The Godfather Legacy

CHAPTER TWO

1972, APRIL

He could feel his heart beating as he ran towards the house. Breathless, hair drenched with sweat and tears which is starting to dry with dirt marks on his cheeks, He turned towards the curve. As he ran on the curve, His legs tangled on itself. He tripped and fell on the pavement. Hands were scratched, as he blocked his face on hitting the asphalt road. He tried not to think of how his hands felt burning, or the wounds on his knees which are starting to trickle blood. He stood up, dusted off the dirt off his shorts and continued to run home. If one were to see him, it is as if he was being chased by someone. If only they could read what he's thinking, it was the contrary. For in his mind, Patrick was not running away, but rather he was running towards someone or something - Whatever that is. He fidgeted the doorknob as he made his way inside the apartment. Upon opening, Patrick stopped just behind the door, opening it slightly, and looked around, making sure that his mother is nowhere to be seen. He then continued to stepped inside, rushed towards the room and opened the door. He then stopped.

Hand still on the door knob, he breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath, and staring at the drawer. Unlike the rush he felt before, he bid his time. Patrick slowly walked towards the drawer as if his life depended on his pace, as if he was walking on a floor filled with broken glass and the only way towards the drawers is to walk slowly and carefully. His heart beat harder than before. He wasn't running but it sure was throbbing, trying to claw its way out of his chest. He was terrified and nervous as he moved closer and closer. Inches away, he stopped and held the knob. And, there his heart stopped beating.

Carefully opening the drawer, He caught the glimpse of what's inside. Patrick pulled the object out of the cabinet, lifting it carefully as if his life depended on it, in his case, it may just be if he's not cautious. He clenched it with his left hand, supporting it with his right - It was heavy. He almost lost his grip as he moved his hands. He positioned himself facing the bed, still thinking about the consequence if the object fell on the wooden floor. Patrick lifted his arms just over the bed, making sure that if he lost grip, it would fell on the soft cushion. He stared at it, studying its features. The black metal shined as the sun lit through the window. Its heaviness, black color and smell would make up for its reputation of being deadly. He knew a boy like him should never play nor be near with a gun, but his curiosity won over. - His need won over. But as he was curious, he is also careful, never putting his hand on the trigger. Though he was starting to get curious too well. He thought, if he would pull the trigger just once, that curiosity will be satisfied. Patrick's thoughts brought him into a vile idea, - it wouldn't be such a bad idea if he were to use it, say to a bad man who deserved death. He smirked, imagining himself pulling the gun towards that man. Maybe, just maybe, he should it - Now. Before his heart started to guilt him further for even thinking about it. Patrick made up his mind. Just as he turned around, tucking the gun in his shorts, he was startled as he saw his uncle standing by the doorway.

His uncle just stood there, staring at the nervous boy, - eyes widened, sweat beading on his forehead. His uncle looked at the tucked gun clumsily hanging on his hips. Patrick cringed as his uncle breathed in deeply. He waited for a shout, a slap in the face, a punch in the gut.

"Who was it?" His Uncle Tom asked in his low voice.

Patrick stared at his uncle with a glare, a look that Tom recognized. Just like his father, he thought. Tom knew Patrick had a reason to get his gun. He's planning on knowing it, "Paolo's father. I saw him beating Paolo," He looked away and continued, "I thought I could..." He averted not because of fear but because of embarrassment. He felt stupid for planning something even Patrick thought as idiotic.

"You could what, boy?" Tom emphasized.

Patrick glared back at his uncle, "I want to help him, Uncle Tom,"