The air felt heavy. Reginald sat in silence, his fists clenched tightly on the table — his voice rough and low.Richard and Robert were no better.Their faces had lost all color, their legs trembled, and their eyes seemed about to burst from their sockets.
"A–what…" Richard tried to speak, but his voice caught — their throats dry from the weight of this heavy conversation."Excuse me for a moment, I'll get a drink," Richard said, breaking the silence.He rose and left, leaving Robert frozen, staring at his bowed brother.
The silence hung over them.Reginald remained downcast, and Robert, not skilled at comforting, could do nothing.Only the hum of the AC and the drip of rain seeping through the ceiling kept them company.
Not long after, Richard returned with a bottle of whisky and three small glasses."I took this from Harry's desk. At least we won't have to drink refilled water, right?"
CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!Three glasses were set neatly in front of them.
POP!!The cork popped, echoing across the room.
Glug… Glug… Glug…The golden liquid flowed, bringing a strange calm to the three weary souls.
Reginald, who had been staring down, now looked at his two brothers in turn."You two have grown up so fast… forgive me…"His eyes fixed on the whisky swirling in his glass, his thoughts wandering in regret for what had happened.
"It's okay, brother. We never blamed you. It's just… sometimes I forgot to ask why you did it," Richard said, inhaling the aroma of his whisky."But we never got the chance," Robert added, looking at their brother again.
"I'm sorry…" Reginald whispered, pulling the glass closer."It's okay. At least we've found you now," Richard said, raising his glass high."Let's toast."
All three lifted their glasses."For Emma," Richard said softly, sipping slowly, followed by Reginald."For my little sister," Robert added, joining them.
After a few sips of whisky in silence,
"That night, during the fire, why did you run? Why weren't you with us? No one would've suspected you then," Robert asked, refilling his glass.He took a gulp before answering, "A few witnesses looked at me suspiciously — I stole gasoline from Uncle Roy's lawn mower. He saw me soaking my favorite shirt that afternoon."The alcohol eased his mind enough to answer all the questions.
"Where did you go after that?""I can't remember accurately, my brother. As I said before — my memories are fragmented."He looked at Robert, eyes glimmering with tears.
"What's the last thing you remember after that night, brother?" Richard asked."I went back there. They built a new orphanage on the ashes of the old one…"Gazing at his drink, Reginald tried to recall."I tried to find my younger siblings, but none of you three were there — all I saw was a stone monument in the yard where we used to play."
His voice grew heavy and hoarse again, as if reliving the most horrifying moment of his life."There, I saw it written: Here rest our little angels.And there were so many names — names I recognized."He downed his drink in one gulp and slammed the glass on the table.
THUD!
"I searched through all those names, hoping I wouldn't find my siblings among them."Reginald held his head with both hands; his eyes were bloodshot, his hair tangled."I looked for Robert — no Robert.I looked for Richard — relief, his name wasn't there.Then, just as I was about to leave…"
He grabbed his glass and crushed it in his hands, trembling with rage."I saw a name I knew — Emma Mayers."
The glass shattered across the table.Blood ran from his hand, but his face showed no pain — the wound in his heart had torn much deeper.
Richard took a handkerchief from his pocket and adjusted his ring."Use this, brother." He handed the bloodied cloth to Reginald to wrap his hand.With one hand bandaged, Reginald kept drinking whisky, showing no signs of drunkenness.
"And what happened after that, brother?" Richard asked, still curious."I wandered aimlessly. Sometimes I hitched rides on trucks or open-bed cars. To eat, I scavenged from trash bins or stole fruit from gardens or trees."Reginald recounted the harshest experience a child his age could face.
"How long did you live like that, brother?" Robert's voice grew heavy and hoarse with pity.Reginald didn't answer but poured drinks for his brothers.
Glug… Glug…When their glasses were full, he drank directly from the bottle,as if pouring alcohol over the open wound in his heart would numb the pain.
"If you live like that, time moves differently for you — I wandered endlessly, sometimes beaten by passersby, sometimes pelted with stones while sleeping under bridges."His eyes squinted from time to time, recalling those dark days.
Gulp… gulp… gulp…He swallowed each drop of whisky down his throat.Richard and Robert stayed silent, letting their brother finish his story.
It is said in the South that alcohol is the dew of hellfire.Its warmth is no different from fire itself.So when that liquid flame burned down his throat,it reminded him of sins that would never die.