Word of Honor

Chapter Five: Catastrophe

'Leon... what'd happen to us next?' Mom asks desperately. 'First our uncontrollable mouth, then our son...'

Dad in the driver's seat peeks at my reflection in the rearview mirror, and when I catch his eyes, he quickly looks ahead. I shift uneasily on my seat.

'This isn't the time, Jourae... we'll figure somethin' out. Nothing we couldn't fix, right?' Dad replies.

By the time the car engine starts and we drive off, the sky is already setting down at an immense speed and evening is approaching.

A man with wrinkles covered on corners of his eyes and mouth, wearing a tank top is jogging on the sidewalk assuaged in sweat. How I wish to be in his position. Carefree, and not strangled by what people call 'family issues'. Except that if I was that content, I would not be jogging at this time at night, instead I would stay at my parents' house to unwind. However, on second thought, I would be delighted to do some hobbies, just like him.

The car was in ominous quietness on the way home. No one fancies chatting after such an overwhelming encounter, and no one is eager to mention the disidentical looks of the crowd before and after Dad had left them a nasty, haunting presence.

Mom is watching the traffic come and go silently through the car window on her right, pursing her lips while adjusting to a secure position in order to drift off.

Dad is rotating the steering wheel rather sedately, looking ahead with tired eyes.

I am practically doing the same as Mom, though my arms and legs somewhat have a mind of its own, slightly quivering. I seldomly get agitated by Dad, or is it the reason?

Whirling wind is smashing the windows with all its might, without actually breaking it down through. Traffic turns back to normal, moving one bit and merely one bit at a time.

'Hey! Move it!' A furious driver shouts from behind.

Dad ignores the noises and says, 'He's talking unreachable nonsense.'

Mom merely grunts and makes no more sound.

During the car ride, I cannot help but have random and sudden urges to confront my parents about the voices I had heard from far back when I was thirteen years old. I have not told them yet and buried them in the deepest pile in my mind since then. I feel guilty on occasion for keeping these weird voices to myself for such long, long ages, as I had never kept anything from them, they are my dearest family.

What if maybe, just maybe, if I tell them, they would investigate Charles's case once more, this time more thoroughly?

However, the murderer, Jasper Neriig Hillas, is long in hand, and is currently miles away from here, probably stirring in a hard, cold bunk bed. I am not entirely sure if he regrets shooting through my brother though. The least he could do is to feel ashamed of his doings and undergo torture, as he should.

'Sweetheart, what's wrong?' a voice vibrates from the front row of the car. 'You look quite troubled...' It is a transfixed Mom turning her head to face me over her shoulder.

'Oh! Erm... I-It's nothing!' I stutter.

'We both know perfectly that that's not true.' Mom furrows her brows. And that is when I come to the conclusion of a phrase.

'This isn't the time, Mom.'

Mom glares at Dad, and Dad gulps nervously and shifts on his seat while still holding the steering wheel, taking a left turn after passing a red light.

After some more awkward moments of silence, Mom speaks up.

'What could we do to smoothen this situation?' She questione.

Dad startles at Mom's ambushing statement, then says, 'W-Well... the cameras went straight for me, didn't they? I can't see how we can get through this.'

'We'd have to try.' Mom states sincerely. 'No matter what, we'll figure out a way, just like we did the last-'

Mom swiftly glances at me, and Dad looks as though he caught Mom's 'signal' and said no more.

What they did not know is that I absorbed all these strange actions into my mind, and the mysteries became even more tricky.

How would I ever squeeze out an answer to everything from my parents? The two adults I was most familiar with are too far away from the current time. It is as though my 'real' parents are isolated and abandoned, and they are not being themselves at all. How did we come to this eventually? I cannot seem to grasp the connection between these peculiar events.

Zoning out actually does something to people, as my assumed 'sight' comes back to me, intercepting Dad about to unmute the music perfectly.

'Yup I'll just... slow down the tension.' Dad said with a highlight of a raise of tone at the tip of the sentence, as though speaking to himself.

He spins the operating panel and the car country-side jazz blasts as if this is a karaoke night. Dad hastily adjusts the volume into a more appropriate and comfortable one.

Touching the daisies on a lightweight meadow,

The sun beaming as if there's no tomorrow,

Nobody's interpreting, sitting against a willow,

Birds chirping in all songs I possibly know,

Perhaps the crops is for their surmised chow,

However, the prospect of hunger remains low,

Too much happiness is yet to be borrowed,

Nothing in here encourages any sorrow,

As the wind's breeze comes along now,

It's an unforgettable peace and elated vow.

I can picture the bright day just by my inner eye, thus I close my eyes for reassurance with the rhythm. And the song fits perfectly to the scene.

Who knows for how long it lasts, I unlock my eyes only to see myself leaning against the window. The explosive wind and the rain batter the window is a huge contrast to the escape of reality.

It is then I realize the song has been repeating ever since I fell unconscious. And another thing I realize is the reality of my whole life is too desperate for my past self to watch with a great mood.