Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (35 page)

When
he has nowhere left to look, his eyes fall upon the centre scene.
Bobby's insides turn into a series of sickening sparks as he views a
figure leaning over the body on the floor.

His
mother tries to curl into the foetal position to protect herself. The
dissociation is no longer in her eyes. Instead, they are flung wide
in panic and pain.

Red
liquid seeps through her dress to create damp patches like rose
petals. Smudges also stain her cheek and forehead from wiping her
leaking nose. As whimpers escape her torn mouth, Bobby's stomach
curdles.

As
he moves to help, the man hovering above her turns. When the twisted
smile turns to face Bobby, he can see his father is relishing the
agony he is inflicting.

“
Go
to sleep, Bobby,” he says in a condescending manner. He speaks
as though Bobby is only five years old and doesn't know what is going
on here. Judging by the words Bobby forms, he could be correct.

“
What
are you doing?”

In
reply, his father's face scrunches up as though to say, “can
you not tell?” And it makes Bobby want to scream until
everything fades away.

Not
obeying with his elder's demands, Bobby steps toward his mother. Her
face and eyebrows frown with worry as a firm hand grasps him around
his slim wrist.

“
I
said go back to sleep, Bobby.” The growl within his tone forces
Bobby's body into miniature trembles.

The
fevered heat, laced with whiskey, graces Bobby's skin and makes him
want to vomit. Yet, the sorry excuse of a man doesn't slur his words
like usual. He doesn't appear to be the wretched mess he was the day
before, but despite this, Bobby looks him square in the eye.

“
No.”

“
You'll
go back to fucking sleep now,” his father hisses. He tugs his
arm toward him to cause a slight creak in Bobby's shoulder socket.

“
No!”
he spits. The word sounds alien to his own ears and powerful within
the silence. “No, you're hurting her!”

Bobby
takes advantage of the shock that claims his father and wriggles free
from the grasp.

The
last thing he expected was for me to stand up to him. Even if it is
now. Even if it's too late.

Bobby
tells himself if he has to stand up for something once in his life,
this is it.

So
far I've been a coward, but that ends today.

And
with the new found adrenaline, Bobby steps away from his father and
over the bedding to reach his mother. He doesn't register the scowl
spreading between ragged stubble, or the twitch of his father's upper
arm as his fist comes at him like lightning, ploughing into his jaw.

•

He
can't have been out for more than five minutes when the world around
him filters back to reveal a troubled reality. He can find his father
nowhere.

With
his head to the wardrobe, he realises his father must have dragged
him out the way. He rises, clutching hold of his jaw which he nurses
with his fingers while pushing off the wood. A shooting pain rockets
up the back of his head which explodes into a wild bloom inside his
skull the moment he probes it.

He
only recalls what led him here when the faint whimpering returns, and
he turns to see his mother lying on his striped carpet with her legs
tangled inside the bedding.

Crawling
over to her fragile body, he sees her flesh appears jaundice as the
light shines on the otherwise translucent surface. Bobby hooks an arm
underneath her neck and hears a whine escape her bloodied lips. Her
head falls backwards until he wipes the hair from her face and brings
her into his chest.

“
Mum?
It's okay, shh.”

Her
bloodied, trembling hands travel toward her stomach to where liquid
has soaked through the material. With an almost strangled breath, she
calls his name.

“
It's
okay, don't talk. I will call an ambulance, just wait here.
Everything will be all right.”

Bobby
is about to place her down and get to his feet when she stops him by
clutching his t-shirt. Within her eyes, he glimpses a sorrow that
rivals his own. His heart becomes so overcome with dread it feels as
though it could burst at any moment, so he turns away.

Weighing
the bedding down at her feet, Bobby notices the dull reflection in
the blood soaked blade. His face twists into one of uncontrollable
horror and anguish as his eyes dart from the weapon to the wound.

“
Oh,
Christ, oh Christ,” he sobs in croaking bursts, and pulls her
closer.

“
Don't
leave me, Bobby.”

With
his chin slouching against her moist forehead, Bobby cannot prevent
the tears from falling as he blinks. “I'm not going anywhere;
I'm right here.”

“
Bobby,
my pocket.” As her finger twitches toward the smeared pocket of
her dress, blood trickles down her chin from the corner of her mouth.

He
hesitates and curses before scooting over, causing her to whine as he
dips his fingers inside. He hears a tingling before he wraps his
finger around a metal ring. Once he pulls it free and scoots back to
a more favourable position, he sees a set of keys he hasn't seen in
years. They jingle within his palm, so he closes his fist around them
to stop the noise despite the blood on the metal.

“
What
are—?”

