The Sound of Wind
Page 49
Chapter Eleven - Killing Relatives is a Man's Job
The soft clinking of silverware was the only sound in the room as everyone dug into Thanksgiving dinner. Hugo poked at his stuffing with his fork, moving it in and out of the influence of the gravy that oozed from the mashed potatoes; he didn’t feel like eating. His stomach was a complex network of cold, writhing knots, leaving no room for anything warm or comforting. He glanced at his mom at one end of the table, the smile she was giving the rest of them bright and loving. Roger was a little too focused on his plate to be smiling at anyone. Lewis, to his left, was taking a sip from his glass of red wine. His brother turned his head to grin at him and then picked up his fork. He tapped it against the glass and everyone looked over at him.
“I have an announcement to make,” his intonation sounded like this was going to be a joke, probably at Hugo’s expense.
“Oh? What is that?” His mother asked enthusiastically, her smile only widening.
Hugo’s palms started to sweat with the sudden urge to get up and run. But he couldn’t, he was rooted firmly to his chair.
“Weelllll, Hugo here,” Lewis jerked a thumb towards Hugo, “kills people! He just goes around murdering people. We’re going to give him a parade and then I’m going to take him out back and shoot him! How does that sound?”
“Honey! That’s just wonderful!” His mother touched Lewis’ hand lightly, her smile bright, “I’m just a little jealous I don’t get to participate in the festivities. I’d love to shoot my son myself!”
“Darling!” Roger called from the other end of the table, while Hugo looked on in horror, “Darling, you know you can’t go around killing relatives. That’s a man’s job!”
His mom pouted slightly, and then laughed, “Oh poo. Can I watch at least?”
Lewis slapped Hugo on the back, “Of course you can Mom!”
Hugo couldn’t get out of his chair, so they attached it to the roof of a Gideon Enterprises company car decorated like a turkey. The head on the hood of the car wobbled, flopping about in the breeze. Christian was driving the car, whistling the strains of Moonlight Sonata. Everyone in the parade seemed oblivious to the fact that blood was pouring out of the trunk. He wanted to get down. He needed to get down and away from the procession that was too rapidly circling the block. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want his brother who waved at him from every corner, shotgun in hand, to kill him. He tried to get out of the chair but he was handcuffed to it with thick leather straps. The chair rocked and swayed in time with the turkey head as he struggled. He screamed.
A moment later Hugo was sitting up in bed, panting. He took in several deep breaths, but the sound rattled in his chest, stinging. He hid his face in his shaking hands as he continued to try and control his breathing. The sweat on his skin started to cool and he started shivering. He leaned against the wall and pulled the tangled blanket over his head but he didn’t close his eyes again.