The Trial (The Tree House) Read Free

one eye and then the other.
    The first thing I noticed was the trail of smoke drifting up from my shoulder. Then the silver barrel of a gun pointing past my neck. I don't know why I noticed the gun first. Especially since there was a dead man lying on the floor directly in front of me. Now, my eyes fixed on the pool of blood forming like a halo around his head.
    Ben lowered his gun and stepped down beside me. “Alright,” he said tucking it under the back of his shirt. “See if he has a wallet.”
    I unfroze and twisted my neck to stare at my brother. “Are you serious?” I asked him. “Geez, Ben, you just killed the guy!”
    “You always were the smart one. Check his jacket.”
    “No way,” I said shaking my head repeatedly. “I'm not touching a dead man. No way.”
    Ben let out an annoyed sigh and nudged me off the stair and out of his way. “Seriously, J. Grow a pair, will ya?” Then I watched him trudge straight over to the man's body, stepping in the blood pool as if it were a puddle on a sidewalk.
    He knelt down, careful not to put his knee down in the blood – probably afraid he'd stain his pants – and stuck his hand into the man's jacket. After rustling around for a second, he pulled a plain, brown leather wallet back out. I stood there frozen again, watching as my brother casually opened this dead man's wallet and began picking through the pockets, searching. Then he let out a frustrated grunt and dropped the wallet. It landed on the guy's unmoving chest with a hollow thud. “Nothing,” Ben muttered. “Not even a freaking library card.”
    “Well, I don't even have one of those,” I whispered, my voice still quivering.
    My brother glanced at me with a sarcastic sneer then straightened up. “Help me,” he said positioning his feet to line up with the guy's shoulders. I stepped forward and stopped at his shoes.
    “What are we going to do with him?” I asked as the two of us bent down to pick up either end of the body.
    We lifted at the same time and stood there holding it awkwardly. Then Ben started pulling toward the kitchen. “Let's take him out back.”
    “And then what?” I asked grumbling. “Bury him next to Sparky and Mittens?”
    “I thought they ran away while we were at camp,” Ben joked as we started for the doorway. “Careful you don't slip.”
    As if on cue, my shoe slid on the slick floor and my legs flew out from under me. I landed on my back in the blood as the dead man's feet hit my chest. A girlish squeal escaped my throat and I tried to squirm back out of the blood but it was no use. My hands took off in different directions and I fell splat on my back again. I could feel it, warm and thick, seeping into my clothes, soaking my skin.
    I screamed again, throwing curse words left and right when I finally was able to scramble back and up onto the stairs. The hair on my arms was plastered to my skin with the slimy, red stuff and I could feel it running down my back and seeping into my boxers. “No way!” I screamed at Ben as he tried to keep a straight face. “This is ridiculous! Look at me!” I threw my arms down, spattering the wood floor with dark droplets. “What are we even doing?” Now my brother let out a loud laugh before coughing to cover it up. “How is this funny?” I continued then pulled my shirt up over my head. I could feel it oozing over my ears and up the sides of my face. Then I threw my shirt to the floor where it landed with a wet splat. “You're a psycho,” I yelled, stabbing my finger in Ben's direction. I turned to go up the stairs and heard him let out one more snicker. “It's not funny!” I called back when I had reached the top.
    As I stood in my old room – or rather what was left of it – I couldn't help but feel a twist in my gut. My walls had been stripped bare of all the posters of my favorite bands and pictures of my friends and family. The shelf above my bed that had once held my football and soccer trophies was empty.
    I went