WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER

It had been 9 years since his mother was killed.

Alastor was now 17 years old and he was so close to freedom he could taste it. He had planned to move out and disappear as soon as he turned 18. He had learned his lesson before when he tried to run away at age 13. Missing persons report for him and when the police found him, he considered telling them about the body his father made him help bury in the woods. He remembered the warning he was given though:

"If I find out you said a peep about this, I'll string you up from the trees and let the birds feast on you."

He rolled his eyes at the thought of his 'father'. Since his mother wasn't here anymore, Alastor was subject to all of the beatings now. If he changed the volume on the radio he'd be smacked. If he was 5 minutes behind on cooking dinner he would get a classic ciggarette burn. He was practically numb to it. The pain was boring now but more so it was just annoying.

Him and his father did a good job at hiding the body though because Cecile Hartfelt had been a missing person sine that morning many years ago. He had to give it to the man, he was a very believable actor. He played the role of the distraught husband so well that Alastor nearly believed him and he was the one that had to clean the blood off the kitchen floor. He had so many people approach him and tell him how wonderful his mother was and that they were sure she would come back any day now. It made it all the more challenging for Alastor to move on.

He made his way down to the kitchen to make him some toast. He was in the habit of not stepping in a certain spot of the floor. At first he did it out of respect but now it was second nature. He popped the bread in the toaster then leaned over and switched the radio on. He turned the dial until he heard some bluesy jazz pour from the speaker. It was the only time he ever smiled throughout the entire day. Well, one of two times at least.

"What did I say about blasting that damn music? Turn it off."

Well it was certainly nice for the moment.

His father stomped through the kitchen as he made his way to the fridge. He pulled out what he was sure would be his 8th beer easily. 'Best beer in all of New Orleans' his father would claim. Not even 10 in the morning, Alastor mentally noted. This meant he was going to be extra long after school. He turned the music off as the toast popped up. He grabbed it and put it on a plate, spreading a thin layer of butter on it.

"What? Nothing to say to your old man?" His speech was slightly slurred which made Alastor's assumption of it being his 8th beer more concrete. Alastor was for sure going to be staying away today.

"Apologies. Goodmorning." Alastor said in-between chews of his breakfast. His father mumbled a 'whatever' and made his way back to the livingroom, side hitting the wall as he did so.

Alastor wiped away the crumbs off his mouth and went out the backdoor before his father had time to come back.

Alastor was looking forward to going back to his spot in the woods. It was one of the only times he felt peace in his life. He needed to save up some money and buy him a portable radio to take with him but he wasn't allowed to have a job according to dear old August.

He noticed the tree that bent at an awkward angle and knew he was here. He had made this hike plenty of times he could practically do it blindfolded. He walked up to the grassless dirt that had a mossy stone at the foot of it. He sat in front of it, crossing his legs and getting comfortable.

"Hello mama. Sorry I'm late today, but study hall stayed later than usual." Alastor tried to keep up with his studies. If for any reason it was so he wouldn't end up like his father who had a 7th grade education, at best. His mother was always so proud of him when he would bring home good grades so it certainly helped make him more determined to finish his education.

"I'm almost 18 now. Just a few more months and I'll be free from him." He paused as if he would get a reply. After all these years, a miniscule part of him hoped that there would be. He felt tears pool in his brown eyes which he angrily wiped away. He was so tired of feeling so weak. He never felt in charge of his own life and always out of control.

"I'm so sorry, mama." His voice cracked, emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. He would give anything to be able to hug her again. To smell her perfume that always smelt like fresh oranges or hell just to hear her voice.

He stayed with her until the sun slowly began to set over the oak trees. It was dusk and he was praying that his father would be knocked out cold in his chair when he got home. He walked up the road, the streetlights beaming little spots that he followed all the way home. He enjoyed the sound of frogs bellowing in the distance and the fireflies that seemed to dance all around him. There was a certain charm of New Orleans that he would certainly miss once he was able to leave.

