A Lock Of Death by Beena Khan

13

PAST

An eight-year-old Dimitri stared up at his father, Daniel Nikolaev.

His father was a tall man with broad shoulders who often wore suits. Midnight raven hair and pale, Russian skin dominated his features. He sat in the living room drinking coffee.

“Father, we painted in Art class today,” he said. “Do you want to see my painting?” Dimitri held the painting in his hand, eagerly waiting for his father’s response. He was kind of proud of it.

His father Daniel glanced at him. The same eyes stared back at him.

“Not now,” his father Daniel replied.

Dimitri’s eyebrow creased and he scratched the back of his head.

“I have to speak with Zander about our way of life,” his father continued.

Dimitri’s eyes filled with curiosity. “Oh, I want to know too!”

His father narrowed his eyes, and a deep sigh left his lips. “You will know later when it’s your time. It’s Alexander’s time right now.”

Dimitri didn’t understand.

“He’s going to be the Pakhan when I step down.”

Dimitri sulked. “Why can’t I be the Pakhan?”

His father looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“I thought you know already why,” his father replied.

When Dimitri looked away and stayed silent, his father said sternly, “Posmotri na menya.”

Look at me.

Dimitri’s head jerked up immediately at the order.

“Alexander is the firstborn. He is older than you, my Dima.”

Dimitri licked his lips slowly. “But I’m bigger than him. I’m stronger. I can beat him up, you know,” he protested.

His father laughed, and it sounded like mocking.

Rage slowly burned through his veins at the dismissal.

“That’s not how it works,” his father replied, still smiling. “You’re the second born, that means you’re the Second in Command. You protect him.”

Dimitri still didn’t understand.

“I thought older brothers protect the younger ones?”

His father still smiled, and Dimitri wanted to reach out and punch him across the face to remove that smile permanently.

His eyes widened, startled at the realization. He shook his head silently and waited for his father to speak.

“Not in our world, Son,” his father countered, shaking his hand in the air in dismissal. “You will always be there for him and protect him like his shadow. Isn’t it great that you’ll always be with him?” His father flashed another smile, and his bright, electric blue eyes shone down on him.

His shadow.

Dimitri didn’t like those words.

I’m my own person! He wanted to scream.

“Now go and call your brother Zander. I want to speak with him. Once I’m done, come back and show me, okay?” his father finished, sipping his coffee and looking away now.

Second born.

Second in Command.

Never number one.

Dimitri’s fist clenched in and out, and he gritted his teeth, choosing not to reply. His father could have spared a two second glance and looked at the painting he still held in his hand instead of lecturing him.

Dimitri’s gaze fell on his father’s steaming burning coffee.

Narrowing his gaze, an erratic need surged through his tingly veins to scorch his father the way he boiled inside his very soul.

Without sparing another thought, he lunged forward and pushed the coffee out of his father's hand.

Startled, his father sputtered out a light gasp and the steamy coffee’s contents fell on the expensive satin suit, right in his lap. His father’s pale skin reddened, and he hissed under his breath. His father looked around for tissues but there weren’t any.

Well… that’s a shame.

After a moment, he glanced up, perhaps, in disbelief at Dimitri.

Dimitri held a smug smile in. He widened his eyes, mimicking a surprised expression, and forced his lower lip to tremble.

“I’m sorry, Father! It was an accident.”

He waited for the tears to roll down his face, but they didn’t come.

Squeezing his eyes shut a few times, he waited again, but they were dry. His eyeballs were like a desert, and not one drop came out. Dimitri didn’t understand why he couldn’t cry, and why he didn’t care.

His father was… hurt.

Deliberately, he dug his nails deep into his skin and he felt a trickle of liquid ooze out of it. He internally winced and at last, the tears came.

He sighed silently in satisfaction.

His father let out a deep sigh before muttering Russian curse words under his breath. Upon hearing the commotion, the servants came running toward his father with wet towels.

He pressed his lips together and studied Dimitri for a second.

“It’s alright…” His father’s stormy eyes darkened, and he looked away and cleared his throat. “Be careful next time, Son.”

Dimitri nodded obediently, still sputtering out apologies before he turned away. His eyes gleamed when he turned his back on his father. His shoulders sagged. He went upstairs to call his brother down but not before throwing the painting in the trash can.

The same painting that he’d painted of his father.

It could go in the trash where it belonged.

❖

LATER

Dimitri was in his bedroom when the door barged open.

He glanced up and stared at his eleven-year-old older brother Alexander. His brother’s black twinkling eyes met him before asking, “May I come in?”

Dimitri blinked. “No.”

Then, he threw a pillow over his face, avoiding his brother.

“Too bad. I’m coming in, anyway,” Alexander replied cheekily.

Dimitri sighed. “What do you want, Zander?”

His brother was by his bedside now.

“Ever heard of privacy?”

Dimitri removed the pillow from his face and glanced up at him, studying his brother. His brother has taller, but Dimitri was bigger. His shoulders were broader and stockier whereas Alexander was leaner.

He could easily snap him like a twig.

He paused in thought.

This was his brother.

Shaking off his thoughts, he stared up at the scarlet painted ceiling.

“I heard what happened with Father,” Alexander said. Dimitri didn’t look at him and he clenched his jaw so tight, his teeth hurt. “I brought this with me.”

Dimitri looked up and opened his mouth to tell him off, but his eyes noticed what his brother was holding. The same painting he’d thrown out earlier in the day.

Narrowing his eyes, he pondered in thought.

“How did you get that?”

Alexander smirked, looking all too pleased with himself.

“Give it back,” Dimitri demanded, reaching for it.

Alexander pressed it against his chest like he was hugging it.

“You threw it out. It’s mine now. Finders keepers.”

His brother’s eyes filled with a playful glint.

“I want to frame it in my room,” Alexander replied.

Dimitri furrowed his eyebrows.

“It means nothing to Father, anyway.”

Alexander tilted his head before replying, “But you made it, so it means something to me.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened, and Alexander flashed him one of his smiles. “I think it’s nice, Brother,” Alexander replied, holding the painting in front of him at an arm’s length. “Well, you made Dad a stick figure with a blob of green paint, but it’s not that bad.”

Dimitri’s lip twitched and his eyes softened.

Alexander glanced up.

“You know I love you the most right, Dima?”

The rage in Dimitri’s soul lessened.

It was difficult to be upset with his charming, older brother.

“More than Mother and Father, and you won’t be my Shadow.”

The wrath in him evaporated as he stared up at him.

He realized, Alexander had heard that conversation after all.

“Shadows disappear, but you will always be with me as my brother,” Alexander finished, “I will always protect you. We came from the same womb, and nothing will ever come between us, Dima. We are not two different people but one.”