[Original Fiction] Unforgiven, Chapter 12 ... I think
Not beta-ed enough to near perfection, IMHO, but I ought to post something Unforgiven-related in here.
This, I think is Chapter 12. It may not be too. LOL. This is the first chapter that focuses on Gabriel, which is important since it solidifies his relationship with Dylan and it gives light as to how he looks at his father. In a previous chapter, when Darren was told about his parentage, he had a very violent reaction to which his elder brother greatly opposed. (I think that's up for posting, after this)
The brothers' relationship with their father is quite dysfunctional on the onset, but it manifests on varying ways. For Gabriel, it is obvious that he respects his father, but due to the loss of him early in his childhood, he has grown to think of him more as the noble Dylan Rafilli, and would not be inclined otherwise to think of him as a father figure.
Without further ado; This came a week after NaNo 2009 ended, so it may be a bit wordy with some disorganized thoughts in between paragraphs. Otherwise, this chapter is passable compared to the others. LOL.
Gabriel Elsten is dreaming.
He has to be. Otherwise, what else could explain this situation - finding himself in a room where he once stayed in more than fifteen years ago, flooded with daylight, the toddler things within it seem untouched. He looks around. The toys are neatly stacked in a box on the side save for some toy cars that are scattered nearby. It is peaceful, the smell of talc not too overpowering. His eyes catch the sight of the curtains lifting with the soft-blowing wind.
Never had he seen the room of his childhood so vividly. Whenever Gabriel tried to recall things of the past, his memories flash in his mind often in black and white, with very little detail. Save for his mother and brother, the faces of most people from his past are often veiled. Rarely do people’s features make an impact when he tries to recall. He always thought that this is most often the case with childhood memories. Having been thoroughly educated in the sciences, he knows that one’s experiences in a person’s first few years are mostly not bound to be remembered in adulthood. Memories can be buried in the subconscious or can be forgotten altogether, should the brain decide to do so.
Still, despite this fact being backed up by science, he always wished that he remembered more.
He hears footsteps. Gabriel turns and sees a child, eagerly walking up to the plastic box of toys. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of himself. The child Gabriel drops the toy he was holding - one of his many miniature die-cast cars and dips his hands into the mass of other toys, hoping to find one that will strike his fancy. How little this child now seems to Gabriel, and a darkness shadows his mind as he thought of how much this child will have to overcome as he gets older. How many tears this child will shed, how many times will he choose not to shed those tears and put up a strong front instead - he can no longer count the instances. Yet, there was a time when everything seemed easy.
“Gabriel.”
He turns to the sound of the voice, and from the corner of his eye, he sees the child turn too. Several paces in front of him, standing towards the door, is a tall man dressed in black. His mouth slightly parts in surprise, his heart thuds in what seems to be anticipation. He knows who this person is.
“Daddy!” The child Gabriel squeals with delight, drops whatever he was doing and runs toward his father. The man comes down on one knee and extends both his hands. The child throws himself on his chest, raising both his hands in embrace, his mouth opens wide in laughter.
“You’re back!” He says exuberantly.
“I am.” The man lifts a gloved hand and pats the child’s head gently. “Were you good while I was away?”
The child nods vigorously. “I don’t mess up my toys anymore, I finish my milk and food everyday.”
“That’s great. And, your brother?”
“I watch over Darren everyday. When he cries I tell Mommy.”
“Well done, Gabriel.” He pulls away slightly to touch the child’s plump face. “You make me very happy to hear that.”
Gabriel is awestruck as he sees this unravel before him. He could hear his child self giggle with delight over the attention he was getting, but more than that, he couldn’t help but feel that he was also reveling in the attention that he was getting from his father, even if he wasn’t part of the scene. It was as if it was he, and not his child self, that was being embraced by his father, and was being spoiled with so much attention.
“I missed you, Daddy.”
“I missed you too.”
“Will you be staying home for a long time?”
There is a short pause. “I think so, yes.”
“Really?” The child’s face lights up. “Truly? You’re staying for a long, long, long time?”
“Maybe, not that long. But let us hope that it will be for a while.”
Gabriel frowns slightly. He knows that this is a lie, but as a child, and like any child would, they would hold the word of their parents sacred. He hears his little counterpart utter a gush of delight, likely a reaction to the mere thought of his father staying longer than usual. He remembers that a week-long stay is already considered long for his father, anything over and beyond may have been rare; it may not even have occurred at all.
“Willyouplaywithmedaddy willyouwillyou will you play?” The child Gabriel babbles in excitement.
