Lorcan - Side story

1986

The yelling could be heard over the booming of his music. He had felt it this morning during breakfast. His parents fought a lot nowadays. He knew it was a bad day when his mother would place his father’s plate on the table in a certain way. It wasn’t slammed but it wasn’t gentle, it wasn't the way she would serve him his breakfast.

And then his father, he would refuse to look at either of them. He would busy himself away with his newspaper, pretending to be engrossed in the stories. He would leave for work without a word, his footsteps heavier than usual. 

His mother would crack a forced smile, she never liked for him to see how dire things were in those final weeks. At the time Lorcan thought it was normal, he knew other kids’ parents fought, Orla would go on and on about how her parents hated each other. 

But deep underneath, Lorcan felt that something was coming. That him and his family were hurtling towards a hole so cavernous and dark that they would never be able to find their way out. But what could he do? He was a child. How could he arrange the right words to stop what his father would eventually do?

His father sat down in his room the night before it happened. He hardly ever did that but he knocked and Lorcan lowered down his boombox. His father was a big man, he could barely fit into a normal sized hallway without his shoulders brushing the walls. When Lorcan opened the door his father blocked out most of the door frame.

“Dad?” Lorcan asked. 

His father’s face was obscured by the darkness within the corridor. Only his grey eyes glimmered in the light of Lorcan’s lamp. 

“Son, can I ask you something?”

Lorcan felt a tight knot of fear in his stomach, the voice that came out from his dad’s mouth wasn’t the usual voice he used to talk to him. It was odd, as if someone else was talking with his father’s face. 

“S-sure,” he replied and moved aside as his father with his heavy footsteps walked into his room. 

He sat on the bed, the bed frame creaking under his weight. Lorcan didn’t know what to do, where to sit. He didn’t want to be near his dad but the man patted the spot beside him. Lorcan trembled as he neared the bed. 

He sat at the edge of the bed, his legs ready to spring up at any moment’s notice. His dad asked, “if someone had done something bad, very bad, what do you think should happen to them?”

His stomach dropped. He was in trouble. Probably one of his teacher’s had called his dad. Lorcan started going through anything he had done lately — he had skipped school, thrown a box of pencil crayons at Lily, stolen Michael’s comic book, told Mrs. Tyler to bite him, got into a fight with Sa—

“Because you know what I would do?” his dad interrupted his thoughts. He was looking away from Lorcan, towards the window. 

“What?” Lorcan squeaked. 

His dad didn’t answer for a moment. “I would punish them.” He slightly turned his face to his son, not completely, Lorcan could only see the side of his father’s eye. 

“That’s what people who do bad things deserve, boy. Especially ungrateful ones.”

Lorcan’s dad had never hit him. Well, he had but it was usually a slap on the head or an ear tug. Not as bad as he knew other kids were hit by their parents. His dad wasn’t a violent man but his yells did freeze Lorcan to his core. 

He didn’t know which action he preferred. 

He wanted to apologize profusely, cry if necessary to his dad, make promises of the ‘I’ll never do it again’ nature. The words were at the tip of his tongue when his dad spoke again, “I love you, son. Never doubt that."

His father stood up, and almost robotically walked out of his son’s room. Not once did he look at him. Lorcan felt so cold. He had expected some reaction, this detachment made him shiver. Maybe tomorrow at breakfast his dad would lay into him and that thought made him dread.

But somehow he was able to sleep. Except for a brief moment a scream woke him up but he was far too groggy to not think it wasn’t a dream. And so he didn’t wake up until the sun had risen high above the houses. 

When he looked at the clock and realized he had missed half a school day he shot out of bed. Hastily threw on his clothes and poked his head out of the door. He listened carefully to the movements in the house. He heard regular creaking that all houses do but no radio or TV, no voices. 

Even so he tipped toed out, stopping whenever the floorboards creaked under his shoes. He made it slowly to the kitchen and peeked around the corner, expecting to find his mom there, either sipping coffee on the table or by the stove.

But she wasn’t there. He walked freely into the kitchen and looked around. The kitchen was clean. Too clean. Usually the plates from breakfast would still be on the table. Something left over for him. Lorcan’s stomach growled and he moved a chair up to the fridge, reaching for the cereal. 

He would probably walk around town, try to waste the day until dinnertime when he would have to face the music. 

He went to the park near his house which was just a slide that’s shaky and one swing, the other one still on the ground from when it broke off last fall. He passed the arcade and thought of going in but he had no coins and he was always bored with watching other kids play. 

Orla would be mad he skipped school. She would do this thing where she would pretend he didn’t exist and each time she did it it would go on for longer and longer. It made him feel like he was a ghost.

He walked and he walked. He walked so long and he thought about his mom and dad and Orla. For a brief moment he thought of Orla’s little sibling. They were in the same homeroom and they were weird. Orla didn’t like them, Lorcan didn’t understand why. They never talked to anyone. Didn’t bother anyone. He had heard from a few kids that they liked beating people up but that didn’t sound real. Of course they had said that thing at the parent-teacher meetings and he had been mad about that but that weeks ago.

As twilight started over the town, Lorcan grew anxious as he started the way home. He was so wrapped up in his culpability that he hadn’t noticed the police cars racing by. He hadn’t noticed the whispers that began from other people. 

He delayed the walk home as much as he could. But when he got on the street he forced himself to look up from his untied shoelaces and he saw something he didn’t understand. There were police cars all over the front of his house. Their lights were flashing red and blue. The neighbours were looking out from their windows, their lawns and were being kept back by officers. 

Lorcan blinked, not knowing whether to go on or turn back. He watched dumbfounded as everyone seemed to wait. Wait for what? The officers had their hands on their guns and watched the front door attentively. 

That very front door swung open and out came a big man that even in the dying light of day Lorcan recognized. He was being escorted by four other officers towards one of the squad cars. He was looking down. He hands behind his back. 

Lorcan didn’t know what he wanted to do. Lorcan didn’t know where to go. Where was his mom? Should he call his grandma?

As if Lorcan had yelled for him, his dad’s head jerked up and he looked right into his eyes down the street. His dad smiled at him with such unbound glee that Lorcan had never seen nor would be able to ever unsee again. 

He was put into the car and somehow, even though no one had told him nor had he seen her boy, Lorcan knew that his mother was dead.