A Game of Colours

Chapter 22: Father Dearest

"Alright, we need to get out of sight incase they come back. I'm sure they haven't given up," growls Isaac.

"They never will. They're probably telling all the cops we 'kidnapped' their son and they'll be on us any minute now, police included," I frown.

"My father is celebrating my disappearance, don't you worry," laughs Jarrah bitterly, his eyes glazed, "it's you they're chasing us for."

*        *        *

I look at him for a while, observing his features. He always has this hurt look on his face when he speaks of his dad, something that's troubling him. I decide now isn't the time to ask.

"So where now?" I say instead.

"We're on the border between West Virginia and Kentucky. So the sooner we cross it, the safer we'll be."

"And then?"

"I have a friend from the army living in Merrick, we'll go hide there for a bit."

"What if your friend turns us in?" 

"What if you just trust me?" growls Jarrah, "let's keep moving."

I look at him curiously, but get up anyway. Jarrah leads, but he walks considerably slower than I had hoped because of his injuries.

I decide to try and lighten the mood. 

"So, Isaac, where'd you learn to fight like that? You kicked that guard's ass," I smile reminiscently.

He hesitates, before he shrugs and says, "I had the element of surprise."

I squint at him, noticing the pause and making a mental note to ask him later. When he's drunk, maybe. Isaac's hiding something, as usual. 

"Anyways, you should've seen Jarrah. He really took it out on that guy. Didn't know he had it in him," says Isaac.

"I was in the army," spits Jarrah.

"Really?" says Isaac, impressed, "why'd you come back to the plantation? Must have been better there."

"I guess training to beat up innocent people just wasn't my thing," he growls.

"But why the plantation?" I insist, "why not move somewhere, far away?"

"My dad kept tabs on me. He was furious that I left in the first place, and ordered me straight back home. I never really obeyed him, and he knew it. I've always been a lost cause, and that was the last straw for him. My dad's never liked me. He's always wanted me to take over the plantation. To be just like him." 

I fall silent. A few moments later, Jarrah turns to me.

He laughs bitterly. "You know something? Once, when I was about nine or ten, I tried to stop the overseer from whipping a boy around my age, that hadn't picked enough cotton for the day. Me and him? We were friends. I tugged on the overseer's arm, and yelled as loud as I could, and eventually the overseer got so frustrated with me he just knocked me over.

My dad showed up then, and I thought he'd heard me yelling for help. I thought he'd make the lashing stop. But you know what he did? He pulled me to my feet and handed me the whip.

"Lash the boy," he'd instructed.

"No," I'd said.

"Jarrah, this nigger is not your friend. You are my son, and you'll do as I say. Lash him." he'd growled.

"No," I'd repeated, cowering inside.

"Lash him, or I'll lash you," he'd threatened.

I'd stood my ground, fists clenched, watching the whip fall. He only did it that day, on my back, to teach me obedience. But the pain I felt, I'll never forget."