Trespasser

Chapter Two

Medical Report

Mariann Markwell, deceased in childbirth, excessive bleeding.

Carrier of the hemophilia gene, partially affected, clotting abilities ranged from 40-60% of the average mid-twenties white woman.

The words on the document pressed deep into the paper, as if trying to pierce my hands on the other side.

Dead. She died in childbirth. I had unintentionally killed my mother. My father had killed himself in grief. Hadn’t I killed him too?

Now only I was left to die.

I sat in my orphanage room, staring at the white wall. But I didn't see a blank wall. Projected on the wall from my thoughts, I saw my parents. I had no real memories of them; mainly I saw older versions of me. A medium height man, straight black hair, green eyes. Pale skin. My father. Curly black hair flowing to her waist, a short woman with electric blue eyes and a warm smile stands by my father. My mother.

I stood up and reached for them, but as soon as my hand touched the wall, they left as fast as they had come.

Get over them Sean, they're gone. This isn't Harry Potter, there is no mirror of Erised.

I had gone outside to be a sad little teenage boy, wearing black and slumped against the rough face of the town that knew my pain.  That's when they came. They were drunk, very drunk, and I was just an easy target.  They joked amongst themselves, calling me names and other things that I might have agreed with, and one of them pulled out a knife and attempted to kill me, or at least grace me with some lovely scarring.

I don’t remember where they went after that, probably scattered at the sight of my intact skin and the unsoiled blade of his knife.

My destiny found me that night, whether I was ready for it or not.