A/N : This is the only long chapter, I promise.
Chapter 21
Hometown
Alfred had been born in the trailer park.
Later on in life, Alfred would tell everyone who asked that he was from Kitty Hawk, but that wasn't perfectly true; he was from across the bridge and farther out, from Harbinger. Even more perfectly true, Alfred had actually been born in Cherokee, before his family uprooted when he was five and headed East. Kitty Hawk was classier, famous, had a grand name attached to it, reputation, and it was right down the road and Alfred had spent every afternoon there, had slept there sometimes on the beach, so why not say he was from Kitty Hawk?
Technically, however, Alfred had been lying.
He had been born in a trailer park that was loud and falling apart, a drug den, and it wasn't even an exaggeration—he had literally been born in the trailer park. His mother had been alone when she had gone into labor, with no car, and she was half-drugged at the time so she had just lied in the bathtub and screamed to no one. Alfred had had a rough start in life, from absolute day one, and it hadn't gotten better.
She had never really seemed to want Alfred much, but kept him anyway so that she could get more government benefits. Alfred was just more money to spend on drugs, and so he was welcome to stay. Wasn't exactly doted upon, though.
His father didn't care much more for Alfred than she had, and Alfred couldn't really remember many happy times at all growing up. Until he had been two, and his little sister had been born. She was the only thing Alfred had to look forward to, something he could love and care for, something he could be affectionate with.
Her name was Marguerite, but Alfred had always called her Meg.
She was blonde and blue-eyed, just like Alfred, and he was taken with her.
His mother liked Meg more, was more affectionate and doting (just a little), and it was clear enough that she liked having a daughter far more than she had a son. Which wasn't to say very much. His father had felt that way, too, and Alfred would have been jealous perhaps, would have been bitter, if they both hadn't been so horrible.
Awful nights, passing with screaming and crying and shrieking.
His father and mother both used drugs, both drank themselves into stupors, fought and argued, and so frequently it ended with Alfred's mother crying in ball in the kitchen corner as his father beat her with his belt. Alfred hid in the bedroom with Meg, pulling a blanket over them and pretending they were somewhere else. He did his best to keep her from crying, but was rarely successful.
They were always together, always hand in hand.
Then Alfred was five, and his parents packed up their meager belongings, threw them in the back of the rickety car, and drove them across the state to the sea. They settled in another trailer park in Harbinger, and Alfred had instantly been taken with the ocean. Loved it from first sight, and maybe that was the first time Alfred could remember that he had been kinda happy. Hopeful.
That maybe life would be better now that they were in a new place.
It wasn't.
Terrifying shrieking, screeching, fighting. They were always arguing, and seemed to hate each other. Some nights, Alfred would peer out of his bedroom, to see his mother sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall, his father beside her, and he could never really understand why she looked so happy when she pushed the tip of a syringe into her arm.
Needles were inherently frightening.
All Alfred knew was that when the needles came out, the screaming got worse. It became force of habit, that when Alfred looked out and saw the needle, that he grabbed Meg's hand and pulled her into the closet, where they hunkered down under the blanket.
He told her stories when the fighting started, and tried to keep her eyes on him.
They really only had each other to be happy and loving with, as their parents didn't much want them around. Their childhood was far from normal. There were no happy birthday celebrations, no normal, warm Christmases. Rather than Alfred and Meg waiting for Santa Claus, they usually waited to hear the police sirens, when their parents got high and the neighbors called the cops because of all the screaming.
As they grew up, they often had one parent or the other off in jail temporarily. Alfred liked it better that way, because when they weren't together there was no fighting.
Years passed in that manner.
It was Alfred, not their parents, who had noticed that Meg had terrible vision and needed glasses. She was utterly blind without them by the time she was seven. Alfred loved the way she looked with them, though, the thick glass making her eyes bigger and prettier than usual. He found her perfect in every way, and strove to protect her as best he could.
They still hunkered down in the closet together when things got bad. They helped each other with homework, keeping their voices low and pretending to be invisible. Their happiest hours in the day were when they were at school, because that was a wonderful reprieve from chaos.
Wished they didn't have to go home.
Meg was smart, so smart, and before long she was doing Alfred's homework even though he was two grades ahead of her. In return, Alfred did everything he could to make her smile.
He took her on long walks outside, down to the beach and sometimes to the inlets, because god knew no one at home ever noticed when they were there or not. They walked down the hot street, hand in hand, crossed the long bridge, and sat on the sand to watch the water. They found a hill they liked that looked over the ocean, and made it their spot. Sometimes, a neighbor or stranger would pass them in a car and offer them a ride, and they always accepted, because there was nothing in the world that seemed more frightening than anything happening at home. Stranger danger had never existed with them, because strangers were always kinder than their parents.
Some nights, when the fighting was terrible and physical and the screams were too much, Alfred grabbed Meg's hand and they crept out of the window, and Alfred would walk her back out to the beach. Crossing the bridge at night wasn't scary; it was pretty. The moon and stars over the gentle waves, and knowing that once they reached their hill on the other side, they could settle down and go to sleep and be safe, for just that night.
Anyway, waking up to the sun rising over the ocean and the gulls calling was pretty nice.
When they were a little older, Alfred twelve or so, that was when he attempted to intervene when his father beat his mother, and sometimes his father just grabbed Alfred's arm and tossed him aside, and sometimes he beat Alfred, too, right there atop her.
Never beat Meg, though, not like that. Come to think, only their mother ever hit Meg, sometimes entirely for no reason whatsoever except for that she was angry or frustrated.
It wasn't really because Alfred cared about his mother enough to risk himself for her, exactly, but rather that Alfred thought that if he kept on intervening, maybe his father would get annoyed and just stop beating her altogether.
Ha—hardly.
Alfred covered his mother up with his own body sometimes, took the beating himself, and maybe he had hoped that it would help her somehow, make her better, make her love him, but it didn't. She just slid out from under Alfred when his father walked away, ran for the nearest bottle, and hid herself away. She left Alfred there on the floor, and didn't ever try to help him.
Alfred just covered up the bruises and went to school, keeping his head down and doing nothing to draw attention to himself, because he didn't want anyone to know.
