My cousin

The time he spent with us was short. Before they took him away, I mean. You know, the police. They told us he was unstable. In other words, insane.

I didn't know him very well, my cousin. I also don't remember much of him. What I do recall was....unsettling.

He came to live with us when I was about twelve, after his parents mysteriously disappeared. No one questioned it, they just assumed he had nothing to do with it. I think otherwise.

One of my most vivid memories of my cousin was a grim one. He never spoke, which most suspected was because of the traumatic loss of his parents.

The day was a hot one. A Sunday afternoon in midsummer, when flowers were in bloom and sweet seasonal air was thick and humid. I was opening windows, complying with my mother's request to try and fight the heat.

My cousin was sitting on our couch with the tv off, reading a book. The book was one from my father's library, one with words I was too young to completely understand. My mother was trying to get him to be active, maybe play a sport. She had placed a baseball bat and a mitt by his side, which had not moved since she put them there.

That day, our neighbor Bill came by. Bill was about forty, and owned a farm that grew apples and bred chickens. I remember how the apple trees in his orchard were a thick forest, too tall for me to reach, where apples practically rained from the sky. Every week or so, Billy would bring us a basket of apples, if the season was good. This particular season was 'Nough to feed the whole town', as he put it.

That day Billy knocked on our door, bearing a small basket for us, which my mom told me to bring into the kitchen. When I came back, Billy was talking to my cousin, trying to start a conversation.

"Hey, boy, like to play baseball do ya?" Billy pointed towards the baseball and mitt. My cousin didn't even look up from his book.

"Sheila, something wrong with him?" My mom popped her head out from the kitchen. "He's just quiet, Billy. Try to be gentle."

Billy looked at my cousin, who was reading the book, his feet propped on the coffee table. Completely oblivious. Billy didn't listen to my Mom, and kept bothering my cousin.

"I don't think Sheila would like your feet on her good table", Billy said. Billy shoved my cousin's legs off of the table with his foot. Then, my cousin looked up from his book.

My cousin stood up. He wasn't as tall as Billy, and only made it up to his chin. My cousin glared, his eyes gleaming.

Billy furrowed his eyes, confused why such a small action could anger someone so much. My cousin picked up the bat, and took a swing at Billy. The blow hit Billy in his stomach. He doubled over, trying to catch his breath. My cousin then raised the bat again, striking Billy over and over. I couldn't tell you how many times he struck him. Just that the look on his face was....emotionless, like he felt no remorse, no mercy.

After a minute or so of this, my mother entered the room. She screamed. My cousin then dropped the bat, sat back on the couch, and proceeded to continue reading his book. He acted as if nothing was wrong, like he was never angry.

Billy lied on the ground, blood seeping everywhere. Right on my mother's white carpet. He was unconscious, and spread out right by my cousin's feet. It was then that my mother called the cops.

They arrested my cousin, who went quietly, without a fuss. My mom and I shared a blanket. We were both in shock, they said. My cousin was put into cuffs, and locked in a police car. Billy was driven off to the nearest hospital.

The part that scared me though, the part that gives me chills to this day, is what my cousin did next. Two cops got into the car my cousin was in, preparing to take him away. Before they left, my cousin turned to me, and smiled. He then mouthed the words see you soon, and the car drove away.