If Angus had known how heavy the box was going to be, he wouldn't have filled it up so high. Opening the door was hard; keeping it open long enough to get through was a challenge. Everyone he passed smiled at him and said hello or backed up to let him by. The hallways that seemed to circle to nowhere eventually became a routine and they finally led somewhere. He knocked first to be polite then opened the door. 

"Hey, Mal."

Malcolm looked up from his plate of eggs and toast. "Hello."

With a sigh Angus dropped the box on the little table beside the bed. He laughed to himself before turning to see Malcolm holding his hand out. Angus shook it. 

"I don't think we've met."

"I have a forty year old footprint on my arse that says we have, Mal," Angus said retracting his hand. "I'm your brother."

Malcolm frowned. "Oh....huh. Did I ask for those?" He motioned towards the box.

"Ah, no," Angus said opening it. "These are from Linda...some are from Cliff." He pulled out a Chuck Berry record and set it on the bed. "Wife an' friend," he added seeing the confusion on his brother's face. "They sort of figured you'd want to listen to 'em instead of whatever the hell they have playin' here."

"It's alright," Malcolm said eating his toast. "A bit quiet but it helps me sleep." Taking an extra dusty record from the box Angus brought it over to the record player he bought for Malcolm's room. Sure, he could have played some music from a streaming service but where was the fun in that? 

When he got it all set up Malcolm's eyes lit up. "This ain't bad," he commented. "Who is this?"

"This," said Angus pointing to the record on the bed. "is why we get up in the mornin'." Sitting at the foot of the bed he turned the record over and let Malcolm look over the setlist. His hands traced the sleeve. 

"Shoulda listened to this guy a long time ago," Malcolm said. "He really knows how to play."

"So do you," Angus said smiling. 

"Me? Nah. I'd like to, seein' as it's damn fine stuff. Huh." He set the record down and finished his breakfast. "Could you excuse me, I gotta get my stuff."

"Sure." Angus stood from the bed as Malcolm got up and walked to his dresser. The walls and furniture assisted his venture and his steps were small and precise... 

A woman cheered as the ball made a dent in the net. A man ran down the length of the field and caught the laughing woman in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. "Another one for me, eh?"

"You've been getting them all morning," she said. "Couldn't you stand to have a bit of lunch?"

"Alright, alright." He gave the woman one last kiss before taking her hand in his. They walked together to the car park. "What are we havin', Linda?"

"Thought about steak and potatoes," she said.

"Sounds good."

"Or a chicken salad." Malcolm paused.

"Okay."

"Or smoked salmon." Malcolm stopped walking. 

"Which is it?"

"None," Linda said hiding a grin. Malcolm stared at her. "I couldn't decide what to make so I threw together some turkey sandwiches. They're in the car."

"You know what?" Malcolm asked. "Anythin' you make is fine with me, an' I'm too fuckin' starvin' to care anyway." Linda laughed as Malcolm picked her up and carried her back to their car. 

Angus jumped back as Malcolm's face was very close to his. "Sorry, mate, gotta make the bed." Malcolm was dressed now and he moved his plate to a precarious position on the box. Even this task he performed slowly. "I didn't catch your name, by the way."

Angus swallowed the lump in his throat. "It's Angus."

"Angus? You from Scotland, Angus?"

"We both are," Angus said running his finger over the dresser. There were a few picture frames on it. One was empty. "I told you, we're brothers."

"Oh! That's right. Must have slipped my mind." Malcolm fluffed his pillow. "You uh...bring anyone else with you, Angus?"

"Linda an' the kids were comin' tomorrow. Wanted to bring you some flowers or somethin'."

"More?" Malcolm asked turning around. "Isn't there a flower limit in this place?" Angus turned his attention to the spot Malcolm pointed at. There on the floor in the corner was a growing collection of vases with flowers. Some dying, some withered, some fresh. A stack of opened envelopes stood next to them with scattered letters. "Ah, don't mind the mess over there, mate, I haven't gotten around to cleanin' it. An' every day I wake up an' there's more an' more an' I have no clue where they're comin' from. Could be comin' out my arse for all I know."

Angus had to laugh. The record came to a halt. "I'll get that, Mal." As Angus flipped the record over there was a knock on the open door. "Yeah?"

"Hi!" A man in a black shirt and a name tag stood in the doorway with a smile. "I've come to check on Mr. Young this morning."

Malcolm lowered his voice. "That you?"

"He means you," Angus whispered back. 

"Huh. I jus' figured my name was Mal, that's what everyone calls me."

"We're just keeping things professional, Mr. Young," the man said entering the room. 

