Psycho Killer || Starrison

Chapter Eighteen

I can't remember when it all began. There was always something wrong with my father. I don't know what. He was sick, at least that's what my mom said. She kept on saying that, trying to defend him. Justify his behavior. Well, she did at first...

Father has beat me. Not only me, mum too. I don't know when it began. I never knew what I did wrong, why it kept happening. I was afraid of coming back home always hoping he'd stay longer at work. I can remember that during the summer mum used to send me to the countryside. She wanted to protect me.

Later, when I was older, not much older, you should know that all of this was happening really fast. I could be at most seven, I didn't want to leave her alone, afraid he'd hurt her. My mum kept saying she'd be fine. Non stop she was saying that everything would be fine. Can't tell if she realized what was really happening there.

We both were scared, could only count on ourselves. I still don't know why she didn't leave him. Why didn't she take me and run away? Maybe she was afraid, or still believed that one day my father will change. Yeah, I think so... There were episodes when nothing was happening for weeks. The n mum said it's because daddy's getting better. As if she was talking about a cold and not terrorizing our family.

Mum was naïve, but she loved me, and loved my father. Despite everything he had done to us she was always there to give him another chance. She was sure it's not his fault. Well... today, looking at myself I'm able to believe that. But does it even change anything? How is that a reason to agree with living in a constant fear? I'll never believe this.

What happened during the winter of 1951 only proves that it's true. That we should have run away. When we still had time. Should've left that life and that man far behind. Start over...

We had no classes that day. It was the first day of a winter break. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I woke up early because I heard the scream. Horrifying scream. Brutally awoken, I thought or just hoped that it's only a nightmare. It wouldn't be anything new, I had them all the time, nearly every night. Speaking of which, it hasn't changed... But something told me that it wasn't only a projection of my mind. It was real. After a while I heard another one, this one was definitely scream of my mother. I don't think I have ever been as terrified as At that moment. I left my bed and went downstairs anyway. Straight to the kitchen.

George stopped for a while. He was breathing heavily. Revisiting his childhood memories want easy but what he saw that day, in his own kitchen seemed to exceed his powers. So many years, so much effort he put into forgetting and washing out every trail from his mind and now everything went to hell. Only because he had to explain himself before this blue-eyed boy sitting next to him.

Harrison was standing with his eyes closed for a few tiring seconds — that seemed to last forever. Ringo wondered whether something happened to the guitarist. He wanted to speak, check if George will hear will and react but then the man opened his eyes again.

"Sorry, I'm better now," he said and continued.

It wasn't much of a big room, typical kitchen in a terrace house. Fridge and cupboards were filling all the space inside. I'm telling you this only for you to understand how limited moving space my mother had. She couldn't just turn back and run away. She had a concrete wall on the one side and a man holding a knife on the other. And I was standing right behind him in the middle of stairs. I couldn't do anything, I was completely paralyzed. The only thing I was able to do was watching, with eyes wide opened, as my own father raised his knife in the air and let it fall hurting my mother. And then again and again.

I think I stared crying. Yes, I surely did. When I noticed the monster of my father turning back slowly I ran upstairs. Quickly but quietly. I had no choice, I had to pretend I saw nothing and didn't exist at all. It was my only hope.

I don't know what I was doing until the police came. Probably hiding, terrified to the bone, under the blanket, crying quietly. I don't know how long it has taken but for me it seemed like eternity. When I heard sirens of police car, I got up from bed for the second time that day. I was standing by the window, watching them walking out with my father — even then he was covered in blood. My mentality couldn't take it anymore, so I pulled on the curtains. After a while one of the officers entered my room.

After that I had to live in an orphanage. I was only 7, and I probably went through more trauma than a lot of people older than me. I was terrified. I couldn't accept my mom's death. For the first week I barely have been leaving the bedroom, so right from the start kids thought of me as an outcast. Well, I gotta admit that around that time I wasn't really looking for any friends. Still, someone to give me a shoulder to cry on, when nightmares were hunting me in the middle of the night, would be appreciated. I can't really explain that. In one hand I couldn't trust anybody, in the other I needed some kind of support, doesn't everyone? No matter what's happening, it's good to have someone by your side. So you could have a good, honest talk with them and just rant if you need to. This is how humans work, there's no way to change that.

And that's why meeting Arthur felt so great. I don't even know how it happened, one day he just sort of appeared. He has met me when I needed support. We bounded like I haven't with anyone beside my mom. I could tell that he was different straight away but it didn't bother me. I was different myself. He gave me the attention I needed, and for that I was thankful. All of a sudden everything started to fall into much better place. He was just like an older brother to me. I loved to play with him and spend time together.

When I got to know I was gonna get adopted I was, afraid. Afraid that I'll never see him again. I told him about it, but he said I have nothing to worry about. He promised to go with me, that nothing was going to change. And at the very beginning nothing did indeed. It's been some time since we talked it through and I decided I shouldn't tell anyone about him. I wasn't exactly sure why, but I couldn't really protest. If I did, he could've left me alone, and that's what I was scared of the most. Loneliness.

I've moved out, and I must admit, that I had nothing to complain about ever since. After the spartan conditions of that orphanage, my new house seemed at least like a palace. Everyone was treating me perfectly good, I even got along with my new siblings pretty well. And that's when it probably begun. I can't be sure, but I suppose that Arthur was... jealous. He started to disappear for a few days straight without a sign, and after coming back he would ask me why did I even spend time with them. He never tried persuading me to stop, but he used to say that he didn't understand why was I even doing this. As if he was not enough for me.

Nothing changed when I met Paul in school. Arthur clearly didn't approve on our friendship, but he also never prevented us from hanging out together. This is when his disappearance periods got longer and longer. Once I haven't even seen him for two weeks, and after coming back he acted like nothing happened. Then I started to notice his weird behavior more and more.

The truth is, he never emanated a palette of emotions. I can't remember whether it's always been this bad though. During this time I tried to explain to him how do feelings work. I didn't know if he was pretending, playing with me, or understanding the most basic human things was really this hard for him. I considered it fun, another game to pass the time with. But soon it became clear that there's something wrong with my friend. But what could I do? Arthur was by my side when everyone else left, so I felt I owe him something. I couldn't just turn back from him.

When I think about it... There's always been something weird about Arthur. Something terrifying, even — I don't know why was I so oblivious in childhood years. He was acting at least disturbingly. For example, the tales he used to read to me. When lights went off in normal houses and children were falling asleep to last sentences of Cinderella, Arthur used to sit by my side and read.

I don't know what those were. I was too young to understand what were they supposed to be about, but... it scared me. They were terrifying, even now I think about them in awe. Young kid, that I was back then, shouldn't even know about their existence. The nightmares begun yet again. I was afraid to fall asleep, sometimes I could even spend the whole night hurled up under the blanket, too afraid to close my eyes. And the worst part about it was that I couldn't tell anyone. I promised him.

I could go on and on about other situations like this, but please, don't make me do this. The important things is that slowly, piece by piece, Arthur was destroying my mental health, even though he appeared to help me. By small steps, like baby that's just learning to walk, he made me hate him more and more, he made me more afraid, but also... he made me more addicted to him.

That's why, in the day of my twenty-first birthday when he told me to kidnap that woman, I did it. I don't know who was scared more back then, me or her, but I couldn't just refuse. Or say no. Believe me, I had no choice. It was meant to happen, Ringo... Meant to...

George had to use all of his strength and will not to burst out crying. He desperately wanted Ringo to understand his situation. He still felt boundlessly helpless, because of knowledge that he can't justify all the things he'd done. Tired, the man let himself slowly sink on the floor.