By the time we got Judith and Owen back into the shack, the sun was beginning to swoop below the horizon. Owen sat on the floor against the foot of the bed. The blow to his head has knocked him out for quite some time. His back was damp and he shivered from being dragged through snow for a distance.

Ethan had used thick strips of fabric torn from a sheet to fasten Owen's arms behind his back and to a leg of the bed. His ankles were tightly wrapped together with some of the ribbons of the cloth too. No matter how hard he tried, the only thing he was able to do was squirm.

Thank goodness Ethan had secured him before he fully awoke.

"You're gonna wish you killed me when I was out." Owen glared at me as he growled his threat. "Big mistake."

I gulped and sat near the head of the bed to tend to Judith. She still hadn't awakened, and I feared she never would. If she did, she probably wouldn't be the same, judging by the swollen bruises on her head and face that resembled the knuckles on Owen's dominate fist.

Ethan paced the short distance of the room, moving in a straight line from one side to the other as the lantern lit up the space and cast a long-legged version of him in the shadow on the wall. "Where's the hatchet, Owen?"

"You want the answer?" A copious trail of dried blood glistened on the side of his face. He shook his head. "You're gonna have to beat it out of me."

Ethan didn't look up but continued to anxiously pace. "You're sick. You wanna force me to get it out of you? To beat you? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Anything to have your hands on me again, lover boy." Owen winked an eye and puckered his lips. "Put your hands on me while I'm conscious next time. It's better that way."

"Sickening." Ethan sneered. "You would say that, especially after what you did to Judith and Mandy while they were conscious."

"Judith and Mandy had it coming. They were loads of trouble. Like most girls." Owen turned his head and peered over his shoulder at me.

I shuddered and pressed a wet cloth to Judith's injures while she slept.

Owen nodded toward the bookcase where the Holy Bible visibly lay on the top shelf in the spot where the hatchet had been. "I saw the pictures you drew in there." He smiled. "Ethan, you're so damned talented. That's one reason I like you so much."

Ethan stopped pacing and glared. "What are you talking about?"

"You drew me like ... like a knight. I swear, your drawings of me are just . . . remarkable." Owen locked eyes with Ethan and allowed a smile to form on his lips. I searched my mind for the memory of me flipping through the Bible the day Ethan and Owen left me alone to go to the shop the first time. I could clearly envision the pictures he drew in black ink. "Even so..." Owen went on, glancing over his shoulder at me. "He drew you so much better."

I allowed my eyebrows to dip. "He loves me. That's why."

"I knew that the first time I met you guys." The amusement in his smile faded. "That's why I scribbled your pretty little face out of his doodles."

"What?" Shock hit me. "You did that?"

"I scratched out all the crap about hell and damnation too." He looked to Ethan who stood and glared. "No such thing."

Ethan cleared his throat, and sighed to contain his composure. "Where's the hatchet, Owen?" 

"You know what my mom told me once?" Owen went on. "She told me that I was going to hell. You wanna know why? Because me and my buddy, William, were a little too close for her liking." He chuckled, dropping his heavy head forward. "She was pissed when she found out me and Willy used to take road trips here to Colorado. Her imagination went wild." His lifted his head and locked eyes with Ethan again. "It didn't help that rumors floated around the neighborhood and within my family. She really thought me and Willy were being 'fags together'. And you know who started those rumors, the girls. Wanna know why?"

"No." Ethan didn't try to disguise his anger or lack of interest.

"Because girls are good for nothing but running their mouths and gossiping." Owen turned his head slightly. It wasn't difficult to see him watch me from his periphery. "They enjoy being aggressive and feisty too, thinking they can get away with it. So, we might as well make them useful somehow instead of allowing a perfectly good female body to waste away."

"You're sick. We established that." Ethan took a step forward, demanding the room. "Now I want the hatchet."

"Damn, Ethan." Owen groaned, allowing his head to fall back against the mattress. "You're turning me on."

Ethan pressed his hands to his forehead and bit his bottom lip, his way of keeping control of his anger. "The hatchet." A spot of dark red blood suddenly formed and coated his lip.

Owen grinned. "One girl in particular, Jamie, had her mouth going for years. Long after my mom died and Willy moved away, Jamie was still spreading those rumors. Well, turns out, Jamie was just jealous that I never invited her to Colorado."