Once he made it home, he opened the door as quietly as he could as to not disturb anything or anyone. He closed the door with a light squeak and latching it perfectly.

He turned around just in time to feel a blow to his head, sending him into the wall.

"Where the fuck have you been?" His father stood above him, his hand gripping a flask Alastor was sure would be empty. He took a moment to stop the room from spinning before he stood up. His legs wobbled like a newborn fawn.

"I was out with friends." Alastor lied as he brought a hand to his temple. Blood appeared on his fingers and a small part of him felt pure panic.

"Bullshit, you don't have any friends boy. Where have you been?" Alastor knew that he was worse than usual. His father never cursed like this. He began to solidify his standing as he wiped his blood on his pants.

"None of your business."

That was the beginning.

Before Alastor could react, his father right hooked him with the hand holding the silver flask. Alastor flew into the kitchen table, palms spread on top to balance himself again. He felt his neck get hot and his stomach flip. His rage was rising and he needed to get out. He quickly turned and tried to make a break for the door but before he could reach for the doorknob his head got yanked back from his father pulling his hair, sending him to the floor once again.

"You ain't going no where." He growled as he stalked over to Alastor. He tried to crawl across the floor just enough so he could get a footing but got the breath knocked out of him as he got a hard stomp to his back. He gasped for air as he stayed sprawled on the floor. His father stood above him, ankles on either side of Alastor's hips.

"You know, you look just like your mother. Pathetic and weak." He reached down and grabbed Alastor's hair again, yanking his neck up. He heard a pop in his ears along with a shooting pain from his neck to his shoulder. He was sure he had pulled something. Oxygen was painfully making its way back into his lungs but decided not to wait to make a move. He reached his arms backwards until he was able to grab his father's ankles. He gave a hard pull which made the man collapse on his legs. He felt a jolt of pain from his thigh but ignored it. At this point all pain in his body slowly started to ebb away. He saw the world through a red lense and ran toward the utensil drawer. As his father was attempting, and failing, to get back up Alastor pulled out one of their steak knifes. He let his finger rake against the ragged edge of the blade as he returned to his drunken father.

"What do you think you're doin?" Alastor could hear panic lace through his voice and he couldn't stop the grin that stretched across his face. It felt natural and wonderful. The power he felt in that moment made him nearly as intoxicated as August himself.

"Something I should've done years ago." He straddled his dads hips as he gripped the knife handle. His father began to squirm and scream, pleading for his life. It reminded Alastor of the times that they would go hunting for deer. A few times after they would shoot the animal, it would not die immediately. It would let out this ear piercing scream that used to make Alastor uneasy as a child. Now he couldn't help but chuckle at the sound now.

"Father you really should smile more often. Here, allow me to help you." He brought his knife down and stuck it in his mouth. With a quick slice, he ripped his cheeks open curving to his ears. The screams that rang from his throat now were even better because it orchestrated perfectly with the squelching of the blood oozing from his face. After he had carved his face, he took a good long look at his work. Not too bad for a first time. Without a second though, he began to push the knife through his throat. The screeches were replaced with gurgling which then lead to bone chilling silence. Alastor wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, a smear of blood replacing the sweat in the process.

"Now who looks pathetic." He said to the empty shell on the floor. He stood up and threw the knife in the sink. He still stepped over the forbidden spot. He walked though the hallway until he passed a mirror. He took a look at himself and realized something interesting.

He was still smiling.

Never lose that sweet smile of yours.

He chuckled darkly as he felt any trace of panic drain from his body. If anything he felt euphoric. For the first time in his life, he was in control. He was the conductor of this symphony and what beautiful music he had made. He felt something snap in his brain. Something small but contagious as it spread everywhere. It felt as if he had cotton covering his entire scalp. He didn't see a senseless murder. He saw an opportunity to become more powerful and he loved it. A whisper in his mind told him that he was sure to hold more concerts. More melodies to create.

For now though, he had to take care of a dead body for the second time in his life.