He listened to the commotion and just wanted it all to stop. Another crash from upstairs, an overturned nightstand perhaps. The distinct ring of a slap against flesh resounding clearly. Stomping feet, perhaps running. A grunt resulting from what must have been a punch. A vase shattering against the wall, likely thrown. Muffled invectives, from two voices, laced with pain, accusation and anger.
Downstairs, the incessant screaming of his sister in her crib, her never ending screaming!
He remembered a more peaceful time. A time before his mother died. A time before his father remarried. A time before his sickly sister had been born.
Of course he missed his mother. Her tender touch. The stories she would read to him at bedtime. The soothing sound of her voice when she spoke or sang to him.
But what he missed most was the attention he had received from his father after his mother had passed. Just the two of them against the world! He had deluded himself into thinking his father was as happy as he in their bachelor life. Just the two of them in their large house on the hill overlooking the family vineyard and the village down the hillside further below.
He missed the staff of the manor calling him “little master” and “his little lordship”. He remembered how he'd longed to one day take his father's place as the “lord of all that he could see”.
Alas, his father had lost it all for “love”. “Why would one give away power for love?” In later years, he'd often wondered. His father's placations at the time never made sense. All he knew in this moment, is that since his father had remarried his “new mom” and she and his father became preoccupied with birthing his replacement, in this new hovel they insisted was “just as nice”, his life had gotten worse and worse at every turn.
Last month his father had come home acting strangely. After being home for only a few minutes he began to scream and struck this “new mom”. Later he overheard the woman who insisted he call her “mother” talking to the the odd fellow who delivers the meat when his father is away and she used the word “drunk”. “Whatever this “drunk” word means it is not good”. He remembers thinking.
His father has been coming home “drunk” much more often and his “new mother” has been spending far too much time with the meat delivery man. That seemed to be the topic of their discussion when they excused themselves upstairs, putting him in charge of watching his sickly sister.
“If you'd have not come, things would be better!” “If you and your mother had just stayed away, Dad and I would be better off!””Why are you always screaming?””I cannot stand it any longer!”
He reaches into the crib and places his hand over his half sister's mouth. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling a tremendous sigh of relief at the resultant silence. His sister squirms under his hand but weakly. The clear sound of his father and “new mother” continuing their “discussion” overheard, reassuring him they have not noticed the sudden cessation of his sister's screams. The tremendous power and enjoyment of the control he is able to exert over another creature surprises him. The realization that he could silence his sister's screams permanently occurs to him and a sadistic smile creeps onto his face. “You'll not keep ruining my life”, he quietly whispers to her as she spasms and ceases to struggle against his hand. He keeps his hand there pressed over her small cherubic face longer still in order to be certain. As if knowing, by some predatory instinct, that she could come back, for several more minutes. Then he arranges her pillows and blankets in such a fashion as to create the illusion of peaceful sleep, before walking gleefully across the room to the sofa. Grabbing a story book from the table next to it, he sits down to “sort out his letters”, doing his best to ignore the commotion upstairs.
As Garrick looks upon his infant son, and relishes the memory of his sister's demise, he remembers the cries of anguish from his father and step-mother. He smiles gleefully as he recalls her weakness when she killed herself a month later. He sneers contemptuously when he recalls his father's weakness in doing the same shortly after.
This memory causes a quick flash of recollection of the orphanage, where he was placed afterwards, his vengeance wrought upon the local butcher and all of the wisdom he's gained from his experiences afterwards and then his reverie is broken by his son's infant squawk.
“Oh, you're lucky you're not a crier my son!”. “We'll see if that holds true. I'll teach you what you can learn, until you prove otherwise”. Garrick smiles, ruminating his many options, weighing them, while regarding his burdensome whelp.