Alfred's mother wasn't blameless, wasn't anyone Alfred trusted by any means, but she was his mother and he loved her anyway, even when she turned the tables and was the one hitting Alfred with the belt. He imagined that he was mostly a sense of stress-relief for her, and so never lifted his hand. He would rather that they beat him than Meg.
She was Alfred's main priority, and always had been.
In a way, Alfred was proud, when he limped back into the bedroom, bloody and bruised, because he knew that at least Meg would never have to feel like that. She always tended his cuts and bruises, hugged him after, slept upon his chest, and Alfred felt like he had done something worthwhile.
Alfred swore that he would protect her, always, and would never let anyone treat her the way his father did his mother. Swore that he woulda done anything for her, because all they had was each other. She was his charge, his duty. It was his responsibility, to keep her safe.
Meg was the only person who loved Alfred, and so it was Alfred's job to protect her.
They created their own little world. They held their own birthday party on the beach in summer, since they had been born merely one day apart in July, because their parents never remembered their birthday. On the odd occasion they did remember, it wasn't really anything extraordinary; sometimes his mother would make a cake, and say 'Happy birthday you two.'
Didn't ever really sound like she was that excited, though.
Didn't matter at all. When Alfred bowed at the waist and held his arm out dramatically for Meg like he saw on the television sometimes, she giggled, beamed, eyes crinkled behind her big glasses, and gladly leapt upon him. He walked her across the bridge like that, chest puffed out and chin high, and felt something like happy.
When Alfred was fourteen, there was a bad night, the violence had gotten out of hand and was brutal. Both of his parents were high, and when his father started beating his mother, as usual, Alfred grabbed Meg's hand and dragged her to the bedroom, to their little blanket fort that lied there yet from childhood, and shoved her beneath, as always. He went then to try to protect his mother as best he could, but for some reason that time Meg followed him. He didn't know why, but in the middle of that awful pain of his father striking him, he happened to hear a strange noise. He lifted his head, to see Meg running forward, shrieking, and she grabbed their father's hand to try to stop him.
Stupid, so stupid—why had she done that? He had always told her to stay put.
His father just threw Meg down to the floor and started hitting her, and Alfred abandoned his mother in a second to cover Meg and then somehow get them up to their feet. Alfred ran out of the trailer with her, leaving his mother to face his father's wrath alone, and they slept on their hill for three nights in a row, hungry and sore but safe.
Alfred couldn't stand the bruise on Meg's arm. Hated the sight of it, hated everything about it, and felt like such a failure. When Alfred hung his head and felt close to tears, Meg reached out, took his face in her hands, forced his gaze, and said, adoringly, 'You're my favorite person, Alfred.'
The world didn't realize Alfred and Meg existed, that they needed help, but that was alright. As long as they were always together.
Alfred's performance in school grew steadily worse. Sometimes, Alfred just didn't see the point, and then when he was thirteen and coming into adolescence, he became more aggressive.
Sometimes Alfred started fights at school, and he was frequently disciplined.
When Alfred was fifteen, he was officially labeled a 'problem child' by his teachers. They just saw him as a hardheaded, stubborn, aggressive, disrespectful, arrogant child, and never really bothered to attempt to discern the cause. He was handed detention after detention, and no one ever stopped to ask him, 'Why are you so angry, Alfred?'
His father took out his anger on his mother. His mother took out her anger on Alfred and Meg. Alfred took out his anger on other boys in school. Simple as that. Alfred was reacting in the only way he knew how.
Impulsive. Brash. Hotheaded.
But when Meg was there, all of those feelings went away, because Meg made him happy. He loved her and she loved him, so there was no need to be angry or hostile.
Alfred grew bigger, broader. Not quite as tall as his father, but wide. His hair had darkened since childhood, a tawnier blond now, and Meg frequently gushed to him, 'You're so handsome, Alfred! You look like the boys in bands.'
Ego rush, the first Alfred had ever really known, and Alfred had learned shortly after that he had, indeed, become very handsome. The girls in school always sought him out, and Alfred's arrogance became laced with vanity.
There was only one girl in Alfred's life, though, and he didn't let anything distract him from that, because keeping Meg safe was absolutely imperative to every bit of Alfred's identity.
In a way, that seemed like Alfred's destiny. As if that would be his eternal role in life. Had someone asked him, 'What do you want to be when you grow up?', Alfred would have responded, 'Meg's protector.'
All he wanted.
When Alfred turned sixteen, he tried to leave home, but his mother wouldn't let him, because she had two years left of benefits on him, and she intended to get every single bit. Alfred, for a moment, had thought about going to the courts to seek emancipation, but hadn't, because Meg was only fourteen and Alfred couldn't leave her behind.
So he waited.
Had almost landed in trouble when he had gone to school that year with a black eye, but had gotten out of it by lying because he was, after all, a teenage boy with temperament issues. Normal. No one cast him a second glance. Alfred had been fighting for years by then.
Alfred and Meg had long since fallen through the cracks.
Counting down the days. Alfred spent his nights staring at the ceiling and planning everything out, how he would get Meg out of here. He would leave home, get a job, get his own trailer somewhere, anywhere, and there he and Meg could stay, safe and sound.
Since Alfred had been sixteen, he had taken to mowing lawns after school, and had a little bit of money stashed. He kept it in one of Meg's teddy bears, because if his mother found it she would have used it to buy drugs.
In the meantime, Meg bloomed into adolescence herself, and Alfred found her just as beautiful as she found him handsome. Her blonde hair was lighter than Alfred's, down past her shoulders, her eyes seemed even bluer somehow as started wearing mascara, and she started wearing nice dresses. She was so pretty, so pretty, and Alfred always felt ridiculously proud and pompous when he walked her along. Meg's prettiness did involve a little bit of complication, as Alfred found himself punching boys who even looked at her. Couldn't even count anymore how many detentions he had, and was honestly surprised by then that he hadn't been expelled.
As much as Meg was the only girl for Alfred, he was the only boy for her.
When they were out from under their parents' hell, then they could settle down and worry about having their own lives. For now, survival instincts directed them to constantly cling to the other.
Alfred sat on the hill, Meg's head rested on his lap, and he watched the waves crashing as he ran fingers through her hair.
She hummed from time to time, and Alfred gathered his courage.
The very day Alfred turned eighteen, he packed up his clothes, what little things he had, Meg's too, and headed to the door. His mother didn't bother to try to stop him, but she did put her foot down when Alfred had grabbed Meg's hand and tried to take her with him.
