The Betrayal

Chapter 2 - 'Uncle'

I sat back on my knees and waited for what seemed like hours, too petrified to move. The police arrived and called out for anyone inside. I assumed one of the neighbours had called them in a panic due to the vile screams and loud smashes. They eventually shattered open our wooden door and a full team poured in like ants swarming food. A woman officer rushed to me with a blanket and carried me outside to paramedics, who arrived not long after the police. She sat me down on our front steps and tried to comfort and console me, but the damage was already done. Every sound fell silent again as I watched the two body bags of my parents carried out of our house and taken away from me, forever.

We arrived at the nearest police station and the woman took me into a room. It was an interrogation room, like the ones seen on TV shows or crime films, although she reassured me this was only because there was no where else she could speak to me in private. She began to ask me positive questions about my home and family life but I only answered with short and not detailed answers. My father always used to say we had "cool" family secrets that shouldn't be revealed to anyone not of our blood. I used to think this was just a fantasy game he liked to play with me, but I always made a vow to follow his wishes and so I did. I didn't know what these secrets were however, so I was vague about nearly everything. She then questioned me seriously about what happened. I don't know why, but I had the feeling that what happened that night was what my dad meant by "secrets", so I lied and said I only found them and seen nothing. After a long wait, she re-entered the room and told me I had only one family member left, my dad's older brother.

I spent the night in the station as not a single officer could get in contact with my uncle. Apparently he had no records, social media or phone number. The story was then revealed to the public, and the news outlets and papers had a field day. The next morning, the same police woman who had stayed with me all night took me to the morgue. We arrived and were taken into the room containing the bodies, on racks behind the small metal doors. It was awfully cold, and the goosebumps on my body grew like mountains. The coroner looked over his files, hesitantly but calmly stating,

"If you're uncle doesn't arrive any time soon Nathan, it will be up to you to identify the bodies. This is your responsibility little man, please be honest and if you need any help or time, we're here for you."

The coroner ripped the cover off my father, revealing a sickening smell. But before I could speak the doors slammed open and a bellowing voice echoed around the room,

"Don't you dare show him that! Get him out of this room right now!"

I turned to see a man of average height, he had short brown hair and similar facial features to my father, a large nose, tiny chin, small eyebrows and stubbly facial hair. Although he was not large in terms of muscle mass, he was very toned and looked extremely strong, also like my father. This had to be my Uncle. The coroner beckoned him over,

"Uncle Aaron I presume?"

Aaron ignored the question, knelt in front of me and firmly grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look straight into his sea-like blue eyes. He comforted me and told me of his apartment that he really wanted me to come and live in. Obviously, I instantly agreed. Settling in was made so easy due to Aaron's help. He gave me the spare room and decorated it exactly how I wanted. For an apartment it was really large and had a brilliant kitchen, very clean bathroom, massive dining room with an extensive table, and a living room that rivalled my house. I didn't know how close Aaron lived from us, only a few streets away. We never spoke about Uncle Aaron, so I didn't feel comfortable calling him Uncle and I think he preferred to be called Aaron anyway. I assume he and my father fell out a long time ago and pushed each other out of their lives. The way he treated me though, as a child I could never understand how my father hated him. Overtime I became closer to him, and he was more of an older brother than an Uncle. We were the only family we had.

Every day he drove me to school in his yellow Chevrolet Camaro. It was a beautiful car, and the engine roared like an untamed lion. I had no idea how he had so much money as he didn't work, but I never bothered to ask. Unfortunately, I was too scared to tell him I was brutally bullied all the time and even though he was concerned about the black eyes, bruises and cuts, it was easy to lie and say I was just "playing" or "messing around". At this point I had no friends, no one to confide in, and no one to protect me. The teachers did nothing to help and seemed to turn a blind eye to the mockery and beatings I received. Primary School became a living nightmare, but nothing came close to the horror of that night. Everything seemed easy compared to surviving that traumatic ordeal and returning to normal life, so I sucked up the pain and carried on.