Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Bloody Hands ❯ Daddy ( Chapter 10 )

"I wanna rip your heart out
The way you did mine,
Daddy."
--Jewel

"And if a man lieth with another man as he lieth with a woman,
both of them have committed an abomination.
They shall be put to death.
Their blood shall be on their own heads."
--Leviticus 20:13
_________________________________________________________________ _______________________________

Mercutio leaned back against the bark of a tall tree, letting his mussy chestnut bangs drift over his eyes, and pushed a heavy sigh through his nose. He reached up, hooked his forefinger through his golden hoop earring, and pulled gently. The light tug on the skin of his earlobe had always been so relaxing. A replacement for the soothing taste of his fleshy thumb in his mouth when he was a toddler. He listened to the soft chirp of the crickets, singing to each other as the night breeze played on his cheeks, and felt almost young enough to stick that thumb in his mouth again. He'd never been scared of the dark. On the contrary, it had always relaxed him; made him feel like he was being wrapped up in Mother Gaia's thick velvety blanket. He wondered absently how late it was, as if it mattered. Ha. Better not lose any sleep, boy. Big day tomorrow, don'tcha know. Oh yes, that's right. No more big days for you...

"Gatti?" he pierced the dark silence to keep his mind from wandering too far. How far was too far, he didn't know, but he sure as hell didn't want to find out.

"Nani." Gatti's voice was flat and distant. He had taken off his gloves, and was rubbing furiously at the blood on the hand
(paw)
he'd plunged through Hitomi's stomach. It had been there ever since, and it wasn't leaving.

(it's not my fault my blood is on your hands)

"Why won't you come back with me?" Mercutio asked; a question proposed many times, and was always served with the same answer. It's obvious, Mercutio darling, it's so obvious...

"Because... Van Fanel is going to suffer," Gatti answered simply and dryly, as if his friend had wondered what time it was, his voice monotone and distracted as he watched the blood stay after hours of hard scrubbing.

"He's up there in his room, and he hasn't spoken a single word. Gatti, you really tore him apart with that one." It might as well have been a comment on the weather. Gatti wasn't phased.

The tall ash-blonde smiled a little, glanced up at Mercutio, then went back to his useless scrubbing.

"There are things that are so much more worse than death, ne?"

"That's not funny, Gatti. It's not-"

"I know, I know. It's no fun anymore. Did you think it was going to be a game, Mercutio? The way you always looked at everything else?"

Mercutio sighed through his nostrils again in response.

"You always thought of everything as a game! You thought being a Zaibach soldier would be a game. Like your Guymelef was just one of those toy models we played with when we were kids. You thought the battles were just like reamerball matches... twenty-four to twenty-two," Gatti imitated the announcers at their reamerball games, "game is close and Mercutio's got the ball! It's all up to Mercutio, our star player! You never took anything seriously! Well I did, all right? I took it seriously! I mean... did you think I wouldn't go as far as I could with Van? Did you think I just wanted to scare him a little? Do you think when I felt... what he did to me... do you think it just scared me a little?"

"I'm not thinking about him," Mercutio said calmly, watching the endless black-velvet-blanket spaces between the ghostly white trees. "I don't care about what happens to him. I care about you. I don't like what you're getting yourself into."

"I'm fine," Gatti snapped.

("Burning pits" were used mainly in the summer of 1944, when the extermination was going at such a rate that the furnaces couldn't handle the number of corpses)

"I'm fine."

"If you're thinking... if you're thinking about your... father...," Mercutio started, quietly.

Gatti bit down on his bottom lip.

"Van has nothing to do with your father, Gatti..."

"I know that," Gatti said, voice cracking.

Mercutio could see that he'd accidentally stirred him up again. Now the illusions would come. He'd remember his father again.

Oh gods, I'm sorry, Gatti. I'm so sorry...

