1- Quentin

1.
Quentin:

Days had gone past and we hadn’t heard a thing about the robbery. Jem stayed quiet about it and carried on drinking himself to death. I didn’t think that it would stop him, but I just hoped it would calm things down a bit.
     It didn’t, if anything, it made everything worse.
     I could hear my phone ringing, so I rolled over and grabbed it. On the screen read two missed calls from Jem. I sighed and rung him up, he picked up straight away.
     “What do you want?” I groaned, sitting up and looking at the clock. “It’s two in the morning.”
     “I’m a horrible brother,” he said, his words slurred from the vodka, I rubbed my eyes.
     “Don’t say that, you’re just confused in life,” I replied.
     “I’m not though, that’s the thing. Tell me, Q, what do I have to be confused about? I have a steady job-”
     “Steady? Jem, that’s not the right word to use. You go in to the building when you’re out of bourbon because they have a stash in the kitchen. That’s not steady. Well not in my dictionary.”
      There was a groan. “Your dictionary? Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot. Quentin is always right, silly me.”
     “Jem, stop being an arse and listen.”
     “No, Q, you listen. I phoned you up to talk to you, I need my brother.”
     “You only need me when you want. I’m always there for you, I go round your house every morning just to check you’re still alive! You need to sort yourself, turn to a friend, not a drink. Now, if you don’t mind; it’s 2am and I need rest to prepare myself for your hangover in the morning. Good night, Jem.”
      I hung up and put the phone onto the side, before rolling over again. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But I couldn’t. His words kept on twisting around in my head: Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot. Quentin is always right, silly me. This was so not true, my first few decades I was anything but right. I was nowhere near that. But somehow his words just seemed to pierce my heart hard. As if they were pins and each one stabbed me, I shouldn’t have let it get to me; Jem was drunk, like always. But he turned to me. He had never phoned me up and talked to me about things like that. I got up and grabbed some clothes. I slipped them on, picked up my phone, along with my keys and left.
     I climbed into my car and fired it up. I started driving down the roads that lead to his house. I pulled up in front, there were no lights on. This stirred worry in me when it shouldn’t have; maybe he had gone to bed, but I still had to check. I got out and walked to his front door. I knocked and there was no reply. I found the key he gave me and unlocked the door. I entered, closing it after me.
     “Jem!” I called out, walking in further, turning on the lights. There was no reply.
     “Jem, this isn’t funny! Where are you?” I checked the clock on my phone 3:04. It only takes four minutes to get here from my house. I didn’t take long getting dressed, so I must have dozed off after his call without realizing.
     “Jem? Where are you?” Still no reply.
     Thank god his house was only four rooms, I checked every one, still no sign. I frowned. I went back into the front room, just as the door swung wide open. In its wake stood Jem, his clothes covered in blood and tears staining his cheeks. His mouth was wide and his eyes stared, but didn’t look. He closed the door and looked at me. Silence.
     “I’ve done something so wrong.” Is all he said, before collapsing, I ran over to him before calling the emergency services.