Legend Of Marauder: The Dawn Of Supremes

9. Goodbye

The light of the sun outside woke Brendan up. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and realized he was still sitting on the floor, Howard’s cold head resting on his lap. This reality weighed his heart with more sorrow.

He reached into Howard’s pocket and pulled out the small container with the liquid. He held it close to his eyes, examining it.

The container’s glass looked somehow extraordinary in some way. It was definitely like the test tubes they used in Biology. The liquid looked as thick as dry goat’s blood.

‘Happy now?’ He spoke to it with hopelessness and contempt in his voice. ‘You’ve led my father to his grave.’ He hurled it at the wall with all his strength but it only made a light thud and fell on the floor with no scratch. He stood up and approached it, leaving his father on the floor. ‘What is this thing made of?!’ He spoke aloud in astonishment.

He picked it up and began tapping it with his forefinger. It produced heavy sounds, similar to a knock on a door. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘I’ll get rid of you anyway.’

He took it upstairs to the bathroom and plucked out the plug of the container in a display of vengeance, like he was pulling out the pin of a hand grenade whilst walking towards the sink. He was about to pour the liquid in the drain when he remembered Howard’s words; “If you value my love for you then you would honor this wish”. ‘You’re lucky your victim doesn’t want you dealt with,’ he said, sealing it again at the same time. He went back in his room and threw it in the cupboard beside his bed.

He went back downstairs with a mattress from the storeroom. He tied Howard’s wrists and ankles firmly on it and began dragging him out. When he got outside he started the real work.

He began digging a deep hole to bury him in. Brendan’s mother was buried at the city’s cemetery but he decided to bury Howard beside his house, seeing that the old man was rather attached to it and never made it past three houses whenever he went out for a walk. Taking him to the morgue was not an option and also, fortunately, burying someone in your backyard was not against the law, although the debate about serial killers always made its way to the headlines. “What about postmortem? Letting people bury their loved ones in secret by the front porch or in the garage is giving psychopaths the green light,” the intellectuals would say.

For Brendan, it meant that he would not get into trouble by burying his father in the backyard and on his own. But his mother had died in Howard’s living room, dressed in rags and mopped in filth, alone except for a confused and awkward old man who had spent years without human contact. The best for her, Howard had decided, was to have her rest among other souls that would comfort her in the cemetery.

Brendan was quite strong for a sixteen year old and in less than an hour and a half, he had already dug an approximate six foot deep hole alone. He wrapped his father’s body in some clean unused sheets he had brought then gently lowered him into the hole then finally began covering it. This process only took a quarter of an hour. He now stood above the grave, covered in dust and beyond exhausted from the work.

‘You may not have been my real father but you were a lot better than him. May your soul rest in peace, Howard.’ This was his speech to Howard, his now deceased adoptive father. Brendan ran back inside the house and took a shower and got ready for school.

As he descended the stairs, he glanced at the clock. ‘Ten thirty,’ he said as he buttoned the sleeves on his shirt. He was not even concerned about being late. The only thing that pestered his mind was coming face to face with Samantha by the gate.

‘Orphan boy, you’re late again? That’s probably going to be at least an extra hour in detention for you.’ These were her words when he arrived at the gate.

Brendan said, ‘You know something? With that cruel character of yours I bet you either bought or held people at gunpoint to be in the position you’re in.’

She began scribbling his name on the pamphlet in her palm. Her face was full of bitter contempt.

‘I was burying my father,’ he said, walking past her.

She was the only prefect by the gate. It was as though she knew he had not arrived and had waited for him, like a starved predator. ‘Orphan boy, by your father do you mean the one who abandoned you or the old maggot?’ She had stopped scribbling on her pamphlet but her expression remained as sour as a ripe lemon.

‘What is your problem, Samantha? I’ve just buried my father and that’s all you can say to me?’

‘Good riddance, then?’ Her expression turned to spite.

He ignored her and began to walk away.

She strutted and stopped in front of him. ‘I’m just curious.’ She now had a look of apology. This came as a major blow to Brendan’s supposed eternal hatred towards her.

‘I mean Howard, my adoptive father.’ He answered her.

‘So it is the old maggot. He died of old age, right?’

‘You know what? I shouldn’t be talking to you, I’m late for class.’ He began walking away again.

She jumped in front of him. ‘What I meant to say is I’m sorry for your loss,’ she apologized.

This verbal apology came as another major blow to him again. He looked into her eyes. They looked sincere enough.