"Aw, hell, professional for who? Call me Mal." Malcolm held out his hand to the man and shook it. "Glad to meet ya', mate. Hey, have you heard this guy? Ain't he somethin'?"

The man in the black shirt glanced at the record. "Chuck Berry, eh? Heard of him, think my father listened to him years ago."

"Chuck Berry, that his name? Hot player, ain't he?"

"I'll be outside, Mal," Angus said leaving the two alone. He walked down the hallway with his hands in his pockets. He'd have really appreciated a cigarette but this place was pretty stubborn about their health policies. It was a cute little joint, hardly a place for rock and roll. Well, Angus thought, Mal will show 'em. Soon everyone and their dog would want a taste of it and the lame would walk and the blind would see. 

Pictures of staff and patients covered the wall on Angus' left while notice boards covered the right. Some pictures depicted patients and their families and children. One photo in particular stopped Angus from walking. A young woman, not much older than forty, standing next to two young boys...

"Alright, boys, that's enough."

"He started it, Mum."

"I said that's enough. Go on upstairs an' wait for dinner to cook, I've aged ten years in one afternoon with you boys down here." Malcolm and Angus trudged up the stairs pushing each other as they went. 

"Get fucked, Mal, this was your fault."

"Don't use words with me you don't even know the meanin' of, Ang. Call up your little girlfriends from school an' leave me alone." Malcolm closed his bedroom door and Angus gladly did the same, but louder. He flopped on his bed and grabbed a comic book. 

Some noise came from down the hall. It was muffled a little but it still sounded like the devil's music. And Angus wanted a piece of that.

Slipping out of his room he pressed his ear against Malcolm's bedroom door. Something that would quickly have him sent to the principal's office or jail came from behind it. Had he always been able to play that well? Malcolm and he of course had guitars for a while now but this was certainly new. Angus carefully turned the knob.

Thankfully Malcolm's back was turned and Angus watched. Malcolm played the hell out of that guitar. He couldn't believe the pick was still in one piece. Angus swore he never heard the song before. Could he have written it? He stepped back a little when Malcolm turned around, his hair covering his eyes. There was no one else in the world except Malcolm and his instrument. 

His fingers moved like flames over the neck. His rhythm was impeccable. He truly was a thunder from Down Under. For a split second Angus forgot where he was.

Until Malcolm noticed him. 

"What the hell are you doin'?" he asked stopping his playing.

"Nothin'," Angus said. "Just heard the racket you were makin' and got curious."

"Got jealous?"

"I don't need to play...whatever song that was to be good. What....what song was that anyway?"

"Oh...uh..." Malcolm reached for the shelf behind him and pulled down an album sleeve. "This. Got it this mornin'. A bit of Ike Turner." Angus inspected the sleeve and stared at his brother. 

"You got this this mornin'?" he asked. 

"Yeah, a bit." 

"An' you're playin' like that?"

"Look, don't start dishin' out flatteries an' shit. Go back an' play in your own room. You're messin' with genius." With a smug smile, Malcolm snatched the record back and closed the door. 

"Fuck you," Angus said walking away.

After a considerable amount of time Angus found his way back to Malcolm's room. The man with the name tag, holding Malcolm's plate from breakfast, was just about to leave after one last word to Malcolm. He stopped short when he saw Angus at the door. "How is he?"

"I think today is one of his better days," the man answered quietly. "Everything looks good, he's in a good mood..." Angus nodded his head.

"But he's still gettin' worse, ain't he?"

The man sighed. "I'm afraid so." Both of them took a glance inside Malcolm's room. Malcolm had picked up the album and was rifling through the box Angus brought. "We're doing our best...and so is he."

"No one can do better than him," Angus said. After watching the man leave Angus gently knocked on the open door. "Can I come in, Mal?"

Malcolm stared at him. "Yeah...."

Angus kept his hands in his pockets. "You enjoyin' your music?"

"Yeah...not sure who brought 'em...but they're damn good, eh?" Malcolm held his hand out. "Do you work here?"

Angus sighed....and shook Malcolm's hand. "Nah, I'm your brother. Angus."

"Brother...." Malcolm frowned. "Huh...well, you're welcome to sit down, ya' know? No use standin' around shootin' shit." He continued to look through the records. "I really should have listened to these a long time ago. Doin' fuck if I know all this time..." Angus sat down on the bed and clasped his hands together. "You play anything?"

"Yeah," Angus smiled sadly. "I do."

"Should swing by sometime an' show me somethin' or other. Can you imagine gettin' famous off this? Must be fun." The light still flickered in Malcolm's eyes. His passion for music was still there, even if he couldn't recognize it. Deep down, he was still the same man he'd always been. 

His big brother.