Gatti peered into the forest and could see a small, simple house in the heart of the ghostly white woods. His house. White painted splintery boards and navy blue shutters. Black shingled roof, weeds growing up through the gravel. The house he grew up in. Sitting in the middle of the greenery, wearing the sign on the front door

(Welcome to our Happy Home)

like a mask. The house he'd left so eagerly when he was fifteen. Filled up to the roof with the smell of beer and bad memories. And the feeling that he sometimes got when he saw a small child being hugged by his father.

Welcome to our happy fucking home.

***

Little Gatti Aldour, just barely four years old, was holding his arms behind his head on his pillow, thinking up at the ceiling. He'd seen Mercutio's daddy give him a HUG after school. Gatti didn't know exactly what it was. Mercutio had opened his arms wide up at his father and grinned up at him, grubby face beaming. And Mercutio's daddy had scooped him right off the ground, wrapping his arms tight tight tight around Mercutio's little body. And when he'd set the toddler on his big muscular forearm, little Mercutio had giggled and bounced up and down on his father's arm, chubby little legs working wildly.

So Gatti finally worked up enough courage to climb out of his bed, pad bare-footed across the hardwood floor, open his door (stretching for the doorknob), and stand in front of his own father's bedroom.

He stood there a while, running the memory of the HUG back in his mind, reciting silently exactly what Mercutio had done. Open arms, smile bright, grin, and giggle when he picked you up. Yeah. That was it. Here we go, big boy.

Gatti pushed open the door and peered in timidly. His daddy was under the blanket with his glasses drooped on his nose, eyes reading the words in a book with a red cover. Everan Aldour looked up at his four-year-old son, dim yellow light shining softly around his little body as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"What is it, Gatti?" his voice was harsh and gruff, whether he liked it or not.

The child bit down on his bottom lip. Arms, grin, giggle. Arms, grin, giggle. He stretched his small arms out and smiled over at his daddy.

His father stared blankly.

"What do you want, son? It's time for bed."

"Hug," Gatti explained, voice astute and sage for a four-year-old, not forgetting the broad smile.

Everan watched his son a moment longer. Gatti's soft hair was rumpled, just recently loosing its baby-fineness. He was holding out the scant meat on his little arms as if for sacrifice. Come on, Daddy, let's just get it over with.

The truth was, Gatti was quite curious about this HUG business. Mercutio had seemed rather happy about, so Gatti assumed it was a good experience. He waited and waited, but his daddy never made a move. He just sat all huddled up in his covers, looking too blank and empty for comfort. Gatti switched his weight from one foot to the other, still holding out his arms hopefully.

At least two minutes (or hours. Gatti still wasn't exactly sure about time yet) went by, and finally his father spoke.

"Go to bed, Gatti."

Gatti watched his daddy's eyes shift from him to the book again, and lowered his arms slowly, cast off.

Go to bed, Gatti.

That's not right, Daddy, he wanted to inform his father. That's not what Mercutio's daddy said.

What happened? Had he done it wrong?

Gatti turned and left, feet scuffing on the carpet. He reached up and pulled the door to Daddy's bedroom closed. He listened to the click of the knob signaling it was shut, and padded off to his own room again, a samurai who'd failed his task.

He decided he'd done the process wrong, and made a mental note to ask Mercutio just exactly how it was done tomorrow.

***

The world around him faded again, and he was nine years older, thirteen, coming in through his front door after reamerball practice, setting his book satchel down by the coat rack.

He looked around the living room and saw that it was empty. He took off his cleats and went into the kitchen.

A tall man with a black beard, Everan Aldour, was sitting at the kitchen table, face solemn, jaw clenched in anger as he glared at his son in the doorway.

"Sit down," Everan commanded, voice quietly eerie.

Gatti strode slowly over to the seat across from his father. He pulled the chair out, cringing at the loud sound of the legs screeching on the tiled floor. The tall ash-blonde sat down carefully.

"Sir?" he said, voice weak, frail, quivering.

"Do you know what I found under your mattress, son?" Everan asked, voice ominously calm and monotone.

Gatti bit down on his lip (a habit that had stuck since he was a toddler) and shook his head slowly. He placed his hands in his lap and squeezed them together. Oh hell, what now what now what now what now-

Everan held up a little notebook with a black cover in one hand. He shook it a little.

