V. It's Not Your Fault

With Hugo's good season at work, the Langdon's were able to afford a young, red-headed maid. Moira was her name, and she was barely out of High School, though she looked like a professional pin-up model, blessed with a beautiful physique and alluring facial features. Constance didn't really pay much attention to Moira's presence in the house but long enough to give her a long list of chores to be completed with a judgmental stare. She told herself that it had nothing to do with jealousy or intimidation, just that Constance thought herself better than poor scum like her.

The children didn't understand Moira at first. They didn't understand that they were not to bother her while she was there, that she had work to do and she couldn't be interrupted. The Langon children were so outgoing in nature that it really disturbed them to not be able to speak to house guests, especially the ones that visited every day of the week. Adelaide had a very strong fascination with the red-headed woman-stronger than the interest her brothers shared in her. Addie though Moira must've been an angel of some sort. She was absolutely beautiful, and she idolized her. Little Adelaide told herself that when she grew up, she was going to look just like Moira.

While Moira was in the home, the Langdon children were usually in the attic or the basement, sometimes in the backyard. Tate and Darby enjoyed picking at the walls and the floorboards as they could usually find openings full of spiders and other creepy crawlies. Adelaide always tried to tag along, but she grew rather bored with their mischief. Of course, Beauregard would've joined in on the fun, but his chains refused to leave him.

This late afternoon, however, Tate and Darby were spending time in the living room spying on Moira. They had turned the ordeal into a sort of game-to see how close they could get to the red-headed woman before their mother would come hollering. Moira heard the boys giggling and their small feet pitter-pattering about behind her, though she acted as if she hadn't the slightest idea they were about. She didn't much like Constance, but she adored her boys. Of course, everyone adored the Langdon boys.

"I could swear I heard something," Moira said under her breath, trying not to crack a smile. She did adore children and would've much rather been a nanny than a maid, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Tate and Darby giggled quietly to each other and they ran across the room, eyeing around corners to see if their mother were anywhere in sight. Tate would occasionally trip and fall, Darby pulling his little brother to his feet quickly and with a slight attitude of irritation. It could be very difficult being a big brother to such a clumsy little toddler.

Constance was in the other room, smoking her cigarette and reading one of her romance novels in the open window. With Hugo being gone so often, she needed a little something extra to keep herself entertained. Of course, the writings of amateur-hour authors left much to be desired, but it got her heart racing nonetheless. She found herself dreaming of the day when Hugo would come home to her and sweep her off her feet, take her in throws of ecstasy as though they were young again. Hugo would never, though. He wasn't the type.

She found it difficult to keep herself from distraction today though. It seemed there was a disturbance in the other room. Constance peeked her head up from behind her book, staring hard through the doorway and listening fiercely. "Moira?" she called," what's going on in there?"

Moira rolled her eyes, sighing to herself. "Nothing, ma'am! The boys are just playing, is all. They aren't hurting anything."

I'll decide that one for myself, Mrs. Langdon thought, getting up from her place and marching into the den.

Darby shushed Tate, who held his hands over his mouth hard as he tried to keep the giggles from spilling out. This was the scary part of the game they liked to play: the part when mother-dearest would emerge from her lair to give them a 'game over' and a good scolding that lasted until supper.

"You missed a spot." Constance pointed with a snooty face someplace on the coffee table that Moira had been scrubbing relentlessly, all just to be a bitch. It was something she was good at; being a bitch. She was especially good at being a bitch to the younger, prettier women of the neighborhood, and even more so to the ones that Hugo seemed rather friendly towards.

Darby thought long and hard about which way to send Tate to run. He was a smart little boy, always the brain behind everything he, Tate and Addie would get themselves up to. Of course he and Tate couldn't go running in the same direction. It would be much better to run in opposite directions. "You go upstairs, and I'll run outside!" he whispered loudly into his little brother's ear, who nodded, hands still over his pink lips.

Constance continued circling the room, arms folded with a stern mothers' face, still listening carefully for her trouble-making children. Darby started counting with his fingers so Tate could see, mouthing each number to himself with as much focus as he could muster.

On three, Tate and Darby started running. Constance instantly started yelling. "Get back here, you little heathens! How many times have I told-" Moira couldn't help but crack a smile, maybe even laugh a little bit here and there. Her boss always treated everything like it was such a catastrophe. The world always had to be falling down on her head.

