My Full Confession

The Boundaries Of God and The Becoming Of One

All we could hear was the beating of our own hearts, the beating and the horrible footsteps as our father went downstairs to retrieve the body. The dead body. I tried to make a noise; I tried to say anything at all. I even tried to cry, just for a moment...yet nothing happened. I was frozen; we were both frozen, in the positions he had found us in. We couldn't do anything to comprehend; we just stared at the now closed door, we stared at the darkness. We...we could do nothing but stare. It's sort of a blank, from there on out I don't know how we got out of the room, I don't know how we got into the barn. I just remember something about jumping out the window, I remember my brother leading me barefoot through the grass, under the cloudy night sky, rushing towards the barn. Tears were streaming down my face, yet I held fast to his hand, now my only ally in this hellish world, and allowed Mycroft to bring me to the barn where Redbeard was waiting. I'm not sure if it was a dream or not, I'm not sure if I inserted something into my own memories that I thought out to be there...well it all seems much too fantastic looking back. But I remember, I remember so hazily, having seen a figure in the yard as we ran. I very briefly remember looking off towards the fields, and seeing a figure with a shovel making its way into the corn. Mycroft clambered onto the horse and dragged me along behind, and together we rode off into the night, the old horse moving fast as lightning as Mycroft steered him from the pasture and onto the road, kicking him repeatedly in the sides so as to get away, to get far away, and as fast as we possibly could. I broke down then, seeing the house as it faded away into the night sky. I felt the tears streaming down my face; I felt the sobs as they pushed through my throat. I still couldn't properly understand, I still couldn't comprehend at that moment that I would never see my mother again. At that moment it merely seemed...it merely seemed temporary. It felt as though the pain might go away, and when the sun rose she would be there again to make us breakfast. It felt as though it was just a night of pain, not the beginning of an eternity of it. Such wounds never heal, such wounds cut so deep that they hurt with every gesture, with every movement. And yet I hadn't even realized that I been hurt, I didn't know where the strike had fallen. I just felt pain, and cried about it. Cried because I could think of nothing better to do. We arrived outside of the sheriff's house, that glossy white building with columns out front. Well of course Victor was the only one we knew to run to, the only one we could run to, in the end. When we knocked it took a long while for the butler to finally arrive, and yet we knocked so repeatedly that in the end the man appeared, looking rather disheveled and confused as to why anyone was knocking at such an hour. I hadn't realized how late it had gotten until I saw the tired look on the poor man's face.
"Can we see Victor, please?" Mycroft asked, having tied Redbeard up outside. He was now holding my hand tightly, and upon glancing once at my tear streaked face the butler nodded his head, admitting us rather hesitantly while rushing up the stairs to get young master Trevor.
"Mycroft? William? What are you doing here?" Victor asked immediately after being summoned, pulling a very thin robe over his bare shoulders and rushing down the stairs in some urgency. His usually styled hair was flopped over top of his forehead, and yet it gave him a much more human look than I had ever witnessed before. His natural state was a lot less intimidating, in a way.
"Can we talk upstairs?" Mycroft insisted, reaching out for Victor's hand. The boy took it earnestly, a gesture I had not even considered then, and bid his butler goodnight. The servant bowed, and retreated off to his quarters, leaving Victor to tote my brother and I up the stairs to his own room. For a moment he lit the gas lamps, allowing the two of us to sit up on his bed and shiver together. I was still crying, yet my tears had grown silent and I just leaned against my brother's shoulder, watching as our bare chested host went about the room to make things brighter and more comfortable. He then swooped back over to my brother's side, clutching him by the shoulder in a way that might appear to be consoling.
"Whatever is that matter at this hour?" Victor wondered anxiously, his eyes passing from Mycroft and to me instead. He had bright blue eyes, obnoxiously brilliant and difficult to look away from. Even worse, he never seemed to blink. Yet he seemed softer that night, probably because he felt himself in a position of power. Perhaps he thought that by our running to him, it meant that we owed him something in the end.