The fight that broke out then was very loud, very violent, and very destructive.
She raised holy hell, and the three of them descended into a brawl that caused utter ruin to the trailer's living room. Broken lamps, blinds pulled down, tables turned over, and all the while Alfred attempted to clear a path for Meg towards the door. Thank god their father hadn't been home. When Meg had tried to run out of the door, his mother had snatched her by the hair and slapped her and threw her to the floor. Her glasses had fallen off, and she was helpless when their mother grabbed her shirt and forcibly hauled her back as Alfred tried to drag her towards him. An actual tug of war over Alfred's little sister, and it was too much.
God, hearing Meg screaming—
That was the one and only time in his life that Alfred had ever hit a woman, when he lunged forward with a bellow and struck his mother across the face as hard as he could and then shoved her to the ground. The second she fell, Alfred moved. He grabbed Meg's hand again, hauled her up, and they ran out of there as fast as their legs could take them, as she cried and bawled the whole time.
She didn't have her glasses, and was blind, trusting Alfred completely to guide her.
Guide her he did, and they hitchhiked up to Elizabeth City, and by the end of that day Alfred had found a trailer to rent. Took all of the money he had, every bit of it, and a little sympathy, but even though the trailer was pretty bare and run down, they still collapsed down on the living room floor, and started laughing.
Absolute exhilaration.
They were free and safe, for the first time in their lives.
Meg rolled onto her side, kissed Alfred's cheek, and embraced him around the chest.
It was Alfred who whispered, lovingly, 'You're my favorite person.'
Her beautiful smile.
That was the happiest night of their lives.
But being an adult wasn't as easy as it theoretically seemed. Alfred went out the next morning in search of work, wandered for hours, from store to store. He was clueless, utterly helpless, inexperienced, and in the end he managed to procure a part-time job at a fast food restaurant. Well. Certainly wasn't glamorous, but it was his ticket to keeping Meg, and so Alfred was pretty damn happy about it.
It was several weeks before Alfred had saved up enough money to get Meg another pair of glasses, but he enjoyed her clinging to his arm during that stint of blindness.
It took a few months for Alfred to figure out that sustaining himself and Meg with a few hundred dollars a month was next to impossible. This wasn't exactly the life Alfred had planned for them. Money was so tight, they were barely scraping by, and there were many times when it was so bad that they went to bed very hungry.
But safe.
Alfred knew he couldn't keep going like that, wouldn't last long, and so he stood up one day and walked out of the door. When he came back, he had to sit Meg down and tell her that he had signed himself over to the army. He would be a soldier, for the next two years.
She had burst into tears, and Alfred had felt inadequate, a failure, but he tried to keep his chin up anyway and explain to her that it was the only way. Only two years, and he would make enough money to keep them afloat while at the same time earning himself a college education. He could get out of the army and do something with his life, and with that he could fulfill his promise to always keep her safe.
Several weeks later, Alfred was packed up, dressed in his United States Army uniform, the boots feeling so heavy, and Meg was hugging him for all she was worth, bawling her eyes out. It took a long while to escape her grip, and Alfred hated letting her go. Leaving her alone. She was smart, though, smarter than Alfred, and so he had been confident that she could handle being alone. She was sixteen, but very practical and very responsible.
Alfred kissed her forehead, and said, "I'll be home before ya know it. Be good, alright? Be careful. Be safe. I'll call ya, every day. I promise."
Alfred never broke his promises, and so she had pulled herself together bravely and nodded.
Before he knew it, Alfred was in Fort Bragg, being beaten into the ground in boot camp. Being a soldier wasn't easy, but it came pretty naturally to Alfred because Alfred was aggressive and assertive by nature. He fit in pretty damn well, and perked up a little, thinking that maybe he hadn't made such a dumb decision after all.
He kept his promise to call Meg every day, in his first free moment. It was strange, being so dirty and sweaty and sore from training, and yet to feel so weightless and happy every time he punched in those numbers and she answered the call. Her bright voice always cheered him up, however rundown he was.
She handled herself well, and was always perky and bright, even though she must have been so lonely.
Weeks and months passed, and then one year. Meg was seventeen, Alfred was nineteen, and Alfred called her as he always did.
But that time, when she picked up, her voice was thin, high, so excited, and Alfred had immediately asked, "What's goin' on?"
"I met someone!" she gushed, so breathlessly, and Alfred had immediately sat up straight, eyes wide and jaw clenched and feeling furious.
Scared.
"Whaddya mean?" he barked, as she pattered about happily; he could hear her shoes on the kitchen tile as she paced exuberantly.
His heart was thudding.
Scared, so scared, because he didn't wanna lose her. She was all he had, and maybe it was selfish of him but he was doing so much for her and didn't want another man to come in and swoop her off into the sunset.
She was only seventeen, still in school. Who could she have possibly met?
"Oh, you'll love him, Alfred! He works at the bank. He's so handsome! We've been going on dates. I'm so happy. He's a good man, you two will get along."
A rush of anger, and Alfred kept his teeth clenched so that he wouldn't start screaming.
He didn't ever want her to be anything less than happy, but this wasn't exactly what he had had in mind. All the same, despite his anxiety and irritation, he didn't really have the heart to ruin it for her, and so instead of forbidding it entirely and risk losing her, he instead laid down his set of laws.
The run of the mill things a normal father would have said to his daughter. Curfew, no fooling around, etc.
She sounded so happy...
Alfred was extremely arrogant by nature, yes, egotistical, and so in some way Alfred assumed that the man Meg had met would automatically behave himself, because surely he would have known that Alfred was a soldier and would kick his ass at the slightest misstep.
Alfred's pride would be the end of him.
And it kinda kicked him from behind when Meg announced four months later in February that she was getting married.
What the fuck—
"Are you crazy?" Alfred had barked that time, unable to hold his tongue, and then he embarked on a five minute long tirade that ended with Meg bawling on the other end.
The first time Alfred had ever made her cry.
He hated the sound of it, couldn't stand it, and had immediately apologized, against his better judgment. He couldn't exactly stop her, anyway, even if he thought it was too fast, far too fast. It was a terrible idea, he was very suspicious and very nervous, but everyone wanted to be happy and Meg deserved that more than anyone.
