📚 my almost brother Part 10 of 6
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My Almost Brother

My Almost Brother

by Puss_in_boots28
20 min read
4.14 (579 views)
sisterbrother
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/* Firstly I would like to thank all the readers who have taken the time to read and vote on this story. A big shout-out to voyeur73 for your encouragement and your positive feedback. I would request the new readers to start their journey from Chapter 1 onwards. All the names, places, characters and things in this story are imaginary and any relation to them in real life is a complete coincidence. I have exercised my writer's prerogative in altering events and their timelines to suit the narrative.

The earlier version of this episode had punctuation and other issues, which I have tried to correct in this version. All constructive criticism will always be welcome.

I would like to personally thank all who have earlier read, voted and marked as favourite, the earlier version of this story. It is your encouragement and support that motivates me to keep writing.

Happy reading*/

The next couple of weeks passed by in relative tedium.

Sam was gone the next day. She just left a note behind saying "Take care, Sis!" I would have liked for her to have stayed and for us to further get to know each other, but I knew Sam would interpret it differently. Because I had no intention, at all, of repeating that night's activities.

I got settled in my new department. The work here in Radiology was more hectic than in Neurology, but at least I didn't have a toxic boss.

But my Neurology HoD did make sure to extract her pound of flesh. She intentionally spread rumours about my less-than-prudent behaviour in snogging my brother. In the couched and refined phrases befitting an erudite and renowned doctor that she was, she evaluated my performance in the Neurology department as meeting expectations but requiring additional training in handling the repercussions and impacts of interpersonal relationships vis-a-vis the professional obligations.

I didn't bother much with her comments because, at university, everyone knew what a stuffed cow she was.

At least now I wasn't the only one who had to deal with the unsolicited attention from the hospital staff. I had Helen to share the attention. What was more hilarious was the fact that the rumour mills at the Uni hospital made us out as rivals in our relationship with Johan. Every day there was some new gossip regarding our supposed rivalry. All of us housemates had a great laugh about it.

But, in my case, the laughter was a bit forced. Because I had not forgotten how Johan had rebuked me the last time we spoke. The memory of that encounter was like a bit of a thorn embedded in the skin, not visible in plain sight but causing quite a bit of pain.

I was additionally handicapped by the fact that now I had to tone down the content and tenor of the messages that I could leave for Johan, knowing that Sam would be listening to them. But at least I knew that he was listening to my messages because every couple of days, I would get either an emoji, a gif or a sticker from different numbers.

Those were my most sought-after talisman, which kept me sane and functional in those weeks.

It was a Saturday afternoon two weeks after my last meeting with Johan.

Brady had a shit-eating grin permanently on his face today as it was the Six Nations (Rugby championship) between Scotland and Wales. Luckily for him, his HoD was also a fan and both had bets on opposing teams. And so by afternoon, they had planted themselves squarely in front of the giant screens in the Atrium with Coke and Chips.

They had asked me to accompany them too, but it was Saturday, and I was assigned to Emergency as part of the Radiology team. I was getting prepped for the expected flood of broken bones due to the on-pitch and post-match brawls that were sure to happen in and around the football fields today.

Already by late afternoon, the number of people waiting in queue for their scans was growing and all of us there, were already mentally cursing ourselves and anticipating a long and knackered evening. I was in the middle of setting a cast on the forearm of yet another teenager, a goth girl with piercings and tattoos, when I felt my phone vibrate for some time and then stop. A minute later a ding on my phone told me I had received a DM. After I was done with that girl, I came out to the corridors and unlocked my phone to see that the missed call was from Brady. And there was an unread message from him as well.

"What's he doing watching a game of ruggers(rugby)?" There was only one particular 'he' whom Brady could be referring to. "You should come down here if you can! The cameras love him!" And he had tagged it with a winking emoji.

I was totally bamboozled.

Sweden was NOT a part of the Six Nations, that much I knew. But what could he be doing in a game of ruggers?

Maybe his Scandinavian league had some sort of sponsorship or promotion deal or something. And leaving that question unanswered with myself I responded back "You won't even get a sniff...So stop salivating!" And I also tagged this with a winking emoji.

