there.

Now he stands before the chopped up Frankenstein’s monster they rented the upstairs unit in. The flaking paint falling from the decorative columns. That broken swing porch covered in rust and MRSA.

Sure, you can’t eat the paint chips, but this place was alright.

At this moment, the whole world makes a lot of sense to little Rob Williams.

He smiles as one tear comes out of his left eye.

“Chickamagua,” he whispers to himself.

Something tells him to fight the urge to run a finger along the dilapidated swing. Wouldn’t that be fitting? All the pills and booze and fast cars and he dies from a splinter.

That elicits a chuckle.

The rain has stopped. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls at the full moon above.

“Thanks Cooley.”

She wakes up sometime around two.

It’s harder and harder for her to sleep these days. For once it’s not from worry, she reflects as she soaks in the pale light illuminating the room from the moon outside.

Life is…

She rests a hand on her stomach.

Just right.

The bed is warm - but not as warm as it should be. She rolls over and wipes some sleep for her eyes. Cooley raises his head, looks at her, and lays back down unbothered.

Rob’s spot is cold.

That’s not the only thing missing.

There isn't a pang of fear and terror in her belly waking up without him there. She knows he’s not out cheating.

He’s working his shit out. He’ll be back, though. He’ll always come back, she smiles to herself.

Charlotte’s ears perk to a familiar whine outside the window. Years of rain and wind and disregard crying out from being forced into motion.

It’s the porch swing.

“And who could be on the porch swing at two in the morning,” She chuckles as she pushes herself up in bed.

She finds him there, soaking wet and stinking of cigarettes and Georgia rain.

He smiles at her - not with his mouth, but with his eyes.

It has always amazed her how perfect the space between his blacked out arm and chest fits her. Like a sculptor made the two of them with intention.

For a while, they don’t speak at all. They don’t need to. Sharing presence is enough.

“Where you been, babe,” she asks, not in an accusing way. No, more curious than anything.

“I went to see Todd.”

Charlotte didn’t show her concern. Todd is a dangerous man - and Rob is a real dangerous man when dealing with people like that.

“Oh? How was that?”

“Well, I busted in during his sermon carrying a cross and that baseball bat I went all Buford Pusser with. Slammed the cross down at the altar with a check nailed to it.”

“And then?”

“Then I made him say it was over and I left.”

She raises an eyebrow and lifts her head to stare into Rob’s steely blue eyes.

“You just left?”

Rob nods with a slight smirk.

“Yep. I paid him what I owed him and made sure it’s all buttoned up. Then I drove straight home.”

“Ok. Say, Rob, why did you bring a cross with you?”

“Ah, man you remember I told you about Rusty, right?”

“Your babysitter. The schizophrenic Vietnam war vet?”

“Yup, well Ma always told me this story where Rusty walked into Euyucka Road Baptist Church in the middle of Sunday service with a cross on his back.”

“And this inspired you?”

“It gave me a feeling. I went with it.”

“Ok. That’s a tad bit dramatic, isn’t it?.”

“I’m nothing if not a showman, babe.”

She lifts her head once again. This time, she’s not examining - she’s calculating. This man, her man, drove some twenty hours in a dead man’s truck with a homemade cross in the bed to confront a snake handling preacher.

That’s Rob and she loves him.

She marvels at the giant moon reflecting in his eyes - he may be dumb and wore the years on his face, but god he was just so beautiful.

Charlotte laughs - an honest and innocent laugh. Rob cocks an eyebrow at her. The smell of fresh rain in the air and her infectious laughter and how it all led to this moment in their life together… he can’t help but join in.

“Rob?”

It didn’t necessarily surprise her he drove all the way from Rhode Island to confront Todd. But paying his debt without any comeuppance?

Something has really changed in him.

“Yeah babe?”

He sucks in a deep breath and braces for impact. This is it, he can feel it.

She’s going to tell him she’s pregnant.

“How much was it that you owed Todd?”

He peers at her - partly because he’s getting old and has to. Mostly because he didn’t see that coming.

A fast enough curveball to catch him off guard and keep him honest.

She always knew the count.

“Twenty grand.”

She slugs him on the arm. He’s a fucking gorilla, but he’s her gorilla.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Rob.”

Fade.

To.

Nevada?

Finn sits on a dingy couch in low light rolling a joint of some real midgrade shit.

It’s not brick weed, but it's never heard the word “strain”. He licks the joint and twists the ends before sparking it up and pulling a deep inhale.

A dragon’s breath of smoke covers the phone as he hits play on the voicemail.

“Hey kid - sorry I’ve been MIA. Lots of shit going down with the Daytona match and all. When I hit Atlanta, it’s time to get serious about your training. Call me tomorrow.”

His smile looks a lot like Rob’s. He’s always hated that about himself.

Snorting and pinning the joint between index and ring finger, he slides through his contacts.

Albert Allan Antonio

“Mhm,” he mumbles as he puts the joint back to his lips and hits the call button.

It doesn’t even ring.

“What’s up,” the voice from the other side questions. It’s hoarse - tired like it was just woken up from sixteen hours at a steel plant.

“The old fucker is coming back to town. He said he wants to get serious about training.”

“Nice.”

“Yep. I think it’s time we begin the next part of the plan, dude.”

Silence.

“You there?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I think you’re right. Where are you?”

“Back in Nevada.”

“Alright. Get to Atlanta.”

Finn nods like the person on the other end of the phone can see him. Thank God he’s not the brains of this operation.

“Are you nodding at the phone again?”

“No. I gotta go book my ticket, man.”

The call comes to an abrupt end from the other side.

“Prick,” Finn laughs, taking another long drag on his joint.

It was all coming together perfectly.

Finally, Finn would have vengeance on the father who abandoned him.