Summary:
In this chapter I try to reconstruct Grant Ward's life from his birth to the terrible events of the well, like in a movie.
Why Grant's mother hated her sons?
Why instead she loved Thomas so much?
What happened, really, after the well, that made Ward feel hate for the first time in his life?
I start to introduce the concept of the "Beast inside", that could be interpreted like a personification of the hate that led Ward's life till his death, or almost-death.
The Beast will be present for some more chapters and the idea of it is taken from a book I read some times ago: "Monster's heart", in which Maria Rita Parsi analyses from a psychological point of view some of the most dreadful cases, happened in the last decades, of "monsters", hearing from their own voice what happened in their lives and what did they have in their minds and hearts that conducted them on the downward spiral of evil.
There it is a lot of violence, so be warned.
Comments are greatly appreciated: please, let me know what you think!
Chapter:
It was in that blissful moment that he started to see, like in a movie, his life, right from the very beginning.
The first image was of a baby, a newborn, put in a beautiful cradle, in a dark nursery full of old toys. It was the middle of the night: the baby was crying desperately, at the top of his voice, which was becoming hoarse. For sure he has been crying for hours. But nobody was coming for him. He was hungry and needed a diaper change and, most of all, he was scared and needed human contact: he needed his mother to take him, and calm him, and whisper sweet nothings to him, and rock back and forth him back to sleep. But he was left alone, in the dark, and nobody seemed to hear him, to care for him. And he cried and cried and cried, until finally, exhausted, he fell asleep. The same pattern repeated night after night, until he stopped crying. In the morning a nana always came to take care of him, but she didn't smell right: she didn't smell like his mother…
The second image… wasn't an image, but sounds… He was hearing people shouting: a man and a woman. The man was furious and terribly angry and was shouting to the woman, who was crying and pleading. Then there was the sound of slaps, a lot of them, and of furniture been moved roughly, and then the woman began screaming and crying even harder. He was terrified, crying in the bed, wrapped in the blankets, head under the cushion, hands on ears, but the shouts continued. At a certain point the woman started asking for help and he couldn't take it anymore: he had to run for her, to help her! He was around two. And he run in the room where his father was beating his mother and tried to stop him, because his mother was bleeding all over her face and her chest, tears mixing with blood and a terrified expression in her eyes. He tried to stop his father grabbing one of his legs, but he was too tall and strong and he threw him away, against the wall.
Then all became black.
The third image was of his mother, watching the TV and nursing herself a drink, alone in the living room. He was so proud and excited: he did a beautiful portrait of her, all painted with colours! He put in it all his diligence and it took a lot of time to finish it. He wanted to show it to her, he wanted her to be proud of him! And he ran to her with his masterpiece and a wide innocent smile on his face: "Mum, mum! I painted you! Look!" But she didn't shift her attention from the TV. She neither looked at him. She was too drunk. He started tugging her sleeve, but in doing so he made the drink fall and the glass shatter on the ground. At that, she sprang up with a hate stare in her eyes and grabbed the sheet from his little hands and tore it apart, and then seized his arm and started beating him mercilessly on the face, on the back, on the tights, shouting horrible things: "I warned you, little bastard! Stay away from me! I don't want you or your horrible scrawls! I wish you never were born. Why don't you die? Go away and leave me alone!"
He remained petrified under that rain of blows.
He felt something bleeding, but it wasn't his broken lip, or his swollen eye.
It was his heart.
He ran away crying, hiding under his bed.
After some time, a little girl reached him:
"It didn't go well, uh?"
"No. She tore my painting. And she said she wants me to die!"
"Grant, stop crying. Come here. I will hug you!"
And he, finally, sneaked to his sister and hugged her, while she continued caressing and lulling him.
"Thank you Cate. You are my angel!"
"And you are my hero, my little brave heart!"
"Don't ever go away, please!"
"Of course not, little brother! How could I? I'm here. I will not go away from you, ever! I love you!"
"I love you too."
