Prelude to Chapter 4

When I was a boy, my mother died. I can't remember how she did, but I knew for certain that she was my shield from father. Father was so complicated, sometimes he was just so sad and would be quiet. Then, at other times he would be cruel, angry, and drunk. Every day I was scared for my life, every day I just wanted to be anywhere else except home. Why? Because I hated my house, I hated my father. I would get so mad when he called me a failure, a useless invalid, the killer of my mother. I would feel the rage every time he dragged me upstairs for another beating. When the rage left me, that's when I would get so lonely and empty. I felt so stuck kid, I felt like I couldn't run anywhere.

Then one day, I met someone in high school, her name was Jane. She surprised me in ways I couldn't believe. This was the type of girl who had the looks, the brains, and the personality. Most importantly, she'd be kind to everyone no matter if they were omnic or human. Why do I say this? Because when I met her, I was just a ghost. I would be the person to isolate myself in more ways than one. No one would notice or acknowledge me and that was fine. I didn't even want to acknowledge my own reality. Then one day, I drop a book of mine and she comes straight up to me and gives it back to me and then continues to start a full conversation. The feeling it gave me was something remarkable. It felt like my soul was becoming warm again. As days became months, that conversation led to us talking more. By the end of sophomore year, we pretty much became best friends. Despite what others thought, I never fell in love with her. But her compassion and her support helped me become more whole. I felt like I could just move forward.

I never told her about how my father kept treating me, and I didn't want to. I had no one else so close to me in my life. If anyone found out, I would be taken away from the one thing that gave me a reason to keep on going. I would take all the pain that he dealt on me if it meant I could smile with her.

When we graduated high school, we both went on to college in different states. She wanted to study science and I wanted to go into business. We kept in contact and we would see each other back home during vacations. However, as the years went on, we slowly became to immersed into our work and our careers. But I never forgot her example of compassion and kindness. Jane made me a better man and made me want to embrace the world. I took that with me as I developed my career, traveled, etc. For the first time I was truly happy.

However, the relationship with my father was always a painful void. As time went on, I kept talking less to him. Whatever relationship we had, no matter how violent it was, slowly vanished. When I graduated from grad school, that was the last time I saw him. It basically ended with him saying that I was nothing but a spineless pathetic being who he should've starved in the crib.

Those words brought back the rage and frustration. For the first time, I said to him that he was nothing but a hopeless drunken fool who is so pathetic that he would take out his misfortune on a child. That he would be nothing. The next thing I knew is that the fuel finally blew up between us as father and son finally traded blows. Everything during that was a blur but I recall breaking his nose while he gave me a bloody lip. Either way, the fight ended with me leaving with the last of my stuff in the car and driving away in very bitter mood and my father cursing me out.

As the years went on, I developed my career and lived a normal life, I was content with who I was and was happy. Then one day, I got a call from the hospital. My father had a heart attack and didn't have much time. Part of me wanted to not go back and let him die alone. But then I thought about Jane and what she would've done. I knew if I wanted to put this behind me, I had to go see him.

When I did, the man laying in the bed in front of me was a far cry from the cruel raged filled drunkard. He was pale, and the look on his face was one of remorse and regret. We talked in what was our last conversation. He apologized for all the cruelty, for the violence. But the last thing he said before he passed, was that he was the one who killed my mother. They were fighting and when mom said she was leaving. In a moment of rage, he hit her, and her head hit the counter. In that moment, I never felt so much shock, so much pain to the truth.

I told him that I forgave him for everything before he died. But the truth was, my hate for that man was intensified and heavily internalized. As the days went on, I tried to let go of that hate, but every memory of that man just reconciled itself with the death of my mother. It felt so skewed, but it made so much sense. I would go on to hate him forever for the sick lies and cruelty. I thought I could let it go in time, but I was wrong.

Two years later, I was living in New York City when I saw the news that day. It was a car accident in Queens where a husband and wife died. What shocked me, however, was when they revealed the identity of the victims. The woman that died in the car was Jane. The same woman that I was best friends with so long ago. I learned from a colleague's wife who was a social worker that they had a young son left behind. I asked what would happen to him, only to discover that he would be in foster care.

After the phone call, I took a couple minutes to let everything sink in. Even though I hadn't seen her in years, to know how her life ended broke my heart. I never even got to see her again, to thank her for helping me all those years ago. But then I knew, that even though I didn't have any children. I could help her son in the same way she helped me. At least that was the idea.

It took a while, but after a lot of paperwork and some convincing. I managed to become a foster father to this young boy. When I met him for the first time, I saw that he looked like whoever the father was, but his eyes and character took after his mother. We talked for a while; I didn't tell him that I was friends was his mother, but I managed to give him a first good impression of me.

Eventually, I took him in and for some time, things were good. I saw how the kid loved science like his mother did. He liked talking about her, and while I acted as if I didn't know about her, truth be told I keep feeling as if I failed her by not being there. But I kept promising to myself that I would do right by her in memory and do right by her son.

