Chapter 2: Freak

The day was long. A lot of his school work sat in a pile next to him. Twelve year old Vincent Lehnsherr let out a small sigh as he finished off his math. Being homeschooled, he usually got to get his work done more quickly, but work was still work. He was a year ahead in Math and English because of his particular aptitude for the subjects. It was a lot of work, but he managed to get them done. Besides, he had extra work to finish today given that his birthday was tomorrow and his mother gave him the day to do as he pleased.

He loved his mother, but she could be a bit strange sometimes. She homeschooled him for as long as he could remember. Overall, he liked it, but any time he mentioned public school, she would get tense and deny him - tell him he was being silly. Aside from that, she barely let him out of the house. He would go out for the occasional dentist visit, but he couldn't ever remember going to the doctor's. She wouldn't even let him go to the store with her and at times, this caused a huge fight between the two. Staying cooped up in the house was boring and he didn't have any friends.

Literally, he didn't have any friends.

His mother shied him away from the other kids his age. A few of the neighbor kids he would talk to sometimes, but a lot of them thought he was a freak because he never left the house. It was increasingly frustrating and he only hoped that as he got older, she would learn to trust him more so he could do something besides sit around the house.

Taking his pile of work, he scooted his chair away from the desk and stood, exiting his shabby little bedroom and going to his mother's room to deposit the work on her dresser. It was a routine. He'd do his work for the day, leave it in her room, and then she'd grade it that night.

With a bored sigh, he headed back to his room, closing the door and heading over to the window in the corner of the room. He slid it open, crawling through and taking a seat on the metal fire escape. This was the closest he usually got to the world. Sometimes, he'd sneak out, but that usually ended up in him getting in huge trouble. He swore his mother had eyes in the back of her head.

A few cars cruised by and people scuttled across the sidewalk to get to where they had to go. People-watching had become his most recent hobby. He'd pick a particularly interesting person and try to come up with who they were and what they did.

One man in a dark trench coat caught his attention and he watched as he sauntered off and out of sight. Bet he's a detective. Or the criminal. Name, Wally Evergreen. A small smile came to his lips as he imagined a cool scenario with the man at a crime scene figuring out the final piece in the puzzle to figure out the murderer.

By the time it was dark, he'd come up with names and scenarios for at least twenty people. He tried to ignore the families, mainly because it hit a sore spot. He never knew his father - only that his last name was Lehnsherr, like his own, and that he wasn't here. Every time he tried to talk to his mom about it, she would change the subject. It saddened and angered him that he wasn't here. Why did he leave? Did he hate them? Did he hurt his mom?

Vincent was so lost in thought that he hadn't heard his mother calling for him. The door to his room suddenly opened and he jumped, looking through the open window as she moved inside.

"Dinner, Vince. Didn't you hear me calling?" she asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"No sorry. Kinda loud out here," he murmured, scooting through the window and shutting it behind him.

"You okay?"

He shrugged. "Just tired. What's for dinner?"

"Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Sure to cheer you up. Come on."

She patted his shoulder and he slid off the bed, following her out of his room and into the kitchen. He pulled up a chair and sat down while she got the food. Now that he was thinking about it, he wasn't very hungry, but he would eat just so he didn't make her worried.

"Are you excited about turning thirteen tomorrow? You're going to be a teenager. I...can't believe it," she hummed, setting a sandwich and bowl of soup in front of him.

"Yeah it'll be...cool," he agreed, picking up his spoon and taking a scoop of the soup.

"I'll make you a cake tomorrow and we can have a nice movie night, how does that sound?" She sat down across from him, looking at him inquisitively.

"Yeah that's fine."

The rest of the meal was eaten with little small talk, his mom being the one to initiate the conversation most of the time. Once he ate enough for her to be satisfied, he excused himself from the table, rinsed out his dishes, and headed back to his room. The rest of the night, he spent tossing and turning on his earlier thoughts. Would he ever know his father?

"Mom...where's dad? Why did he leave?" Vincent sat perched on the armrest of the ratty old scarlet couch in his living room, tilting his head to the side in question. After a long night thinking about how he was going to talk about this, he was finally asking and he wanted an answer. His father could have either done one of two things: left or died. Considering how uncomfortable she got at his questioning, he figured it was the former.

Now that he turned thirteen today, maybe she would finally tell him. Every birthday, he always asked her this question and her reply was always the same: you're too young, maybe when you're older. Now he was older - a teenager. He could handle whatever reason she gave him. He wasn't ignorant. However, he knew that look when she gave it to him. She didn't want to say. Her hands trembled slightly as she scurried about the living room, dusting off the picture frames and end tables and she ignored him for a moment before finally deciding to speak.

"Vincent, h-honey...you know that I d-don't like to speak about him. You're too young. Maybe when you're older," the small, chocolate-haired woman sputtered, dusty eyes wide and concern fixing itself on her features. Again. She said the same thing again. How was he not old enough? He was thirteen! He was officially a teenager! Did she think that he didn't know anything? He wasn't a kid! She must have seen the storm brewing in his gaze because she quickly turned away, heading toward the bright white kitchen in the next room over.

