Hollowmire

Punishment - Now

"Okay," Marty nodded. The boys' mother continued to murmur, her voice barely audible. Marty's large boot tapped rhythmically against the dirty carpet beneath him as he rubbed his beard, clearly lost in thought. His deep-set eyes remained fixed on the ground. Though her tone was shrill, the woman spoke so quickly and softly that only Marty could make out her words.

"No," he said, leaning over to rub her back. "Of course, it's not your fault."

A few tears streaked down her face as she spoke, but she quickly brushed them away. Marty continued to console her, rubbing her leg and back. Suddenly, he stood up, the wooden chair scraping noisily against the floor. The woman fell silent.

"It's fine," he said reassuringly. "I'll take care of this. Just leave it to me, love."

"Oh..." she replied, glancing nervously at Liam and his brothers. "O-Okay."

Marty walked over to the boys, smiling down at them. Davey returned a hesitant smile, while Liam lit a cigarette, watching his mother squirm in her chair. Brock was absorbed in a small rabbit he held, which was covered in grime and missing an ear.

Marty knelt in front of Brock, but the boy didn't acknowledge him. After a moment, Marty said, "Let's have a chat, Brock."

Brock looked up. He frowned and looked toward his mother. She looked away from him. He then looked to Liam. The brothers spent a moment staring at each other as they leaned against the dusty couch. "Don't look at your brother or your mother, Brock," Marty sternly said, "Look at me."

"Why do you want to talk?" Brock asked.

"Come with me," Marty said calmly. Brock furrowed his brow and placed the rabbit on the couch. Liam couldn't tell if it was dead or alive. "Come on," Marty repeated softly as he started down the hall. Brock hesitated but followed, his small, muddy feet leaving dark smudges across the carpet. Marty led the way through the narrow hallway, stopping at the master bedroom. "In here, Brock."

"Why?" Brock sternly asked.

"In here," Marty insisted.

Reluctantly, Brock stepped past a stack of empty cardboard boxes and entered the room. Marty closed the door gently but firmly, the sound of the lock clicking into place reverberating through the hallway. Davey stood up, taking a step toward the door.

"Don't," their mother said. Davey stopped in his tracks.

"What's he doing?" Liam asked, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the couch when he was sure his mother wouldn't notice–or care.

"Disciplining him, for leaving you guys the other day," she replied, her tone tired. "I trust Marty with this stuff."

"Why–?"

"Liam," she interrupted, rubbing her weary eyes. "I can't do it all by myself... I've been raising you kids on my own for so long, and Marty's been a godsend. Your brother could've been kidnapped, for Christ's sake! I just... I need help."

Liam sighed, exchanging uneasy glances with Davey as they stared at the closed door. He glanced at his mother, and when their eyes met, he scowled. She blew out some smoke, clenching her jaw before ordering, "Go heat up some dinner for you and your brothers."

Liam stood up without a word and headed outside. As his grimy feet touched the welcome mat, he scanned the yard. To his left, flies buzzed around a freezer, feasting on the remnants of spilled meatloaf. To his right, past a rusty bike missing a wheel and a small trampoline, lay the narrow path alongside the house. Checking to make sure his mother wasn't watching, he swiftly made his way down the uneven walkway.