Chimera

"A picture's worth a thousand words." Jesus, how often have you heard that old saying? Slathered across sickeningly sweet greeting cards, beaming from manipulative TV commercials, it was a time-honored classic. A picture's worth a thousand words. . . . Yeah? Right now I could think of only one.
Goddamnit.Behind glass, framed in velvety rosewood, the photograph was one I hadn't seen before. Not that I didn't recognize it; I did. I might not have remembered ever seeing the picture, but I recalled all too clearly the moment it captured-the last Christmas. Not as in the one last year-no, it was a helluva lot more momentous than that. Think "the Last Christmas" as you would "the Last Supper." In some ways it was much the same-an ending, a betrayal, and lives that would never be as they once were. I might have been an unwitting Judas, but the result had been the same. Consequently, I hadn't felt much like celebrating on the twenty-fifth in the past ten years. You could keep the twinkling lights and the tree, but screw the presents and the eggnog; I didn't want any part of it.All those things were in the five-by-seven photo . . . along with two boys. One was fourteen; one, seven. There was no guessing involved in that. I knew those ages to the day, if not the minute. The older kid was obviously a cocky son of a bitch with black hair, mocking pale brown eyes, and a grin that just wouldn't quit. My grin . . . I hadn't seen it in a long, long time-not that version. The one I flashed these days had all the warmth of a jagged shard of ice.The younger boy in the picture occupied a different end of the spectrum, in appearance and personality. He had unusual eyes, unique in their innocence and color. One green, one blue, they looked out calmly from beneath the fringe of pale blond bangs. His smile was smaller than my grin, but pure and happy. I touched a finger to the glass over that smile. It was my brother, Lukas.We sat under a ridiculously huge tree. The lights sparkled among