I went back to Emergency, to continue with the rest of the patients. But I was mentally unsettled. His choice of the sport, his choice of the teams, and most importantly the history of the rivalry between the teams was something which was just not sitting right with me. But as the evening wore on, I was able to put that out of my mind as the patients just kept coming. I did not hear or receive any more DMs from Brady.

At the end of my shift, I went to the Ladies and splashed myself with water and looked at myself in the mirror. Yup, I looked knackered. It had been a very tiring Saturday. But then I remembered looking at myself in the wall-length mirror in the Ladies at the Palladium and that memory brought a smile to my lips. I was not likely to forget that day anytime soon. I came out, in much better spirits than I had gone in with, and called Brady. "Where are we going for a pint?"

As per the rota in my new department, I was assigned the evening shift for the coming week. Which meant I could get up late tomorrow. He did not reply. "Come on mate! I need a pint!" I persisted. Then I heard him put the phone on speaker and it was Helen who spoke. "Come down to the cafeteria Meeghan. Have some iced coffee" and then the call was disconnected.

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The whole trip to the cafeteria I was on pins and needles( anticipating bad news) What Helen had indicated, was that some stressful situation had occurred and she was asking me to keep my cool. As it was pretty late in the day, I did not meet many people in the lifts or during the walk to the cafeteria hence I was spared the hassle of having to explain the pinched look on my face to other colleagues.

I found the three of them sitting around our favourite corner table in the cafeteria, only now it was quite dark outside the window.

"You know it was Scotland vs Wales in the Six Nations today, right?" Brady started and Helen took it over from Brady. "You know it's like a war between these teams whenever they face each other in the Six Nations! Multiple pitch brawls are quite at par for this game!"

"What's happened to him?" I asked urgently because there could be only one reason why they would be patronizing me with such a build-up. It was Afreen who replied succinctly. "During the pitch brawls, a few fire-crackers and other incendiary devices were set off on the field as well as in the substitution benches. Quite a few people were injured."

"Is he.....?" I could not complete the sentence. I was too terrified of what the answer might be. "He was alive and moving" Helen hastily added. "But we saw him being carried out on a stretcher!" "How.....?" though I could not complete this sentence either, they understood. "The cameras were following him. His shirt was soaked!" Afreen also supplied this information, as expected.

I was rooted on the spot for a second, while I evaluated my options.

Then I picked up my phone and dialled Mom. She picked up on the eighth ring. "So late?" was her sleep-addled enquiry.

"Karri, wake up! Johan is in..." Here I had to pause and ask Brady where today's game was played and he replied Edinburgh. "He is in Edinburgh...Six Nations... There was some sort of explosion in the pitch and they showed him on TV being carried out on a stretcher. I will try and find out which hospital he has been taken to." I paused and then, unable to control myself any longer, spoke in a tearful voice. "Please, Mom! Help me get there. Get me a chopper or a private charter!"

"No!" was her stern command. And then more gently she instructed. "You stay put!" And in a gentle soothing voice which I don't remember ever hearing from her before, she replied "Are you at home? If not, get home!  I will get quicker and more accurate answers about him, through my network. Will call you in an hour or two and provide updates. Go home now" and she hung up.

Realising that both her reasoning and her resources were far superior to mine, I had no other choice but to proceed home with my housemates.

Reaching home, I made a beeline to the drinks cabinet and before I could get out my favourite Glenlivet, Helen stopped me. "Have some wine! You will have to stay awake for who knows how long! Have some wine and cheese! Save your stomach from perforation!" Agreeing to her logic, I got a bottle of red and filled up a generous quantity in a wine glass and started sipping from it. Afreen quickly got some cheese and sandwiches. I asked my homies to go to bed, but they refused.

I switched on the TV. All the shows on all the channels were dedicating airtime only to today's events at the Six Nations match. As usual, the cameras caught a lot of punching, kicking and eye-gouging, which as per the news anchor was the special entertainment section of every Six Nations match between these two countries.

The news loops also showed the fireworks. Again as per the news anchor, today the fireworks were more in number and more deafening than in previous years which led to a stampede-like situation and thus so many got injured.

