55 Outtake: Howard Hunt 8 (1/2)

[Henry is at fault.]

Howard scrubbed the stables clean in the little farm he had been working in. He was busy all day long, but the living and pay was good enough to keep him there. They had been there for about a year and everything was going well.

Henry grew taller every day and seemed to tower over the other kids in the block. He was fourteen at the time, and quite popular with the girls. He was also quite handsome looking, much like their estranged mother who had left them when they were a child.

Howard got news of his father and his drunken antics from people from his old town who had kept his location a secret from his father. They all knew how harsh the man was on everyone.

Word of mouth said that he was diseased and not taken care of, he had been diagnosed with cancer and was very likely going to die from it because he had neither money for the care required for one to recover from it. Howard remembered thinking about the matter and scoffing.

It was on one of those particular days that he received a call from his father. The manager of the farm had called on him as he worked in the stables and asked him to pick up the phone. The man was apparently asking for Howard and he thought it was one of his neighbours calling to see what he had been up to.

”Hello?” he said into the phone. There was the sound of light breathing from the other side.

”Come home,” the other person said, startling Howard immensely. It was a voice he knew well and had come to loathe. Yet there it was, vulnerably asking him to return home.

”Why?” he asked, not wanting to give away the fear that was tingling up his spine. ”I am not going anywhere near you.” He said roughly. He was about to hang up when he heard his father's cough from the other side.

”Kid, I am sick. You grew up in front of my eyes. I am your father. Surely, you won't abandon me!” he coaxed, but Howard was beyond angry. How could he dare to ask him to come back?

”You beat me up every day and accused me of several crimes I didn't commit,” he accused.

”I was wrong, please come back,” he pled.

He was close to hanging up but a sick sense of satisfaction overcame him. He wanted nothing more than to watch his father slowly wither away, his body rotting from his disease, being able to do nothing as he experienced excruciating pain. He would have gone back for that simple reason, but he knew how devious that father of his was. He could have made up lies and spread them so that he could empathize with him and come back to take care of him.

No, Howard was not going back to that place ever again, absolutely not when he knew what would happen to him if he went. Not only him, but also Henry would become abused by his father yet again.

He coldly hung up the phone and left the house.