“I’ll be happy to.” A partial lightness emerges from his father’s shadowed face.
He hears the child rejoice in this, and after he hugs his father fiercely, he proceeds to his stash of toys, babbling in half baby speech his plans of how to spend the day. Gabriel’s eyes follow the child, musing over his younger self’s delighted expression. He kneels in front of the toy box and takes out every toy that his hands have caught, in sheer anticipation of what fun times may come. The selection seems to be without direction, but did it have to have one? The sheer incidence of his father being around for a while, such is something that isn’t scheduled.
“Gabriel.”
He hears his name being called again. He expects the child to turn around in response to his father, but he does not. His child self remains focused on the toy stash before him, he debating by himself on whether he should bring out his toy soldiers with their accompanying aircraft, or should he settle with the remote control car instead.
“Gabriel.”
The child still doesn’t respond. Gabriel frowns slightly, the situation now starting to strike him as rather odd. Awhile ago, his child self answered his father’s call the first time. Did the toys distract him? It couldn’t be, for he was playing before his father arrived.
“Gabriel.”
The last time his name was uttered now seemed to ring in his ear, that Gabriel finds himself darting his eyes to the figure dead ahead. Then, the scene around him comes to a standstill. He could no longer feel the wind that was blowing behind him from the open window, nor does the sunlit room feel warm with life. And yet, the figure that stood before him, one whose face remains completely hidden despite the abundance of light, the one his child self incessantly called Daddy, remains a mystery.
Then, as if his thoughts are being read, the shadow over the man’s face lightens, as if the light that floods the room has finally broken through. Little by little, Gabriel can see signs of a neck, a chin with a well-defined jaw, and a mouth that is slightly parted. He sees them move vividly, almost in slow motion, uttering the same word that was said before.
“Gabriel.”
He knows for certain that it is he who is being called and no longer the child. He is definitely now part of the dream he is beholding, and not just a third person. He knows that it is now his burden to respond.
“Who … are you?” He finds himself asking rather stupidly.
“You know the answer to that.” The figure before him answers simply, yet his mouth does not move in reply. It was as if the answer was given to him in telepathy, or maybe it was his own mind that gave him the answer - Gabriel can no longer tell the difference.
“Have you forgotten who I am?” The question is posed in his mind, just as how the answer from before was given to him.
“I just want to be certain.” He answers back.
“Would you like to find out?”
Gabriel raises his head slightly. This time, he is not quick to answer. “How? How do I know that you are who I think you are?”
This time, the mouth of the specter before him moves. “Come.”
Slowly, he raises one hand, extending it in invitation. And, as if as if his body is willing itself to find the answer, Gabriel quickly takes a step closer, and another in succession. The audacity of his movements alarm him, for he had yet to make a conscious decision on how to act. As he inches closer to the figure standing in front of him, the image of his childhood room starts to fade. By the time he is but a step away from the hand of the figure the whole room has disappeared, revealing nothing but endless white space. His body casts no shadows beneath, nor does the figure whose hand is but a few inches away from him. He takes a step closer, and stops, for it felt right to do so.
Even if he has closed the distance, the image he is seeing is no different from when he was far. The rest of the face of the man standing before him remains shadowed, except for his neck and mouth. He frowns at the realization, but decides to keep mum.
“What’s wrong?” He sees the specter’s mouth open, moving in accordance to the words of his question.
The air around him is cool, yet there is no wind. He remains calm. “I … still can’t say for sure, if you are …”
“Come closer.” It is the simplest of suggestions, yet Gabriel hesitates. This time, even his body did not feel comfortable with getting too near. He wants to will himself to take a step back but his body does not respond to this either. So, he stays put, purses his lips, and chooses silence.
“Gabriel.”
He tilts his head slightly upon hearing his name. The way it is said is a bit different - there is a distinct accent, likened to those of noble birth. It may be a detail that he failed to notice earlier, but his mind tells him that the accent had been there from the beginning. The possibility now dawns that this may be something straight from his childhood memories - a confirmation that this figure standing before him, can most probably be …
He moves closer, until he is standing directly in front of the specter. He now sees how uncomfortable this situation is, and the urge to bail out of it immediately is now on the rise. Suddenly, he feels a gentle force on his back, pushing him even closer, until his head awkwardly rested on the figure’s broad shoulders. He gasps at the forwardness of the gesture, but his mind overrules this immediately, declaring that this outrageous situation is right.
It is right …
Is it right?
