The Witch's Ichor

Voice Of Reason [36]

The door clicks shut behind Jamison as he slips into his home. The house is dark, so Jamison is careful to approach the stairs leading up toward his bedroom. He doesn't want to wake his father, especially not when he's carrying a firearm he definitely shouldn't have.

Click.

Jamison freezes as the lights come on. Sitting on the couch with his arms folded is Jamison's father, the last person Jamison wants to see right now. Sweat beads on Jamison's forehead as his father gestures for him to sit down.

"H-Hey, Dad..."

"Take a seat, Jamison."

Swallowing his excuses, Jamison takes a seat on the couch with his father. He leaves the case containing the gun by the door. Hopefully his father won't take notice of it.

"Bring that over," Jamison's father growls.

Jamison rises from his seat. His face is as white as paper as he brings the gun case over to the couch. He sits back down stiffly.

"Now I'm going to give you a chance to explain yourself, Jamison."

Jamison's father is giving him a cold look. The kind of look a cop gives a suspect. The kind of stare a normal person gives an insane person. It's not how a father usually looks at his child.

"Well, I was just hoping to get something to defend myself with..."

Jamison's voice is unsteady as he starts to spin a web of lies. His father doesn't stop him.

"Did you know there was an attack at the school?"

Jamison's father nods impassively. His expression doesn't betray what he's thinking.

"...Well, because of that I wanted to get this for self defense. I know it might-"

The words get caught in his throat when his father raises his hands to cup his own face. The usually stoic man is holding his head in his hands. Jamison watches in fascination as his father's shoulders tense. He is crying.

"D-Dad?"

Softly, the man's shoulders tremble. One single gasp of grief is all Jamison hears.

"Are you... crying?"

Hesitation gives way to urgency in that moment. Jamison quickly embraces his father, and hugs him tightly. Jamison's father reacts by putting one arm around his son. The sight of wet tears staining his father's face is hard for Jamison to bear.

Jamison's father steadies himself. His voice comes out sounding hoarse. Weak.

"I just... wish I had done things right, Jamie."

The sadness in his father's voice is too much. Jamison argues, his voice wavering.

"Dad, you didn't do anything... wrong."

Emotional pain forces a grimace onto Jamison's father's face. His thin lips twist into a scowl. He shuts his eyes as if to hide from it all. Jamison attempts to comfort his dad once more.

"This isn't your fault, I was just... being stupid-"

"No. I'm not talking about the fucking gun, Jamie."

Jamison's eyes widen at his father's language. He hardly ever uses crude language, much less that particular word.

"Then... about what?" Jamison asks.

Jamison watches his dad slowly look up from his lap. He follows his dad's gaze, and sees a particular picture of his late mother. A rather tall woman with lengthy brown hair. Jamison has already looked at her picture a thousand times.