Tate was screeching loudly through the house, little feet carrying him as quickly as they could. Darby was by now outside of the house, and Contance was just about read to run outside for the less angelic child when the sound of glass breaking filled her ears. "Tate!" Moira screamed, too shocked to move.

Constance stopped in her tracks, heart stopped, and ran to her baby. "Tate! Oh, Tate!"

...

He hated this. It wasn't his fault. Why was Darby getting yelled at? Tate was so confused.

Constance hadn't stopped screaming. "You just wait until your father gets home! You'll really get an ass-whoopin' then, boy! What were you thinking-" Tate and Adelaide could hear her pacing back and forth in Darby's room. Darby was getting all the blame for everything.

"It was just a vase," Adelaide said bluntly. "Not like you broke or something." Tate agreed. It wasn't like Darby knocked the vase over or pushed him or anything. This all made no sense to him. But then again, Tate almost never seemed to get in trouble for the things he did. In fact, Tate almost never got in trouble period.

"Daddy's gonna give it to him..." Adelaide said sadly. She had seen what Hugo did to their brother before. Darby was the only one that ever saw Daddy's fist.

Tate's little heart dropped. He was scared. He didn't understand what was happening. The game was always so fun before. What changed that? Why was it so scary now? Why did he feel afraid and why did he feel so bad?

"You're supposed to be a positive influence, Darby! Do you know what kind of damage you could've caused Tate? Do you have any idea of what he may be thinking? That it's okay to disobey? I won't have you turning my little boy into a heathen, young man!" Darby looked up at his mother pleadingly. They were only having a little fun. "You just wait until your father gets home. He should be here any minute..."

She left it at that, leaving the room with a pang of fear for a moment. She remembered what Hugo was like with him. She knew that Hugo would put his hands on him. She hated it, but she didn't have the courage to stop him and she was too full of pride to not let Darby get a talking to from his father now.

...

"He could've been hurt, you little devil!" Hugo shouted, throwing Darby's belongings around the room. He jumped at each swing of his fist. He knew he would be meeting with one of them any moment. It was all he could do to brace himself for the horrible impact. He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to say that he didn't mean it, but the words wouldn't come out. He shook and jumped and cried in his father's rage.

It wouldn't have mattered what Darby would've said, anyways. Hugo had already decided that Darby was the evil mastermind. That Tate was too innocent and naive to understand what he was doing. That Tate never would've done anything so mischievous like that on his own. And of course Hugo had envisioned the whole ordeal to be a million times more over-the-top than it was. Tate had but a bruised knee from tripping. The broken glass didn't even touch his baby boy.

Tate and Adelaide were still listening in the other room. Tate couldn't stop himself from crying, and he jumped with every bang just like Darby did. He had never seen or heard his father sound so absolutely terrifying. He was a monster now. And Adelaide was too scared to move. Hugo's voice growled behind the walls in a way that made you feel like you couldn't move. "Poor Darby," she said quietly, wishing there was something she could do to stop it.

"You only ever learn when it's beat into you, don't you? You just refuse to think, don't you, boy?" Hugo continued to yell, continued to throw things and kick things. He pulled his thick, leather belt off and Darby started to hold his breath and closed his eyes shut tight.

Each whip sounded more painful than the last. Darby's cries echoed through the house. And in the dining room downstairs, Constance sat in silence waiting for it to end. She didn't know what else to do other than to let it run it's course with every hour-long minute. She could almost bring herself to cry if she weren't so mortified with herself.

...

Hugo threw his belt into the master bedroom before making his way back downstairs into the dining room with Constance, and when Tate was sure he was gone, he ran into Darby's room, eyes almost blinded with his tears. Darby laid on the floor with a bloody nose, bruises all over his arms, legs and back. He couldn't bring himself to move. He felt so ashamed.

"Is not your fault!" Tate cried, hugging his almost lifeless brother. He hugged him as if it would make all the pain go away. He hugged him because he was terrified and confused. He hugged him because it was the only thing he knew how to do and he felt so sorry for what had happened. "Is not your fault," he continued to cry, sobbing loudly into his brother's neck. Darby cried silently with him. It was all he could do.

Author's Note: I told you it was gonna get dark. I feel so terrible. And it's only going to get worse from here on out.

~Lully