Gast: Volume 1: Dead to rights. (Gothic Horror) (Completed)

Chapter 8 - From Cradle to Grave.

The liquor sang to him, promised him a sweet release from the memories that assaulted him. It seduced him, whispered to him, implored him to just reach out to it.

"Just a sip."

Frank spoke in a register very well known to his ears. The voice was pathetic, self-destructive and belonged to a part of him that he had buried, kicking and screaming deep below. There, it had lurked in the shadows of his mind, conniving at times like this. Times where he was under great stress.

Frank had managed to combat the voice successfully, for the most part of ten years now. Everything changed when his baby girl died. Her last birthday was her thirtieth, yet despite the turnings of time, she was still his baby girl. Even when they lowered her into the wet earth, into a six-foot hole, never seeing the sun or the moon again. Even as the worms ate through her flesh and her features eroded with time, she would still be his baby girl...

Frank's hands trembled, he held the vodka so tight that he feared the glass would smash. The voice had begun to scream and shout. He could feel the beast on his back, watching with wide and hopeful eyes, as his hand was reluctant to return the vodka to the shelf. He envisioned it twisting the muscles in his back into tight knots, it's long inhuman fingers flaying the flesh from his skin. It's eyes burning coals of gluttony. If the beast got its way Frank would drown himself in vodka. On his back in some dark alley, choking on vomit. Piss soaked and delirious in his final moments.

With a deep sigh and a cold steel in his eyes, he returned the bottle to the shelf.

"3800," he spoke to himself and felt empowered.

10.5 years sober.

Frank made it home, unpacked the shopping and ate his lunch before the voice returned once more.

Just a drop.

This time he fought against it and he succeeded until his brain conjured up an image that left him an emotional wreck.

"She's coming," screamed Emily through her contractions.

"Breathe."

Frank held Emily's hand and waited. His heart was racing ten to a dozen, his palms were as sweaty as Emily's face. Up until this moment, Frank wasn't sure if he was ready to be a parent. Could he cope? Would history repeat itself? Would he fly the coop like his father before him, never to be heard from again?

Frank knew what was expected of him by society. He had to be the bread earner, the source of financial support for both his wife and soon to be Daughter. At least that was the plan. However, Frank was currently unemployed, and in the red with his bills. Sooner rather than later he would be evicted and possibly taken to court to recover his debts. At the moment he did not feel like a man, never mind a parent.

Emily let out a cry as she pushed and Frank stared in amazement as his daughter was born into this world. Rose was cleaned and the nurse smiled as she ushered Rose into Franks trembling arms.

"She looks just like you," Frank whispered and kissed Emily on the cheek.

All the while, Rose stared up at him unblinkingly. Newborn and completely dependent on him for her survival. It was then as she began to suck his finger and struggle not to close her eyes, that Frank finally felt like a parent. As if some great and mysterious lever had been pulled in his brain. He couldn't stop smiling, neither could he remove his eyes from Rose.

Frank shook his head, the memory began to dissolve around him. He was no longer thirty years younger, he was no longer a new father. The daughter that had captured his heart and turned him into a man was now dead and soon to be buried.

Frank lowered his head into his hands and began to weep. The urge to drink was stronger than ever, he could practically taste the vodka on his tongue.

He stared up at the ceiling, his and Emily's bedroom was directly above him. Emily remained mournful and bedridden, she also remained distant. Frank plucked up the courage to check on her, he needed to be strong for him and for her, he would have lied if asked about his recent resentment towards Emily. Not out of deception but simply because he was in denial.

He loved Emily, he had for the past thirty years, but Frank refused to admit what he knew deep in his heart. Something had changed with the death of Rose. His love, however powerful, could not repair the damage done by the death of their first child.

Emily seemed to be aware of this pivotal change, simply because she had isolated herself, distanced herself from him. Again, Frank was in denial about this matter also. In the darkness of the night, whenever he remained untouched by sleep, he would tell himself that she just needed time to grieve. Sooner or later, they would become a version of their former selves. Frank was wrong. Something had changed, and some changes are final, irreversible. Some changes... are as permanent as death.