The next image was of a hot afternoon. The big manor was quiet and empty. His father was away, busy in some political affair, as always. But Grant preferred when father wasn't here, because life was better: he didn't beat his mother or them and she was more relaxed and, consequently, didn't beat them so often…
Grant was supposed to be by the lake with his siblings, but he got bored and returned home earlier. He was going to his room when strange noises captured his attention: they were coming from his parents' room. He approached it and startled when the door opened suddenly and his mother and another young man he never saw ran from it.
How strange: they were naked, and laughing!
He never saw his mother laughing!
He felt a bust of joy at the sight, but it lasted shortly, because she swooped down on him shouting and started pulling him by the hair, slapping him and then throwing him in his room. She was menacing him that, if he ever said a word about what he just witnessed, she would kill him.
And he promised, promised several times, through tears, he would never say anything!
The next image was about a baby: his little brother Thomas. He was in his mother's arms and she was smiling at him, sweetly. Anytime he cried she was there to cuddle and rock and sing for him.
The two were inseparable.
And he felt himself even more invisible.
Jealousy and envy arose from him towards Thomas: who was this little bastard, and how did he dare to steal his mother (or even her breadcrumbs) from him?
The next image was of him by his grandmother Ada: she was a sweet and noble woman, always elegant and charming. She was a pianist and when she played he remained awestruck by amazement. She knew so much: music, languages… she travelled a lot, read a lot…
For Grant and Cate passing time with her was the most wonderful gift.
She was particularly fond of Grant.
She told him that his name, Grant Douglas Ward, meant Grand Dark Protector… and that he would be equal to that name, one day.
During time she taught him a lot of things: languages (starting with German, Spanish and French, then going on with Italian and Russian), music (starting from the theory and going on with singing and playing the piano), and good manners.
He was extremely clever, had good memory and intelligence, so he learned quickly and his grandmother was very pleased with him.
She also taught him how to pray and he did it willingly.
It was strange, but hearing her talking about God made him feel a strange longing in his heart that left him uneasy, nostalgic of something indefinable…
She was his mother's mother. And a bad day he heard the two arguing:
"You cannot treat Grant in this way! He is special! He is extremely sensitive and has a great heart, great sentiments! I am almost scared with how deeply he can feel! You have to direct him towards the good, because if he happens to turn towards the evil…"
"I hate him!"
"What? How can a mother say such a thing of her son? What had he done to you?"
"He is HIS son! And I hate him for this exact reason! I hate all the three of them because of my husband!
Oh, why had I the disgrace to meet him and marry him?"
"I warned you, before! I knew what kind of man he was, but you didn't want to hear me. His beauty, his charm, his money, and his career fascinated you.
But these things are of secondary importance! I taught you that! But you had to be headstrong and superb as always! And now it is too late! You have to face your responsibilities and take good care of your sons and your daughter!"
"Never! I hate them! Especially Grant, because… because he is the result of a rape!"
And Grant felt something in him dying at that word. He didn't understand it, but felt that it was something dreadful. Suddenly he understood why she never caressed or hugged or kissed or hold him, why she always was so careful not to be touched by him, why she always prevented or restrained or rejected all his tenderness bursts, why she was always so rigid, so harsh towards him, like he was a little outsider, a dangerous stranger to her.
Instead, with Thomas she was the opposite: she hugged and held and kissed him, all in front of Grant. And then she expected Grant to play with him!
But, from that moment on, Grant changed: any time she arrived, he ran to hide himself. If she wanted him to help her with something, he had temper tantrums: he stamped his feet, he gave himself slaps on his arms and head, he rolled on the floor, he hit the wall with his fists, or threw things at people or to the ground... Then, when his mother left, he calmed down and became docile and obedient. Then again, when his mother resurfaced, he returned to be violent and aggressive.
She had always rejected him… now it was his turn to reject her.
The next image was about his older brother: Christian. He was a lot older, and he was beating his younger brother. Thomas was crying and asking for help and Grant felt pity pushing away all his jealousy and envy, so he started beating Christian instead, with all his strength.
Christian remained surprised at the beginning, but then the two started a fight, and Grant got the worst of it. Christian was bigger and stronger, so no surprise in that, but Grant was a fighter and fought with his tooth and nails. At the end his little brother was safe and that was what counted… and as far as he was concerned, a beating more or a beating less made no difference at all.
From that moment on, he became his brother's best friend!