Some years later, the boy was 11, and we moved to Switzerland. I got a job there working as a department head at one of the branches of the company I worked for. We got a nice house in the area and it wasn't too far from my job. It also hadn't happened to be too far from Overwatch's Zurich headquarters. I found out later on that they were actually launching a youth internship program that was said to help accelerate develop interest and skill in scientific and technological fields. The boy seemed to be interested so I encouraged him apply. I told him that he shouldn't hold his dreams back for any reason. That was probably the last good thing I did for him.

I don't know what caused me to start doing what I did. All I know is that as time slowly went. The anger, the rage, and everything that was pent up inside of me never left. I never talked to anyone about it. I never sought therapy. I never got counseling. Jane's death always plagued me and the more I saw her son's face, I kept seeing her. I knew it felt so shallow, so unrealistic. But it was true, and I kept disappointing myself more and more when I see that in other ways her son was so different from Jane.

In my head, I kept trying to rationalize everything, trying to explain to myself that the boy was different and that he is his own individual. But some twisted part of my head, the part that hated and was angry kept seeping in and I came to some twisted conclusion. One day, I came home from work and the boy was happy, he got the internship and, on his birthday as well. They said they he would learn with a small group of students from the person in charge of the program. He was so glad, and I was happy for him. It was enough to let me push all that was bad back. We celebrated with some cake and things were alright, then later when washing the dishes. He accidently slipped onto the dish rack and broke a bunch of plates.

He tried apologizing but something in me just broke out, and instead of hearing the voice of the boy, I heard my father instead. I wanted to breathe but the memories all came back. Then…. then I hurt him. I just kept hurting him. I became a radically different person. I hurt him, I yelled at him, and I embraced the power, the violence. That night, things were deathly silent. I had never wanted to puke at what I had done. To a little boy no less! I wanted to apologize profusely, I wanted to make it up to him or send him away from me as far as I could. But the morning came, and I couldn't. My head kept telling me that this was who I was now, and that he's the one in the wrong.

The months go on and suddenly I am my father all over again. Outside I pretend to be a pleasant person. I act like nothing happened. But at home, I drink, I fly into a rage, I hurt him, I use violence on him, and I blame it all on him. That he is nothing of worth. Then when its all over, I go to my bed and I stare the ceiling all day long horrified at the monster I've become. I asked myself if this is what my father did. Is that why he apologized and told me the truth. How vile and monstrous could I be. I don't want to be this person, I don't.

I hate myself. I really do, I thought I could escape all of this, I thought I could be good. But instead I let history repeat itself. Jane would really damn me if she was here today. In the moment I'm writing this, it's my way of saying to myself "STOP!" It's my way of preventing anyone else from being hurt.

Nathan, if you find this letter and you read it fully. I don't want you to forgive me, I just want you to understand everything that happened. I wanted to tell you the truth. I'm so sorry. I should never have done what I did to you. I was a monster to you, taking you in only to become a demented demon. I just want to say one more thing to you. Its not an insult, you're not worthless. But please don't let this define you, please grow up to do great things and not let yourself lose your own humanity, don't give in to the pain. Don't give in to the hate. I can only hope God forgives me even though I deserve none. You'll be interning now by the time I'm done with this letter; I only hope you can open up to them.

Sincerely, Henry

Henry finishes the letter and puts it on the dining table. He writes on the envelope "For Nathan Beckett" and inserts the letter in. He rises from his chair and proceeds to go the living room. From there he opens a drawer to take a small pistol and loads it with one bullet. Taking to his temple, he breathes slowly, and his last thoughts were that of regret, but to him it was the only to stop himself. The sounds of a bang slowly disappear, the darkness comes to surround him as his last thought is that he hoped the cycle stops for good.

A/N: Hello everyone I have returned. I'm sorry to have vanished for so very long but a lot has happened and it has kept me busy ever since. In the meantime, I've gained some new skills that has helped me write better and develop better characters and stories. Where do I begin, I've been reading the reviews repeatedly, I understand that not everything was crystal clear and some of it was just plain awkward. I hope to start refining this story by introducing it from a viewpoint that I didn't expect myself to write. Henry. Henry is Nathan's foster father and is very abusive to him. At least that's the premise of his character. But is he just a character is one dimensionally an antagonist to Nathan, I didn't realize that at first but some of you did which I thank you entirely. Looking back at the previous chapters. I understand that something had to have affected Henry that led to him being who he is to Nathan. So, I thought about and that is what led to this chapter. Secondly, I will be writing with a new approach now, I used to just write on the fly with things coming and going in an instant. Now I'm taking things from a more thoughtful perspective and think about what elements do I want to tie in together. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I hope to start planning chapter 4 very soon. Thank you; it feels good to be back.