“
The
shed,” she whispers before breaking out into a feeble cough
which allows more liquid to escape her lips.

He
knows what they are for, but doesn't understand why she is handing
them over, now of all times.

“
I
don't understand,” he whispers through tears. In the back of
his mind, he tries to think what they keep in the garden shed. It has
been so long since he has been out there. He and Benji used to keep
their bikes in there when it rained, but since his death, he has
avoided it at all costs. To see cobwebs decorating the handles and
wheels of his brother's bike would summarise the emptiness he's left
behind.

Dad
used it often too for his—

“
I
love you, son. And—”

“
Shh,
it's going to be fine, you'll see.”

“
I'm
sorry.”

The
weight in his arms goes slack and falls against him. The head resting
there drives forward and pulls his t-shirt loose against his neck.
Her frail arm falls limp into his lap, soundless like a feather.

“
Mum?
Mum?” Bobby shakes her, then pulls her chin upwards to face him
when he gets no response.

The
grey and purple clouds on her translucent skin isn't half as bad as
what he finds as he stares into her open eyes. Although they contain
peace—something he hasn't seen in years—his breath
releases in a trembling wail.

He
reaches his shaking fingers to her eyelids and slips them closed. As
he lets her blood from the wounds soak through his clothes, he pulls
her tighter into an awkward embrace. With his features scrunched, he
sobs into her already wet and matted hair and rocks her how she once
did to him while singing lullabies.

In
his hazy vision, a glowing light appears against his wardrobe in a
vertical slither. It appears as a thin tear no larger than a strand
of hair down the centre where the doors open. Despite the phenomenon,
the doorknobs either side sit unperturbed. The soft light stretches
until it becomes no wider than a ruler, then the light bursts from it
in one blinding wave.

Using
a hand coated in blood, Bobby shields his stinging eyes as he catches
a smoky texture drift from him and toward the light.

“
She
will be in safe keeping now, Bobby.”

Jumping
up from the now weightless body, Bobby glares at the gap with tearful
shock. The dampness sticks to his cheeks and chin to pull his skin
taut.

The
allure of the calm and subtle voice filling the room settles his
trembling limbs.

“
Where
are you taking her?”

Never
has he believed in spirits, heaven, or the afterlife, but as he
glares at the light, he realises he was wrong. He can think of
nothing else the smoky substance could be if not an apparition.

“
Wait!”

Over
the carpet and debris, Bobby rushes at the wardrobe, only to slam
into the doors.

“
Wait,
don't go!”

He
slaps a palm against the wood, then turns and slides down the surface
with the light now sealed up behind him.

What
the hell just happened?

With
the revulsion and panic rushing through his veins like poison, he
clasps his head into his hands. Staring at his mother's body through
his fingers for moments at a time doesn't change the outcome, but he
cannot stop.

Just
hours ago, he was sitting in here at his desk with her asleep behind
him. It would be easy to imagine her still breathing if not for the
debris and crimson pools. It could be jam, his mind wants to argue,
yet it looks nothing like it. With his heart swelling with grief, his
mind slips into the memory of them enjoying a picnic in the woods.

We
forgot to pick the towels up from the kitchen counter and my face
smudged in strawberry jam. She wiped my face on the bottom of her
dress like she often did.

But
it isn't jam, no matter how much he wishes it to be.

Why
her?

With
his knees drawn up against his stomach, he drops his head and lets
his sobbing fill the silence.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

Bobby lingers
in
the garden with his hand clutched around the washed set of keys. He
has been pacing back and forth for over an hour since dawn broke.

The
birds chirp as they flutter about the sky, but their tune isn't
filled with soul this morning. Instead, the blackbirds and sparrows
all sing the same song of mourning to his ears.

There
is no sign of the magpie up in the nest, but he doesn't notice as his
mind runs through reasons to go inside the shed against excuses for
remaining outside.

Bobby
sighs and paces from pavement to grass, acknowledging the dying aroma
of the flowers. He scuffs his sole as he kicks at the dirt and curses
himself for being so weak.

He
tries counting down from ten, then twenty, then thirty. He tries
acting like nothing is different from any other day, then pretending
he is entering his own bedroom. When they fail, he imagines he is
younger again with Benji here.

He's
just making juice before we go for a ride. He'll be out in a minute.

Yet,
that doesn't work either and he isn't surprised.

Just
do it.

Sucking
in a deep breath, Bobby moves away from the flowers and steps
forward. Bobby shoves the key inside the padlock and turns until it
clicks, then he pulls the metal away and tosses it into the grass
without breaking eye contact with the door. The wood remains in place
in an adamant, stubborn manner before creaking open as though it has
been waiting for him.