Autopsy Of A Mind 54 Outtake: Howard Hunt 7

The television was on in the living room, Henry sat on the couch watching his favourite show and laughing at the comedic scene on the screen. Howard was in the kitchen, preparing supper like every other day before he left for another s.h.i.+ft at work. Their father had yet to come home and Howard felt like his times were getting later as the days pa.s.sed. He watched the clock in antic.i.p.ation and waited for his father to finish his s.h.i.+ft and come home.

He knew what state he would be in. Drunk out of his mind, a blubbering mess that was blaming his children for how his life turned out. It happened every other day.

His illusions that his father was a good man had broken when he started to realize how they lived a comfortable life. His father's pay was not exorbitant, but the bribes he got was enough to keep their family fed. But since he had grown older and his reputation growing bleaker, people had stopped revering him. That brought less money to the house and therefore Howard had to go out and make sure that they had enough to keep their stomach's full.

It didn't help that his father spent his time gambling away the little money he had saved and the college fund he had spoken of when they were young, blackmailed him with to keep his son by his side had vanished over time. The debts mounted.

"You little s.h.i.+ts," he heard from the distance. The door to their house had been opened and closed. Howard could hear the television being switched off. He could imagine his brother's panicked state as he awaited his father's abuse.

Howard sighed as he wiped his hand on the ap.r.o.n and went out of the kitchen.

"Noise pollution," he shouted, making Howard cringe. The sound was loud and in the dead of the night, he was pretty sure the whole neighbourhood could hear this one-sided conversation. "You switch on the TV and make so much noise that the neighbours complain!" he said.

The little boy of thirteen looked peeved. He was at the age where he wanted to be rebellious, where he wanted to show how superior he was to everyone else.

"We don't make noise. You do." There was silence for a minute. Howard moved forward wanting to keep his father at bay but was shoved aside by the man. He flew at the teenager in a rage, his fist flying.

"Father," he screamed. Though his words were formal, nothing about his stance said so.

The younger boy kept babbling as he took punch after punch.

"They say you are an a.s.shole. They're right," he choked.

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"Because she hated your guts." Howard heard his father say. He sucked in a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest as the words went into his head.

"Henry did wrong. Henry shouldn't have talked back," he tried. He wanted to put himself between Henry and his father, but the little s.p.a.ce between them made it impossible for the alcohol ridden madman to be pulled away.

"I've pampered him too much," the man growled. Howard stiffened, recognizing the tone of his voice. The lowness in his tenor meant that he had planned for something bigger, some fate more gruesome than the beating he had just given. "He needs to be taught a lesson."

He moved back a step, an evil smirk on his face. Howard somehow gauged what was coming next and rushed to his brother's side, ushering him out of the room as his father went into the kitchen. He stumbled drunkenly, but years in the service had made him resilient. He moved steadily.

"Go upstairs and lock your room," he advised gently before shoving the boy towards the direction of the stairs. "Don't come down. It's not safe." He knew how brutal his father could be when he had that wicked grin on his face. He had dozens of cigarette marks on his body to prove the existence of such events.

Henry understood what was being said and went up the stairs. Howard heard the click of his door before he could calm himself down.

"Where is that brat?" his father asked. Howard swivelled around in fright, having not heard the footsteps of his father. He usually dragged his feet when he was drunk but he had not made a single sound. Or was it because he was too preoccupied with protecting his brother to notice the sound of his heavy, deafening footsteps?

"He's not here," Howard muttered as he stared at his enraged father. It was not the first time lying to him, but the situation was ghastly. His father stood there, wielding a knife in his hand. Howard couldn't help but feel terror seeping into his bones. "Keep the knife away," he gently said, hoping his father would listen to him. But alas, nothing of the sort was about to happen. He wasn't that lucky.

"Don't order me around, boy," the man seethed, his chest heaving with his words. He looked out of breath and diseased from the years of abuse on his body, yet he was still alive to beat them. Howard couldn't help but be amused by the twisted scheme of fate.

"Don't think yourself so important," he found himself saying. Not being able to control the words that rushed out of his mouth. He wanted to slap himself for such a slipup but in that situation, he could do nothing but stare in horror at the man standing in front of him.

A guffaw left his father's lips but he dared not comment further.

"If you are not earning money, then you aren't allowed to speak in this house. h.e.l.l, that boy is useless, kill him and be done with it." The knife dropped from his hand and he walked over to the couch to sit and switch on the television. "It's so warm," he frowned and commented, pressing his palm against the side of the television. The conversation ended there, but Howard knew that he could no longer live under the same roof as his father. He packed his brother's and his bags in the dead of the night and escaped with what little money he had left. He would not let his life slip away so easily, and he would not leave his brother like his mother left him.