The Murder Of 1998

Chapter Thirty-Two

Young Mitchell looked up at the his drunk father who was getting ready to go to school again. He watched as Raymond took the razor to his face, keeping his hand steady as he shaved off his facial hair that was coming in strong. He admired him.

"Papa, will I have a beard?" He asked his father.

"Perhaps in the future," Raymond replied. He gently moved the razor over his jaw, careful not to cut himself with the sharp blades.

Mitchell idolized his father. He loved his boldness and honesty. But he didn't really notice his bad qualities as much. Like his attitude when under stress, or most importantly, his alcoholism. The young boy was exposed to his alcoholism at such a young age.

Raymond finished with shaving his face and cleaned up. He grabbed a black t–shirt and slipped it on. All through–out the night, he could not get the thought of Luna out of his mind. And even though he gave her his number and told her to call him whenever, he really hoped she didn't call him during school hours. Especially on the first day of school which was getting closer and closer each day.

"Alright, Mitch. I gotta go."

"Can I come with you?" Mitchell asked.

"I'm afraid not. Go to the kitchen, aunt Vicky is making some breakfast and she might need your help." Raymond grabbed his watch that Emily gifted to him a few years back on his birthday. The strap was black and the clock itself was square and gold. It was his favorite watch since it was a piece of her on his wrist.

Raymond ushered his son to go along to the kitchen, which he eventually did. Raymond made sure to pack a flask into his book bag to feed his alcoholism while he was sitting at his desk and planning what to do for the school year with his students.

After finally packing everything up, he went downstairs where he was greeted by a pleasant smell of waffles, sausage and bananas.

Victoria smiled at Raymond as he entered the kitchen. "Hey, got time for breakfast?" She asked, holding a plate for him.

Raymond looked down at his watch. It was almost six in the morning. He was late.

"Sorry, I gotta get to work," he said as he walked past her to the fridge to grab a bottled water. He began making his way over to the door. "Mitchell, go back to sleep its still too early."

"Papa I'm not tired!" Mitchell shouted.

Raymond rolled his eyes, dropping his bag on the floor. He walked over to his son and picked him up. Mitchell tried to free himself from his grasp but of course the older man was much stronger than the child. He walked back up the stairs, placing him in the boys room before shutting the door. He sighed and rushed back down the stairs.

"Ray, thats harsh," Victoria said angrily.

"Whatever. I need to go. I'm already going to be late." Raymond walked to the door and picked up his bag before leaving the house.

Victoria went upstairs to Mitchell's room who was sitting on his bed, frowning.

"Does papa hate me?" He asked.

Victoria sat next to him and gently patted his head. "No of course not. He's just still trying to cope."

Though Mitchell was young, he knew was the word 'cope' meant. He knew what his father was doing to cope. Because at only four years old, he learned what an alcoholic drink was simply from his observation. But he still admired his father.

-x-

Brandon's eyebrows furrowed. Analysis on the bloody footprint found at the house finally came back. The blood was confirmed to be Ervin's blood, but dried blood was found in that as well, not coming from Monica, Penelope, or Ervin. It belonged to a white female, specifically a French woman. And for sure it wasn't Monica or Penelope because they were English and Scottish. Brandon phoned Walter who sounded like he just woke up from his groggy voice.