“Now, do you remember who I am?” He hears the question, and notes that it is not worded as “do you know who I am”, but rather, “do you remember” - a distinct difference. Gabriel chooses to withhold his answer, for in all honesty, he still couldn’t say for certain.
“Have you forgotten me?” Another question, same as before, one that should have been tinged with emotion, but was uttered as neutral as possible. Still, Gabriel is silent. The gentle weight on his back is warm to the touch, and little by little, he is overcome with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He is starting to get comfortable.
“Gabriel.”
“You’re someone I know.” Gabriel says decisively, nearly matter-of-factly. He wonders how he can maintain the neutrality in his voice in spite of the familiar feeling. “That I know for sure.”
“Who am I, then?”
He hesitates to answer. “I … still cannot say for certain.”
“Who do you think I am?”
Gabriel pauses, thinking if it is wise to blurt it out. But, the more he thought about it, the more it dawns on him that there is no other possible answer. He opens his mouth and answers in a firm voice.
“You are Dylan Devereaux-Rafilli.”
Silence.
“That … isn’t who I am.”
Gabriel’s head thrusts slightly backwards in surprise. “Wha … what?”
“You are mistaken. That is not who I am.”
His eyes widen as he hears the words again. Gabriel pulls back at once, and looks at the man with hardly a face, straining his eyes at the specter. There is no way that he could be wrong. His child self confirmed it without a doubt. How can he be wrong?
“Then … who are you?” He demands, his voice now hard. “What are you? Who do you say you are?”
The specter’s lips curve slightly. Slowly the white lights around them start to dim. Gabriel looks back and forth frantically, for the loss of light is rapid. His chest begins to tighten, with a feeling that must be fear. If this is a dream, then now is the perfect time to wake up.
But he remains. And just before the light in the space that he is in is shut off, he sees the specter’s mouth move.
"I am your father.”
It is morning.
Gabriel finds himself staring at the ceiling, the morning light has yet to fully penetrate into his room. He sits up slowly. He finds that there is no rush.
Then, he remembers.
He slams his palm onto his face and grits his teeth in frustration. He knew the answer to the question. He knew who the person standing in front of him was. But he wonders why did he choose to answer it differently, why did he answer Dylan Devereaux-Rafilli instead? Why didn’t he say otherwise? Why didn’t he say that he was his father?
How could I be so stupid?
This, I think is Chapter 12. It may not be too. LOL. This is the first chapter that focuses on Gabriel, which is important since it solidifies his relationship with Dylan and it gives light as to how he looks at his father. In a previous chapter, when Darren was told about his parentage, he had a very violent reaction to which his elder brother greatly opposed. (I think that's up for posting, after this)
The brothers' relationship with their father is quite dysfunctional on the onset, but it manifests on varying ways. For Gabriel, it is obvious that he respects his father, but due to the loss of him early in his childhood, he has grown to think of him more as the noble Dylan Rafilli, and would not be inclined otherwise to think of him as a father figure.
Without further ado; This came a week after NaNo 2009 ended, so it may be a bit wordy with some disorganized thoughts in between paragraphs. Otherwise, this chapter is passable compared to the others. LOL.
Gabriel Elsten is dreaming.
He has to be. Otherwise, what else could explain this situation - finding himself in a room where he once stayed in more than fifteen years ago, flooded with daylight, the toddler things within it seem untouched. He looks around. The toys are neatly stacked in a box on the side save for some toy cars that are scattered nearby. It is peaceful, the smell of talc not too overpowering. His eyes catch the sight of the curtains lifting with the soft-blowing wind.
Never had he seen the room of his childhood so vividly. Whenever Gabriel tried to recall things of the past, his memories flash in his mind often in black and white, with very little detail. Save for his mother and brother, the faces of most people from his past are often veiled. Rarely do people’s features make an impact when he tries to recall. He always thought that this is most often the case with childhood memories. Having been thoroughly educated in the sciences, he knows that one’s experiences in a person’s first few years are mostly not bound to be remembered in adulthood. Memories can be buried in the subconscious or can be forgotten altogether, should the brain decide to do so.
Still, despite this fact being backed up by science, he always wished that he remembered more.
He hears footsteps. Gabriel turns and sees a child, eagerly walking up to the plastic box of toys. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of himself. The child Gabriel drops the toy he was holding - one of his many miniature die-cast cars and dips his hands into the mass of other toys, hoping to find one that will strike his fancy. How little this child now seems to Gabriel, and a darkness shadows his mind as he thought of how much this child will have to overcome as he gets older. How many tears this child will shed, how many times will he choose not to shed those tears and put up a strong front instead - he can no longer count the instances. Yet, there was a time when everything seemed easy.
