------Rated R for language, gore, and generally terrible situations----------------
Step 2: The origin of Phillip O’Delao
I
Vincent O’Delao was a rancher. He owned half of Merrington’s half-dozen ranches, and ruled them with an iron fist. Any horse moving in or out of Merrington had a stamp of approval from either Vincent, or one of his hired hands. Vincent’s property and assets gave him a profound economic boost in their small county.
The man had everything. A gorgeous wife, a remarkably gifted son, a subjectively endless supply of currency, and a home built with his own hands. There wasn't a soul around who wouldn't tell you Vincent O’Delao was a hard worker. He slaved for his family’s well being, and everything he had now, he owed to hard labor, and an unmatched will.
Carmine Fraser O’Delao was a real man’s wife. The type of woman who would make extra good love to her husband when she knew he had a bad day, or when her cooking was sub-par that night. Beyond her sexual prowess though, Carmine was the finest personality in Merrington. Being an integral member of the Merrington Community Council, and the wife of the biggest name in town, helped to support her role as The Town’s Lady. What a lovely, perfect family those O’Delao’s were.
II
“ We lived in the hugest house in Merrington. We owned Three quarters of the land. Nearly 90% of all export from Merrington was stamped with the O’Delao’s seal, or more specifically, my dad..Vincent’s seal. The man had power you really had to hand him that. Not the bad type of power either, you know, the one that corrupts absolutely. The type of power that would inspire people for generations, and leave legend in its wake. Merrington was safe and cozy warm under my dad’s watchful gaze. As it was for his father, and his father’s father, and so it would have been for me, if well, if they didn’t plan on ending the bloodline there.”
Beneath the cloaked man’s hood, he smiled the slightest smirk.
Phillip looked up at the man beside him as they walked. He just couldn’t get over how queer his clothing was. Everybody knew the story about the dark wanderer who roamed about, collecting the heads of all those who crossed his path. The school children enjoyed telling the story with a slight twist, normally re-introducing the wanderer as a pig headed demon. Phillip knew better than to believe the latter, but still had never pictured him quite like this. The man’s body was of a decent size. He stood more than six feet tall, and had shoulders a few feet wide. The cloak he wore was tremendous in scale, and the hood, which was always up, hung well past his profile, making his face impossible to see from any angle except dead ahead; and even then, only his broad, un-bearded chin would be visible.
The man looked over his shoulder to Phillip, and nodded to him, impressing that he carried on with his tale.
Phillip obeyed, “Sorry.” And apologized. “Anyway, my life was perfect. I had everything a kid could want. Tons of friends, loving parents, or so I thought, and god even blessed me with perfect health and formidable strength, say thank ya.”
Phillip did not try to soften the pride he expressed. He was well aware that he was smarter and stronger than any other kid his age, and knew that he was destined for great things. Great things indeed, things which were finally now coming to motion.
What Phillip was yet to learn though, was that great, in many cases, meant nothing close to Good.
The man with the starlight cloak took notice of the pride in which his young companion was speaking, and was comforted by it. The kid may have a big head, but most heroes do, and as long as this kid has dreams of pretty maidens, and slaying evil in his mind, he would become ever easier to manipulate. He noticed Phillip stopped talking once again, and encouraged him to carry on again. This time he only rolled his frsit two fingers in a circle and said, “Why did you kill your parents, Phillip?”
Phillip stopped dead in his dusty tracks. A vulture circled up ahead and let out a screeching wail before stiffening up and plummeting to the ground. It thudded into a heap and sent dust spiraling, like ribbons in wind, up into the air.
“Huh.” The cloaked man said. It came out sounding more like a guttural scoff. Phillip just stared at the fallen bird, which landed only six feet from him. His mouth was agape and no doubt filled with sand. “See that boy? Even the gods want you to finish yer story. They say so with this bird!” He walked over to the dead thing and knelt down beside it. As he did so, he lowered the hood of his cloak.
Now Phillip had something new to gape at. He turned his eyes, unblinking, upon the man’s face. It was certainly nothing spectacular. Phillip expected either a grotesque scarred excuse for a mug, or a soberly angelic face. What he did not expect was the downright normality of it. In all truth, with his hood down, he really wasn’t anything exceptional.
After a chorus of sounds Phillip thought only existed in nightmares, his old caped guide engulfed the soul of the bird. A ghostly blue glow zoomed from the birds body and situated itself amongst the stars on Sugnoma Lived.
III
“I felt hatred, but beyond that I felt deceived. Every day I got word of new lies. Another memory as good as dog shit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everywhere I went, some townsperson would have something to tell me about my parents. The stories were always slightly different, but they all implied one thing. That my parents wanted me dead.”
“That’s a terrible thing to hear. Why would they want you dead?”
“Most said it was ‘cause they’d become power hungry and selfish. Didn’t want me to grow up and screw up the family business, I guess. Some people told me they never wanted a son in the first place. As time went on, the things people told me became more and more convincing, and finally, Stephson the baker told me I should be careful ‘cause…” Phillip trailed off here and began to hold back tears.
“Because your parents were planning on killing you.” The man finished his sentence for him, and Phillip nodded solemnly.
“It got to the point where I couldn’t trust anyone.” He sobbed. “All those years were meaningless. I tried to calculate when it began and ended, but got too pissed off to care. Sure, I could go on living. I’ve been a lone wolf since day one. I know what I’m alive for, and it has nothing to do with anyone else. Except…Maybe…You.” Phillip looked up with confidence.
“How did it happen, Phillip?”
IV
So there Phillip stood, desperately trying to forget about unthinkable lies. There he was, trying to modify his lifestyle to supplement the hole inside of him, peeking from the shadows at those who did him wrong.
The anger you feel from the ass end of full-on deception, is intoxicating. Why pay any heed to things like eating, or schooling, or much else for that matter? Why even bother when all of your waking life is obsessed and consumed by revenge and redemption?
Closure, that’s what he wanted. That’s what brought him to where he was, kneeling, peeking from the shadows, with a sharpened fire poker squashed between his hand and the rug. The poker started to cut Phillip’s palm, so he gripped it and rose to a crouch.
“Closure.” He whispered, and closed his eyes. He stood up slowly, gripping the poker tightly in his right hand, and closing an even tighter fist in his left. The blood trickled from the creases in his palm, around the grooves of the pokers handle, and padded down onto the rug. Phillip found the sound hypnotic. He opened his eyes and walked out of the hallway.
His parents were dozing on the couch, books in hand, quiet as babies. His mother had her head rested on his father’s shoulder, and his father’s head rested on his wife’s. The O’Delao’s were notorious heavy sleepers, so Phillip wasn’t worried about waking them.
He shuffled up beside the couch and closed his eyes for a moment. He thought long and hard about childhood memories, but every retrieved memory turned ugly from the lies. He would picture himself playing with his father as a young boy, swinging in his arms in the summer sun, but it always ended in his father throwing him off a cliff. He pictured himself as a baby, being bathed in the basin. But it always ended up with his mother drowning him in the soapy water.
Anger flooded back into Phillip’s heart and he opened his eyes again. After a deep breath he grabbed the poker with both hands and raised it high above his head. He brought it down with all the force of a hurricane and skewered his parent’s skulls together. They were awake for only a split second before their pierced brains stopped registering.
Phillip did not want to stick around. He left as their bodies were overtaken by blood flow and convulsions.
----I know that was gross, and sad, and disturbing, sorry. I can't say that the story gets any tamer from now on. But, hey, thats what the content rating is for------------