A few days later, Alfred finally relented, and grumbled, half-assedly, "Congratulations."
She lit right back up, as if Alfred had never made her cry at all, and that was worth it.
Alfred tried to get leave for the wedding, and was denied, and so Meg sent him some photos in the mail. It was one of the stranger moments in Alfred's life, lying back on his barrack and flipping through his little sister's wedding photos. The first time ever seeing her husband.
A tall guy, taller than Alfred but not as big. Dark hair, blue eyes. Pretty good-looking, as Meg had said, but rather unremarkable. Looked like any other normal man, and Alfred's terrible anxiety started to fade. Just a normal guy, that was all. No harm there. And best part was that he was smaller than Alfred so Alfred could have easily beat the shit out of him if he needed to.
Dodged a bullet there, for sure.
Meg's smile in those photos—prettiest thing Alfred had ever seen. Had never known someone could smile like that, and he stared at it for a long while, taking in the comfort of something familiar.
Couldn't wait to see her again in person.
Just a few more months of mandatory service. Alfred would be a free man in October, at least on the surface, and getting home to Meg was something he desperately looked forward to.
April.
One day, when Alfred called, Meg immediately said, "Guess what?"
Oh, lord, now what?
She sounded so excited, so happy, as usual nowadays, and Alfred snorted a little and played along by uttering, "What?"
A short pause, as she clearly was fit to burst, and then she chirped, "You're gonna be an uncle!"
Alfred's mouth dropped open in utter shock.
Too soon, it was far too soon. All of this had moved so quickly, too quickly, and Alfred was extremely leery of that, very anxious and nervous. Didn't know this man at all, not at all, but Meg sounded so happy. He didn't wanna ruin it for her, he really didn't, didn't wanna be the one to go up to her and say, 'Shouldn't ya think about this a little more?'
Too late, now.
Meg was married and now she was pregnant. Alfred couldn't change that, and so all he could try to do was support her.
At Alfred's silence, Meg tried, carefully, "If it's a boy, I'm'll name him after you."
A burst of pride, ego, happiness, and Alfred scoffed a little, gathered his head, and uttered, weakly, "Oh, yeah? Is that so? Well! Hey, I'll be home soon, real soon, so keep it a surprise for me, okay? I'm... I'm happy if you're happy, I am."
She said, "I can't wait to see you! I miss you so much."
"Me too," he said, and held his breath.
Seeing her again. Couldn't wait.
She kept him updated on her life, how she was feeling, how tired and sore she became as the months passed, how excited she was to buy baby clothes and toys and the whatnot. They had decided to let the gender be a surprise, but she hoped desperately that it was a boy, she said, so that she could name him after Alfred.
Alfred just smiled along with her.
And then, one beautiful day, Alfred's time was up.
He was discharged from the army and sent home. He was a reserve now for the next six years, yeah, but his future was secured. He could make something of himself now, and for that he could provide for Meg even though she had a new man supporting her.
Speaking of...
Time to meet this stranger, face to face for the first time. Talk to him. Get to know him.
Alfred went to the trailer he had gotten them when they had first left home, but that was only his home now, because Meg lived with her husband. It was a great feeling, coming in and throwing his bag down and plopping down on the couch.
Finally, home. He would get to see his sister, something he had looked forward to for so long. His parents were both in jail now, so he heard, and Alfred was kinda glad for that. Small favors.
Alfred stood in front of the mirror the next day, and primped himself a bit. He was as handsome as ever, but he was a man now, not a teenager, and much bigger than last Meg had seen him. Very strong, very broad, hair shorn and face covered with the heavy stubble he liked. Looked right out of the army, alright, and he was prepared to barge right into that marriage and assert himself.
He called Meg, to tell her he was coming by.
But she couldn't meet him that day, she said. Doctor's appointment. Alfred waited, and called her again the next day. Still no go, she said. Too busy. He called the day after. Another busy day.
Alfred let her breathe a little, because it was the holiday season and everyone was busy, more so a first time mother.
Oh, he was so excited, couldn't wait to see her! Couldn't wait to be an uncle. To give someone else the childhood they had never had.
But something had changed. Alfred had called Meg every single day while he had been at Fort Bragg, and yet now that he was home again, close by, suddenly Meg stopped answering his calls. On the rare occasion she did pick up, she always had some excuse about why she couldn't talk and had to go.
Alfred didn't like it, but really didn't think too much of it. She had her own life, after all, and was quite heavily pregnant by now and so surely she musta been worn out.
So, because he was Alfred, he decided that if she wasn't going to invite him, then he was just going to go over there.
He did, in the beginning of November, and oh, god, he swore the entire universe had gone up in fireworks for the way he felt when she opened the door and he saw her face. She cried out, squealed, and leapt on him, throwing arms around his neck. He had forgotten how long it had been since he had seen her.
She was more beautiful than he could have ever expected. Absolutely glowing.
She ran hands down his stubbled cheeks, fussed over him, gushed, and Alfred immediately turned to stare at her huge stomach. Looked like she coulda popped any day now.
Alfred fussed over her in turn, and she let him inside the trailer. Her husband wasn't there, and they spent hours curled up on the couch and chatting.
One of the most incredible moments of Alfred's life was placing his hand atop Meg's stomach and feeling her baby kicking around. Holy shit.
It was still such a foreign concept to him, being an uncle. Having a real family.
It was hard to get Meg to answer his calls still after that, and it was annoying but Alfred could only take it for what it was. He knew he was clingy, overbearing, and he didn't mean to be, so he tried to be patient.
The first time he met Meg's husband was at Thanksgiving, when Alfred had been invited over. It had been a little awkward, for sure, and Meg did all of the talking, chatting Alfred's ear off and reaching out frequently to touch his arm. Alfred coulda sworn that Meg's husband looked a little irritated every time she touched Alfred, looked annoyed, but Alfred just stared at him until he squirmed and looked away.
Well. Most guys didn't like their little sister's husband. Masculine pride and ego, clashing. They didn't speak much to each other, and Alfred went home later with still no feel for that man.
That awkward dinner was the last time Alfred saw Meg for a long while, as more excuses popped up and she rarely answered his calls.
Alfred was too happy to be angry, and he went out and bought a ton of presents for the baby, an absurd amount perhaps. He couldn't help it. As much as he had placed all of his hope and love into Meg as a child, he put that same hope now into his niece or nephew, because it was a new start for all of them.
