Billie and Brandon: Untamed

19

Brandon climbed down the stairs of his home, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Papa had told him to wait for him to come upstairs to tuck him in, but it had been quite a long time now, and he still hadn't come up.

Brandon's mama would always tell him it was time for him to start going to sleep on his own since he was just shy of eight, but Brandon wanted to hold onto his childhood a little longer. Besides, Papa would always tell him fun bedtime stories about his old days as a saloon owner, controlling bandits left and right. It made Brandon want to own a saloon so he could stop all these crazy men.

His father had just started telling him the tale of a cowboy that came in one night and started up a massive shoot off. He was saying it was a pain as it was a busy night, but he said that he had never met someone that could shoot like him. He could shoot with the win, which sounded crazy, but Brandon really wanted to hear more about it. He didn't think anyone he knew could shoot with the wind. It was something that was rarely seen, and no one in particular had been able to accomplish it well. Then again, most people in his town were incredibly poor shots.

Brandon reached the bottom of the stairwell and walked to the parlor, expecting to see his mother and father resting there, reading. But the parlor was empty, no sign of them having even been in the room. Frowning in confusion, he walked past the stairs and down the corridor to his father's study. His papa often spent many nights working on the town affairs in there while his mama sewed or read her novels.

Brandon pushed open the door of the study, looking into the darkness apprehensively. He'd always been a little afraid of the dark.

"Papa? Mama?" he called out.

But there was no response.

Brandon swallowed and walked further down the corridor, padding softly, through the hall. Further down, he could see a light coming from under the doorway of his papa's office. He wasn't allowed in there, but Brandon would just go in quickly to ask his papa to tuck him in. He probably wouldn't get in trouble if he spoke as sweetly as he knew how.

He grasped the doorknob, his thumb brushing over the scratch mark he'd accidently made with a key when he had tried to sneak into Papa's office one time. But as he opened the door, the first thing he saw was a knife sticking through the portrait of his family behind the desk. And then there were a couple men standing on either side of a lifeless body on the ground. In horror, Brandon's eyes dropped to the body, and he gasped in shock as he recognised the body of his father, bleeding and unmoving.

He heard a strange gurgling sound from inside the room and stepped in cautiously, legs trembling and eyes wide. He was met with the image of his mother, gasping for breath from a bayonet that had been thrust through her chest by his uncle. Her dulled brown eyes turned slowly to Brandon and her lip quivered as blood trailed out of her mouth and dribbled down her face and neck.

"...Bra...ndon..." she choked out before her eyes fluttered closed, and her head dropped backwards.

"U-uncle Wesley?" Brandon whimpered, appalled by what he was seeing.

Wesley turned to face the young boy, and Brandon took a slight step back at the venom in his expression. His eyes were cold and empty, something that Brandon had never seen on the man's face before in his life. He had always been kind. Always smiling. Always so friendly.

Wesley janked out the blade from her chest, and Brandon's mother slumped to the floor with a sickening thump. Blood poured out of her wound and quickly began to spread on the ground.

"Oh my...You weren't supposed to see that."

But Wesley had a smile on his face. The same benevolent smile he'd always had on his face.