It All Came Falling Down

eighteen

Present Day
    I take a seat in front of Arlyn and her son, wiping away at the tears on my face with a handkerchief. The biscuits before me are untouched and the cup of tea has already turned cold. “So you see,” I tell them between sobs, “War isn’t a beautiful thing. On the outside, I appear to be a hero— a man of honour, who served his nation selflessly. But in reality, I am nothing more than a veteran who returned from war, who was simply given that useless shiny medal and a bunch of gifts that hide all of the terrible atrocities I have witnessed and committed. I’ve earned nothing except post traumatic stress disorder and a damned dysfunctional family. I’ve done nothing else with my life than waste my money on alcohol and countless women.”
    That is the truth. I am a nobody, deployed at a young age into battle and lost everything I’ve ever loved. I’ve made no impact on anybody’s life, and if anything, I probably destroyed theirs. I look down at my arms; the scars from the frontlines are still visible, but some are more recent. There are newer wounds created by slashing my wrists with a combat knife; those are punishments and reminders for the terrible things I’ve done and are the close encounters of death, when I lost the will to live longer. 
    “You see, Kanston, I think you’re forgetting something,” Arlyn speaks after a moment of silence, interrupting my dark thoughts. 
    “What?” I look up at her. 
    “You’re forgetting the part where the lead investigator for your wife’s death was Inspector Mardius Frutel, an old brother in arms, who did you a favour and labelled her death as suicide. Isn’t that right?” Arlyn stares deep into my weary eyes.
    “How could you have possibly— Who the hell are you?” I freeze in shock. 
    “Nathan, honey, why don’t you go into the next room and let mommy talk to this man alone,” she urges her son to leave. Turning back to me, she continues. “Well, isn’t that right? When she came to help you, you shot her in the chest.”
    “It was an accident!” I cry. “Who the hell are you?”
    “So it is true,” Arlyn shakes her head 
    “You think I wanted her dead? I was suffering. I didn’t even know what was going on!” I raise my voice through trembling and tears. “To this day, I still remember her looking up at me with still eyes as blood shot out of her fatal wound. I still remember her gasping for air, while I stood there uselessly instead of trying to save her. And I still hear her shaking voice whispering her last words, ‘I love you,’ everytime I go to sleep!”
    Arlyn stands up and pulls out a pistol, which she aims directly at my face. “You think you were the only one who suffered? Huh?” 
    “That’s hers. That’s Hero’s!” I say with eyes wide open, recognising the handgun that Hirokulysia used to carry in her holster when she was dressed in her maroon top and camouflage trousers. “How did you get that?!” I question. 
    The woman ignores my question. “You see, I was raised in a household that really messed me up. On the outside, the Dunstead family was the epitome of families, but behind that façade, was a mother who beat me, a father who groped and raped me, and siblings who bullied me. I lived in their basement for years, and when I finally could not handle the suffering anymore at sixteen, I ran away from home. I asked the police for help, but the inspector they sent, your comrade Mardius, did absolutely nothing at all! So I took matters into my own hands. I killed that bastard and took his gun.”
    I gasp, suddenly remembering a news headline from some time ago: ‘Police inspector beat to death; killer still at large.’ “You killed him?” I ask through gritted teeth. 
    “Yes, and proudly too,” Arlyn smirks. “Then I used his gun on the Dunsteads. Oh, the magnificent things I had done to them— seeing the fear and pain in their unremorseful eyes before I mercied them.
    “Why the hell are you telling me this?” I ask. 
    “Because the Dunstead family wasn’t enough to satisfy my craving,” she tells me. “I wanted to find the person responsible for putting me in that damned home! You see, I was adopted, and my records say my name wasn’t Arlyn Dunstead; it was Addilaya Wyllis.”
    My jaw drops as I sit there still. Now, I couldn’t take my eyes away from her face. I start to see the resemblance of her mother from her facial features. 
    Arlyn— or Addi, as it seems, steps forward, putting her gun is at point blank range. “So I did my own investigation, which led me to my birth mother, Hirokulysia Kamisteo, who was already dead. But why would a mother put her child in someone else’s home? There were no records of her, so I figured maybe she lived in this country illegally. Well, then my research had led me to someone of the name: an army sergeant by the name of Addilaya Balfour, who was killed in action in the Esdrusian invasion of Central Anfaria. It also led me to the lead investigator of Hirokulysia’s case: a former lieutenant named Mardius Frutel, the same cop I killed when I was a teenager. And you know what the one thing that connected all of these people was? A war veteran with severe PTSD and abusive tendencies. You.” 
    “Is that so?” I asked, standing up. I am weeping like a little kid, but I face her and the muzzle of the pistol fearlessly like a soldier. 
    “Yes, it is. All my life was suffering. Even my son is a damned rape baby!” Addi glared at me; her finger was on the trigger and ready to pull back. “And I want to escape from these voices— these troubles in my head. I finally found you, you son of a bitch. It was because of you, I was raised by the Dunsteads into a living tragedy. After thirty long years without even knowing who you are, I finally found the darn asshole who ruined my life and didn’t even have the love and effort to find me. So, let’s make this quick; you got any last words, Dad?”