The past didn't have to hold any more weight.
He wrapped the presents, piled them in his car, and one chilly day, two days before Christmas, Alfred drove over to her house. It was a pain to carry all those presents, and he couldn't see anything as he wobbled up to the trailer door and knocked.
She didn't answer at first.
He knocked again, arms sore from shifting those heavy presents back and forth, and finally she came to the door. She opened it, just a crack, and said, "Oh! Alfred! I didn't expect you."
Alfred scoffed, smiled, and offered, "Y'all never wanna come over to my place. So. I just thought I'd bring ya a few things for Christmas. Ya know."
She stood there for a long while, and Alfred thought it was a little strange. Maybe he had come over at a bad time, but finally she said, "Come in."
But she didn't open the door for him, and instead left it cracked open oddly and vanished from sight. Alfred reached out with his foot and pried the door open, coming inside a bit skillfully without dropping a single present.
She wasn't within his sights, and he looked around in a quick search for the Christmas tree. He found it in the corner, small, sad little thing that it was, and made a beeline for it, calling as he went, "Hey! Did y'all figure out what you're gonna name the baby if it's a girl?"
"Not yet," she responded quietly, from within some other room. "I have a few ideas, but I cain't make up my mind."
Alfred smiled, lowered himself down and set the presents on the floor, and then he began positioning them beneath the tree as he waited for Meg to join him.
She took her sweet time, did she ever, and impatient Alfred eventually stood up and went to the bedroom. He rapped his knuckles on the frame and then stuck his head in, asking, "You gonna show me all the stuff ya have for the baby? I got ya a lotta things."
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, preening, and Alfred thought it was a little odd that she was putting on makeup just for him. Eh—women.
"I'll be right out," she said, and Alfred took the hint and ducked back out into the living room.
As he waited, he looked the trailer over. It was newer than Alfred's, not as run down, but somehow seemed rather lackluster. Couldn't put his finger on it. Random pictures and frames were all over the wall, in strange positions and locations. Alfred didn't wanna be a dick, but...well. The decorating was...
Well! Didn't matter.
One of the doors to a bathroom was crooked and a little bent, leaning off the hinges as if it had taken a good hit. Alfred went to inspect it, and as he was thinking about how to fix it, Meg finally came out. He didn't look back at her at first, testing the door by moving it along, and she finally said, "It's nothin'."
Alfred snorted, and offered, "I can probably fix it for ya. I know a few things."
"I'm sure ya do."
Alfred stood up, clapped his hands together, and then he turned around, falling silent.
Meg stood there, side to Alfred, and was staring at the tree, head turned away. She was oddly quiet, and her posture was so strange. Everything about her in that moment seemed so nervous, strained, tense, weary.
Alfred took a step towards her, and asked, "Are ya gettin' enough rest? Ya look tired."
She nodded, and sat down on the couch.
Feeling that he was intruding more than visiting, Alfred looked around, scuffed his boot a little on the carpet, and then glanced up through his lashes. He asked, again, "Are ya gonna show me the baby's room?"
She finally looked up at him, and said, "I will, in just a minute."
Alfred didn't hear her words, because something had snagged his attention and he focused on it completely. Something was off. Wrong. Meg had put on so much makeup, and yet despite her best efforts Alfred still spied the blue and purple beneath.
Stunned and dumbfounded, Alfred just stared at her, as his brain momentarily malfunctioned. The gravity of what he was actually seeing was temporarily just too much for him.
She had a black eye.
He couldn't understand that. Couldn't grasp it.
She saw him staring at her, and must have known that she had been had, for she instantly ducked her head and turned it aside, tugging mindlessly at her sleeves. Alfred's eyes drifted down, and he spied there, just beneath the sleeve of her sweater, another dark bruise upon her wrist.
Silence.
That awful silence. As if the atmosphere had been sucked out into space. Had to be, because Alfred couldn't breathe.
She stood up, abruptly, and said, "Alfred, I have to go out soon, so—"
She didn't finish, when Alfred barged forward, grabbed her by the arm, and harshly lifted up her sleeve. Awful bruises, so dark, and clearly in the shape of fingers. She was placid and still within his hands, passive, head still hanging and looking so meek. He pulled up her other sleeve, to identical bruises. He lifted her chin, inspected her swollen eye as she tried so hard to turn away.
The world exploded.
Oh, that wrath he felt then. No words for it. Could never have described it, never, had never felt anything like that before. Could have burnt up the world for the way he felt, that rage that surged up.
Living it all over again, all of it, and this time it would be Meg in the kitchen corner screaming as another little kid hid somewhere under a blanket. An endless circle. Hadn't she learned anything from their mother? Ha—yeah, she had. Everything she knew, after all, came from their mother. To them, this behavior was normal, so familiar, and so maybe Meg just didn't really see all that much wrong with it. She was her mother's daughter, in every way.
She was her mother's daughter, alright, but Alfred was his father's son, and immediately he gave in to his anger and went on a rampage. He turned, stomped around, and looked around the house, even though he knew that her husband wasn't home. At a lack of a face to punch, Alfred turned to the wall and punched it instead, the flimsy drywall collapsed, and in that moment Alfred realized why there were so many odd and random frames on the wall at low angles. To cover holes like this.
"Why didn't ya tell me?" he shrieked, as he punched the wall again, and then he stomped into the kitchen and punched the counter until his knuckles were bleeding.
She was silent.
He was erratic, jerky, too full of adrenaline and anger to think properly, and he kicked the cabinet door for good measure before he stalked back over to her, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her. He demanded, angrily, as he shook her too hard, "Why didn't ya tell me? Huh? Why didn't ya fuckin' tell me? What were ya thinkin'? Didn't ya fuckin' learn anything? Didn't ya?"
He wanted to slap her, did he ever, but restrained himself.
She gazed up at him in terror, eyes wide behind her glasses, and Alfred noticed that they were cracked in one frame.
For Christ's sake—
Why hadn't she ever told him? Didn't she trust him? They had always looked out for each other.
Alfred let her go, stomped around a little more, and then he positioned himself by the front door, braced his feet, and waited.
Waiting, alright, for that bastard to come home, and when he did, Alfred would kill him.
