Rain. Torrential, relentless rain. The perfect cover for a murder. Andrew Stone's life was going to hell. He had just been fired. His wife had recently disappeared off to America and, only, one week ago he had received a letter from social services stating that he was going to lose custody of his two children. Apparently he was unfit to take care of them. All of these events compiled the magazine of a gun. Every bullet contained a different memory. A trigger was pulled. Blasted five holes into the darkness.
****
Running out of breath. Panting in the darkness. Endless noise. The first sound the infant ever heard. Electric lights were burning onto the baby's fragile skin. He had no idea what was going on. Chaos surrounded him. He had been ripped away from his sanctuary. Pushed out of his warm, cosy haven. Forced into the cruelty and harshness of the outside world. Why? Was he not wanted any more? Was he going to be abandoned? The small child was too young to understand. He just wanted to be in his mummy's arms. A nurse took the crying baby, cleaned him up, and laid him down in a nearby incubator. The infant was still crying his eyes out. A train of snot chugged out of his tiny nose. The walls of the small heated box on wheels did not block out the terrible noise of his mother wailing or the rain crashing down, outside. "Nurse, take the child to the incubation care room." The nurse nodded and wheeled the infant out of the room and down the corridor. Slowly moving away from the horrible sound of his mother's screams.
****
"You're doing great Mrs Stone, but I'm afraid it isn't over yet. You're going to have to start pushing again." Doctor Stokes blurted out.
"I can't do it." Mrs Stone moaned.
"Come on honey, you can do it. Push, Holly. I know you can do it," John Stone took his wife's hand and squeezed it, "I'm here for you, darling. You can do it."
Holly Stone smiled, before gritting her teeth, as the baby prepared to breech her walls. "Ok Mrs Stone. This is where you have to start pushing." The baby's mother started breathing erratically. In...in...out...in..out...out ...in.
"Remember to breathe Mrs Stone, you're almost there." A waterfall of sweat was pouring of Holly's forehead. Doctor Stokes' facial expression turned from one of happiness to one of worry. "Something's wrong." He muttered.
"What is it?"
"Never mind. Keep pushing, Mrs Stone. You're almost there." Doctor Stokes knew he could not worry the young mother. Not at this stage of the delivery. Holly roared in frustration, as she struggled to force the child out of her. "Well done, Mrs Stone. You did it. Oh no! Something's gone wrong. Run some scans, Nurse."
"What's happening?" John asked.
"We're not sure why, but your baby isn't breathing. We're running some tests now. He's going to be fine."
Holly began to quietly weep. Her husband walked over to her. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Our son is going to be ok," John turned to the doctor, "is it too soon, to see our other son?"
"I'm afraid so. Don't worry, you can see him soon. I'm afraid; I'm going to have to leave you now."
****
Thirty anxious minutes later, Doctor Stokes returned. "I'm so sorry. I'm afraid your second son was stillborn. There was nothing we could have done. You have the hospital's condolences."
Holly broke down in an ocean of tears. Her blonde hair quivered, as her whole body shook and shuddered, as every single drop of water cascaded from her sapphire coloured eyes.
"Are you sure, Doctor Stokes? Maybe there's a chance." John begged. His brown eyes were screaming with emotion.
"There isn't. It's too late."
"Doctor, you have to be able to do something." Holly pleaded.
"There isn't anything I can do. I am very sorry for your loss."
John reluctantly nodded. "Thank you for your help. Can we see our other son now?"
"Of course you can. I'll have him brought to you."
A few minutes later, the boy was wheeled back into the room. Doctor Stokes picked up the infant and carefully handed him to his mother. Holly smiled and grabbed him tightly. John rested a hand on the child's forehead.
"Is it too early for a name yet?" The doctor asked.
"No it isn't. We want to call him Andrew. Andrew Stone."
****
An empty click. John clicked his tongue. It sounded like the hammer of a pistol hitting an unloaded barrel. Holly was having contractions. She would be fine, as long as she arrived at the hospital soon. Traffic was murder. John groaned, as he heard a blaring siren behind him. An ambulance slowly crept through the mess of cars, as the sea of vehicles parted. Holly sighed; she wished she was travelling in the speeding medical van, as it ran a red light. She whimpered, as another wave of pain rippled throughout her slim figure. Her husband began to angrily mutter under his breath, as he straightened the car up. "Never this difficult last time.. we should be fine... why are we stuck here? Just calm down John...calm down...calm down." Neither adult paid any attention to the six year old, staring out the window in the back of the car. Andrew Stone was used to being ignored by his parents. They had almost left him at home, when Holly's water had broken In their confused panic, they had forgotten about him. Holly turned to her husband. "Don't worry, John. I promise, we will not lose another child."
Andrew instantly knew why his mother had said his. The answer was simple. His dead twin brother. Andrew's parents blamed him for the incident, even though were was no way, it could have been his fault. Holly and John had never abused him, but he was definitely neglected. At a very early age, he was expected to take care of himself. His parents were always working, which meant he barely saw them. During holidays his mum and dad would unload him onto his grandmother, while they went travelling around the world. It was almost, as if he were an inconvenient burden that weighed them down. Andrew sometimes wondered if his parents wished that he was the one who had died and his brother survived. It was certainly a cruel thought, but a possible one. Maybe his brother would have been treated better.
