Sean walks down the darkened corridor towards me. He looks at me with pleasurable dislike and I back away, repelled. He motions silently with his arm if he can go into the room. I shrug and dismiss him.

He comes out of the room moments later and not with the white mask of shock I’d thought he’d be wearing, but with a simple and expressionless look on his face. No smile, no sadness. The eyes, bloodshot and half-closed, still manage to exude hatefulness and a weakness of character that I find abhorrent. But he’s my brother, and at first I let it pass. He heads toward the restroom.

I ask him, “Hey, where are you going?”

“The john,” he calls back.

The night nurse at her desk looks up from the chart she’s been going over, to quiet us, but when she sees me gesture at her, she relents.

“Meet me in the cafeteria,” I tell him, before the door to the restroom shuts. What he does in there is so pitifully obvious to me (cocaine? is he into crack?) that I’m ashamed at his lack of concern and at his capacity to tick me off.

He sits across from me in the darkened cafeteria, smoking cigarettes.

“Don’t they feed you up there?” I ask.

He doesn’t look at me. “Technically, yes.”

He plays with a swizzle stick. I drink the rest of my Evian water. He puts the cigarette out and lights another.

“Well … are we having fun?” he asks. “What’s going on? Why am I here?”

“He’s almost dead,” I tell him, hoping a shred of reality will break through to that wasted mindless head bobbing in front of me.

“No,” he says startled, and I’m unprepared for a millisecond at this show of emotion, but then he says, “What an astute observation,” and I’m embarrassed at my surprise.

“Where have you been?” I demand.

“Around,” he says. “I’ve been around.”

“Where have you been?” I ask again. “Specifics.”

“I came,” he says. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Where have you been?”

“Have you visited Mom lately?” he asks.

“That’s not what we’re talking about,” I say, not letting that one throw me off.

“Stop asking me questions,” he says, laughing.

“Stop deliberately misunderstanding me,” I say, not laughing.

“Deal with it,” he says.

“No, Sean.” I point at him, serious, no joke. “You deal with it.”

One of my father’s aides walks into the empty cafeteria and whispers something into my ear. I nod, still staring at Sean. The aide leaves.

“Who was that?” he asks. “C.I.A.?”

“What are you on now?” I ask. “Coke? Ludes?”

He looks up again with the same mocking contempt and laughs, “Coke? Ludes?”

“I put seven thou in your account. Where is it?” I ask.

A nurse passes by and he eyes her before answering. “It’s there. It’s still there.”

Nothing is said for three minutes. I keep looking at my watch, wondering what Evelyn is doing right now. She said sleeping, but I could hear faint music in the background. I called Robert. There was no answer. When I called Evelyn back her machine was on. Sean’s face looks the same. I try to remember when he started hating me, when I reciprocated the feeling. He plays with the swizzle stick some more. My stomach growls. He has nothing to say to me and I, in the end, have really nothing to talk about with him.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” He almost looks surprised.

“I mean, are you going to get a job?”

“Not at Dad’s place,” he says.

“Well, where then?” I ask him. It’s a fair question.

“What do you think?” he asks. “Suggestions?”

“I’m asking you,” I tell him.

“Because?…” He lifts his hands up, leaves them suspended there for a moment.

“Because you’re not going to last another term at that place,” I let him know.

“Well, what do you want? A lawyer? A priest? A neurosurgeon?” he asks. “What you do?”

“How about the son your father wanted?” I ask.

“You think that thing in there even cares?” he asks back, laughing, pointing a thumb back at the corridor, sniffing hard.

“He would be pleased to know that you’re taking, let’s call it, a leave of absence’ from that place,” I say. I consider other options, harsher tactics. “You know he was always upset about all the football scholarships you threw away,” I say.