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“That’s not fair,” I scream. “We’re supposed to hide in the house. Cheater!”

Charlie can’t hear me. He’s too far away. His shirt disappears behind the old oak trees.

I’m running downstairs after him and then …

I woke up screaming his name.

I sat up in my bed, confused. I hadn’t had this dream for a long time thanks to the therapy that seemed to be working. Why would I suddenly dream about the last time I saw my little brother alive? That stupid meeting with Jared. That’s why.

My therapist used to tell me that the dreams “allow us to consolidate and assess our memories” and dreams of someone we lost “are influenced by some unresolved issues.” He also told me fifteen other possible reasons behind those dreams that I forgot and never tried to remember. We worked a few techniques out with the good doctor for me to “come to terms with the past trauma,” which I’d hoped I didn’t need to do anymore.

It’d been three days since I had that chat with him. No news so far. I supposed I’d have to figure out some other way to get the money if I didn’t hear from Jared’s people within a week. No point in waiting longer than that.

Most of the people around me had been extremely patient with my shenanigans that went all the way back to my school days. Back then, I figured that being the oldest offspring from an old and respected family would be my lucky ticket to whatever successful future I had in mind. Even though it was somewhat out of the ordinary for a boy like me, I started to deal a bit in drugs here and there to increase my allowance and to feel more independent. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the beginning. I didn’t do it to be popular. I was that already and some. It was just an entrepreneurial itch to control my own life, to be above all the rules of the house and instructions you must follow to be “the son your parents can be proud of.” I figured they had Charlie for that, and I could just have a bit of fun on my own before I took over as the successor. After a few small successful deals, I presumptuously started to believe that drugs could turn into some serious enterprise or give me some innovative experience at least. It also gave me the confidence to scale up my operation. Unfortunately, I lost the first batch that I was supposed to get my first big income from. The police mounted an unexpected raid on my boarding school and paid a visit to our dormitory. I was lucky to be able to flush most of the stuff down the toilet and throw the rest out of the window. To pay back the dealers though, I had to secretly sell some things from the house. There was a bit of a situation when it was discovered, but I managed to get away with it. That, however, did not teach me a lesson. I just failed to see the sign that it was not for me. Unexpectedly, I got more money from the sale than I needed and decided to get even more weed to establish myself as a serios player. The future was mine for the taking, I thought. Only the next time I would lose both my weed and my brother.