"This."

Gatti felt his heart drop through his stomach.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god, no. Please, no. Please, let me be dreaming. OH god, no...

"You know what I read in this? On the last page?"

Gatti clenched his jaw and tried to keep from crying.

"Maybe I ought to let you read it," Gatti's father sneered. He shoved the book across the table and it stopped a few inches away from where Gatti was seated, staring at his hands.

"Read it. Read the last page."

Gatti looked up, face red with fear and embarrassment.

"Read it. Out loud. Now."

Gatti Aldour reached out, flipped solemnly to the last page, and stared at his erotic prose. It had seemed so precious, so beautiful when he'd written it. Now it glared up at him, mocking him, like a detailed description of his own death.

"Read it."

Gatti's ears and cheeks burned red as he opened his mouth.

" 'Today after reamerball practice Sebastian and I were talking in the l-lock-locker room...' " Gatti's heart was triphammering in his ribcage. His whole body was burning, and it showed clearly in his face and in his glassy blue-green eyes. A tear leaked from the glossy film and spilled down his red cheek.

"READ IT!!"

Gatti forced himself to open his mouth again.

" 'I m-mu-must have been st-st-staring a-at him,' " Gatti read, voice quaking, trembling horribly, even though he had never stuttered in his life, " '...he sort of grinned at me-' "

"You skipped a part," Everan sneered, top lip curling up, almost touching his nose. "Read the part you skipped."

"Daddy, please-"

"READ IT!!"

Gatti burst into tears. He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist and blinked through the saline water to see the paper under him. He found the little paragraph he'd skipped.

" 'I m-must huh-have b-been staring a-at him. He h-has the s-soft-softest blonde hair and b-big br-br-...brown eyes. Wuh-we were both sort uh-of sw-sweaty and th-there was a drop ruh-running d-d-down Seh-Sebastian's juh-jaw. He looked-d so b-beautiful, smiling ah-at me with his v-vel-velvety brown eyes, h-his hair a-all ruh-ruffled and s-sticking t-to his forehead...' "

Everan stared furiously at his stuttering adolescent son, face almost crimson with humiliation, eyes glassy, cheeks glistening with tears. Please Daddy, don't make me.

Everan Aldour had not raised his son to be a queer. No, faggot. No...cocksucker. Hell, there wasn't a word bad enough. Hell fucking no. He had not raised his only son to be a cocksucker.

"...'and... and... ' "

"Read it," Everan hissed through clenched teeth.

" 'and I've a-always wondered what it would b-be l-like to... to k-k... ki-...kiss him' "

Shame wrapped its hands around Gatti's neck and tried to choke the air out of his throat. Gatti wished it would. He wanted nothing more on Gaia than to drop dead in his chair instead of reading any more of the page.

"Please, Daddy!" he cried suddenly and without much hope. "Please, Daddy.... please..."

"READ IT, YOU LITTLE FAGGOT!"

Gatti sniffed helplessly, sucking mucus back up his nose, feeling like a child.

" 'Well, I won't have to wonder anymore, b-because S-Sebastian l-l-lee-leaned oh-over a-and k-k-k-kissed m-me fuh-full on th-the lips. I thought m-my heart wuh-was going to fl-fl-fl-...flut-ter right out of my che-chest like a-a b-butterfly.' "

Gatti was vaguely aware that he was hyperventilating.

"Puh-please...D-daddy..."

"I DID NOT RAISE MY ONLY SON TO BE A COCKSUCKER!!!"

Gatti cringed at his father's voice, booming through the kitchen, the tears flowed against his will, spilling down, flowing over his cheeks. He wiped his eyes again.

"I'm s-s- I'm s-sorry, Daddy!"

The page under Gatti was soaked with a big wet saline tear. The black ink smeared.

Please, Mother Gaia, take me right now. Please, just take me away right now. Please, please, please, please, please...

Everan backed out of his chair and stood up.

"Come here," he commanded Gatti.