“Gabriel.”
He turns to the sound of the voice, and from the corner of his eye, he sees the child turn too. Several paces in front of him, standing towards the door, is a tall man dressed in black. His mouth slightly parts in surprise, his heart thuds in what seems to be anticipation. He knows who this person is.
“Daddy!” The child Gabriel squeals with delight, drops whatever he was doing and runs toward his father. The man comes down on one knee and extends both his hands. The child throws himself on his chest, raising both his hands in embrace, his mouth opens wide in laughter.
“You’re back!” He says exuberantly.
“I am.” The man lifts a gloved hand and pats the child’s head gently. “Were you good while I was away?”
The child nods vigorously. “I don’t mess up my toys anymore, I finish my milk and food everyday.”
“That’s great. And, your brother?”
“I watch over Darren everyday. When he cries I tell Mommy.”
“Well done, Gabriel.” He pulls away slightly to touch the child’s plump face. “You make me very happy to hear that.”
Gabriel is awestruck as he sees this unravel before him. He could hear his child self giggle with delight over the attention he was getting, but more than that, he couldn’t help but feel that he was also reveling in the attention that he was getting from his father, even if he wasn’t part of the scene. It was as if it was he, and not his child self, that was being embraced by his father, and was being spoiled with so much attention.
“I missed you, Daddy.”
“I missed you too.”
“Will you be staying home for a long time?”
There is a short pause. “I think so, yes.”
“Really?” The child’s face lights up. “Truly? You’re staying for a long, long, long time?”
“Maybe, not that long. But let us hope that it will be for a while.”
Gabriel frowns slightly. He knows that this is a lie, but as a child, and like any child would, they would hold the word of their parents sacred. He hears his little counterpart utter a gush of delight, likely a reaction to the mere thought of his father staying longer than usual. He remembers that a week-long stay is already considered long for his father, anything over and beyond may have been rare; it may not even have occurred at all.
“Willyouplaywithmedaddy willyouwillyou will you play?” The child Gabriel babbles in excitement.
“I’ll be happy to.” A partial lightness emerges from his father’s shadowed face.
He hears the child rejoice in this, and after he hugs his father fiercely, he proceeds to his stash of toys, babbling in half baby speech his plans of how to spend the day. Gabriel’s eyes follow the child, musing over his younger self’s delighted expression. He kneels in front of the toy box and takes out every toy that his hands have caught, in sheer anticipation of what fun times may come. The selection seems to be without direction, but did it have to have one? The sheer incidence of his father being around for a while, such is something that isn’t scheduled.
“Gabriel.”
He hears his name being called again. He expects the child to turn around in response to his father, but he does not. His child self remains focused on the toy stash before him, he debating by himself on whether he should bring out his toy soldiers with their accompanying aircraft, or should he settle with the remote control car instead.
“Gabriel.”
The child still doesn’t respond. Gabriel frowns slightly, the situation now starting to strike him as rather odd. Awhile ago, his child self answered his father’s call the first time. Did the toys distract him? It couldn’t be, for he was playing before his father arrived.
“Gabriel.”
The last time his name was uttered now seemed to ring in his ear, that Gabriel finds himself darting his eyes to the figure dead ahead. Then, the scene around him comes to a standstill. He could no longer feel the wind that was blowing behind him from the open window, nor does the sunlit room feel warm with life. And yet, the figure that stood before him, one whose face remains completely hidden despite the abundance of light, the one his child self incessantly called Daddy, remains a mystery.
Then, as if his thoughts are being read, the shadow over the man’s face lightens, as if the light that floods the room has finally broken through. Little by little, Gabriel can see signs of a neck, a chin with a well-defined jaw, and a mouth that is slightly parted. He sees them move vividly, almost in slow motion, uttering the same word that was said before.
“Gabriel.”
He knows for certain that it is he who is being called and no longer the child. He is definitely now part of the dream he is beholding, and not just a third person. He knows that it is now his burden to respond.
“Who … are you?” He finds himself asking rather stupidly.
“You know the answer to that.” The figure before him answers simply, yet his mouth does not move in reply. It was as if the answer was given to him in telepathy, or maybe it was his own mind that gave him the answer - Gabriel can no longer tell the difference.
“Have you forgotten who I am?” The question is posed in his mind, just as how the answer from before was given to him.
