The Man Behind the Slaughter

Chapter Six.

November 15th, 1983

"Can you hear me?" Michael whispered tenderly, holding Evan's hands within his own.

The room was enclosed in a hushed atmosphere, the weight of uncertainty hanging heavy in the air.

"I don't know if you can hear me." he admitted, pausing to gaze at Evan's bandaged face, the vulnerability of the moment carved across Michael's features.

"I love you." Gently, Michael planted a kiss on Evan's small, thin hand, a silent gesture of remorse and farewell. "I'm sorry."

Meanwhile, William, ever impatient, tapped his foot rhythmically, his eyes rolling as he roughly used a nail filer.

The room was charged with a dissonance of emotions, the silence interrupted by a sudden, loud, unchanging beep that caused Michael to startle. Tears welled up once more, pouring like a waterfall down his cheeks.

Looking up, Michael's worst fears were confirmed as he fixed his stare on the screen displaying a straight, thin green line.

The room absorbed the weight of sorrow, tears staining the white hospital sheets as Michael clung tightly to Evan's hand.

William, with an annoyed glare, groaned and stood up, opening the room's door.

"Come on, Michael." he declared from the doorway, locking eyes with the mournful boy.

"B-But—" Michael attempted to protest.

"Come on! He's dead, just forget about it!" William growled impatiently, marching over to forcefully pull Michael upright, dragging him out of the room.

The door closed behind them, leaving the hospital room eerily silent, with only the echoes of a heart monitor failing fading away.

12:03AM, November 16th, 1983

"Michael...?" The soft voice of Henry filled the air as he cautiously entered the boy's room.

Michael, lost in the depths of his thoughts, slowly raised his gaze. His cheeks bore the stain of a bright red, and his disheveled hair seemed like a chaotic nest atop his head.

"Michael, it's Uncle Henry..." he whispered, settling beside the troubled boy, who finally turned to face him.

In a gesture of care, Henry placed a plate of food before Michael, the utensils polished and gleaming in the dim light.

The room hung heavy with unspoken sorrow as the two sat in intense silence.

Henry, sensing the weight on Michael's shoulders, tenderly rubbed the depressed boy's back. "It's gonna be okay, Michael. No matter what happens, everything's going to be—"

"No... it's not. It's not going to be okay... IT'S NOT! Michael growled, his voice low, accompanied by a piercing glare. Unfazed, Henry continued, attempting to offer comfort.

"Mike, I know right now it seems like nothing will get better, but—"

"BECAUSE IT WON'T!" Michael interrupted sharply, slapping away Henry's pale hand. He crawled to the edge of the bed, curling into a tight ball.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault!" he whimpered, fingers pulling at his scalp in distress.

"It was an accident—"

"NO, IT WASN'T! It wasn't an accident. I wanted to make him scared, I wanted to see him cry! I put him in danger on purpose. But I never... thought... I didn't mean for..." Michael struggled with his words, choking on his sobs.