History Has Its Eyes On You ~ A Hamilton Fanfiction (Book 1, Act 2)

A New Story

!!WARNING!! - Some pretty graphic imagery

(David POV)

"STOP-!!"

"ARTHUR!!"

Flung away from the carriage, I hauled my son back to the pavement by the hood of his coat. Catherine dragged him to his feet, causing him to stumble over his own weight. "You reckless child, what were you th--!!"

The figure who saved him was forced beneath the carriage, with the hooves crushing against their skull. Their own blood marked the street red, filtering out every crack in the stones. Catherine chose to cradle our son in her arms, preventing him from witnessing the horrific event take place. I could not draw my eyes from it. Having observed the spillage of men's blood over the years, it was nothing peculiar. Yet, the scenario was one in which I had never viewed with my own eyes before.

The carriage came to a rapid halt at the end of the street. The body was deformed, unrecognizable; though, judging by that dress, it had been a woman, or otherwise some drunken cross-dressing fool. People sprang from their houses, from streets at every corner, having heard and some seen the commotion. "Hold your damn self, boy." I warned Arthur, appearing to weep into his mother's arm.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn-- The horses, they were beyond my control!!" The coachman, distinctively foreign by the accent, charged hurriedly down the street.
"You're sorry?!! You murdered an innocent woman, you bastard!!" A gent seized the coachman, encouraging folk around him to join. With a couple holding him down, they together pummelled him viciously into the mud, mixing his blood in with that of the corpse's.

Meanwhile, the other half of the proliferating crowd ran for the body. As much as I enjoyed spectating the malice ahead of me, I beckoned my wife and child away before hurdling myself towards the body, also. I did not care for the lost soul, nor did I show any pity. They were, based on my closer perspective of them, merely a girl who had foolishly used my son's endangerment as an excuse to end her own life. Even if she had not been there, Arthur would have surely saved his own life.

I crouched down to her; h/c hair, eyes that bulged helplessly from her head. Had I seen the figure before?

Pickpocketing was not my specialty, but a dead body gave me a higher advantage of drawing my skills to a success. Whilst some were busy trying to revive her, I snook my hand into her pocket, drawing out a folded piece of paper. Perhaps it was a cheque, a prosperous sum of money that could bring us affluency. To prevent my capture, I fled with the paper and back to my family.

"Well?" Catherine questioned, her hand supporting Arthur's head. "What is it?"
"I am unsure as of yet, but we must retreat. If I am suspected, I will bare the same fate as that halfwit over there." The coachman was now writhing in the floor in agony; the group that had attacked him slapped the hinds of his steeds, causing them to flee the scene.
"Then come."

Catherine thrusted Arthur along with a tight grip upon his hand. Even if the face was unrecognizable, I could have sworn that I'd seen it. Perhaps it was one of the many wenches out on the streets that has solicited me to their lodgings. I couldn't care that I had a wife; all I cared for was that she brought me a son who could carry on my name. Without him, I would fall into despair. My wife would likely abandon me from the grief, and then I would have nothing.

In any case, she led the way to our home on the outskirts of Whitechapel, roughly an hour's walk from our current location. Arthur wished to see the lights, and I reluctantly accepted to come with my pleading wife. To deter him, I informed him that it would be a long walk, but he denied the will to give in. And this was what he had brought us to: fleeing from the law merely because he could not watch his step.

"What thought were you to have, Arthur?!!" Catherine demanded, dragging him still as we trailed over a bridge. "You killed someone!!"
"My boy's a murderer." I chuckled.
"I'M NOT A MURDERER!!" he cried. Tears ran down the young lad's face and he let go of his mother's hand, cowering against the parapet of the bridge. It was a badge of shame to act in such a manner. For a boy of six, it was the least of my expectations that he should behave with immense pride. Instead, his cowardice humiliated me.

"W- Why can't we just be- be normal?!"
"I'll have none of that!" Catherine gripped his jacket, lunging him in front of her. He fell limp onto his knees with his face burning brightly. "You'd better get a move on home t' hide before the belt gets t' y' first!" Arthur frightfully dashed ahead. He certainly did not know his way home and was bound to get lost. We could simply leave him to it and await for his arrival, but I also felt that he was in need of certain punishment.

After meeting me, Catherine had indeed changed her mannerisms. She was a sweet girl, vulnerable to the world. So I married her. Upon becoming my wife, she learnt that her gentle actions would only get her hurt, as I demonstrated by inflicting harm whenever she made a wrong decision. When I felt that the moment was right, she gave me a son, and we together passed our way onto him in the hopes that he would become as great a success.

I pulled out the folded paper from my pocket. "What's that you got?" Catherine wondered.
"You go ahead and hunt him down. I'll have a look at what we've got here."
"Can we not just leave him to the dogs?"
"He needs to learn, Catherine, and learning requires firm punishment. Go, I'll be right behind you."

As Catherine left for our son, I began to unfold the piece of paper. I readied myself for the possible large sum of money that I was about to receive. I began to distinguish black markings. Intrigued, I hastily opened it up.

It was a drawing.

"Oh- Are you joking?!"

I inspected the sketch, hoping that my vision would suddenly shift to a bank note granting us hundreds.

Instead, I began to recognise the character.

Not only was the style of art familiar, but so was the man.

The man was me.

It was the sketch I had drawn especially for Sophie Hamil-

...That girl beneath the wagon.

"...Could it be...?" I rested my elbow onto the parapet, with my hand supporting my head. Not only had she kept the drawing, but she sacrificed her life for that of my son. Sophie Hamilton, the woman who I had only done wrong to for every encounter we shared. I fired my shot into her chest, I robbed her of her fortune, I betrayed her trust. I did not care for her. And yet, she...

She gave up her life for me.

She freed me from the camp after I was threatened with death, putting her reputation at risk. She permitted me to ride with her into New York, where I was an honorary guest to her home. She and the other girl were employed into work, all so they could raise money to send me on my way back to London. And now this. The life of my only son. She had been none but good to me, a force which I could not understand.

"What have I done..." I sighed. I had been staring at the image for at least ten minutes now, contemplating every decision that I had ever made. If it were not for her, I would have been pronounced dead upon that rack. I was fated to die that day. Sophie Hamilton was the replication of a Guardian Angel: she saved me. Was it right? Perhaps not.

I glared at the murky waters below. If it was written that I was truly intended for death, why live now? I had done many unpleasant things, committed many crimes, all without learning a thing. It was simple: I did not care for anyone. I was heartless. I did not even care that my son was who he was, I just cared that he was a son.

No.

Sophie Hamilton was destined to end this way for a reason.

I was ridden from crown to toe with sin.

This image was only a reflection of what I once was.

The man I used to be.

Taking my eyes from the water, I now glared directly at the sketch. David L/N... He was nothing now. I vigorously tore the paper into tiny fragments, tossing them into the river.

A new story had to begin.