BIA Ch. 12
by ShrimpyNo, he too died and came back to life. Had he been dragged to the successor announcement tomorrow in this condition, he would have certainly died.
When he thought about it, the tension finally drained from his body and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Haah…”
Isaiah ran his palm down his face. It was truly unbelievably perfect timing. Of all days, Chester’s aunt had to pass away today. God took Aunt Angelina to save me… Would that be a bit much? Even so, it’s not right to have such thoughts when someone has died, is it?
While he was belatedly reflecting, he suddenly heard a knock on the front door. Isaiah was startled and jumped to his feet.
“Who… Chester?”
Isaiah, pressed close to the door, asked in a tense voice. Unable to open the door because of the corpse in the entryway, he strained his ears, focusing solely on the sounds outside. Soon, a familiar voice reached him.
“Would you like it to be Chester?”
Startled, Isaiah threw open the door. Bran, standing before him, spoke in a polite yet affectionate tone.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you. Shall I call him now? I just saw him leaving the alley.”
He wore the same clothes as at the restaurant. The handsome man in the charcoal gray suit and darker tie, even upon second glance, resembled a film star playing a mafia role more than an actual mafioso. No, not even a mafia role. He would be more believable as some prince or the young master of a wealthy family.
“No… Chester just left a little while ago, that’s all. I was wondering if he had left something behind.”
Isaiah said defensively.
“Come in.”
He opened the door wider, and only then did Bran step inside.
“Is this a gift you’ve kept safe, rather than disposing of it?”
“I haven’t had time to dispose of it. I wouldn’t even know how.”
Isaiah secretly hoped Bran would say, “Then I’ll dispose of it for you.” But Bran simply stepped over the body with an “I see” expression.
Right, that’s true. Bran was also a mafioso.
It struck Isaiah anew that the man before him, despite his polished appearance, was no different from Chester.
Isaiah spoke in a deliberately exaggerated manner to mask his nervousness.
“More importantly, Bran, can you believe it? Chester’s aunt passed away.”
“I know. Aunt Angelina.”
“Ah, you’ve heard. So, I think the successor announcement will likely be postponed.”
At Isaiah’s words, Bran sat down on the sofa and smiled.
“She was truly an angel to Chester until the very end.”
A subtle sense of unease emanated from that gentle smile and tone. Isaiah hesitated, about to sit on the sofa but stopping short.
“Don’t tell me… you’re the one who…?”
“Who? Aunt Angelina?”
Bran asked, then pulled Isaiah’s wrist, causing him to plop down on the sofa. Flustered by the sudden proximity to Bran, Isaiah quickly moved away. Bran chuckled at Isaiah’s reaction and picked up a can of beer from the table.
“Her soul departed for the Lord long ago. Only her aged and weary body was forcibly kept here by her family’s foolish attachment. It was time to let her go. No, past time. Every human being has the right to die with dignity. Wouldn’t you agree?”
His words sounded reasonable but the bottom line was that he admitted to killing her. The reason was obvious. Bran, too, found it necessary to postpone the successor announcement.
“Good heavens… You’ve done what even Chester wouldn’t do.”
Isaiah covered his face with his hand.
“Because I’m not Chester.”
Bran said calmly as he opened the can. He took a sip of the beer that had originally belonged to Chester, then added.
“And it’s not that Chester wouldn’t do it, it’s that he couldn’t. The thought simply wouldn’t have occurred to him. He’s far too stupid.”
Indeed, upon hearing the news of his aunt’s passing, Chester, far from grieving, had dropped to his knees and cried out “Hallelujah!” Had he thought of it, had he known such a method existed, he would have undoubtedly raced to the hospital before Bran.
“More importantly, what is your answer?”
“What answer?”
Isaiah stared at Bran with a puzzled expression, taken aback by the sudden question.
“About every human being having the right to die with dignity.”
“Uh, well…”
Isaiah stammered, flustered. It was a question he hadn’t anticipated at all. He had assumed it was simply a rhetorical statement. Was Bran seriously asking?
