Occasional somber torches flicker in the dark alleyways spreading through the slums, their light casting long, faded shadows. Their smoke is the only thing that physically escapes this place.
Hayes’s eyes dart from side to side, up and down, as he navigates back home. It was a mistake to leave late, gangs will take their chance to rob a young boy of his new clothes any day of the week. And there’s no scarcity of gangs with rampant poverty and famine. Even Hayes himself has had recruitment attempts. Cefre had the right of it; he would never accept. He would politely decline by running as fast as he could to not get a thrashing instead.
His heart beating fast, his breath almost a pant, and his step nearly a run. Not long now. Just around the corner past the tobacco store and home is in sight.
A shadow swipes past on the floor in front of Hayes. A thief or gangster? Pretend like you don't know, he thinks. His step speeds up slightly and focuses on his hearing. Crunching of his footsteps on the sand path and soft crackle of torches are all he hears. Was it just a trick of his mind, or was it just someone crossing an alley behind him?
Doesn't matter. Hurry now. He breaks into a sprint, swings the door open, and slams it shut behind him. His heart beating out of his chest, shallow breaths escape his lungs.
“Who the fuck is destroying my door?!” his father shouts from the bedroom. Creaking of a chair and subsequently floorboards followed. Hayes’s movements freeze.
Dalder rounds the corner and hisses, “Stupid boy! Have ya got more ta destroy, huh?”
His breath stinks of alcohol, his clothes of sweat and vomit. What is left of his hair is bound into a scraggly ponytail, and even littler teeth remain. Like Hayes, he is skinny and weak, but time has done him no good and his posture is all but bent forward, now supported by a walking stick.
“Sorry, father, someone was chasin-”
A sharp pain brings Hayes to the ground as his father's walking stick whacks him on the side.
“It's yer own damn fault yer out in the middle of the night. Get up, you,” Dalder snarls. He frowns after a moment and says, “I ain't put ya in them clothes. Mm?”
Reluctantly, Hayes gets up and replies, “Someone gave it to me.”
“An’ who’s this someone? Them’s got coin as far as I'm seein’,” he snickers.
Hayes doesn't reply.
“Listen, boy,” Dalder continues as he swings his arm around Hayes, “you an’ I can make a fortune, yeah? Ya got in them heads already, givin’ you this stuff. Damn fools, eh? Ya just need ta be ya normal, fuckin’ useless self an’ make ‘em look like them clowns from up in whatchamacallit. And then we live like bloody kings in this shit hole.”
“But they're nice people…” Hayes carefully protests.
Dalder scoffs, “Folks with coin ain't ever nice people. Ya should've got that in ya ears since ya was a little nipper. I says it now and always ‘ave. I reckon they’s gonna send ya off some place. ”
He bumps Hayes’s chest with his fist and straightens his back with a groan.
“So what should I do?” asks Hayes.
“Sweet talk ‘em,” Dalder replied, “Ya jabbering damn well ta ya mother an’ me. An’ she always believed ya rubbish.”
“‘Cause it wasn't rubbish!” Hayes retorted, “I never lied to either of you, ever!”
“Watch ya mouth, boy. I knows when you says lies. I ain't a fool like ya mother.”
“Mother wasn't a fool! She wa-”
Dalder grabs Hayes’s wrist and moves his face right in front of Hayes’s, and spits, “Damn you, boy, damn you! This be the last time you talk back at me!”
He raises his hand, and Hayes knows what to expect now, but how much will he have to endure this time? Probably a lot. His mother is a sensitive subject for both father and son, though their memory of her differs vastly. For one: someone to obey and serve him, to raise his child, and use her until the end. For the other: his only support, the only one that loved him and accept him.
Dalder’s hand strikes Hayes’s face. His ear rings, and like a puppet his body slumps to the floor, held up only by one arm. A blow to his abdomen, coughing follows.
“Stupid boy! Ya mother made ya weak!” Dalder sneers, as cords of sweat drenched hair fall over his face.
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The pummeling continues for a minute and Hayes realizes that perhaps he won't stop this time. Perhaps this is it and he can finally meet mother after this living hell.
The front door slams open as the upper hinge rips from the wood. A hulking figure squeezes through the doorframe, dim torchlight at his back.
“Who the fuck are you?!” Dalder barked.
The man extends his hand and asks, “Hayes, do you want to stay with your father or join us at the bakery?”
“The bakery?” Dalder spat, “Since when does a damn bakery got mercs?! An’ who says you can jus’ come on in, askin’ questions to me son?!”
He turned his head to Hayes, “Don't be stupid, boy. I told ya already, them’s gonna turn ya into one a these mindless brutes!” His grip on Hayes’s arm tightened as his knuckles turned white.