Meg must have known, for she stood up, came over, grabbed Alfred's arm, and pleaded, "Please leave, Alfred! Please! It's not like that, really, it's not what ya think! Please, go home. Please don't start a fight, please—"
He shoved her off, and ignored her, holding his silent vigil there by the door.
For hours, Meg begged and pleaded, and it fell on deaf ears. Alfred shoved her repeatedly away, and didn't budge an inch.
In the evening, when the sun was low in the horizon, a huge red-orange disk, that bastard finally came home. Alfred heard the car door slam, bristled up with adrenaline, and Meg went on one last round of pleading. Alfred clenched his fists when the doorknob turned.
The door opened. Meg's husband walked in, and had just enough time to lift his head and see Alfred before Alfred's fist had connected with his face.
He fell backwards down the short steps, onto the ground below, as Alfred literally leapt down and on top of him and started beating the hell out of him.
Meg was shrieking behind him, screaming, and Alfred heard it but couldn't make out any words as the blood pounded in his ears.
It wasn't exactly a fair fight; Meg's husband was just a normal, average man, and Alfred was a trained soldier, fresh out of the fort. The sucker-punch didn't make it any better, but Alfred hardly cared about the fairness of it.
Fair? There was nothing fair about a man beating up a tiny little woman, who was so far along in pregnancy that she had to breathe through her mouth and twist around just to stand up.
Nothing was ever fair, the world wasn't fair, and Alfred had found that out the hard way—
He didn't know how long he had been punching the bastard, but somehow the man gained enough traction to raise his arms to defend himself, and then he got up long enough to actually try to throw a punch back. Alfred let him, let him get a few hits in, let him see what it felt like to hit a man, and he did that because it would be the last time.
Alfred's intention then was to absolutely beat him to death, even if that meant he woulda spent the rest of his life in jail. Alfred was impulsive, always had been, and didn't think about the consequences of his actions.
Just knew that this man was beating up the only person Alfred loved, and he was dead.
Meg was still screaming away behind them, and after a short scuffle Alfred once more knocked Meg's husband down and pounced on him. Swear that nothing had ever felt as good as punching that man did, after a lifetime of being the victim.
Sirens suddenly, as police cars came roaring in, at the neighbors having called them.
Shouting, voices, commotion, but Alfred was too intent on pummeling the man on the ground beneath him. Only when several officers grabbed him and yanked him off did he stop, and he raised absolute hell there in their arms, struggling to break free and get back over so that he could finish the job and hit that son of a bitch until he wouldn't ever wake up again.
Meg ran forward as Alfred was dragged off, and grabbed her husband's arm as he pulled himself to one knee. That hurt more than anything, that Meg had run over to her husband and not Alfred. She tried to pull him upright, sniveling and so distraught, as the cops struggled to wrangle thrashing Alfred.
Alfred gave it his best effort, his strongest upheaval, and screamed at them, "Y'all are arrestin' the wrong guy!"
They essentially banded together to bear hug Alfred between three sets of arms to subdue him, and Alfred was further infuriated when Meg's husband wiped the blood from his chin and nose and sneered at Alfred, triumphantly. Meg was clinging to his arm, looking him over, as he met Alfred's eyes and lifted his chin in nothing less than victory.
Oh, he was gonna kill that fucker, he was, if the cops would let him go—
A sudden dizziness, as the cops slammed him into their car, his head connecting with the steel.
Stars.
Meg. Why had she gone to him?
"Y'all are arrestin' the wrong guy!" Alfred shrieked again, as the cops pinned him there atop the hood of the car. The pain in his arms and wrists as he was brutally cuffed was absolutely nothing compared to the pain in his chest, as he was pretty sure his heart was actually breaking.
Oh—why hadn't she just told him? He had promised for so many years to keep her safe. Why hadn't she trusted him like she had before? He had always protected her, always, and he would have gladly done so again, if she had just trusted him.
When Alfred was cuffed, the cops pulled him upright, and Alfred was quick to cry, as they tried to haul him off, "Stop! Arrest him! He's beatin' up my little sister! Arrest him, why don't'cha, Christ!"
A momentary slowing of the racing scene, as the two cops dragging Alfred seemed to hesitate. The third cop looked back and forth between everyone, and then, as Alfred watched with a burst of hope, he went up to Meg and looked her over. He immediately saw the bruises on her arms and face, even as she craned her head and yanked her sleeve down in vain. It was enough to attract attention, of course it was, a small woman that was eight months pregnant and covered in dark bruises. There was no way Meg could get out of this, no way, and Alfred clung to that thin hope.
The officer waved his hand in the air and beckoned Meg over, to get her away from the side of her bloody husband. He watched Meg like a hawk regardless, attempting to assert dominance over her in this precarious situation.
"Ma'am," the officer began as Alfred held his breath, "Where did you get those bruises from?"
A long, awful silence.
And then Meg looked up, and met Alfred's eyes. He tried to plead with her silently, tried so hard to tell her a million things without a single word, and he saw the crinkle of her brow as her face threatened to collapse.
Oh, please, please, just tell him, just tell the truth—
She didn't, and finally said, softly, "I tried to get in between them, that's all. It's not like that."
Despair.
"She's lyin'!" Alfred screamed, as Meg looked away again. "Oh, god, don't ya see she's lyin'? Arrest him! Can't ya do anything? Do something!"
The cop looked back at Alfred, regretfully, and one of the officers holding Alfred leaned in and whispered, "We can't. She has to say it."
That wasn't right, wasn't, because Meg would never say it, would never admit it. Why did she have to? Everyone could see the goddamn bruises.
The third cop turned back to Meg, lowered his voice, and tried, coaxingly, "Won't ya just come down to the station for a bit? Talk with me? I won't keep ya long."
Meg's husband came up, put his hand down on her shoulder, and Meg immediately said, "No, sir. There's nothin' to talk about. Really. Everything is fine."
The cop pursed his lips, exhaled heavily through his nose, nodded his head, and then went back to the others, and helped them drag Alfred over to the car.
"Meg!" Alfred cried, as they yanked him, "Look at me! Tell 'em! Ya gotta tell 'em, ya gotta! Please—"
He was stuffed in the backseat, the car door was slammed, and Alfred pressed his forehead against the glass as the car pulled out.