Mother Gaia, Gatti thought, Oh please, Mother Gaia, send me an angel. Do something, oh please oh gods oh please do something save me save me deliver me deliver me please do something please please please please please

Gatti eased out of his chair slowly, giving the gods time to send him a miracle. He took a step toward his father's end of the table. He took another. And another.

hurry please oh please hurry i'm almost there

Gatti didn't have to lift his bowed head and see his father's fist to know he had reared it

(please please please do something gods please deliver me)

back. It flew downward and caught Gatti full on the cheek. A sickening smack rang out, and Gatti let out a pained cry. The blow knocked him to the kitchen floor. He felt his head rap against the hard tile, and the cold sting his cheek. He could see his own bright red blood dripping from his mouth to the black and white tiles. He could taste the bitter liquid in his mouth. Was his jaw broken? It felt like it was. He cried, tears mingled with the blood, dripping onto the floor. Drip, drip, drip.

"Daddy!" Gatti cried, and to Everan Aldour it sounded almost like an accusation.

(Daddy, you broke my jaw, Daddy, oh Daddy how dare you break my jaw you son of a whore you fucking son of a whore why did you hurt me why i'm your own flesh i'm your own i'm your very own son oh why do you hurt me like you do i can't stand it daddy it breaks my heart that you don't realize what you're doing to me oh daddy oh daddy oh gods daddy did you ever love me? did you ever?)

Everan spat on his son's cheek, his queer son, sprawled out on the kitchen floor, making erratic, failing attempts to lift himself up. Everan was disgusted with him. He hated Weakness. Gatti didn't even raise a hand to wipe the spit away.

"Daddy, please..."

Everan drew his foot back and kicked Gatti's stomach. The soft, tender lower abdomen sank in around his boot. His son let out a spine-chilling wail, and curled himself into a fetal position. The ultimate Weakness.

The pain crept through Gatti's stomach and into his heart.

Oh gods why didn't you do something how could you let this happen i'm sorry i'll never look at another boy again just make it stop please mother gaia make him stop

He opened his mouth and tried to cry out again, but his mouth just hung open in a silent grimace, dripping with blood and saliva.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Gatti gasped. He pressed his palm on the cold kitchen floor and curled his fingers into a desperate fist.

Everan loomed over his son for a while, glaring at the sobbing, bleeding heap that was his own offspring. It sickened him.

"I did not raise my only son to be a coward.... a cocksucker," he repeated gruffly, "Do you understand?"

Gatti nodded.

Coward Coward Coward. It rang and echoed in his ears.

"Yes sir."

The small whimper almost pierced Everan's heart. But not quite.

He reached for the journal and dropped it on the floor next to Gatti.

"After you finish cleaning the floor, burn that goddamn book and go to your room. And you can throw your reamerball uniform away, because you're not playing anymore," he said, almost conversationally, stepping over Gatti's quivering body and out the kitchen door.

***

Gatti dug his fingers into the mud and gathered a handful of rocks.

"Haaaarrrahhh!!!"

He cocked his arm sharply and hurled them at the little house in the middle of the woods. The sharp tingle of glass shattering rang out. He wasn't aware that he was crying. He knelt down and pawed fiercely for more rocks. Oh, that house. Never again, that house. He'd left it for good and he wasn't going back. Not now, not ever. Never ever. That's what he'd promised himself when the carriage had carried him off toward the liberating Vione and the savior that Dilandau-sama was, watching the splintered wood disappear behind him. No, not ever again, Daddy. Never again.

"Gatti!"

He'd forgotten that Mercutio was with him. Warm arms reached out of the darkness and tried to embrace him.

"No!!" Gatti cried through sharp sobs, shoving Mercutio out of reach. The tendency he'd had of shying away from affection came roaring back all at once. Everything all at once. Faggot, burning pits, Dilandau-sama, Daddy... all at once all at once.

He threw his whole weight into the next throw, and he fell to his knees. He balled his fist around the dry leaves and they crackled in his grasp.