I frowned, wondering where the story was headed and why he seemed so eager to share it.

"Finally," he continued. "I invited her and her big mouth to see this place. Too bad for her, I had a hard time finding it. Because when she kissed me on the lake-god, I just had to take her right there." His eyes lit up with a thrill and my stomach dropped.

I gasped. "The dark-haired girl? That was Jamie?"

He shifted to get a better view of me. "I would introduce you two but she's at the bottom of the lake." He shrugged.

I stood, a sudden bout of nausea, fear, and anger fueled my actions. "You killed her because of rumors she started?"

"She died because it was long overdue." Owen's tongue slid across his lips. "I killed her because it felt so good. Like heaven, like bliss. Like our kiss."

My lips burned at the mention of our kiss, and I couldn't help but wipe my lips on the back of my hand in the hopes of ridding any trace of his mouth and tongue on mine.

Ethan rubbed his temples as if they throbbed. "Tell me where you hid the hatchet?"

"Why?" Owen huffed. "Are you full of good intentions? Or are you gonna use it ... again?"

Ethan growled, and squeezed his fists at his sides. "What do you want? You want me to torture you? Is that how you want to play, Owen?"

For a moment, a look of genuine shock flooded Owen's face. "What would you do to me?" His surprise quickly changed to an all-knowing gleam. "You gonna do to me what you did to your poor daddy." His voice slowly escalated as he transitioned from mischievous to angry. "Gonna go ballistic on me and chop me up into little fucking pieces until I'm unrecognizable too?"

I shook my head trying to tear away the images. "No..."

But Owen continued, "All because Daddy wanted you to touch your little sissy's precious parts? No wonder you needed to establish appropriate boundaries with her."

"Where is it?" Ethan's voice rose to match Owen's. "Tell me where the goddamned hatchet is!"

"I mean, all the blood and ... pieces ... everywhere. All over the walls, furniture ... both of you covered in it as you took turns chopping the poor man to bits while he screamed."

I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my hands to my ears, but it couldn't keep his voice from getting through and replaying the horrid images.

"You took turns hacking, and hacking, and hacking..."

"Stop! Stop!" I yelled above Mr. Bryson's screams and the distinct sound of steel blade hitting flesh and bone. "No, no, no. Please, stop!"

The room went quiet.

When I opened my eyes, Ethan was straddling Owen and his hands were clenched around Owen's neck so tight they both twisted and struggled. My eyes widened seeing Ethan become so manic and out of control.

"I'll kill you," Ethan murmured, blooded saliva dripped from his mouth like a rabid beast. "I'll fucking kill you. I don't need the hatchet. I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Owen managed to cough and turn beet red in the glow of the lantern. With every gasp of air, Ethan's biceps bulged and his grip became tighter. But he didn't want to be that beast. He done everything to escape that image of him, everything, even turning to the Holy Bible to prevent himself from ever going down that route again.

But here he was.

"Ethan!" I called, not able to allow him or his conscious to suffer any more trauma. When he looked up at me, he quickly removed his hands from Owen's neck and stumbled back on his bottom.

We watched as Owen gasped for air, coughing up phlegm in the process. With his hands still secured to the leg of the bed, he lay to his side exhausted.

Ethan panted. "I almost-" He shook his head. "I couldn't stop myself."

They were familiar words, but I tried desperately to block out the last time I'd heard them.

Owen coughed and gasped. "You're-" he panted and wheezed, "just like-" he chuckled, "-me." His chuckles and coughs blended.

I looked to my beloved brother, my protector, my hero. "Ethan?"

He didn't say a word, he only stared at me through the screen of long black hair.

"The hatchet." Owen's coughs finally ceased. "It's between the mattresses under Judith." 

I moved to the side of the bed and squeezed my hand between the mattress and boxspring until my fingertips touched the metal. "Got it." I pulled it out and stared at the rusted blade, not sure what to do with it.

Owen sighed as he lay on his side on the wooden floor. "Keep your enemies close and your murder weapon closer, huh?"

When I looked to Judith, she was already staring back at me with frightened wide eyes and her mouth agape.

What's on your mind? Do you think Owen is right about Ethan, are they alike? Any questions you're still seeking answers too?

Thanks for sharing your thoughts!