"Mom!" Vincent wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily this time. Years and years of waiting patiently for an answer yielded nothing. He wasn't going to settle for nothing this time. Sliding off the couch, he padded across the smooth wooden floor into the kitchen, his sharp blue eyes followed her frail form as she began to pull things out of the cabinets - ingredients for a birthday cake. His hand clenched around the fabric of his shirt. She was ignoring him. "Mom, why can't I know? I'm old enough! Not a kid anymore..."

It just wasn't fair that he didn't know. To grow up without a father figure in his life was hard and thinking about possibly having a somewhat normal life with a dad who wanted to just play baseball or watch television with him. Even if he couldn't have that now, knowing what happened would at least bring him some peace of mind - give him something to focus on besides the unknown.

He pushed aside the pile of pots and pans that was lingering on the island counter so there wasn't a barrier between them. "I can handle it, I promise." His tender, pleading gaze met her shaky and afraid one, but she quickly shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips as she turned back to her baking.

"Son, I'm s-sorry..."

Vincent's whole world crashed around him as the anger boiled over. She still wasn't going to tell him. After all this time, she still wanted to keep something he deserved to know from him. Hot anger bubbled in his stomach and he frowned, trying to hold back the emotions clogging up his throat.

"Did he hate us? Is that why he left? Or did he just hate me?" he questioned, causing her eyes to widen.

"I'm the reason he left, aren't I? That's why you don't...it's because of me!" He choked on a sob that was bubbling up in his throat and his hands clenched into fists. The light in the room dimmed as his mother moved to shut the curtains. The look on her face when he asked had said it all. He left because he didn't want a son. He left because he didn't want to have to take care of them.

"It's not you, Vince! Please don't ever say that again!" But her words couldn't stop him now. He knew exactly what was going on. It was all beginning to make sense for the first time in his life. How could she do this to him? How could they do this to him? For the first time in his life, he really knew what it was like to feel numb and hollow inside.

"Yes it is! Don't lie to me I can see it in your face!" Hot, angry tears poured down his face, stinging his skin. "You don't want to talk about him because I'm the reason he left! You hate me because he left! You can't...c-cant stand the sight of me! You can't lie! I see the way you look at me! Like there's something wrong me - like I'm something you don't want! You're doing it right now!" His breaths were coming out hot and fast, chest heaving up and down as he glared right into her eyes. Rapid thumps of his heart muffled his hearing so he couldn't make out the rattling of the pots on the counter next to him.

"You never had to tell me why. I think I always knew...I just hoped...," he paused, shoving back another sob, "I just hoped that it wasn't true." Vincent wiped a hand across his face, the wet tears clinging to the palm of his hand. "If you don't want me then fine. I'll get out of your hair." He turned away, ducking his head to his chest for a moment as he drew in a deep breath and then heading out to the front door in the living room. Rushed footsteps echoed behind him and a shaking hand grabbed his arm before he could make it out of the kitchen.

"Vince. Honey, stop! None of what you said it true! I love you so much!" she said in a rush, turning him so that he would look at her.

Vincent shoved her away, shaking his head vigorously, slamming his eyes shut. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" he shouted, leaving his voice raw. His eyes shot open when there was a loud clang to find that pots and shiny metal utensils were swirling around the room and his mother had retreated to the other side of the room, trembling and shaking at the sight of what was happening. What was going on? "M-mom!" He pressed his back to the wall, anxiety pounding him like a big pool of slimy ice water.

Everything was flying across the room - knives, spoons, pots, pans... It swirled like a tornado of metal, clanging against the walls and cabinets, leaving angry marks in its wake. Never before had such terror gripped him, keeping him firmly in its icy hold and threatening to throw him into the chaos. What was happening?

Hastily, he reached out to shield himself from a pot that was too close, but once it got less than an inch away from his hand, it suddenly flew across the room as if he had pushed it. Was he controlling this? Stop, stop, stop!

Everything in the room suddenly clattered to the floor and he lifted his hand away from his face. The kitchen was a disaster. Everything that had flown around the room now littered the floor and countertops and large chunks of wall and wooden cabinet resided in the madness.

His eyes immediately darted over to his mother, who was laying on the ground, knocked out cold. A small trickle of blood ran down her forehead and his breath hitched in his throat. He accidentally hurt his mom. Whatever he had done had hurt her and it was all his fault.

Vincent rushed over, kneeling down beside her as a fresh flow of tears escaped his eyes. "Mom! Oh m-mom I'm so s-s-sorry I didn't mean to hurt y-you... I didn't know..." What had he done? His lips twisted into a frown as the tears flew down his face like a waterfall as he sat back against the wall, bringing his knees to his chest. She would never forgive him. If she hadn't hated him before, she would now. Burrowing his face between his chest and his knees, he cried into his clothes.

Sobs shook his entire body. He didn't even know what to do. She was hurt and he caused it. Was he supposed to call the police? But what would they think of what he had done? A painful ache resided in his chest and he peered over his knees to look at his mother on the floor. That was when he realized that he couldn't stay here.

You're just a painful reminder to her everyday... And you hurt her.

With quick movements, he scrambled to his feet, grabbing an old backpack from his room and dumping clothes and food inside of it. Zipping it up, he slung it over his shoulder, making a beeline for the door and opening it. He glanced back toward the kitchen. I am a freak. A monster.

And then he ran.