I finally got to see him on TV. He had a dazed look as if in shock, as he lay on the stretcher. And there were splashes of blood covering most of his upper body. Luckily there didn't seem to be any injuries to his face.

Even lying on the stretcher, with his arm slung over his chest, he looked quite handsome. No wonder the cameraman followed him through the whole length of the field as he was being carried on the stretcher. At least he did not look seriously injured.

I asked Afreen to check if any other details or additional info was available online. Not wanting to keep looking at him lying on the stretcher anymore, I switched off the TV. Brady started some random playlist on his phone which I immediately asked him to turn off as I couldn't bear any songs or music in my current mood. We just sat around the ottoman, drinking wine and not knowing what to say to each other.

And not able to bear the silence any longer I just blurted out "What the fuck is he doing watching a Six Nations match? Why the hell did he go there? Doesn't he have a TV in that league office of his? Or in the Swedish Embassy for that matter?" My homies understandably kept silent.

I was at a loss as to what to do and the forced inaction was killing me.

Once I thought I should call Sam, but then I immediately killed the thought. If Sam already knew and had some updates for me, then she would call. As there were no calls from her, then obviously she was unaware and I didn't want to trouble her this late at night!

At one point Afreen informed us that she could not find any engagements or commonalities between his League and the Six Nations but she would continue looking. I additionally asked her to check the chat-rooms and blogs regarding any news about him. She looked at me with a quizzical smile and questioned "I didn't know that you were aware of things like chat-rooms and blogs" to which I responded that maybe it was her influence rubbing off on me.

There was nothing to do except wait.

A dozen times I reached for my phone to call Mom, but each time I stopped myself. There was no point in harassing her, as she must be continually on the phone trying to reach out to her contacts, trying to get information. At one point in time, not being able to bear the oppressive silence and forced inaction I just got up and pulled open the liquor cabinet. But Helen stopped me. "I get how you feel, but this is not the solution. Continue with wine. It will be easy on your stomach"

Finally after three hours of consuming copious amounts of wine and already slurring quite a bit, I received the call from Mom which I was so desperately waiting for. I was so tense that my hands were shaking and my heart was audibly thumping in my chest as I switched the phone to speaker mode.

"He's coming to you." were her opening words. "He is not badly injured, just a torus fracture on his arm and maybe a couple of broken ribs. All other wounds are just superficial. Right now he is in the Royal Infirmary for tonight. Tomorrow afternoon they will transport him to your Uni hospital via Air Ambulance. You will see him tomorrow. Now go to sleep. G'nigh"

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The relief I felt was enormous and laying my head down on my arms, which were spread out in the ottoman I started weeping silent tears. One by one my homies came and patted me on my back and proceeded to their beds.

Nobody had dared to address the elephant in the room! If he was being air-lifted, then why not go to Stockholm? Why come here?

The next morning I was woken up by the continuous ringing of my phone.

I could hardly open my bleary eyes and thus ended up pawing all over with my hands and finally found the phone tucked away inside the coverlet.

"Hello" I sounded as hoarse as a bull-frog on mating day. "Really? You are still sleeping and he will be airdropped on your Uni hospital rooftop any minute now" shouted the caller "Hi Sam!" my voice was still hoarse. "Get up and go to your hospital now" Sam was starting to sound like my ex-HoD and I wasn't liking it one bit. "I am not part of his reception committee, so I don't need to bother about him getting airdropped. You are welcome to get there though. Anyways my shift starts in the evening...Bye," and I hung up.

Last night I stayed up late, fighting the soporific(sleepy) effects of the wine, but was determined to get some answers. But chasing after the answers was as fruitless as a dog chasing its tail. So I decided to formulate the correct questions. And every which way I saw it, there were too many inconsistencies, too many coincidences, uncharacteristic behaviours and segues on his part without him explaining the reasons for his behaviour.

And, I was pissed at myself for wearing my heart on my sleeve.

His lack of solicitous behaviour towards me, I reasoned, was because he took my emotions for granted. I wanted myself back in control and was angry at him for not showering me with the attention to which I felt I was entitled. Hence, my dismissive and unconcerned tone while talking to Sam.

I was sure she would convey this to him and he in turn would explain to me all that I needed explaining.

