TPoB (First Draft)

Chapter 3

PRE CHAPTER CONTENT WARNING: People sensitive to themes of abuse should be weary of this chapter.

 The sermon seemed to last ages to Attwell. Only one thing really stuck out to him, and that was that as he left to head down to the choir room Mr. Rutherford went up to the priests stand. Now this in itself wasn't unusual in the slightest, Rutherford always did the second half of the sermon. What he said was what held Attwell's attention.

"Tuba em urini tuba," He said in a heavily accented voice. "Look at that dove on that tree."

As Attwell's curiosity roped him in, he couldn't help but stay behind a moment.

"Still fairly recently in South Africa a time of pain and suffering has ended. A period of institutionalized racial segregation that had been in place since nineteen forty eight. And during that time, there was a song that had been sung during their little peaceful protests against this. Tuba. Literally translated it's a simple back and forth of just 'look at that dove on that tree.' The dove, as you may have guessed, is in reference to the dove that had brought Noah an olive branch to show that the worst was over. I think of this a lot nowadays and wonder, what is my dove? How do I know that the worst is going to be over?"

Though Attwell was now wrapped up in what Rutherford had been saying he was pulled away.

Chelsea was the one that ended up coming back up to get him, flicking him on the back of the head to get his attention.

"What are you, blazed or something? You've got a restless choir downstairs, dipshit." She whispered to him as she dragged him by the arm down the stairs.

"What does that even mean?" He scoffed, tugging his arm free and heading down of his own will.

"Oh come on, man," She shot him a glare as she passed in front of him. "You can't expect me to believe that you don't get any slang."

"How would I?" He all but growled at her. "This is the only time I leave the house."

"Alright Mr. Creepy-Basement-Dweller, bet you're a real star in the video game community."

"We don't have games in our house. Unless you like chess that is."

They walked on in silence for a moment while Chelsea was uncharacteristically quiet. She was clearly thinking things over for a moment before completely stopping in her tracks.

"Attwell, what's the deal with you and your dad?"

The words hung in the air for a moment before they could really hit Attwell. He despised the concerned look Chelsea was giving him and the fact that she of all people could tell something was wrong in the first place.

"Well don't just stand there," She prodded, showing signs of genuine concern. "You can tell me."

"There's nothing to tell." Is what Attwell decided to let slip.

Of all people it could've been, Chelsea was the last person he wanted involved in his home life. As he continued on past her he could tell she wasn't buying it. Nevertheless he kept going to the choir room, not bothering to wait for her to follow after.

The silence hung stale in the air as they both kept walking, Chelsea's question nagging at Attwell. He couldn't help but feel a ravenous guilt about letting her worry at all. Worse than that was the desperate fear of what Caldwell would do if he let her, or anyone for that matter, into his life. It was difficult for Attwell to keep walking as his mind ran through all of the possible horrible punishments Caldwell must've already had in mind for him. Luckily for him they weren't far from the end of the stairs, so they managed to make it to the choir room fairly quick. Surprisingly enough, the mostly soundproof walls masked the majority of the chaos within the room. Upon opening the door he was hardly shocked to find three clumps of the girls chatting and listening to music on their new phones, a few small groups of boys sharing magazines, and a few kids messing around at the piano among other things. As Chelsea just passed by and took her seat next to some girls yelling to each other instead of talking, he couldn't help but shake his head.

"Alright!" Attwell commanded the attention of the room.

He watched in shame as only a few faces turned to him as the few at the piano took their seats.

"Alright!" He commanded again, louder this time, but still with little results.

With that the few faces who'd turned to him returned to their own conversations. Attwell knew they wouldn't listen as usual. But this time, he thought, This time I won't just waste my time down here. He took to the piano, trying not to mind them, and pulled out some sheet music of his own. Something loud to grab their attention, a slow build at first but growing from the first chord: The Danse Macabre. As he sat down to the piano he got a few curious looks, one in particular from Chelsea, and knew that his plan just may work.

With a playful tapping at the keys the song had begun the light notes catching the attention of a few. Soon the first loud chord was struck with a calculated bang at the keys. As Attwell went on he caught the attention of more and more of the choir members. The first chorus, A group of boys set aside their trading cards. A heavy suspension and the girls put away their phones. On and on he went through the dramatic piece until finally everyone was silent staring at him in awe.

They'd all looked completely shocked, beyond reason in fact. He wasn't quite sure if it was him they were staring at actually. It was as if there were something far more astonishing just behind him. He sat pondering for a moment until the realization hit him. He completely froze. The far door, he'd heard it open while he was playing. The sermon must've ended during the song and could only hope it wasn't who he thought.

Attwell's hopes were crushed when he heard the sickening sound of his father's voice come from behind him.

"Excuse me while I have a quick chat with my son here."

Suddenly Attwell felt an intense grip on his right arm as he helplessly watched another arm spring from behind him and grab the sheet music. He couldn't feel through the fear, leaving him not knowing whether or not, or rather how much, the fear showed on his face as we was practically dragged out of the room and into the next.

"Now what exactly was that!" Barked Caldwell as he confronted Attwell. "Because I know damn well that was not one of the songs for the church."

Caldwell was so furious that when he'd let Attwell go he practically shoved the boy into the wall, causing him to hit hard and even knock a hanging cross off the wall. Attwell couldn't respond with the air knocked out of his lungs, but still Caldwell persisted.

"Tell me Mr. Teen Disobedience, just where did you get ahold of this trash?" Caldwell demanded of him, holding the sheet music before Attwell's face.

"Victoria-" He managed to cough out, gasping for breath.

"You're telling me that your respectable aunt Victoria, the same Victoria that played for the church, who would always do what she could for family gatherings, who was a good christian woman was secretly taking part in this filth and encouraged you to do the same?"

Attwell could tell he wasn't making it any better, in fact he was making it far worse for himself if anything.

"Well let me tell you this," Caldwell went on, being careful as he could to make sure no one else would hear. "Today may be the lord's day but that will not stop me from sending you to the cellar tonight. No amount of intervention from you mother or grandfather will change my mind and if I find you in your room so help me god I will-"

Just then Caldwell tensed up as he was cut off by Mr. Rutherford walking in.

"Oh! Pardon me Mr. Price, I didn't mean to intrude. I was just-" Rutherford began in his common apologetic way.

"No! No, excuse me Mr. Rutherford." Caldwell cut him off, snapping right back into that fake friendly demeanor of his. "I was just having a brief chat with Attwell here. Though if you wouldn't mind stepping out for a brief second..."

"Of course! No mind at all." Rutherford said as he politely stepped out, leaving Attwell to endure whatever final punishment Caldwell had for him.

"Remember this the next time you so much as think of disobeying me again." Caldwell growled, giving him a cold glare followed by a hard strike from the back of his hand.