“Only if you want,” the man growled, “Otherwise you can stay and help in the bakery for a fair wage.”
Hayes looks worryingly back and forth between his father and the stranger, his arm still shackled by his father's hand.
The man crouches, leans on his right knee, and says, “I'm just here in case you need help, Hayes. It's not the first time a child has come to the bakery abused and battered, only to receive it tenfold with the threat of leaving. In the end, it's your choice. I will go when you tell me to.”
“Well, fuck off, then!” Dalder demands as he shakes Hayes’s arm, “The boy says it too!”
Hayes’s expression is pain and confusion as tears start rolling down his cheeks and fearful cries escape his mouth.
He looks at the man and mouths, “Please help.”
The man nods and stands up, his imposing presence filling the room. He takes a step forward.
“Didn't ya hear me?!” Dalder shouts.
The man takes another step and calmly replies, “Oh, that I did. That I did.”
Dalder pushes Hayes in front of him and lowers himself while his breathing turns ragged. No words come out of his mouth and his face shows no more anger, only fear.
The man looms over the family and his hand slowly moves towards them. His arm now revealed from under his cloak, forearm muscles rippling in the faint candle light. His hand finally reached Dalder’s wrist, holding it with just enough force to give no chance of escape.
“The boy gave me his answer. You should respect it, as his father,” the man cautioned.
“I ain't hear nothing!”
The man sighs deeply and replies, “I do wonder why,” clenching his hand around Dalder’s bone skinny wrist, releasing Hayes as he winces in pain.
The man takes a few steps back with Hayes, reaches into his pocket and fishes out several gold coins. He tosses them to Dalder’s feet and they clatter on the floor. He falls to his knees and scrambles to pick up the erratic coins.
“For the door,” the man says, “and so you don't have to use your son to get more money. Come, Hayes, if you want.”
Hayes looks to his father. He shows no response to anything, only the money is what occupies him. Like a madman he lashes his hands at the rolling coins to stop them from rolling away. If only he would show such desperation for his only remaining family member. The last drop fell to overflow the bucket; he will be a true orphan now.
The man helps Hayes get up, his body bruised from the beating. Leaning on the man's arm, he walks through the door into the street and glances back one last time. Dalder’s focus is unchanged.
“Goodbye, father,” Hayes says to himself solemnly.
The pair navigated through the streets, past the tobacco store which Hayes’s father frequented, and Mrs. Peterson's shack who was a dear friend to his mother.
Yet, everything feels unfamiliar. He does not belong here anymore, not after what happened. His father will surely poison his reputation from an unfortunate child to a betrayer of his family. His friends will disassociate with him due to paternal pressure. This may be the last time he walks this road.
Not a word is spoken between him and the man until they arrive at the bakery.
The man opens the door and lets Hayes enter first. Inside, Cefre sits at a table, her face illuminated by a candle in front of her.
Sadness, happiness, pain, Hayes can't make out her expression as she jumps out of his chair and hastily jogs towards him with her arms spread wide. She falls to her knees and embraces Hayes almost too tightly.
“Oh, you poor soul, you're safe now. You're safe,” Cefre whispers with a trembling voice.
You're safe. These words ring through Hayes’s head and are all he needed to hear to break the dissociation from his emotions. Tears swell in his eyes and he buries his face into the crook of Cefre’s neck as he put his arms around her.
It has been 4 years since his mother last comforted him, his last bastion. Perhaps now he can find refuge from his past and look to a brighter future.
“Let’s get these bruises looked after. Algar, if you could, please?” Cefre asked.
The man moves into the back of the bakery.
She looks back at Hayes and says, “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore now. You’re safe here, we have men like Algar keeping watch all hours of the day, alright?”
Hayes wipes his tears and nods as he clears his nose.
“All you should do is make sure you’re okay and process everything,” Cefre continues, “There’s a bed ready for you, and you can stay in it until you feel like coming out. We’ll bring you things to drink and eat until then.”
Algar returns with some ointments and gives them to Cefre, who applies them with great efficiency.
Soon after, Algar leaves out front as Cefre and Hayes go back upstairs where he had a bath earlier that day.
“This is yours now,” Cefre says quietly, “The rest is already asleep and you should try to do the same. It’s been hard enough for you. My room is to the right of yours - come to me if you need anything.”
The room is basic, but much more luxurious than what he’s used to. The bed is, well, a bed, instead of a blanket on the floor. A small closet with a fair amount of clothes stands in the corner.
Exhaustion suddenly hits him as his body and mind slightly calm down. The bed beckons and he obliges.