Don't Leave Me
It was a cold day in a small town on the outside of London. The streets were filled with snow as clusters of white clouds loomed overhead on this dreary day. Farther away from the main areas of houses a tall white brick house stood. A few dead stems from the garden managed to surface their heads above the snow as wind blew about uncovered leaves.
At the top of the house, on the third level, a young boy about the age of eleven had his forehead pressed to the window as he stared down into the front yard below. The boy sniffed suddenly as a few tears attempted to fall down his face. He jabbed at them with the edge of his white – sleeved shirt, but they kept on coming. Losing his battle, the boy sighed as he shut his eyes and his chest began to heave with sobs.
It was days like today that he remembered his mother. The beautiful woman with the golden blonde hair, the woman who used to sing to him and play with him and treat him like he was a king. She had loved him, she had loved him with all her heart.
Then another had been born, and her tired body couldn't go on.
The boy let out a quick wail. It had been just as dreary the day she had died seven long years ago.
The boy suddenly regained his composure and pushed himself away from the window. He clutched his head in his hands and began to calm down, knowing that if he got carried away he would anger the man, the beast of the man he called his father. Or worse – he would wake up the boy.
Suddenly, a cry of pain was heard downstairs. He whirled around, hoping that his father wasn't in the house as he tore out of the room and ran down the staircase to the second floor landing.
"Roger!" The high pitched voice screamed loudly from the end of the second floor hallway. "Roger! Roger!"
This was followed by another wail as Roger stopped short outside the doorway. He paused for a moment to make sure that he heard no sounds of loud footsteps coming from any part of the house. Then he pushed open the door and slipped quietly in.
Roger walked as fast as he could over to the side of his brother's bed. He sat down and gently whipped stray locks of blonde hair off of his perspiring brother's forehead. Meanwhile, his brother opened his eyes as he began to cry heavily again. Roger quickly leaned his forehead down so that it touched his brother's and began to whisper to him.
"Calm down Charlie. It's alright. I'm here now."
Charlie looked at his older brother for a moment before wailing loudly and throwing his skinny arms around his brother's waist.
"Roger!" he screamed. "Roger! Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"
Roger clutched Charlie's body to his, suddenly becoming worried that his younger brother was straining himself. "Please calm down Charlie," he whispered in an urgent tone. "Please! I'm hear now, it's alright, I'm sure you had a bad dream! We can talk about it, but please calm down before he hears us."
The mention of their father seemed to be the key word, as Charlie suddenly stopped crying. The sickly boy shut his eyes and let go of his brother, slipping weakly back onto his bed. Roger sighed as he quickly propped up Charlie's pillows and sat his younger brother up.
Charlie had been born crippled. He had become a disgrace to their father, who had managed to keep Charlie bedridden for most of his seven years of life. Their father was ashamed that the birth of his crippled son had killed his wife, and thus he had taken most of his anger out on Roger. He hated it when either boy cried. He hated when he had to act fatherly to them – for those reasons he had sent Roger to a prestigious prep school in downtown London and forced him to join the choir. With Roger coming home late on week nights, Roger's father wouldn't need to worry about him. He never paid much attention to either boy, anyway.
Charlie opened his eyes and sighed, his slight frame shaking with the release of breath. "Do you feel okay?" Roger asked.
Charlie nodded. "I just had a bad scare," he mumbled. "A bad dream. You were…you were…" Charlie stopped talking suddenly, his lower lip trembling as he attempted to hold back tears. He shut his eyes again and began to whimper "Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me" over and over again.
Roger reached for his brother again when he heard a loud noise downstairs. Charlie gasped loudly and pulled his blanket over his head.
"Roger?" a loud voice called from downstairs. "Roger!"
"I need to go Charlie," he said as he pulled the blanket back off his brother's head. Charlie nodded quietly. Roger kissed his brother on his head and whispered in his ears:
"I'll never leave you. I promise."
The last day of the school week came as the sun set behind the clouds that still hung over London. Roger stepped outside of his school, wrapping his choir boy cloak around him as the wind blew fast. He stepped quietly down the stairs when a voice called out to him. Roger turned around as Jack, a fellow choir boy, ran down the stairs after him.
"What's wrong, Chief?" Roger asked, referring to Jack's nickname in choir.
Jack looked at Roger with an odd light shinning in his eyes. He reached a shaking hand out and quickly patted Roger on his back. "I'm sorry," he said. "Very sorry." Roger gave him an odd look, quickly muttering a thank you and then hurried on his way home, wondering what it was that Jack was sorry about.
He burst into his home to find the kitchen light on. Finding this odd, Roger stepped into the kitchen to see his blurry eyed father sitting at the table. Roger cautiously approached his father, who shut up suddenly and pushed past his eldest son.
"Father", Roger called out gently.
His father turned, looking at him. "What?" he asked, his voice carrying an odd tone in it.
"What's wrong?" Roger asked.
His father stared at him for a second. "Did they not tell you at school?" he asked. When Roger never answered, he sighed and said, "Charles past away this afternoon."
Roger stared hard at his father, his books slipping out of his hands as they fell with a clatter onto the floor. His mouth dropped open in shock. Not Charlie…Charlie couldn't have died. Managing to find strength in his legs, Roger ran for the staircase and the second floor. Somehow he managed to find himself at his brother's door, pushing it open.
Roger stopped. The table light was on, illuminating the small figure that lay motionless on the bed. Roger managed to walk in, his eyes never leaving Charlie's form. Eventually he came by the edge of his brother's bed, falling onto his knees. He reached out a hand to touch his brother, to shake him and hope for life to be apparent, but he jerked it back.
Roger began to shake his head as tears slowly slipped down his face. "No," he whispered. "No. No. No. No. No. No." He shut up and backed away from the bedside. "Charlie," he whispered. "Charlie!"
Roger screamed and kicked the wall, a sudden spurge of anger shooting throughout his veins. Roger had never felt like this before – he wanted to kill. He wanted to avenge his brother's death. But on what?
"Don't leave me." Roger heard himself utter the words that Charlie had cried out to him hundreds of times. "Don't leave me. Oh Charlie!" Roger took another look at his brother, at his lifeless body that lay upon the bed. Suddenly, he began to untie his cloak. He took it and placed it over Charlie's body, remembering how his brother had loved that cloak when he had first received it. He then kissed his brother good – bye on his forehead.
"I'll never leave you. I promise."
Somewhere deep inside of him, Roger swore that he heard Charlie's voice whisper:
"I know."
A/N: Well, I hope you like it! It was a spur - of - the - moment idea. Anyway, a few things that should be known:
A. Roger is blonde after the boy who played him in the 1963 movie
B. The story is about how Roger was nicer before the island. It was supposed to show the events that could have made him as nasty and sadistic as he is.
Thank - you and review!