“I don’t know what Aunt Angelina would have thought… but I do. If there’s no hope, I don’t think it’s wrong to make a decision for the benefit of everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Literally everyone. The patient, their family, and even the exhausted medical staff.”
“I see.”
Bran gave a short answer and took another sip of beer. As soon as he set the can down on the table, he asked Isaiah again.
“So, what exactly is your condition right now?”
“Condition? What condition?”
“You said you were nineteen. So, is it not exactly memory loss but regression?”
“Regression… should I call it that? It seems like I was a completely different person before that.”
“A different person?”
“Yes. The name I know is Isaiah Diaz.”
“Ah.”
He had an expression as if he recalled hearing that name before.
“Nineteen-year-old Isaiah Diaz?”
“Yes.”
“And? Tell me what you know.”
Bran leaned forward slightly. He rested his elbows on his knees and turned his head to look at Isaiah.
“What kind of person is the you that you know, Isaiah Diaz?”
His tone was kind and gentle, as if he were talking to an actual nineteen-year-old. Up until now, Isaiah had only encountered people who would yell at him to stop talking nonsense and then immediately pull out a gun. Seeing this man trying to listen so earnestly, Isaiah felt reluctant to speak, despite his gratitude. Because now he knew for sure. He was Isaiah Cole, not Isaiah Diaz, and all the information he knew about Isaiah Diaz was delusional, a lie he had constructed himself.
“Isaiah?”
He should have just brushed it off, but for some reason, his mouth moved on its own. He would not disobey Bran. He would not allow the gentle smile of the man looking at him to turn into disgust and contempt.
“Uh, well, first of all, I’m Latino.”
But it was still embarrassing to say something untrue with his own mouth. Bran didn’t scoff, but he did furrow his brow slightly.
“Isaiah, the Latino.”
“I know someone like that too.”
Bran said casually, picking up his beer can.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Different last name, though.”
Bran took a sip of beer and nodded.
“Well, it’s common. The name Isaiah and being Latino.”
That was true. It was a more common name for Latinos than Asians.
“Keep talking.”
“Um, and…”
Isaiah continued, avoiding Bran’s gaze as he pretended to fidget with the calluses on his palms.
“The skin color I remember having was darker than this. My hair was curly too… and I was much shorter.”
“You’re better now.”
Bran said curtly. Isaiah unconsciously looked up at Bran.
“And?”
“Oh, and I grew up in a seaside town. My only family is my mother.”
“And then?”
“Then… I, well, I thought I was a college student.”
His voice trailed off again. Isaiah was certain Bran would chuckle this time. Or, like Chester and Manny had, berate him for pretending to be something he wasn’t.
“Because you’re nineteen?”
But what came back was a remarkably calm voice.
“It’s more like… I’m a freshman at Eloy State University.”
More accurately, he had believed that. As he added this thought internally, Bran asked again.
“Eloy State University? What’s your major?”
“It’s English Literature… for now.”
One of Bran’s eyebrows rose slightly. It conveyed the meaning of, Why is that?
“I don’t know. Manny asked me the same thing earlier. I just suddenly thought of English Literature then.”
“Hmm.”
For some reason, Bran seemed reluctant.
“Surprisingly, maybe I had a hidden talent for literature…?”
“Well, no matter how I look at it, you didn’t seem like the type to be close to the printed word.”
“Oh, really?”
Embarrassed by Bran’s blunt words, Isaiah mumbled.
“But you might not have seen that side of me.”
Bran took another sip of his beer.
“Do you have a favorite author? Or even a favorite work?”
“Um… I don’t know. I can’t think of anything right now.”
“Tell me anything. Whatever comes to mind right now, anything at all.”
It was a gentle voice, as if coaxing a child. No, it was more than that; it was excessively alluring. Sweet and thick, a voice that once you fell into it, you would never escape. Yes, like honey spilled on the floor.
Now that he thought about it… his eyes were the color of honey.
Isaiah finally noticed that Bran’s eyes were golden. The restaurant had been dim, making it difficult to see, and in the bathroom, he had been too nervous to notice, even though Bran had been right in front of him.
Gazing at the eyes that shimmered like jewels under the bright light, Isaiah murmured as if entranced.