Hope - A Louisentine Story

Chapter 17

Description: Guilt eats at Louis until he lets it out. With AJ's birthday approaching, the trio takes a trip back to Ericson to celebrate.

Wordcount: 4021

A/N: I am aware that AJ's birthday was in the dead of winter, of course. But for the purpose of the plot, I have taken the liberty of moving it ahead 6 months. It will hopefully become apparent as the next chapters come out

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Louis walked through the forest, the bright full moon hovering over him like a big eye in the sky. He looked around with caution, gripping the gun in his hand tightly. The hooting of owls broke the peaceful silence of the night. The branches of old trees scratched at him like bony hands, gripping his clothes.

A soft breeze picked up from somewhere on the north, making him shiver. As he heard howling from behind him, he picked up the pace, trotting over fallen branches and trunks. He could hear thunder in the distance, but one look at the sky told him no rain was forthcoming. A metal bar was sticking out of a trunk and he sidestepped it, inspecting it closely. It had specks of blood smeared on its tip, some of it fresh.

A sudden scream tore through the forest, sending nearby birds flying in every direction. His head perked up at the sound, the familiarity of it hitting a chord inside him. Clementine! He willed his legs to carry him toward the scream, going as fast as he could. Roots seemed to slither through the ground to take hold of his ankles. He fell more than once on his way to a clearing, his coat nearly in shambles from all the branches he'd brushed against.

In the middle of the clearing was a large man, kneeling over a body on the ground. Louis aimed his gun at the man, his hands shaking slightly as he approached him. His feet stepped over a few branches but they didn't seem to faze the man. He cleared his throat.

"Who are you?" he said in a deep voice that didn't seem to belong to him.

The man's head perked up at the sound of Louis's voice, a raspy chuckle escaping him. He stood up and turned around, Louis's face darkening in horror as realization hit him like a truck.

In front of him stood a tall man with broad shoulders. His beard was clean-shaven, with a thick brown mustache over his lips. He wore khaki pants, a white button-up shirt and a dark brown woolen sweater over it. "Hey, Louis," he said, his voice deep and raspy.

"D – Dad?" stuttered Louis, stepping back. How was he there? He hadn't seen his father in over fourteen years.

"Been a while, huh?" his father said, a smug smirk much like Louis's plastered on his face. Only this one held none of Louis's charisma and filled his son with pure dread.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just checking the scene out," he said offhandedly, gesturing to the body behind him. It was then that Louis noticed who it was. Miles Campbell lay on the ground with a bullet hole on his forehead, his glassy eyes staring blankly at the cloudless sky. Blood had stained the ground around his head, turning the dirt a deep crimson. "Nice shooting, Tex. You might just be my son after all."

Louis stared at his father, the gun shaking in his hand. His dad chuckled at the lost expression on Louis's face. "What's that supposed to mean?" Louis snapped.

"You haven't noticed?" inquired the older man, crossing his arms. "I wasn't sure at first, but we're more alike than you think."

Louis looked away. "I'm nothing like you, dad," he spat. "I'd never hit my own child!"

"You sure about that, kiddo?" his father mocked, raising an eyebrow. "We're on the same track, you and me. All the stops are the same; you're just a few years behind. Miles here proves it."