Chapter 4: How Not to Kill Your Brother (Even If He Deserves It)

A battered boy, looking like he'd just lost a fight with life itself, rides his motorcycle aimlessly. Barefoot, shirtless beneath a torn leather jacket, and with an involuntary smile drawn on his face. His eyes, buzzing with manic energy, reflect an invisible fire that has been burning for a long time.

The wind tosses his greasy hair as the noise of his multicolored bike tears through the early morning silence. Finally, he brakes in front of what looks like a clinic, though from the outside it resembles an illegal dive bar for losers.

He gets off. Walks barefoot. Smells like booze, smoke, and alleyway. His name is Gustavo, but almost no one calls him that. To those who know him —and survive— he's Ghost.

In the basement, Aizawa —a psychologist with the face of someone who's heard too many confessions he didn't want to hear— flips through his notebook with disinterest. When the door slams open, he doesn't even flinch.

"You know, I don't get paid enough to ask what the hell happened to you," he says without raising his voice. "Though you look like shit… something about you seems… different."

Ghost collapses onto the couch like his body is heavy from the inside out.

"Maybe, humbly, I found the right hell to burn in."

One Week Earlier

The house was silent. George slept with the calm of someone who had survived the day —until a loud crash jolted him out of bed. He rushed downstairs with a bat in hand, ready to confront a burglar… or a monster.

Except the monster had a name, and it was his brother.

Ghost came through the broken window like it was a revolving door. He had a black eye, soaked hair, a crooked smile and… he still wore the cast.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" George yelled, lowering the bat. "Where the hell are your keys?"

"With how loud you snore? No way you would've heard me knock."

"Did you go to your appointment?!" George snapped, furious, watching as Ghost grabbed a kitchen knife and sat down to cut through the cast.

"No. Maybe yes. Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! You're hurt, you idiot!"

"Not as much as you, still believing we can change."

George crossed his arms, frowning deeply.

"You know what'll happen if you drop therapy? I don't want to find you in a morgue again."

Ghost laughed. A bitter, hollow laugh.

"If that happens, just let mom know. Maybe she'll finally get some sleep."

Silence. Only the sound of the knife scratching at the cast filled the room.

"Someday," George said more quietly, "your wounds are going to kill you. And when they do, it's going to hurt me more than it hurts you. Because believe it or not, there are people who still care."

Ghost said nothing. He put on his headphones, turned the volume all the way up, and sang:

"And he left… and named his boat… Freedom…"

Then disappeared down the hallway as if none of it had ever happened.

Now

"So," says Aizawa, crossing one leg over the other, "what did you do this time?"

Ghost stares at the floor.

"I almost ran over a girl. Again. But this time… it wasn't like before."

"Didn't say something awful to her?"

"I said 'hi.' But it came out like a growl. She looked at me like I was already dead."

Aizawa nods gravely.

"And what did you feel?"

Ghost hesitates. Then says:

"Like… for the first time, I believed it too."

The Morning Before

George was standing just outside campus, chatting with a few classmates, when —without warning— the reckless gorilla he called a brother decided to pull one of his signature stunts… right in the middle of break.

"Hey, if it isn't the suicidal girl!" Gustavo bellowed, his offbeat and irreverent smile plastered on his face.

Everyone turned their heads instantly. George felt shame creep up his spine like a fever, and he rushed over, desperate to drag him away. But his brother, of course, seemed immune to anything that didn't feed his own show.

"Goddamn it, Ghost! Who the hell are you talking about?" George hissed, cheeks burning, eyes darting to erase the moment. "Have you lost your mind? Are you hallucinating again?"

"Nah! Just hit a little too hard." Gustavo grinned crookedly. "Forget it. Thought I saw a ghost."

He started the bike with a roar and, before driving off, stared past Nitta—at the black hair fluttering in the wind.

"Why are you staring at me? Do you like me or something?"

Nitta's voice was quick, bold, with that blend of sarcasm and flirtation she used like a shield. It was enough to draw a dry laugh from Gustavo.

"I'm staring at a soul, not a cliff," he muttered with a mocking tone. "Catch you later… or maybe not, suicide girl."

George climbed on the bike with a sigh that reeked of resignation and waved a brief goodbye to his classmates. Minutes later, the motorcycle came to a stop in front of Ninna's house.

"Hurry up and get your bony ass off my leather," Gustavo barked. "Oh! Almost forgot—you owe me thirty bucks."

Gustavo's face was a gravestone, but in his eyes burned the greedy fire of a man seeing dollar signs flash in neon.

"After what you made me pay at the hospital, you're charging me?" George rolled his eyes, somewhere between annoyed and amused. "If you weren't my brother, I swear to God I'd smash your damn face in, you jackass…"

But after the joke, his face turned serious.

"Who did you see?"

The question slipped out, like someone throwing a rock into a well not expecting to hear the bottom. But he knew Gustavo wouldn't answer. He never did. So he changed his approach.

"Did you go see Aizawa, or whatever you call him?"

"No. He's probably waiting for me, watching Power Rangers," Gustavo said with his usual poison-drenched sarcasm. "Besides, I doubt he even remembers I'm supposed to show up today."

"Don't forget what'll happen if you stop seeing the shrink," George warned, voice low. "I don't want to see you like that again."

The conversation ended, and Gustavo rode off. George walked into the house with the ease of someone stepping across his own threshold. In Ninna's room, he collapsed on the bed and started gaming while he waited. Several minutes passed until a knock came at the door.

"Damn it, 006! I thought we were going back together!" Ninna burst in, frowning.

"I thought you'd stay with the girls," he replied defensively.

"No. Ash is in full zombie mode or something," she murmured, holding back.

She pressed her lips together and started twisting the ring on her finger—a nervous tic George knew well. He knew what was coming: a storm of words she'd been holding in for too long.

"You know what?!"

And there it was. As soon as the first word came out, the rest followed like a downpour. She paced the room, venting, releasing everything she'd bottled up.

George listened silently. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. His face showed nothing but patience—the kind of patience you use when watching a fire burn itself out.

"Babe, calm down already," he said at last. "You know how Ashley is. That's just her."

Ninna ignored him and turned her attention to the homework spread across the bed.

"How's that going?" he asked.

"Almost done," she replied, pointing at the laptop screen. "Just need to fix the typos and expand that point a little."

"Good…"

There was a pause. Ninna looked down, then up again, her voice softer.

"006… are you upset?"

"No… well, maybe a little," he answered, hesitating.

She carefully moved the laptop and notebooks aside, turning to face him.

"Why are you mad?"

"Well, it's just that…" George began, but his phone vibrated. He hesitated for a moment, then answered when he saw the name on the screen. On the other end, the words made his face go pale.

Ninna watched as the color drained from his face, like the ground had been ripped from under him.

"I'm on my way!" he said, already on his feet.

"You're leaving?" she asked, but didn't finish the sentence.

George dashed out like a soul possessed…

Or worse—like something terrible was about to happen.