Meg stared at him the entire while the car left, and then she was out of sight.
That was the last time he ever saw her.
Alfred closed his eyes, and it took every bit of strength he had in him not to bawl the entire ride to the station. The cops, for their part, were considerably gentler with him, and the cop that had spoken to Meg took Alfred into a room, sat him down, and asked him for his statement. Alfred told him everything, everything, and hoped to god that something would happen.
That they would go back out there and help her, something, anything.
The cop met Alfred's eyes when he was done writing, and said, "I promise you, I'll do everything I can to make sure I get you out of here as soon as possible. I think I can get ya out by tomorrow. He won't wanna press charges if it means he might charged, too. Alright? It's gonna be alright. Just calm right down. Get yourself together. You cain't help 'er if you're in jail, son."
Right.
Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow, Alfred would get out, and then he would go back over there, and he would force Meg down to the station, whether she liked it or not, and she would tell the truth. She had to, because there was no other choice. Alfred wouldn't let her out of this, he wouldn't. Tomorrow. He would talk to her tomorrow.
All Alfred could do then was mutter, "Thanks," and bow his head as he was walked to the holding cell. He spent the night there, as the only person he cared about in the entire world spent the night with the one person Alfred just couldn't protect her from.
But not the whole night.
Four in the morning.
A light came on. Footsteps. Alfred started from sleep with an inhale at the sound of a key, and opened his eyes blearily. He hadn't really slept, drifting restlessly here and there, and his head was muddled for it. He looked around as he sat up; the cop from earlier was there, in civilian clothes. Looked like hell, as much as Alfred did, and when Alfred sat up, the cop said, "I need you to come with me."
Too tired and dazed to ask questions, Alfred just stood up and followed.
The cop led him once more to the interview room, and Alfred blinked in the bright lights and shivered from the cold. The cop handed him a coffee, sat down, and was quiet for a very long time. Alfred, hugging the coffee to warm up and coming slowly to consciousness, didn't notice the redness of the cop's eyes, nor the distress on his face.
At least not until he suddenly said, "I'm sorry."
Alfred glanced up, saw the appearance of the officer, and felt an awful twist of his stomach. Nauseous out of nowhere, ill, and he felt himself pale and break into a cold sweat. Clammy.
"What's wrong?" he asked, though he didn't want to know.
There was another long silence, before the officer finally inhaled and met Alfred's eyes.
A simple, concise statement :
"Your sister is dead. I'm sorry."
...what?
Alfred scoffed, breathlessly, half-smiling in disbelief, because some part of him just hadn't really comprehended. Didn't make sense. He was still half asleep and very confused.
Must have misheard.
Dumbly, still smiling nervously, Alfred uttered, "What was that?"
The cop looked sick to his stomach, and didn't respond immediately, turning his eyes every which way but at Alfred.
Alfred could hear his own heart pounding as he waited.
Eternity, and then another low, gruff mutter.
"I'm sorry. He— She's gone. We didn't get to her in time."
Alfred's nervous smile fell, as dread crept there under the surface of confusion. Couldn't understand, couldn't, he had just seen her a few hours ago, didn't make sense at all.
Something was wrong.
As much as he had never felt that level of anger prior, Alfred had never felt such horror as he did then. That awful, dark shadow that seemed to fall over the entire room, casting Alfred in night. As if all light in the world had gone out.
In his horror, not all there and still not really comprehending, Alfred managed to breathe, weakly, "The baby?"
The cop stared down at the table, and was silent.
The world and all reality crashed down around Alfred then. As if a light bulb had gone off somewhere up in head. A short circuit. Alfred was freezing then, so damn cold, as the world froze over with his shock and disbelief.
Tomorrow?
No. Not tomorrow. Or the next day.
Never.
Alfred was never gonna talk to her again, never, and that notion was too much for him to comprehend, and he entirely shut down. He was confused, so helplessly confused, had never been so confused, and didn't really take in too much of the next hour, as the cop spoke to him gently and tried to comfort him. Alfred didn't need his comfort then, because Alfred was far too out in space to understand.
Meg was gone. How? Alfred had sworn to keep her safe. How had this happened? None of this was right.
The cop spoke and spoke, as Alfred stared blankly at his chest, and Alfred blearily managed to grasp the situation : Meg's husband, enraged by his confrontation with Alfred, took his anger out on Meg. But not with his fists that time—in his fury, he had grabbed a knife out of the wood block in the kitchen and plunged it into Meg's chest. As she bled out there on the cold kitchen floor, her husband panicked, called the police, and cried, 'I didn't mean to do it! I didn't!'
He loved her, he had said, as they arrested him.
One thing stood out to Alfred, above all else : her husband was in jail now, too, and that meant that Alfred would never be able to kill him.
Alfred only moved a muscle when the cop grabbed his arm and pulled him up, and asked if he wanted to see her. Dumbly, dazed Alfred nodded, and then he was in a cop car again, being driven to the hospital morgue.
Everything felt so surreal. Just some terrible nightmare he was wandering about in. Would wake up any second, any minute now, really...
The hospital was cold, uninviting, frightening, and when the cop pushed open a door and Alfred saw that gurney there, white sheet over it, he knew that he wasn't dreaming.
Not a dream.
The awful shape of that white sheet. A face beneath, and then the high curve of a stomach. It wasn't just Meg lyin' there, but something else Alfred had always wanted.
The medical examiner walked forward suddenly and pulled down the sheet. An awful hitch of Alfred's breath as reality struck him in the face. That was Meg, alright, no more denying it. She was pale, so pale. No glasses. White as that sheet that covered her. Her lips were blue. Even then, Alfred still thought she was pretty.
He didn't know why, but Alfred suddenly turned his head and locked eyes with the officer.
The cop held Alfred's gaze, until Alfred said, "If you had arrested him yesterday, she'd still be alive." Then, he looked away, and Alfred turned his eyes back down to pale Meg, motionless there on that gurney. His gaze rested on her stomach, and he also didn't know why he said, in a voice so low it broke, "She was gonna name it after me, if it was a boy."
A hand on his back, and he was led away.
At the last second, he looked over his shoulder, just to see her one more time.
The only person he had ever loved.
The only person he had ever failed.
When the door shut behind him, Alfred looked at the officer once more, and said, in a grand realization, "If I killed him yesterday, she'd be alive. I shoulda killed him."
