HUNTER'S TALE

17.

Mary smiled back just to soothe his aching heart for a moment. Soon she was sleeping, she was asleep and he was restless. Everything that happened in the North lurking inside his head again and again. The face of that boy didn't let him rest. His heart was heavy same as his mind and by the first morning hours he stood up from the bed to make some breakfast for them, since he couldn't sleep anyway. Mary woke up soon as well. Everyday she woke up early only to go and prepare breakfast then tend animals before boys would wake up. She looked at the empty spot on the bed and sighed. After she dressed up, she walked downstairs and found John sitting above the cup with coffee. "Good morning," she smiled softly and came to him. She kissed his cheek and sat down next to him on the chair. He only hummed in response and she took his hand into her own. "John. Don't you want to tell me, what happened?"

He swallowed the words with a sip of coffee. He grunted and pulled away his hand. Sitting down, he took a bite and beckoned her to sit down by the table. "Get something to eat. Just made those eggs," he said, looking at his front.

Mary was taken aback. Mostly by the gesture. She had no idea, what to say or think. Before she'd jump into any conclusion, she rather remained silent. "Thank you," she said about the breakfast, then walked to make a herbal tea for herlself and sat down by the table. She took a piece of a bread and started to eat in silence. John was avoiding to speak about it. And as much as she tried, she didn't manage to pull out anything from her husband. It's been a week now and he was getting worst, more weird, more silent, mostly keeping himself occupied and saying less than five words every day. Mary was at Jane's house that day. It was the only one who knew John since he was a little boy and Jane offered to keep the boys for the evening, so she could speak with him finally. When she came back home, she found him by the fire with a bottle hanging from his hand as he occasionally took a sip before, he let the hand on the side of the rocking chair  where he was sitting. The bottle was almost empty and Mary closed her eyes and took a deep breath, seeing him. She took off the scarf from her shoulders and came to him. She sat down under his feet and looked up at him. "John," she quietly said and waited, until he turned his vacant eyes on her. "My love, please. This is taking too far. This is not you. John, please, talk to me," she took the bottle from him and put it aside. "Tell me, what happened? This is not you."

"No, Mary," he murmured as he turned his eyes towards the fire again. "This is me," he grunted. "The real me. The one ya failed to see," he swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes on the fire. "I'm a bad man. I've always been, but somehow I managed to convince ya otherwise."

She remained silent for a while. What was he trying to say? She pondered, looking at him. "No, you're not a bad man, John. I know you. You're grumpy and moody, but that's nothing that I'd describe as something bad," she shook head. "Something happened on the road to North, right? Tell me. What happened?"

"Yeah," he mouthed out and his glossy eyes shone like thunders. "I killed a man, a wounded man and I killed a boy. Not a day younger than fifteen. To save myself. To run away and come back to ya." His eyes shut to the confession. He took another sip and put down the bottle. "And I've killed others too. Innocent and guilty, it didn't matter to me if they did me wrong, I'd butcher them."

The silence was long and unbearable, but Mary couldn't form a word for a long minutes. Her throat was tight and she wished, she never asked. "Why did you kill them, John?" She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"Cus I had too. It was either them or me," he said with a subtle shake of his heavy head. "There were Ree after us. The man was wounded and I promised to end his misery. He agreed and I killed him. Then his boy ran on us and started to scream out." His eyes heavy with tears now as he remembered that day. "I tried to make him shut it. I tried hard to explain, but the Ree were there. And I... I stabbed him and I ran away as fast as I could. I run so fast..." his voice broke for a moment as he looked down.

Mary cupped her face and she took few long deep breaths. God, she wanted to cry so bad. She wanted to throw up from nerves. She felt like she was suffocating and it took her a while before she was able to speak. She looked at John and quietly spoke. "I know, you killed before. You killed for me. For our children. You killed bad people John," she spoke and her voice was shaking. "But who can tell, how would anybody else managed that situation? I... I have no idea, what would I do in such moment."

"No, I could just run away and never talk to anyone about them again " he shook his head subtly. "But I choose to stay and kill them. Cus I didn't kill only bad people, Mary," he took a deep breath and leaned his head behind on the chair. "When I was a young boy, I knew a whore. She was ginger like ya in one of Huston's brothels. She promised the fucking world to me, yeh? She promised, she was done with her old life and that she's working at the bakery house now. Well, one day I walked inside her apartment and I found her  riding some other man. I killed her too and that bastard." He finished the bottle and threw it on the side. He turned to see Mary and he slowly stood up. "That's me. I'm a killer. I'm the worst kind of human, ya will find out there."

The blood ran cold that moment in her veins. It felt like time has stopped and the air got thinner. Mary was frozen, but once John moved, she literally jerked and jumped on her feet. She was scared. So scared, she could barely hold herself on her feet and she fell down on the floor. Like a deer shot to its leg, trying to escape. She had fear in her eyes. The deepest fear and shock written all over her face. She didn't say a word. She didn't even look at him anymore, she only managed to crawl out the room and then she grabbed her skirts and she ran away from the house. John ran behind her. She manage to get inside Russell's house quickly and Jane locked the door. Russell came to the front to stop John. He had no idea, what happened, but seeing John drunk on that state, he wouldn't let him get inside the house. "The boys are inside, son. Go home get some sleep," Russell told him.

But John that moment was menacing bull. "I wanna fucking talk to her, Russell. Don't get in the bloody way," he snarled at Russell.

"Ya boys are sleeping, damn ya!" The old man pushed him back. "Go home and come again tomorrow, otherwise I'll shoot ya arse," he warned.

John was helpless. He saw Russell walking inside and he felt empty. He hated himself. For everything he did, for the terror he gave her, for the scared eyes he saw when he first met her. Now the house was empty. His happiness wasn't there. His Mary wasn't there or his boys so just sat there by Russell's stairs on the front door and fell asleep soon.

In the morning he woke up violently by a bucket of water  that Jane threw on his face. "Good morning, John," she smiled at his pissed face. "Forgive me, I usually clean the stairs in the morning. I didn't see you there," she pushed her lips together.

"Where's my wife?" it was the first thing she asked.

"Inside," Russell came outside and shook his head. "Fuck's sakes, John. Go home. Ya look like a piece of shit. Not a sight ya wife should see now, huh?"

"I always look like a piece of shit," he frowned.

"I can't disagree with that," Jane sarcastically nodded.

"Tell her, that I need to speak with her," John sighed. "Please, I can't go home."

"And what will ya tell her? Ya stupid arse scared her to death, she was puking like a bloody cat all night. Ya couldn't keep your mouth shut and pull out a murder of some whore?" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, what you want or need. What is important, is that your boys now have mother, who can't leave the bed and father, who smells like he drank a liquor shop. Go fuckin' home and come back later."

"Fucking hate ya people," John murmured pissed, but seeing Russell guarding the door like a dog, he knew, he wouldn't let him in like that. So he went home and that silence was needles to his heart.