Trials of Fatherhood | Sal Fisher x Travis Phelps

Chapter Three - In a Town Full of Heroes and Villains

All that is, all which has been,
Through conscious endeavors,
innately repugnant,
embedded in flesh and sinew,
The wicked lingers and binds,
And a muzzled jaw fights
Against constraints, to snap.

The year is 2003. August, just shy of three years old, with eyes far too big for his head and hands that haven't quite mastered the delicate art of grabbing ahold of objects, plays quietly with his multicolored blocks on the dining room floor, right beside the old heirloom vase on its dusty, metal stand.

Travis is stiff where he sits at the dining room table. He thumbs uncaringly through the daily paper with one hand and drinks his coffee with the other. He pauses to watch August in his peripheral vision, as carefully as ever, just to make sure he's not about to drop one of those horribly ginormous wooden blocks on his feet.

Across from him, Kenneth files paperwork for the ministry. His head is tipped down as he scans over the tax forms. His face is pale and etched with deep wrinkles.

Travis scans over the leftmost heading on his paper uninterestedly. Nothing seems important anymore, not since the long-awaited sentencing of the Sally Face killer.

Sal's execution is approaching rapidly. The devourers celebrate with cheap wine and cryptic remarks regarding the future.

Sighing, Travis isn't sure he can take much more of this. His eyes are heavy. He's worn out, ill. There's really only one thing keeping him going, he thinks, one little boy who-

A shrill crash sounds from where his son's been sitting on the floor. Both Travis and Kenneth flinch in surprise, raising their heads in the direction of the noise.

August stumbles, wobbling on stubby legs. He looks up at them with wide, watery eyes immediately. Shattered ceramic shards litter the ground, jagged and shiny. The vase — he must have bumped into it.

Travis opens his mouth. His breath catches in his throat. His foot shifts on the floor. He's about to ask if he's hurt, about to leap up to make sure he's not.

In his fear, he doesn't notice the sharpness in his father's grey eyes. He doesn't notice the way he wrinkles his nose, the way his face contorts in his belligerence.

"Why, you-" Kenneth sneers and pushes himself up out of his seat. The table shakes.

August jumps, a new panic evident on his little face.

Suddenly, the man is making his way toward Travis's son, reaching for his arm and clasping it tightly in his hand. He looks like a wild animal, consumed by hatred, and endowed with the desire to inflict pain. Travis knows that look all too well.

Enraged and panicked and too overwhelmed by his own adrenaline to consider anything else, he launches himself up and over the end of the table in one swift movement, hardly feeling himself move at all as he reaches them. He wedges himself between his father and his boy. Vaguely, he feels the ceramic pieces on the floor cut into the bottom of his feet, but he doesn't care.

The surface of his coffee is unsettled where it sits in the mug.

Travis's eyes are blown open, his pupils dilated. He pulls Kenneth's arm away and holds it firmly before him. His chest rises and falls. Without looking behind him, he offers August his other hand and instead, the little boy hides his face against the back of his leg.

Kenneth stares in shock, breathing hard. His gaze drifts down to where he's being held by the forearm and the anger in his eyes promptly returns. "He ought to be taught a lesson! You dare disregard your own-!" Wriggling, he rips himself out of his son's grip.