Summary: Stephen Ellison's POV.

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I gloated.

With every ounce of my sixteen year old arrogance I gloated and taunted him. I may even have been silly enough to throw in a couple of "nah nah nahs".

I had no right to of course. My triumph was born on the altar of his disgrace. A disgrace for which he was innocent and I was the guilty party.

Not that I was going to confess.

Not that he would accuse me.

In hindsight it was probably my betrayal that placed that last brick in his defences.

Those walls had been building for many years. The loss of our mother, the disinterest of our father and the continual comparisons between us - all served to teach him the art of containment. With that final act of sibling
discontent I turned my back on him and cut off his last link to family life.

At the time I never realised it would be the last time I would see him. When I returned from my luxury, all expenses paid holiday my brother was gone.

Oh sure...he was still there physically, at least for the few weeks before he went away to college, and for the next few years he would make cursory visits home during vacation breaks - never staying longer than a week. But
the brother I had known, the one who had played with me, shared his two years older worldly wisdom, teased and protected me and buffered me from the worse of our parent's anger, he was gone.

By time I was college age myself he had departed our home for good.

I just didn't realise how final it would be.

He never said a word to our father. He never wrote. He never called. The only way I knew he was still alive was from the occasional postcard he would send our housekeeper. Never once did he inquire of our health or well-being.

It was as if we no longer existed.

I guess to him we didn't. Between us, his father and I, we had removed all sense of family.

I learned of his death from the newspapers.

It was a shock to be casually flipping through a month old issue of the New York Times and find your only brother's name listed in a 10 line item on page 14. I would probably have missed it if not for that curious twitch in
the human brain that instantly hones in on your own surname. The item said "Missing In Action" but I knew what that meant - a helicopter crash in the Peruvian jungle? There was little chance my brother would be surviving
that.

I found out later that my father had been informed of the crash about 2 days after the accident. He didn't think to call me and tell me the news.

I wasn't sure how to react. Should I grieve? Should I care?

My father never spoke of it. He never mentioned his name, referred to his loss or even acknowledged he was gone. I'd like to think it was his reaction to grief but I've never been sure. Maybe it was his way of holding on to hope.

The newspapers also informed me of his return.

The haunted eyed stranger staring out from the cover of News Update bore the face of my brother. But he resembled no one I knew. I realised at that moment it was the first time I'd seen his face since he left our
family home.

The years had been kind to him. The strength his childhood physique had promised was evident in his stance and the cut of his jaw. The army had taught him control and shored up the walls he placed between himself and the
world. Here was a man in control and prepared to fight to his last breath. Only his eyes betrayed him - a hint of loss and bewilderment. The merest suggestion that the world had somehow pained him.

He's been back in the city for a while. I found out by chance that he had resigned his commission with the military and taken a position with the local police force. My informant was enthusing over how lucky the department was
to acquire such a highly skilled officer. I don't think he even realised the man he was praising was my brother.

I'm not sure I even know it myself.

In all the months since he returned from the dead he has never once called our father or me.

I can only blame myself, though I'm not entirely at fault. I could have tried a number of times to right the wrongs between us but instead I let them stagnate. Now I'm not sure I could apologise even if I got the chance. Or that he would grant me forgiveness.

I don't blame him for turning his back on me.

I just wish...he'd turn back someday.


**The End**


'Brother of Mine'
(Emmanuel/Kipner)

Performed by Jimmy Barnes (Flesh & Wood)

He said that he's tired of talkin' about it
'Cause nobody ever heard a word he'd say
None of us took him serious, gave him the time of day
Invisible, 'til he ran away
Blood is thicker than water, our father always said
But that don't mean a damn thing
When I look at your empty bed

Run back, run back to me
Run back, run back to me, brother of mine

I was the one who got the attention
Always the favourite son of the family
Made you feel left out, made you feel like a stranger
It took some growing up for me to see that
Blood is thicker than water, we should stick together
Right of wrong
Bet you think that these empty works are not worth
The paper they're written on

Run back, run back to me
Run back, run back to me, brother of mine

I've been looking for you everywhere
Your leaving showed me just how much I care
I can't blame you for running away
But just come back to me some day