from Travis and stared down at his hands on the table.
Travis leaned back and watched him for a few moments. He still didn't know what to say. "I tried to get them to drop the charges," he said.
Duane looked up at him. "What?" he asked.
"Six years," Travis said. "It'll change you. If you need anything while you're in there, just let me know. I mean, money...whatever. And if you want me to visit once a month or whatever, just say so."
"You've got to be the stupidest person on the face of the earth," Duane said.
Travis narrowed his eyes at him. He was getting tired of being told he was stupid just because he exhibited a decent amount of compassion. "Fine. You don't want my help, I won't give it. I don't even know why I came." He started to stand. "I guess I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for failing you like I did. I must have fucked up pretty bad to make my own brother want to kill me. So I'm sorry." He finished standing and started to leave.
"Wait," Duane said.
Travis turned and looked at him.
Duane glanced up at him through his stringy hair and then back down at the table. "They're gonna put me in the same place with the old man."
Travis folded his arms over his chest. Travis figured that would be a good thing. If he were going to prison, he'd want to be with the old man. The guy was a bastard, for sure, but he would look out for his family. He'd protect Duane. "Yeah?" Travis said. "It's good you'll have someone to watch your back."
Duane glanced at him again. "I'm afraid I'll kill him, Travis."
Travis went and sat back down across from Duane.
"I hate him, Travis," Duane said. Tears filled his eyes, his face twisted with a flood of emotions. "It ain't ever been you I hated. It's him. If he was right here I'd wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze and watch the life fade out of his eyes. I swear to God, Travis, I hate him so much!" Duane's hands were squeezed into fists.
Travis sat, tense, a faint feeling of fear in his stomach. He was thankful Duane was cuffed. "We all hate him, Duane," Travis said softly. "You kill him and guess what? You'll still hate him. Did I ever tell you about the big fight I had with him? The last fight?"
Duane shook his head.
"I was, I don't know, twenty or twenty one. A little younger than you. Just married Tonya. I can't even remember what it was I did to piss him off that day. Maybe I took the last beer out of his fridge...who the fuck knows. Anyway, I was at his house and he starts yelling at me telling me what a worthless, no-good bum I was. Tonya had had her first miscarriage and he was screaming about how it was my fault and I was being punished somehow. Then he got to going on and on about how it was my fault Mom had killed herself. So then I snapped and took a swing at him. And the old bastard landed flat on his back. I was so surprised...it had never occurred to me that I'd finally reached the point where I was stronger than him. I waited until he got to his feet and swung again. He got a couple of good licks in, but I finally beat him down. He was on his back and I just started wailing on him, landing punch after punch into his face. His arms were limp, he wasn't even fighting anymore. There was blood everywhere. It felt so fucking good punching the life out of him. At one point I realized that that's exactly what I was doing. I was killing him. And I didn't care. He deserved to die...he was a fucking monster."
Duane nodded. He was staring down at the table but he seemed to be listening.
"But I stopped. I stopped because even then, as fucked up as I was, I knew that there was a stronger force in my life...a greater desire. I wanted a good life...better than what he gave us. I wanted a wife and family. I wanted to be a good person. To be happy. You know happy, don't you? That one Christmas we took you to Grandma and Grandpa's for the weekend. That was happy, wasn't it?"
Duane nodded, a faint smile brightening his face. "That was the