"I think...well I think our father killed our mother." Mycroft whispered, his breath coming heavily now as he spoke the truth out loud. "We heard her falling, and he came in...he told us..." the poor boy's voice trailed away, and he now broke into his own set of fresh tears. This was the first time I had ever seen my brother cry, and unfortunately it was not going to be the last. It was a terrible shock for me, seeing the pillar of reason and responsibility now degraded into such a fragile, if not broken state. It was almost fearful, for whatever problem I had it always seemed to be a trivial matter for my brother, if not something completely unimportant all together. And yet now he was not the strong one, he was in no position to comfort me, considering he was in need of consoling as well. And that was where Victor came in, I suppose. My brother collapsed into the boy's chest, wrapping his arms around his neck in a state of helplessness and hiding his face into Victor's neck. I sat rather awkwardly, listening to my brother sob, listening to the quite mumbles of reassurance that Victor was able to offer. For a moment I felt neglected, and yet there was nothing I could do now but wait until my brother regained control. I heard his breaths come impossibly quick; I heard his sobs become muffled, until finally he was just cuddled against Victor, hyperventilating in his own grief. That was when I truly understood the severity of all of this. As so as my brother became upset, well only the worst of tragedies would force a tear from his cold eye. Evidently there was no denying it; we were nothing better than orphans. The woman who loved us was now gone, and we were left in the hands of a merciless tyrant, a man who wanted us as slaves, and not as intellectuals. A man who would abuse us, and neglect us, and make us into laborers. Neither of us would go to college, neither of us would develop into anything more than a straw hat and a pair of overalls. This was to be our life, was it not? And without the love and support that our mother offered, the woman who would always take our side...well that was why my brother wept. Because for the first time, we found ourselves truly helpless, and at the mercy of our father. We found ourselves truly alone.
"Mycroft, calm down." Victor breathed, finally beginning to come to life, to regain his humanity and comfort the boy. He rubbed his hand carefully down my brother's back, like a mother reassuring her crying child, and with the other hand he picked Mycroft's head up carefully, so that he could look him in the eyes.
"It will all be alright, Mycroft. It will be quite fine." Victor assured. My brother sniffled, nodding his head and finally overcoming his grief, coming to grips with himself and turning a shade of red in embarrassment. And yet he didn't turn away, I had rather expected him to, with his face so close to Victor's. In all of his speeches to me about personal space, well I had rather assumed he would follow his own advice. I had assumed he might have been careful for his own life, and his own reputation, when it came to boys and their proximity. Yet here he was, lying in the arms of the law, and staring so fixatedly at those blue eyes that I thought he had fallen into some sort of trance. Their faces were so close together, and it looked as if...well my young mind wasn't quite able to process the look I was able to see in my brother's eyes. It was a look I hadn't recognized before, or felt before. It was the look that came along with being so close, and being so intimate, and hovering lips just inches apart...I realize now that my brother wanted Victor more than anything else in the world. I realize now that simply staring into the boy's eyes was enough to distract him from the grief he was suffering. Yet in the moment I was clueless. In the moment, I was just bothered that I was not getting the attention I thought I deserved.
"Calm down." Victor whispered softly, to which my brother nodded slightly. He leaned in farther, brushing their cheeks together lightly, his lips touching for just a moment against Victor's ear.
"You're still here." Mycroft murmured. "You're here."
"I'm here." Victor assured, touching his fingers lightly against the back of Mycroft's neck, yet finally looking past him. He looked entirely uninterested, he looked burdened if anything. My brother had degraded into a helpless state, and I could tell that Victor did not appreciate weakness. And so he looked beyond my brother, while still playing his fingers against Mycroft's hairline, and looked into my eyes instead. I sat uncomfortably still, with my hands now clenched together, listening again to Mycroft's whimpering. Victor stared into my soul; those blue eyes were as penetrating as any blade might be. I felt vulnerable, I felt afraid. Yet he opened his mouth, parting his lips ever so slightly, and gave me a look that scared me even more than did my own father. A look that was dripping with power, and the idea that whatever he wanted, he would get. A look that seemed to remind me that I was beneath him, we all were, and with a beckon his hand he could control us, and with a kick of his foot he could send us away. I tucked into myself, collapsing my shoulders so as to make a protective little ball, looking away from Victor's gaze now and feeling fresh tears well up in my eyes. It was a sad moment, when the only person we had to run to was just another one who could harm us, if he liked to. We were, the two of us, so incredibly vulnerable. So incredibly misperceived.
"Mycroft, why don't you lay down?" Victor suggested, finally pushing my brother off of him with some force. Mycroft nodded, falling out of the boy's grasp and trembling slightly on the blankets, staring up at the ceiling and letting the tears which were still clinging to his cheeks run off of his face at odd angles, and in every direction that gravity might permit. "Get your head on the pillow, Mycroft. Try to sleep. You'll feel better if you sleep." He insisted. Mycroft nodded, having fallen into the most submissive state I've ever witnessed. He seemed entirely in Victor's control, like a puppet on strings, being commanded by every whim of his master. He moved as commanded, letting himself lay in the mess of blankets, in the imprinted mattress where Victor's body was normally cradled. He slept comfortably there; just as soon as Victor commanded it my brother's eyes fell shut, and he did not wake again. He didn't wake unless Victor permitted it. It was then that I was left alone with Victor Trevor, sat uncomfortably on the edge of his bed, knowing of course that I had no defense from him. I was too young then, to understand the danger I could possibly be in. I was too young to comprehend the depths of his wicked soul. Thankfully that night I would not realize. Thankfully, that night he didn't try to harm me. He was a different sort of villainous, still young enough not to know his own boundaries, and so keeping confined into much smaller ones of his creation. That night he was still fearful of God, for he had not yet decided that he was one.