****
The blaring horn of the car screamed into life and shattered Andrew's thoughts. John was growing more and more impatient. He put his foot down and started weaving in and out of traffic He would pay the penalties later. With a vicious snarl, John swerved his car into a parking spot. He rushed Holly out and started walking towards the hospital entrance. "Stay in the car, Andrew." John said, without turning around. He knew this son would want to follow them. "But I want to help. I can keep mummy company."
John sighed and turned around. "First of all Andrew, don't call your mother "mummy," you're too old for that. Secondly, how are you going to help? Do you know anything about labour or pregnancy? Get in the car. Now!"
"But, I want to-"
"Shut up Andrew. Listen to your father. Stay. In. The. Car!"
The six year old sighed and reluctantly returned to the vehicle. John smiled and locked the doors. "Now that's a good boy."
****
The raindrops were slowly trickling down the car window. During the time it took for Holly to be transferred to the delivery room, at least ten people walked past John's car, but nobody paid attention to the six year old, huddled in the corner. Andrew Stone had been abandoned. Deserted. Neglected. Ignored. Alone.
****
Holly was close to going into labour. She clutched her husband's hand and looked up at him. "Do you think you could check on Andrew?"
"We don't need to. He's a big boy. He'll be fine."
"He's only six. He doesn't know how long we're going to be. Hell, <em>we</em> don't even know how long this is going to take. Check on him. Bring him a warm snack or something. It's colder than hell out there."
John sighed and turned around. Reluctantly, he walked away from from his unborn child, to look after the son that survived.
****
Andrew looked up as the wiry figure of his father slowly came into view. He was walking quickly to avoid the worst of the rain. John opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat. "I just came to see if you're alright."
"I'm ok. How's mum?"
"She'll be fine. I'd best be getting back to her."
"I'm sorry, for what I said before."
"You should be. Take this."
The child held out a hand and gratefully accepted the toasted cheese and ham sandwich. After Andrew stopped eating, the father and son remained in an awkward silence. Both of them knew they should be talking, but neither one had anything to say to each other. "I'd best be getting back to your mother."
"Can I come with you?"
"We've been through this. It's going to be too cramped in the delivery room, with you there. Stay in the car."
"Ok. Was it my fault?
"What are you talking about?"
"Is it my fault that my brother died?"
John hesitated, but left the car and walked away in silence.
****
A stab in the darkness. Andrew opened his eyes. He realised it was his grandmother's prodding finger, that had woken him up. Complications had arisen in Holly's delivery. Although it was nothing serious, the labour was going to be delayed. This meant that John had to drive Andrew to Holly's mother's house. Whilst waiting for his parents to come home, the six year old had fallen into a deep sleep. Now his mum and dad had returned for him. As if it were Christmas morning, Andrew ran down the stairs. The three adults were in the living room, crowding around the baby. After waiting patiently the six year old forced his way through the wall of adults. Holly looked down at him.
"Andrew, meet your brother. Samuel."
"Can I hold him?" The child asked.
"Don't be silly. You'll drop the baby on his head. He'll turn out like you." Holly's mother snapped.
"Don't be so harsh, Teresa. Go on, Andrew. Hold him." John encouraged.
"Why are you defending him?"
"Because, he's our son." Holly retorted.
"He's not the son you wanted." Teresa muttered.
"Mum! Why would you say something like that?"
Andrew looked up at the three adults and forced back tears. He was not going to give them the satisfaction.
"Look, now he's crying." Teresa grumbled.
"Of course he's crying. He's six years old and you've insulted him."
"You want to toughen him up. Otherwise, he'll be weak, when he's older."
"Stop saying these horrible things."
Andrew knew all of this yelling would wake the baby. Quietly he carried Samuel up the stairs and into his bedroom. "Don't worry, Sam. I'll look after you. If our parents neglect you, I'll be there. I'll never leave you. I promise."
****
Something crashed out of the box. Something sharp. A shard. Sam picked up the toy, out of his cereal bowl, and gave it to his fourteen year old brother. Even though Andrew was too old for toys, he still appreciated the gesture. The older boy had thick wavy hair and a sharp nose, which protruded off of his face. His eyes were dark and almost emotionless. Samuel was eight years old and growing quickly. Just like his brother, Sam was tall and skinny. His brown eyes always sparkled with happiness. Even though Andrew looked after his brother, there was never any need for it. Teresa doted on the boy. On Sam's birthdays or at Christmas, his grandmother gave him an obscene amount of money or bought him the latest gadgets, while feigning ignorance, when it came to Andrew. Samuel recognised how unreasonable this was and always gave his older brother, a share of his presents. Whether they were money or material possessions. Holly and John were at work and the two boys had to go to school soon. Andrew's problems with his parents, made him extremely antisocial and quite hostile. As a result he was largely ignored at school. Surprisingly, nobody ever picked on him. He had proved on multiple occasions that he could defend himself. The same could not be said for his brother, who was rarely bullied either. However, when he was, he could not stick up for himself. He just swallowed the insults. The age difference between the two brothers meant they attended different schools. However this did not stop Andrew from protecting his little brother.
**** Author's Notes****
This is the prologue of my second and my best novella: Killer in the Rain. Again this was something I wrote when I was 14/15 and it's about as dark as my writing ever gets. This prologue was something I wrote retrospectively to help explain my protagonist's motivations. As you go through the story, let me know whether you think the prologue works here or could be interspersed throughout the novella.
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