It must have been the marijuana taking effect as we drove on. I had spent the entire trip with my head lazily pressed against the window and my eyes nonchalantly cast outside. I saw people walk by, drive by, run by and disappear. I fancied I knew those people too. I fancied I saw Chiyoh, standing by the sidewalk while we stopped in front of a red light. She was looking at me as if to question all the choices I have made in my life. Riding a motorcycle was one of the kids I killed. When he took off his helmet, chunks of his skull fell off to let his brains pour out freely. I chuckled at that vision. There was also a man wearing a jumpsuit and working on a building's window maybe three of four storeys up. When he turned to look at the street, he was hanging from a rope, his feet dangling in the air. I laughed at him.
My father noticed my reactions towards these phantasms. "Abiel?" he called, worry evident in his voice.
I could only mumble incoherently in reply. Drowse took over me once more and I dozed off.
I was shaken awake later, and I looked around to find that we were a block away from my godmother's residence.
"We'll walk to her house," Will Graham told me.
I nodded and got out of the car.
Tension was rising inside me as we walked. I was worried about Morrie. I wondered what he was thinking in doing this, and what he intended to do upon visiting my godmother.
Another car has pulled up behind us. I heard a car door open and close.
My father placed a hand on my shoulder to keep me walking as I heard footsteps hurrying towards us.
"Will, is that you?" A woman's voice asked.
We both stopped and turned to see a lady about my father's age approaching us.
"Margot?" My father asked. "What are you doing here?"
"My son," she replied. "He called Alana a while ago asking for Dr. Du Maurier's address, it bothered her so she told me about it. I went to his apartment to check, but nobody's there. I thought he might be here."
My father and I exchanged looks. I can hear the gears in our heads buzzing to formulate a reply for Margot Verger.
Margot Verger looked at me, and then to my father inquisitively. "Who's with you?" She asked.
"My son," Dad replied.
"I'm Morrie's roommate." I replied at the same time my father spoke.
She gaped at us for a second before closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Let's go." She said sternly and the three of us walked on.
In a way, it relieved me that none of us spoke more as we walked, but it also left me a prey to my anxiety. I would not know what to do when we get there. All I knew is that I will be internally screaming at myself about how this is all my fault. I could only blame myself for the time being and not know how to deal with what I have done.
I ran ahead of my father and Margot Verger when we were nearing the house. I peeked at the living room's window and saw my godmother sitting there with Morrie in front of her. He was sitting rigidly, with fists clenched on his lap and a scowl on his face. My godmother was speaking, but I cannot hear her nor make out the words she was mouthing. I just saw Morrie mouth the word "why" in a manner that seems like he was barely controlling his rage. I resolved to just enter my godmother's residence and listen to their conversation before deciding on the action I must take.
Margot Verger was standing in front of the house with my father. They were both watching me intently as I observed from the window.
I walked up to them and said, "I'm coming in."
Dad nodded. "Okay, we'll wait here." He pulled out something from his jacket and handed it to me. "Try not to use it," he said.
My father handed me a gun. It was my first time holding a handgun after five years of not brandishing the rifle. I raised a brow at my father.
"Just in case," he told me.
I smirked. "You know what I will do with this." I said.
My father heaved a deep breath. "I trust that you won't do it." He replied, looking at me sternly. "What's happening in there is yours to deal with, and I know you will not let me interfere either. But as your father, I still want to protect you one way or another." He gestured towards the gun I held.
I gave him a curt nod and tucked the gun into the waistband of my pants before heading to the door.
I did not bother to alert my godmother and Morrie of my arrival and entered as noiselessly as I could.
"...not expect you to understand how much I resent his fathers." I heard Dr. Du Maurier's voice say from the living room.
"But Abiel is not his fathers!" Morrie exclaimed.
"Are you sure?" My godmother asked.
I clamped a hand over my mouth to silence an outburst. I felt cold all over again and my hands were close to trembling. I leaned against the wall that hid me from the living room. That very moment, I did not know who was speaking true. Was it Morrie who claims that I am not who my parents are? Or was it my godmother who was certain that I am the same as they are?
"I'm sure," Morrie said, the solidity of his voice comparable to a rock that could withstand the seasons in their harshest and still remain intact.
"What makes you so sure?" I heard my godmother ask. "You're just his friend an—"
"I'm not even his friend." Morrie interrupted her. "I don't think Abiel even remotely considers me his friend. He does not even know who I really am, but I know what he's going through. All my life, I was made to realize how demented my father was, and all my life I have tried not to turn out like him. I'm lucky I have my mother and aunt, but Abiel has no one. He thought he had you, and now it turns out you're just crushing him because he was born to people you hate—because you know how much they love him."
"And I'm trying to make him realize that his parents love him, Mr. Verger." My godmother had replied.
"No. That is certainly not what you are doing, Dr. Du Maurier." Morrie said sternly. "You are coaxing him into thinking that turning out like his parents is absolutely natural and that he should just embrace that fact. But you know that is the exact opposite of the script Abiel is trying to write for himself. You are furthering the conflict that already burdens him so much."
I heard someone sigh and it must have been my godmother. "Isn't he like a little wounded bird?" My godmother asked.
I shut my eyes tightly to ward off the sound of my rage erupting. My hand grazed the gun Dad handed me earlier. I wanted to pull it out, but Morrie spoke.
"That needs to be cared for." Morrie had answered my godmother's question.
"I would not do that, if I were you." My godmother said. "He's already crumbling by himself. I would take pleasure in crushing him."
"I will not allow that to happen!" Morrie shouted.
That was when I decided to let my presence known. I entered the living room, clothed in the coldness of my own wrath.
Author's Note:
"...the script Abiel is trying to write for himself."
This quote of Morrie's is backed by Dr. Eric Berne's concept of life scripts from his book The Games People Play, which are basically the ultimate but unconscious goal of a person. For those interested in the field of Psychology and haven't heard/read about it yet, I suggest you look it up. Its main idea makes an interesting theory on personality. In Morrie's and Abiel's case though, the life scripts they are trying to follow are ones they wrote consciously for themselves.
Once Abiel enters that goddamned living room, we're already in the climax, so review/fav/follow to know what happens next!