"William, you must be upset too." he decided quietly, getting to his feet and readjusting his robe over his chest. He really was an impressive figure; I knew that even at that age. He was tall and thin, yet lean and strong in his own way. He had well defined bone structures, and just the hint of muscles underneath his smooth skin. Well of course I didn't know what sort of beauty men could possess; or rather I couldn't appreciate it. Coupled with that, I didn't know that anyone could gauge me on a scale of beauty either. I didn't know that Victor and I had many similarities, and I was on the way to becoming not just his aesthetic equal, but his rival. His superior, even. He didn't like the idea that there was a man more beautiful than him, yet now looking down upon me, he would not have guessed. Or rather he would not have feared.
"I am." I agreed, wiping away my tears so that he would not notice them. I knew then that I ought to be strong, or at least I ought to be stronger than my brother was. I didn't want to embarrass myself, like he had. I didn't want to be so easily overcome with emotions, for I could tell that Victor wasn't impressed by that. I could tell that it annoyed our host, if nothing else. He swept up next to me, sitting down close and putting his arm around my shoulder in his own attempt of comfort. Well of course he didn't make me feel any safer, quite the opposite actually. He made me afraid, that arm was something more of a cage, and I almost trembled from being so closer.
"Your brother pretends that he is made of ice, William. But he is so easily melted." Victor whispered, hugging me even closer so that my arm was cutting into his side, so deep into his thin flesh that I could feel his heartbeat against my bones. Surprisingly, it was quick.
"You can't blame him for crying. Not at a moment like this." I insisted.
"I too lost my mother, when I was very young." Victor assured. "So I have some grasp of understanding, at least."
"Then why do you mock him?" I wondered.
"Because he is seven years your elder, William. And yet there he lies, like a baby crying itself to sleep. And here you sit, strong. Brave. You are not afraid of what is to come, William. You have wisdom beyond your years, and a heart that is truly made of strong stuff." Victor whispered, touching his hand upon my chest as if for proof that there was something beating behind my rib cage. Instinctively I swatted his hand away, to which he merely chuckled, but obeyed.
"Don't you like to be touched, William?" he wondered quietly.
"Not really." I admitted. Victor chuckled, yet still he held me against him.
"I rather remember you and that...that John Watson fellow. How long gone he is now...Well you were always so close to him. Never cared about his touching you, did you?" Victor reminded me. My heart ached to hear the name, the name that had not passed my lips since last I saw the boy. He would have been here for me, if he had still be around to care. He would've held me close, just as I did for him when his father had been arrested. He would've lulled me to sleep with the idea that everything was going to be okay. Oh if only he hadn't left me! If only he had been there to comfort me, and to hold me in his arms like he so often did.
"He's different." I insisted.
"Why?" Victor asked immediately. "What makes John Watson any different from me?"
"He's my best friend." I defended. "He's like family."
"I am your brother's best friend." Victor defended.
"I hardly know you." I pointed out. The boy chuckled, his eyes flashing now with some sort of danger.
"And yet here you sit, in my house, on my bed. In my arms." He reminded me. I shivered away from him, yet he kept a grip on my shoulder. I tried to push him away, until finally he released me with something of a chuckle. I retreated towards my brother's sleeping form, hoping that he might wake up without me having to prod him. Yet I felt a spark of fear, I remember it so distinctly. Just the first spark of fear for that boy, which would turn into a blazing fire soon enough.
"I'm sorry William; I did not mean to scare you." Victor whispered, his eyes settling on me again. He was still within arm's reach, yet he kept his hands to himself.
"I want to go to sleep too." I said quickly.
"Well of course." Victor agreed, getting to his feet and gesturing that I might sleep where we had just been sitting. I very apprehensively lay down upon the bed, snuggling next to my brother for protection, and watching our host as he smiled at me for just a moment. I closed my eyes, or rather I pretended to, and waited until his footsteps continued. Then I opened them, watching as Victor went about the room and extinguished the oil lamps, one by one. The room fell into darkness, and my eyes strained to watch as he snuffed out the last. And then, silhouetted by the moonlight that was sneaking in through the thin curtains, he brought his hands to his shoulders, and pushed his robe off of his shoulders where it would fall to the floor by his feet. This scared me, and so I closed my eyes again. I only felt the weight of the bed, now trying to support three bodies, as Victor settled himself down on the other side of my brother. The three of us lay there for a long while, two with our eyes wide open, and our hearts beating wildly. Mine in fear, and Victor's in opportunity. I knew that he liked to feel power; I knew that it gave him the illusion of strength. He felt invaluable that night, immortal in a way. He felt as though we were entirely at his mercy, and he liked the idea of that. He liked the idea of owning people through favors, and helping people through his own selfish agenda. He was a villain, that I understood quite clearly that night. Yet I did not yet know why.