(A part of me reprimanded myself that I was being petty, childish and unreasonable. But so be it. I wasn't going to be understanding and compromising anymore. Everybody pacifies a stubborn child with a new toy, while the compromising child has to make do with a broken one. Guess I created a new Zen quote for myself here!)

I forced myself to go back to sleep and then woke up around noon.

After a lazy bath, I went down to the kitchen and made myself some tuna sandwiches. I brought the sandwiches and some orange juice to the ottoman and sitting down, I turned on the TV. Now that all my roomies had left in the morning, the silence in the house was a bit oppressive. For some time I aimlessly surfed channels. Finding nothing worth watching, I finally settled on a Channel 4 newsreel about yesterday's mishap at the Six Nations.

I again watched the repeat of all those visuals about kicking and fighting at the Principality Stadium in Edinburgh. I also watched the cameraman follow him on his stretcher. This time they did not edit out too much of the stretcher closeup and I could watch him for a longer duration.

The same dazed face, the same bloodied arm lying on his chest. His fingers on his arm were twitching, surely due to the adrenaline rush. This, very common reaction on his god-like face, kept my eyes glued to the screen and on his fingers. This very human-like reaction showed that he too was as fragile as any of us and this humbling realisation made me look at him more affectionately. I was almost ready to forgive him for rebuking me that day.

And then suddenly there was a shout.

I realised that the shout came from me. I jumped up and rushed to the screen to confirm what I had just deduced from his twitching fingers. Yes, I was right. All those beasting rituals and cruel forced marches and punishments at Col. TwinkyToes' had borne fruit. Because his twitching fingers were tapping out a message. In Morse Code.

So I immediately called up Afreen, who seemed to be free and thus picked up my call. "Can you find out the contact details of the reporter who captured the shot of him lying on the stretcher? I need the unedited complete footage"

"Why?" was her natural inquiry. "Because he is sending a message to me" I just couldn't control my excitement. "Come on...! He is lying on a stretcher. He didn't speak one word" Naturally Afreen would assume communication was only through word of mouth. "His fingers were twitching. In Morse Code. I just watched a repeat of that on Channel 4" I replied hurriedly.

"What!" she must have shouted too loudly because the next moment she reduced her voice to a whisper. "Are you sure? Anybody's fingers can twitch because of the adrenaline rush. You know that" she tried to correct me. "I will prove it to you when you get me the unedited footage. Pls try to get it fast" and I hung up.

Because in the meantime my brain was suggesting a different line of action. After giving it some thought I picked up my phone and called Sam.

"So you are awake now?" was her opening gambit. "Sorry Sam, I disconnected the call in the morning. I had a late night. Had too much wine. And to tell you the truth I was a little pissed...at him" I added. I had decided to go with the truth here, at least regarding my morning's actions so that I could gain trust. "Finally decided to give him a bit of stick(stand up to him), have you?" with uncanny precision, she had divined my thoughts of last night. "Well, you guessed right! Guess, we are sisters after all!" I continued to pamper her a little more. "What do you want?" she cut through the B.S. with a get-on-with-it tone.

I made a spot decision and decided to risk it all. "I need the unedited complete footage of him lying on the stretcher and being carried across the field" I was on tenterhooks. I didn't know what questions would Sam ask and how I was going to reply to them.

Sam was silent for a full minute. (I realised later that she was silent intentionally) Then with a deep sigh, and in a resigned voice, she conceded "The message that he tapped out with his fingers was 'Take me to Meg'"

I was dumbfounded. The silence between us seemed to stretch on and on. "Are you sure?" I ventured in a whisper at last. "I may resent you for becoming so important to him that even with a broken arm he taps out your name." I could feel her waves of resentment coming at me through the phone. "But I have no reason to lie to you"

I suddenly realised that it had stopped raining and the Sun was peeping out from behind the clouds. I don't remember having such a great day in October before. And this tuna sandwich was the best one that I had ever tasted. I might have even started realising how perfect the 4K colour display on our TV was when I was brought back to reality from cloud nine, by the voice at the end of the line. "Stop doing mental cartwheels and go to the hospital...Just go" she ended the call.

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