BIA Ch. 22

“Haven’t you read that book? Slaughterhouse-Five?”

“I have.”

“Then why?”

“I just felt like revisiting it after a long time.”

Bran tossed the book into his rifle case. He disassembled the rifle he had assembled, placed it back in the case and then stuffed a pistol into the remaining empty space. Isaiah was taken aback by Bran’s action of stuffing four empty pistols into the case.

“Why are you taking all of that?”

“Because I need them.”

Bran answered curtly and closed the lid of the wooden box. He pushed it with his foot, hiding it back under the bed where it belonged. Finally, he lifted the rifle case from the bed and said.

“Let’s go back.”

On the ride back, Bran spoke very little. While this could have been due to his concentration on driving, Isaiah felt inexplicably anxious.

Upon arriving home, Bran immediately went to his room alone, carrying the case filled with Isaiah’s guns.

“You must be tired. Rest. I have something to do.”

“Uh, okay…”

Isaiah, who had expected some kind of explanation, couldn’t help but feel uneasy and apprehensive. Even though he wanted to rest, his discomfort prevented him from doing so.

The house was quiet. Even Vanessa, who had finished tidying up in no time, had left, leaving no trace of anyone’s presence. Sitting alone in the unnecessarily spacious and all the more quiet living room, the thought of Bran’s subordinates, whom he had seen earlier in the morning, felt oddly comforting. Truly. At this moment, even if Gilman were to babble nonsense into his ear, he felt he could listen with a contented expression.

He could have gone to his own room but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the first floor.

It was likely Bran’s behavior that bothered him. Yet, he wasn’t about to go knock on Bran’s door.

Caught between these two impulses, he sat on the living room sofa, dazedly watching time pass as the sun began to set outside the window. Finally, Bran emerged into the living room.

“I thought you would be in your room.”

“Ah… I was going to but it was too much trouble.”

Isaiah offered a flimsy excuse.

“I see.”

Bran’s tone suggested that he didn’t care either way.

He approached the sofa and sat right next to Isaiah. Then, he pulled a pistol from his pants pocket.

“This is the gun that was under your bed.”

“The one under my pillow?”

“Yes.”

In front of Isaiah, Bran removed the magazine from the pistol and emptied all the bullets.

“How many bullets did I just take out?”

“Seven… no, was it six?”

“Seven is correct. Your gun holds seven rounds.”

“Remember that.”

Bran said concisely, holding the empty magazine in his left hand and the pistol in his right.

“Now, I’ll teach you how to shoot.”

“Uh…? Suddenly?”

Isaiah stammered, bewildered.

“It’s easy. Even a kindergartner can shoot a pistol.”

Despite likely knowing the reason for Isaiah’s surprise, Bran simply said this and began to explain the procedure.

“First, insert the magazine with your left hand. Use your index finger to feel the top of the magazine and confirm that there are bullets. Sometimes, you might get an empty magazine if you’re unlucky. Of course, this one is empty because we are practicing.”

“Once the magazine is inserted, pull the slide back once and release it. The slide will move forward, automatically loading the first round into the chamber and the trigger will move to the firing position. See? You simply pull this but it’s crucial to maintain a proper grip. Holding it with both hands like this naturally depresses this button on the grip. This must be pressed for the bullet to fire. It’s the grip safety, this gun’s only safety mechanism.”

Bran demonstrated each action as he explained.

“That’s it. Very easy, right? Insert the magazine, pull the slide back and release, then pull the trigger.”

He repeated the same sequence twice more for Isaiah to memorize. Indeed, the explanation made it sound simple. Load, cycle the slide and pull the trigger.

“Try it.”

Bran handed him the pistol. Since it wasn’t loaded, there was nothing to fear. Isaiah treated it like a heavy toy gun, clumsily mimicking Bran’s instructions.

“Insert… pull the slide back once, release, then pull the trigger.”

“No, you shouldn’t hold a gun like that.”

Bran retrieved the pistol from Isaiah’s hand.

“First, make a V shape with your right thumb and index finger.”

“Like this…?”

“Yes. Insert the gun here. Keep the barrel and your arm aligned. Wrap your left hand around the grip, concealing it.”

“Like, like this?”

Isaiah raised his arm to eye level, careful not to bend his wrist.

“Yes, good. Maintain this posture. Try again from the beginning, focusing on your grip.”

Isaiah, suppressing a sigh, removed the magazine. He pretended to check for bullets in the empty magazine before reinserting it and cycling the slide. Mindful of his wrist angle, he gripped the pistol with both hands and pulled the trigger. “Very good,” Bran praised.

“Keep practicing until your movements become fluid. Until we arrive at Cedric’s house.”

“What? We’re going to Cedric’s house?”

Me? Isaiah gestured to himself with the pistol.

“Why?”

“Because we must. Give me your phone first.”

The abrupt shift in conversation left Isaiah no time to protest.

“Which phone?”

“Chester’s phone.”

Isaiah retrieved the smartphone from his back pocket and handed it to Bran.

“Twenty-six missed calls.”

“That’s after I reset it at lunch, by the way.”

Isaiah tossed the pistol onto the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.

“Chester’s definitely paranoid.”

“Men lacking self-confidence tend to be.”

Bran nodded knowingly, checked the time on the smartphone and returned it to Isaiah.

“In an hour, around six, disable Do Not Disturb.”

“And?”

“Answer the first call. Chester or Manny. They’ll tell you to come to Cedric’s house. If you claim you lack funds, they’ll offer to cover the taxi fare. I’ll drop you off near Adams Street. Take a taxi from there. The fare should be similar to what it would cost from your apartment.”

“Wait. Why all this trouble?”

Going to Cedric’s house no longer seemed the issue. Something felt amiss. Something had definitely happened.

Sure enough.

“Chester knows you’ve sided with me. Isaiah Cole, that is.”

Isaiah felt a chill run down his spine.

“How could Chester…?”

“It’s alright. You’re Isaiah Diaz now.”

Bran’s gentle interruption and reassuring smile calmed Isaiah’s stammering.

“Fortunately for Chester, he doesn’t remember Isaiah Cole agreeing to cooperate with me after becoming Isaiah Diaz. He’s quite lucky.”

Bran’s tone suggested envy but his expression conveyed amusement. His attitude towards Chester always held a certain condescension, the magnanimity of the strong towards the weak. Perhaps what Chester truly couldn’t tolerate wasn’t Bran himself, but this very attitude.

“So, unlike me, Chester wouldn’t want you to regain your memory immediately. Naturally. He would be in mortal danger. Chester only needs your gun skills. Whether they’re instinctive or honed through practice is irrelevant. They must return. So you can kill me the day after tomorrow, after the funeral, during the successor announcement. For the lover you cherished before losing your memory.”

Bran seemed to see right through Chester. While Isaiah appreciated the clear explanation, it wasn’t what he needed. Something more pressing, something that should have been addressed before Chester’s improbable plan.

“Bran.”

Isaiah spoke.

“How did Chester know?”

This time, his voice was calm and steady. Bran regarded him for a moment, then draped an arm over the back of the sofa.

“You don’t need to know.”

“What…?”

The unexpected response stunned Isaiah.