The Family Origin

Chapter Fifty-One: JOSEPH POV

Miles and I stopped fighting over pointless things since we stopped being hungry. The tension in our home disappeared, and we were happy again. Maisie was quiet, but it was nice to see her smiling instead of crying. This was what I had always wanted.

When we were hungry, I would dread coming inside to see Maisie preparing a pathetic stew of potatoes and vegetables. Now, when I came inside, our home would be filled with the delicious smell of a satisfying dinner.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand as I stepped into the barn. My muscles ached from working outside all day. I set the rake and shovel against the wall before wiping my dirty hands on my pants. I rolled my shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension and pain. While stretching my muscles, I looked around the barn. The sun would soon be setting, and dinner would soon be ready.

I was about to turn and leave when something odd caught my eye. On the floor, there was a white object poking out from beyond the wooden bench. A few red spots created a trail on the floor leading to the white object. I furrowed my brows as I stepped closer to the bench.

Bones were stacked next to the bench, and one had fallen forward off the pile. I gagged when I looked at the pieces of flesh still clinging to parts of the bone. Trickles of blood were scattered around the pile. A few flies were buzzing around and landing on the chunks of flesh. I gagged as I took a step back. How long had they been there?

The door opened, and Miles walked into the barn. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and dirt was splattered across his pants. He had been chopping firewood outside and set the axe against the wall. I took another step back as I looked between the pile of bones and my son.

"What is this?" I asked.

Miles walked closer. He bit down on his lip as he ran his fingers through his hair. The bones had to be human. We had few animals, and none were this size. Were these Oliver's remains? Did they not burn when Miles got rid of the body? The raw pieces of flesh meant that the bones could not have been in the flames. Miles could not have tried to burn the body.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I took care of Oliver," Miles said.

"You didn't burn or bury the body." I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat. "What did you do? Are pieces of him scattered over the farm?"

"You should go inside. Maisie probably has dinner ready."

I looked between Miles and the bones. He crossed his arms over his chest. His expression was blank as he stared at the pile. What was he not telling me? How could he dismiss me so easily?

"Don't forget that I am your Father," I said. "You cannot keep me in the dark. You need to tell me why these bones are in the barn."

Miles let out a deep breath, and his fingers curled tighter into his biceps. The slight movement told me he was stressed. What was he hiding?

"What did you do?" I asked again.

"Burning the body would have been a waste," he said. "I never went into town after I killed him. I never went to the butcher's."

The colour drained from my face, and my head spun as realization washed over me. My stomach twisted into a tight knot. I bit down on my lip to stop myself from leaning forward and vomiting. I closed my eyes as I took another step back, trying to separate myself from the bones.

His words repeated in my mind, but they could not be true.

Our hunger had disappeared. I excused the odd flavour and chewy texture of the meat as Miles getting a bad cut from the butcher. It never crossed my mind that Miles could cut up and serve Oliver's body to his family for dinner. There had always been accusations that Miles was disturbed. I had seen him kill three people, but he had good intentions. He did that to keep the family safe. I never thought he would resort to cannibalism.

"You are lying," I said.

The words slipped off my tongue without control. It was difficult to maintain my composure as my brain tried to process the information. My jaw was probably hanging open in shock while I shook my head. How could this be true? How could he decide to do this?

"I am not lying," he said. "We needed to do it. None of us are hungry anymore, and we never need to be hungry again."

"Again?" I asked. "You want to do this again?"

"I want to do this for as long as we need to."

I let out a deep breath as I ran my hand over my face. I turned my body even more to ensure I did not need to look at the bones. The horrible taste of bile was rising in the back of my throat. How could I be eating that for over a week without knowing? Why did I believe the story about the butcher?

"When will you tell Maisie?" I asked. "How are you going to tell her? She is going to be so emotional when she discovers what you have done."

"She already knows," he said.

I quickly spun to face my son. My teeth were so tightly clenched that I was amazed they did not shatter. Miles's expression remained unreadable, but at least he was no longer staring at the pile of bones. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, a few strands of his dark hair had fallen into his eyes, and he was quiet as he watched me seethe.

"She knows?" I asked. There was no attempt to hide the anger in my voice as I was close to shouting. As usual, Miles did not flinch. "Why did neither of you tell me? Were you planning on always keeping this hidden? I am your Father! How could you not tell me?"

"You're being emotional," Miles said.

I balled my fists at my side. My body trembled as I fought against the rage coursing through my veins. I could not fight Miles. Physically, he was now larger than me.

"Emotional?" I repeated his word. How could he call me that? That was how we described Maisie's hysterical crying. This was not the same. "I am your Father. You will respect me. I am the one who raised you. I-"

"Go inside," Miles cut me off. "This is not helping you."

My eyes widened, but Miles did not react to my anger. He remained still, like a statue I could not understand. How could he talk to me this way? How could he speak to me like I was beneath him? He needed to respect me. I was his Father.

Taking another look at my bones made me bite down on my lip to suppress my urge to fight. He did that to someone. I accepted that he was murdering people to keep the family safe, but this decision was harder for me to justify. How much further would he go?

I stepped back without saying another word. I refused to let my head hang down in fear as I turned and walked out of the barn. My breathing was shaky as I took deep breaths to try and control my anger. My hands trembled and nearly dropped the key as I unlocked the door.

When I stepped inside, the smell of dinner filled my nose. Only minutes ago, I was looking forward to the scent. Now, my stomach twisted into a tighter knot as I fought against the nausea.

Maisie was standing at the stove frying pieces of the meat.

Pieces of Oliver.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. Her face looked so soft and innocent. How could she be doing this? Miles said she knew, but that could not be possible. She would have been screaming and crying if she knew, just like how she reacted when Briar was dying.

"Joe-"

She started speaking, but I held my hand to cut her off. Luckily, she was smart enough to listen to me. I hurried up the stairs, trying my best to not be sick.

Had Miles taken protecting our family too far?