“I just want to be certain.” He answers back.
“Would you like to find out?”
Gabriel raises his head slightly. This time, he is not quick to answer. “How? How do I know that you are who I think you are?”
This time, the mouth of the specter before him moves. “Come.”
Slowly, he raises one hand, extending it in invitation. And, as if as if his body is willing itself to find the answer, Gabriel quickly takes a step closer, and another in succession. The audacity of his movements alarm him, for he had yet to make a conscious decision on how to act. As he inches closer to the figure standing in front of him, the image of his childhood room starts to fade. By the time he is but a step away from the hand of the figure the whole room has disappeared, revealing nothing but endless white space. His body casts no shadows beneath, nor does the figure whose hand is but a few inches away from him. He takes a step closer, and stops, for it felt right to do so.
Even if he has closed the distance, the image he is seeing is no different from when he was far. The rest of the face of the man standing before him remains shadowed, except for his neck and mouth. He frowns at the realization, but decides to keep mum.
“What’s wrong?” He sees the specter’s mouth open, moving in accordance to the words of his question.
The air around him is cool, yet there is no wind. He remains calm. “I … still can’t say for sure, if you are …”
“Come closer.” It is the simplest of suggestions, yet Gabriel hesitates. This time, even his body did not feel comfortable with getting too near. He wants to will himself to take a step back but his body does not respond to this either. So, he stays put, purses his lips, and chooses silence.
“Gabriel.”
He tilts his head slightly upon hearing his name. The way it is said is a bit different - there is a distinct accent, likened to those of noble birth. It may be a detail that he failed to notice earlier, but his mind tells him that the accent had been there from the beginning. The possibility now dawns that this may be something straight from his childhood memories - a confirmation that this figure standing before him, can most probably be …
He moves closer, until he is standing directly in front of the specter. He now sees how uncomfortable this situation is, and the urge to bail out of it immediately is now on the rise. Suddenly, he feels a gentle force on his back, pushing him even closer, until his head awkwardly rested on the figure’s broad shoulders. He gasps at the forwardness of the gesture, but his mind overrules this immediately, declaring that this outrageous situation is right.
It is right …
Is it right?
“Now, do you remember who I am?” He hears the question, and notes that it is not worded as “do you know who I am”, but rather, “do you remember” - a distinct difference. Gabriel chooses to withhold his answer, for in all honesty, he still couldn’t say for certain.
“Have you forgotten me?” Another question, same as before, one that should have been tinged with emotion, but was uttered as neutral as possible. Still, Gabriel is silent. The gentle weight on his back is warm to the touch, and little by little, he is overcome with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He is starting to get comfortable.
“Gabriel.”
“You’re someone I know.” Gabriel says decisively, nearly matter-of-factly. He wonders how he can maintain the neutrality in his voice in spite of the familiar feeling. “That I know for sure.”
“Who am I, then?”
He hesitates to answer. “I … still cannot say for certain.”
“Who do you think I am?”
Gabriel pauses, thinking if it is wise to blurt it out. But, the more he thought about it, the more it dawns on him that there is no other possible answer. He opens his mouth and answers in a firm voice.
“You are Dylan Devereaux-Rafilli.”
Silence.
“That … isn’t who I am.”
Gabriel’s head thrusts slightly backwards in surprise. “Wha … what?”
“You are mistaken. That is not who I am.”
His eyes widen as he hears the words again. Gabriel pulls back at once, and looks at the man with hardly a face, straining his eyes at the specter. There is no way that he could be wrong. His child self confirmed it without a doubt. How can he be wrong?
“Then … who are you?” He demands, his voice now hard. “What are you? Who do you say you are?”
The specter’s lips curve slightly. Slowly the white lights around them start to dim. Gabriel looks back and forth frantically, for the loss of light is rapid. His chest begins to tighten, with a feeling that must be fear. If this is a dream, then now is the perfect time to wake up.
But he remains. And just before the light in the space that he is in is shut off, he sees the specter’s mouth move.
"I am your father.”
It is morning.
Gabriel finds himself staring at the ceiling, the morning light has yet to fully penetrate into his room. He sits up slowly. He finds that there is no rush.
Then, he remembers.
He slams his palm onto his face and grits his teeth in frustration. He knew the answer to the question. He knew who the person standing in front of him was. But he wonders why did he choose to answer it differently, why did he answer Dylan Devereaux-Rafilli instead? Why didn’t he say otherwise? Why didn’t he say that he was his father?
How could I be so stupid?