The Assassin's Blood: The Confradia Assassins 3

Chapter 6: Revealing truths

Santana

"Connor!" I call out to my brother as I make my way out of the room. You'd think that after all of these years of caring for him, I'd be less disturbed by the thought that I have treated my brother like a baby. At this point, we've both established a routine where he turns off his alarm, and I have to drag him out of bed every morning. "Connor!" I call out in frustration with a solid shake to his shoulders. Anyone would say that an eighteen-year-old should be a little more responsible, but in the case of Connor, they'd be wrong.

Groaning and yawning, Connor turns over and gives me a grouchy look. "What the hell San? What time is it?" I look at my cheap plastic watch then back at him. "It's seven in the morning. Classes start in sixteen minutes. Get up!" He rolls back in the seat and gives me his back. "I don't want to go to school."

Rousing from his seat, Connor scratches his chest and glowers. Unfortunately, his glare loses its potency when I see that he's wearing a SpongeBob t-shirt and boxers. He looks like a little boy with his dark hair in a messy shag and scruffy face. "Shit San, summer break is almost here, and I graduate in three weeks. Cut me some slack. We're not even doing anything." I shake my head. "No, Connor. This is your senior year, and I want you to graduate with good grades, so go and get dressed! Don't make me ask you again!" Releasing a resigned sigh, Connor rises from the couch and stumbles to the bathroom. "I'm going, I'm going. Are you happy?" I roll my eyes with a snort and reply. "Oh, I'm ecstatic, you little shit!"

Once the door closes behind him, I head to the kitchen and pack him a lunch. He's grown so much from the gangly, awkward sixteen-year-old at our parent's gravesite, to a more confident man. He's six feet tall and better looking than his father ever was. His youthful face still shows signs of maturing, but he no longer has the little chubby cheeks I remember.

It's been a rough time for us trying to sustain our little family. Connor has had a few close calls. It turns out that Connor is some kind of tech prodigy. It all started when he was caught hacking into the school website. He hacked the school system and changed people's grades. The teachers were not very happy. I had to do a lot of maneuvering to keep him from getting suspended. Unfortunately, it has been hard to monitor him since I work late hours at the diner and take college courses in the morning. He stopped getting into trouble after I threatened to cancel the internet and sell the computer.

Once I've packed his sandwich, I place it in a bag with an apple. Hopefully, the sandwich will sustain him until dinner. The boy can eat. The bathroom door opens a moment later, and Connor steps out of the bathroom wearing a wrinkled green shirt and blue jeans. I roll my eyes, not bothering to tell him to iron the shirt. Let's just say I've beaten that dead horse way too many times. "Before you go, I wanted to tell you. I was cleaning the closet last night and found some of Alma and Alistair's boxes. I'm sure there are some things you can use in one of the boxes if you want to look through it." I gesture towards the box that is sitting half-open near the closet door.

Connor looks at the box and shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, I'll check it out after I get home." I can see that he's unsure about sifting through his deceased father's memories. It's been years since their deaths, and we've been doing okay. But I know a small part of Connor still wishes things had been different between him and his father. Unlike me, he never really accepted that Alistair and Alma were immoral people. Reaching over, I place my hand on his and whisper. "Wait for me to get home. We can look through it together." Connor grimaces at my obtuse conclusion and hovers over the box for a moment. Standing next to him, I glance at the box. We both stand there for a few moments reliving old painful memories. Alma and Alistair were horrible parents. It's so sad that I can't even think of a happy memory we ever shared with them. Overwhelmed with anger, Connor kicks the box heatedly.

The box breaks open as its contents fly out, littering the floor. Giving my brother a chiding smack on the shoulder, I wave an impatient hand over the messy floor. "What the hell, Connor? Look at the mess you made." He shrugs again but kneels down next to me to pick up the spilled contents. That's when I see it. It's a picture of Alistair with a beautiful blue-eyed boy. At first, I think it's a picture of Alistair and Connor, but when I look closer, I can see that the picture looks older. I turn the picture over, shocked at what I read. Declan and Daddy, 1995.

I look at Connor, who gives me a puzzled frown. "What's wrong, San?" Turning the picture, I hand it to Connor. His face puckers when he reads the inscription. Mirroring my shocked gaze, he holds the picture out to me. "Who is this?" I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know, Connor. This is the first time I've ever seen this picture." We both look back at the picture and read the inscription again. "Do you think...?" Without another word, we both squat down and begin sifting through the contents on the floor. At first, we find nothing out of the ordinary. Then, we see it. An old worn envelope. Connor and I look at the words written on the envelope. It's the same inscription from the picture. There's no name, just an address and a stamp. I open the envelope flap and remove the Christmas card inside of it. As careful as we can, we open the fragile flap and read its contents.

Merry Christmas, Alistair. Always remember Declan, and I love you.

Your loving wife, Sarah

I look at the date on the card, 1995. Connor frowns in consternation. "This makes no sense. Was Alistair married?" I shrug my shoulders and place the card back in the envelope. "I don't know. He never mentioned a wife or kid." My watch's alarm beeps at that moment, warning me that I have a minute to leave. Looking back at Connor, I rise up and say. "We have to go, Con. How about we talk about this when we get home?" I mutter.

"Let's go!" Connor replies, giving the picture one last look before he drops it into the box and grabs his beat-up camouflage backpack. "Yeah, let's go."

I can't stop thinking about the picture or the implications of the card as the day wanes. Something niggles at the back of my mind at the thought of his name, too, but quickly slithers away before I can grasp the memory. Was Alistair married before he met Alma? I honestly don't remember him mentioning being married to anyone. And who is the boy in the picture? His son. It's funny that he has an Irish name. Alistair always had a thing for Irish names. Reading the card again, I calculate how old the boy would be now. The boy would be about thirty years old by now. I can't help speculate on Alistair's reasoning for not telling us he was married. Alma wouldn't have cared. Maybe they died, and it was too painful for him to deal with it. But even that story doesn't fit the narrative. Alistair never struck me as the sentimental type. It just makes no sense.