"Gatti...," Mercutio said again, quietly this time. He took a step toward the hysterical Dragonslayer, bare feet crunching the leaves, and knelt down beside him. He slipped his arm around Gatti's shoulders, heaving with sobs. The ash-blonde recoiled at his touch, and tried to squirm away. Mercutio tightened his grip, and lifted Gatti up so he could put his other arm around him.

"Don't touch me, Mercutio. Everything I touch... everything I touch... turns to poison...," Gatti started to implore.

"Shh..."

Mercutio pulled him close, and Gatti finally gave in. He sank into Mercutio's arms and soaked the white shirt with saltwater.

"Shh...," Mercutio repeated gently. "I'm here, Gatti. You're here with me. He can't hurt you anymore."

"Nuhh-hhooo...," Gatti wailed, choking on a sob, mouth peeled back into a silent cry.

"Shhhhh... It's okay. Everything's okay now. He's gone, Gatti. He's gone."

"Why did he do it... wasn't I good enough? If I could have been better, if only I had been better... If I weren't so frail..." Gatti mumbled.

"No," Mercutio said compassionately. "No, Gatti. It's not your fault. Don't ever think that it was your fault, all right?"

"Why did he hurt me? Why did they all hurt me? Daddy... Dilandau-sama... Van.... I wasn't ever good... e- enough..."

"Shhhh...."

"Daddy.... Dilandau-sama.... Van.... all of them, all of them, all of them!"

"Please don't cry, Gatti," Mercutio whispered, holding Gatti's head against his chest. "Please don't cry... You're here now, Gatti. No one's going to hurt you."

He kept saying his name, hoping it would pull him out of whatever hell he was sinking in this time.

"Daddy...Van.... Daddy... Van... they knew... they all knew I was bad," Gatti whispered, eyes wide with the sudden epiphany.

Mercutio hunched his back over Gatti.

"I thought he would leave... me... my head... now that... the other side... but...," Gatti didn't finish, nor did he know whether or not he knew exactly what he wanted to say enough to finish. He dug one knee into the ground and tried to lift himself up. He slipped, and fell back into Mercutio's arms.

"Uuuuhhh-hoooo!" the groan was just loud enough to become a painful wail, and it rang out through the forest like the sound of a dying animal. His fingers closed around the white material on Mercutio's shoulder.

Mercutio gathered him carefully in his arms and rocked gently, like a mother singing her crying infant to sleep in the middle of the night.

"Quiet, Gatti. Breathe. Breathe," he whispered, even though breathing wasn't part of the process of being a ghost. Gatti was shaking violently in his arms, shuttering, teeth chattering, tears running down his cheeks like a broken faucet that just wouldn't stop dripping.

"Mercutio...," he gasped, searching for something real inside the past and present worlds, so many different memories and experiences, swirling around inside him like a violent whirlpool. He couldn't find himself, or where he really was. It was like being in a room, surrounded by mirrors, mirrors for a ceiling, mirrors for a floor, and seeing himself in none of them.

"Yes, Gatti, you're here with me. No one's going to hurt you, all right? I've got you. I've got you, Gatti."

The voice called to him like the sound of someone's voice from outside the forest.

"I'm right here, Gatti. He can't hurt you anymore," Mercutio brought his face closer, thinking maybe the reality would strike his best friend if he got close enough. "I'm right here, Gatti. I've been with you since we were in the sandbox and I was calling you Gat-Gat. I've been here with you all along, closer than a brother, and I won't ever leave. Can you hear me, Gatti? Gatti, I'm right here."

A lock of feathery brown hair escaped from behind Mercutio's ear and fell across Gatti's cheek. Gatti squeezed the fabric in his fingers.

"I'm never going back, Mercutio," he whispered defiantly. "I'm not ever going back there."

Mercutio shook his head gently.

"No, Gatti. You don't ever have to go back. You're with me, okay? Do you hear me, Gatti?"

Gatti squeezed the loose-fit sleeve of Mercutio's shirt again.

Mercutio.

My best friend. Since we were in the sandbox and he was calling me 'Gat-Gat'.

He nodded weakly. And he was never going back. Never going back to that

(Welcome to our happy home)

house again.