Darkness (standard:fantasy, 35761 words)
Author: Saxon Violence	Added: Dec 27 2012	Views/Reads: 6394/16960	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Jimmy says his blind brother framed him for murder—but then he's in an Insane Asylum. When he escapes, things start to get Weird.

Darkness 

Chapter One 

My brother has no eyes. 

My twin brother Bucky was born without eyes. Not just blind, mind
you—but totally without eyes—not even empty sockets where eyes should 
go. Between the cheekbone and the brow line—not that he had any 
brows—was a slightly convex smoothness, like his forehead had somehow 
become plastic and had flowed evenly down both sides of his nose. 

When they first sent me to the mental hospital, I stated my position
once. I stated it clearly. I stated it firmly. I even fielded a few 
questions to be sure we had an understanding. I didn't speak five 
hundred words to the therapists over the next several years. 

They were operating under the assumption that I was a cracked-pot. I
recognized neither their competence, nor their authority to determine 
my sanity. Playing along with irrational people only encourages their 
irrationality. 

Let me state, for the record, that I did not kill my father or my
mother. I loved them. Bucky is the one who killed them—for what reason, 
I do not know. In all probability, for motives that would be 
incomprehensible to anyone but Bucky. I don't know how he managed to do 
it. I don't know why, but he did it. 

My brother has no eyes. 

That statement came up a lot in the ensuing months. There was a journal
in my own handwriting. It was almost a textbook example of a mind 
slipping into the abyss of paranoia and madness. I didn't write it. 

Somehow Bucky contrived to forge it. I can't imagine how; because my
brother has no eyes, but I know that he did. Maybe, just maybe—they 
were willing to concede, just for the sake of argument—a blind man 
could contrive to poison his parents. But how could have a blind man 
have fabricated one tenth of the evidence that pointed to me? 

Because I stuck to my Guns; and insisted Bucky was guilty; I ended up in
a mental hospital for the criminally insane, instead of on death row, 
or in a prison somewhere. 

Let me tell a little bit about Bucky and myself. When we were born and
they got a good long look at Bucky; they ordered a chromosome test. 

We have the same DNA. We both have an extra Y chromosome—not that
unusual, in and of itself—but we both also have another extra 
chromosome, about a third as big as a normal human chromosome, bent 
into a ring—with no beginning, no ending. 

Father didn't want the two of us—particularly Bucky—to become sideshow
attractions and human guinea pigs. So when a well-funded private lab 
offered to help keep our situation confidential, pay all medical 
expenses—with plenty extra money thrown in, in exchange for reasonable 
access to study us occasionally, he gratefully accepted. 

I can't tell you the company's name. I was a child and when my parents
discussed it with us, they always left out some key details, lest one 
of us let something slip. Don't remember precisely where they took us 
either. 

Tell you the truth; the subject of the company was of no great interest
to me at the time. I do know that when we turned thirteen, the company 
and my father had a falling out. He took his savings and moved us back 
into Kentucky.  He said rhat we had plenty of kinfolk there to take our 
part, if it came to that. 

Bucky and I shared exceptional hearing. To put it into perspective, a
dog can hear about four times as well as a human—four times the volume 
gain and just as important—four times the frequency discrimination. 

To understand the greater frequency discrimination, imagine that humans
hear in “black and white”. Dogs hear in “color”. (They also hear some 


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