The next image was of himself at one of his schoolmates' home: they met for some homework and then things went on and nobody could recover him in time, so he remained for the dinner. The house was little, the food simple, but he was awestruck by the harmony that reigned in that house. Father and mother helped each other to dress the table and to prepare the meal, talking amiably, not screaming, but instead smiling and even kissing sometimes; happy children were around, playing, watching TV, or reading some comic book. Sometimes one of them ran to their parents and always received attention, care and love.
It was so calm, so serene, and so right!
And in that soothing limbo it clicked: this was what family had to be. This was what family was supposed to be, not the hell in which he was growing!
And maybe, someday, this was what his own family would be, if he would ever have one.
This family could be less rich and important than his, but they had something money couldn't buy.
During all the dinner he kept quiet, observing every detail, soaking in every movement, drinking everything that talked of love.
Yes, he got it: love was the key.
The next image was one of the worse ever. Christian was particularly awful in that period and kept capturing him trying to drown him in an old bathtub full of water. He menaced him to kill him if he didn't do what he wanted: he wanted him to throw Thomas down an old well. Grant tried to endure the torture, but his resistance was dropping, he was terrified of water and at the end he did what his brother wanted, regretting his action immediately after. He felt Thomas' fear when he was falling, when he was trying to float, swallowing the freezing water, imploring for help, for a rope; but Christian wouldn't allow him to throw the rope!
Thomas was drowning down there when Christian finally fled, probably not having the courage to see his brother die.
So Grant could send down the rope and Thomas grabbed it. But Grant wasn't strong enough to pull him up, so he yelled to Thomas to hold on and ran to find help on the road nearby. He managed to stop a passer-by that helped him to the rescue. Thanks to God Thomas was still alive!
But the fact leaked to the press and his father became involved in a horrible mess.
Of course Christian blamed Grant for all that and that was the end for Grant.
He was terrified when he heard his father coming home and approaching his room, where he was left alone "to think", and all blood drained from him when he saw his father's face when he entered his room: he was almost crazy with anger.
He started to scream at him horrible words:
"Monster! Your mother was right: you have a daemon inside! You tried to kill your brother! But I will kill you now, instead, to clean up this place from your presence!"
Then he started beating him in every possible way: slaps, fists, kicks, belt hits... without mercy, without compassion, without humanity, again and again and again.
Grant tried to explain:
"It wasn't me! Christian made me do that! I didn't want! Please believe me! Please forgive me, father!"
"Liar! You are a liar! Always blaming someone else for your faults!
You are a coward, just like your mother! You are a coward who always has an excuse or someone else to blame!
You will never become a man!"
When Grant was thrown against the wall he had at least two broken bones, an arm and a leg, and several cracked ribs, plus all the other damages.
He was more dead than alive, but he managed still to scream for help.
He seriously thought these were his last instants.
But in that moment his grandmother burst in the room and protected him with her body, shielding him from the mad man's blows.
After a while all became quiet and he managed to open his eyes, only to see his grandmother's face near to his, watching him with tears in her half open eyes.
"Gramsy! You are crying! Why are you crying?" he asked with a trembling voice.
But no answer came from her.
He tried to shake her:
"Gramsy! Don't cry! I am receiving what I deserve! I am a bad boy…
Gramsy! Answer to me!
Why don't you talk to me?"
But the old woman was dead, broken by a heart attack, near to her beloved nephew.
She sacrificed her life for him.
When the realization of what happened hit him, he remained shocked.
He stopped talking. It was too much for him and his mind became blank.
But nonetheless, he felt something, different than anything he ever experienced, was born in him, in his heart.
It was hate.
It was like a huge black Beast roaring in him and taking posses of his will, dictating him what to do and how. It commanded him to stay put and quiet, until the waters calmed down.
He didn't talk for the following three months.
His mind defended itself erecting amnesia walls: he erased that night from his memory leaving him foggy and confused.
He didn't say anything: not a lament when the compliant doctors fixed his arm, leg, ribs and bruises, nor when the psychologist attempted to talk to him, nor when Christian came to bully him during the two months he was forced to stay in bed and Cate shooed him away menacing to call the police.
Not a word: only an assassin's stare in his eyes.