The Darkness to Come by Brandon Massey Read Free Book Online Page B

their mother’s house in his condition. Leon never would have dared to do such a thing when Dexter was free. Dexter wouldn’t have allowed it, would’ve kicked his ass at the mere suggestion.
    Dexter dropped his duffel bag and jacket onto the floor. He walked to the bed, raised the glass-framed photo high, and brought it down hard against his brother’s skull.
    Glass shattered. Leon came awake with a yelp, putting his hands to his head. “Oww! What the fuck?”
    “Get out the bed, you sorry-ass Negro. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”
    Rubbing his head, Leon sat up. He blinked at Dexter and laughed, uneasily. “Oh, hey Dex. You-you got out?”
    He was on drugs on all right. That high-pitched, staccato, stuttering voice was a dead giveaway.
    “I got out this morning. What the fuck are you doing living here with Mom?”
    “I-I ain’t living here.” Leon scratched his ashy, rail-thin arms with long fingernails caked with grime. “Who-who told you that?”
    “She did.”
    Leon chuckled, but he wouldn’t meet Dexter’s gaze. He scratched at his chin furiously, as if trying to scrub away invisible dirt.
    “You’re on that shit again, too, aren’t you?” Dexter asked.
    “What-what?” Leon laughed. “Nah, nah, man. I-I don’t touch that shit no more.”
    “You lying motherfucker, you think I came down with the last drop of rain? You got crack fiend written all over you.”
    “Nah, nah, brah.” Leon shook his head. “I-I mean, sometimes, yeah—“
    “I don’t want to hear it. Get the fuck out of here and go eat—dinner’s ready. You look like the goddamn Crypt Keeper.”
    Muttering under his breath, Leon climbed out of bed and shuffled out of the room, scratching at various parts of his body. Leon was an embarrassment to the family, always had been. It was a wonder that they were blood brothers.
    Dexter sat on the bed and studied the wedding picture. Hitting his brother with it had shattered the frame. He shook the glass shards out onto the nightstand, pulled out the photograph.
    Seven years, two months, seventeen days.
    Dexter knew, to the precise day, how long he had been married. During his incarceration, he would mentally tally the days, just as most other inmates kept track of the number of days until their parole arrived.
    The duration of his marriage was a sacred thing, not to be taken for granted. These days, few people understood the real meaning of commitment; most people paid lip service to the holy charge, till death do us part, filing for divorce whenever the marriage became a tad bit too inconvenient or difficult.
    Not Dexter. He and his wife had exchanged vows before God, and he intended to honor them.
    He folded the photograph and put it in his wallet.
    Shutting the door, he grabbed the foot of the bed frame and pulled, dragging it away from the wall. He braced the bed against the door.
    A threadbare area rug covered the floor. Kneeling, Dexter peeled away the corner of the rug, exposing the weathered hardwood underneath.
    One of the floorboards was a lighter shade of brown than the others. He slid a penny into the top groove of the board, jiggled it. The plank popped free.
    Although he and Leon had shared this bedroom for much of their youth, Leon didn’t know about the hidey-hole. Dexter had created it to store valuable items—knives, mostly—and kept it secret from everyone.
    He lifted the first plank, and removed four others, creating a cavity that was about two feet wide, and almost as long. Frosty air sifted from the crawlspace below, like freed spirits.
    He stuck his hand inside. His fingers brushed against the cold handle of a molded aluminum briefcase. He pulled it out and set it on the floor beside the hole. The silver satin exterior finish shone in the lamplight.
    He thumbed in the three-digit combination and raised the lid.
    Ten thousand dollars lay inside, in rubber-banded denominations of twenties and fifties.
    In his downtown apartment, he’d kept this money in