The cop shook his head, and forced Alfred along. He was driven to his trailer, and stood there before the door in confusion. The officer, feeling personal responsibility for Alfred, no doubt, sighed and then helped walk Alfred inside. When the cop pushed Alfred down on his couch, he murmured, "Don't do anything stupid, boy."
Alfred nodded.
The next morning, as Alfred lied still on the couch, lost up in his head, there was a knock on the door. He trudged over, but it was the officer again, checking in on him.
Man, guilt sure was the only way people really cared about others.
"Do you want me to take you over to her place? So you can...get whatever you want?"
Again, Alfred silently nodded, because he was operating entirely on autopilot.
The cop drove him to Meg's trailer, and led him inside. A crime scene, as it was.
"Take whatever you need," he said, as Alfred looked around in a daze.
The little Christmas tree was so dull there in the corner, Alfred's presents resting there yet beneath it.
She had never stood a chance.
Ever slumping, Alfred turned his head this way and that, and felt so lost. Alone. A scared and bewildered fawn, running around in circles in the dark woods.
A glint of light caught his eye, and he turned his head to see Meg's glasses lying there on the floor near the tree. He walked to them, purposefully not looking at the dull, rust red on the kitchen floor, and knelt down to pick them up. They were cracked, and the cracks had reflected the sunlight. He studied them, turning them this way and that, for what felt like eternity.
His shock abruptly and rudely vanished, and Alfred burst into tears then, as he held her glasses.
The cop stood watch over him, silently, as Alfred held the spectacles to his chest and fell down onto his haunches on the floor, bawling his eyes out. Felt like hours he sat there, until the officer pulled him to his feet. Sniveling and heartbroken and feeling so utterly worthless, Alfred tucked her cracked glasses into his breast pocket, hung his head, and walked out of there in shame.
That was all he took, just those glasses. Couldn't stay there any longer, couldn't, and sank under his misery.
His world ended.
He lied on his couch that night again, despondent and lethargic, and studied her glasses beneath the low light.
The next day, for whatever reason, Alfred stood in front of the mirror and put her cracked glasses upon his nose. Why, he didn't know. He just missed her so much. The world went blurry for a while, his head started hurting, but he had enough vision to see himself however briefly.
He looked different.
Different?
Yeah—different. Looked like a different man. Someone else. Some other man, some stranger, a blank slate. Didn't know that man in the mirror, and so Alfred could have said anything he wanted about him. Could just make a new life under a different persona. Could be someone else, because who he was wasn't good enough, and never had been.
The next day, Alfred received a call from the county jail. He accepted it, because he was still in shock.
It was his mother.
She was crying, and as soon as the call connected, she said to Alfred, "How could you let that happen? You let your little sister die! You were supposed to protect her!"
Alfred held the phone against his ear, staring away at the wall, and he was silent for a long time.
What did she care, anyway? She had never loved them.
When he finally spoke, all he said was, "Sorry, mama. But everything she did, she learned from you."
He hung up, and lied down on the couch.
Couldn't stay here, he suddenly realized. Couldn't stay in this place and see these people, because everyone knew what had happened. Everyone knew about Alfred's failure. He had lived in this area since he had been five years old, and now couldn't stand being here.
Walking down the street and seeing familiar faces. Strangers that had once picked up Meg and Alfred from the street and given them a ride when they had escaped. What would they think if they saw him now?
Shame.
He found out from the news, a little while later, that the baby had been a boy. Meg's husband didn't go to court, there was no trial, because he pled out in a fit of cowardice to reduce his sentence. And despite the entire ordeal, through it all, Meg's husband repeatedly proclaimed that he had loved her and hadn't meant to hurt her. Sure. Alfred called the officer that had taken him to Meg's, and asked for one last favor. The cop obliged, and a few days later Alfred was sitting down in front of a pane of bulletproof glass, phone in hand as he stared across at the man who had killed his sister.
He had asked, "Why are you here?"
Alfred hadn't said a damn word, not a word, and just stared and stared at him, until the man had been squirming and nervous and scared, and it was him, not Alfred, who ended the visit when he stood up and walked off.
Alfred didn't know why he had gone. Just wanted to look at the bastard one more time, and tell him with his stare alone that if he ever got out of prison, ever, that Alfred would kill him, even if they were ninety. From the fear on his face as he had fled, Alfred was pretty sure the point had gotten across.
Alfred went home, cried himself to sleep on his couch, and the next day he started planning his great migration.
North.
A week later, Alfred found glasses he liked, with no prescription, and started wearing them without fail. He liked the way they looked on him, because he didn't recognize himself.
He let his hair grow out. Shaved. Styled his sideburns differently. Changed up his clothing. He packed up what little he owned, and set out. Before he left town for good, he went back out to that hill in Kitty Hawk that overlooked the sea, where they had passed so many nights huddled up together, and set her cracked glasses down atop it. He contemplated them for a while, cried a little, and then essentially exiled himself. But he looked so different, so no one from his 'former life' would have ever recognized him had they crossed his path. That was Alfred's only comfort.
That, as they said, was that.
Meg was gone, the only person that had ever loved Alfred, because Alfred had been too stupid to protect her. He had failed her, let her down, and suffered every day for it.
And here he was now, all over again.
Instead of Meg, it was Ludwig who said, 'It's not like that.'
Instead of Meg, it was Ludwig who said, 'He's a good man.'
Instead of Meg, it was Ludwig who refused to press charges and tell the truth.
Every word that came out of Ludwig's mouth, Alfred had already heard once before, and he knew too well how it would end if that course ran unchecked. Alfred didn't doubt that Ivan loved Ludwig, anymore than he didn't doubt that Meg's husband had loved her. That didn't matter, in the end, when love became violent. Ivan loved Ludwig, alright, to death.
Alfred found himself on the brink once more, and god, god— He didn't wanna lose again, he didn't. Had nothing left at all, nothing, and didn't want to ever push open a door and see a gurney covered with a white sheet. Didn't wanna see it pulled down and it be Ludwig there underneath.
He didn't want to have another image in his head, of someone who had been blinded by love lying in a pool of blood with a knife in their chest.
Couldn't stand that thought that was always burned there in the back of his mind.
He didn't want to miss Ludwig, too.
He was supposed to be an uncle.