Into the trees he followed her, the branches reaching out and scratching at his face. He swiped them out of the way. Swearing when one poked him in the eye, pain stabbing into his socket.
Thankfully, she hadn’t heard him, and she continued on as if shedidn’t have aught to be worried about.
He hated the woods. They reminded him of when he and his brother would play when they were young. His brother nimbly jumping over fallen trees and logs, running swiftly away as they would chase each other. He could never catch his brother.
But his brother always caught him. Not right away. His brother had always given him a lead start and didn’t put in a lot of effort. There was no use since the chase would always end the same way.
His brother was a good man. And for the briefest of moments, he felt a pang of sadness. Of guilt.
The way his father always doted on his brother was sickening. Just once, he wanted to be the subject of his father’s devotion.
Only once.
But it never came to fruition.
His father was a mean, selfish bastard.
He had learned of their family’s secret through his brother.
His brother that should have taken over the family land on their father’s death.
He sneered.
He took care of that.
Remembering when his father had fallen onto a jagged branch when riding. His brother had been dead for a few weeks by that time. His father was still grieving the loss of his beloved son.
It made him sick.
But when his father fell, he kenned he had his chance. He found a nearby rock, hefty enough to do the job he sought.
His father had called out to him, asking for help.
He laughed. “Now I am of use to ye, ye old fool?”
Confusion furrowed his father’s brow, seeing the rock in his hand.
He bent near his father, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Ye thought I was useless. But, yet I managed to strike down yer son, did I no’?”
His father’s eyes rounded, understanding dawning on his face.
“Aye. ’Twas me. I am no’ so useless now, am I?”
“Son,” his father said.
“Dinnae call me that,” he spat, spittle falling from his lips and onto his father’s cheek. “Ye dinnae get the privilege of calling me that after all these years.” He bent once again, his mouth near his father’s ear. “Just ken that he suffered, I made sure of it.”
He stood and saw the pain in his father’s eyes. The anger. Reveling in the knowledge that his father could do naught about it, he brought the rock down onto his father’s skull with all his might. He struck again and again, until he couldn’t see his father’s face anymore. Just tissue and bone and blood.
Dropping the rock, he left his father where he had fallen. The scavengers would make use of his remains.
He didn’t deserve a burial.
Bringing his focus back to the here and now, he watched Moira’s figure in the far distance, wondering where she was going for the umpteenth time. Would this be the final clue? If it were, he would be able to dispose of her, just like he had his father and his brother. And then he would destroy the clues and keep the family secret.
It mattered naught what happened to him. There was no one left in his family. With no wives and no children born to his brother, their lineage died with him.
But he had the last laugh. The final victory.
