Luke (sequel to 'Say You'll Remember Me')

Chapter 1 The beginning

On a cold November night, alone in her hospital room, May Castellan gave birth to a beautiful little boy. The woman had no family, no friends, and the boy's father was absent. The delivery was was an average one, nothing out of the ordinary happened, at least not on the outside. But from the moment the doctor put the baby in her arms, May knew that there was something wrong. She didn't want to hate her son, the son that she tried so hard to love and to care for, but she didn't feel it. May never felt that sense of motherhood that she heard everyone speak of, never experienced that urge to nurture and protect her child. Maybe she was wired wrong, or maybe it was because he reminded her of his father. She tried hard for the first few months, cleaning and playing with the boy, but eventually the playing stopped, and the filth accumulated. When Luke was three years old, May Castellan took to the drink.

The boy didn't know of a time when his mother wasn't the way she was, when she wasn't angry or shouting. As far as he knew, she had always been that way. Even at the young age of 7, he knew that this wasn't how a mother should behave towards her only son. She shouldn't get drunk and throw things at him, scream insults at him, never say she loves him. The boy knew that she blamed him for his father leaving, even though he was long gone before Luke arrived -at her drunkest, he discovered that she had only met the man one time.

He was a smart boy, all of his teachers said so, but it's not all they said. He pretended that he couldn't hear them talk about him at recess or in the lunch room, talking about how someone needed to take him away, that his mother was going to kill him one day. Surely she wasn't that bad, right? But they were right about him being smart, he was smart enough to know that the bruises she had gave him were why he had no friends, why no kids' parents would let them come over to his house, why he was never invited to their's.

He didn't need friends, he had his books, and those were all he needed. In his room he had all kinds of books: science books, fairytales, even a few coloring books. His mother didn't know he had them -it's not like she cared enough to ever check his room- but she'd be livid if he knew that he saved up all the loose change she left lying around to buy them. After all, it's money that could have been used for more cheap wine.

He's stopped trying to play with the kids after school, they had been conditioned to not like him anyway. Now he went straight home and into his room, locking himself away, pretending his life was better. He liked to think that he was a character in a book, that one day, a wizard would come and send him on a quest. He would go out and make new friends, slaying dragons and saving people. He was two blocks from his house one day, when a new thought stuck him: he wasn't a character in a book. He was never getting rescued, he would never get out and save people from monsters and dragons, they didn't even exist. His life was never going to change, he wasn't going to be happy.

He walked the rest of his way home with his lead held low, dealing with this new realization. As he stood on his porch, he heard crashes coming from inside the tiny little house. This surprised him, as by this time of day, his mother had usually drank herself into a stupor -a stupor that he had to wake her up from so that she could go work the night shift at the McDonald's- and even if she wasn't, should still be too wasted to even leave the couch.

Luke hesitated before opening the door and heading into the house. Inside, the crashes were louder, and what was worse, they seemed to be coming from his room in the back of the house. He crept down the hall to his door, trying not to make any noise; unfortunately, he forgot about the creaking floorboard at the end of the hallway.

His door flung open to reveal his mother, puffy-eyed and reeking of alchohol. The woman grabbed his arm and threw him into the room. He looked around and saw his shelf lying on the ground, his secret books scattered all over the floor. The room's only window was shattered, as it appeared the woman had thrown a book through it.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, you little shit?" The woman roared at her son.

"Momma," he whimpered, scared of her, "please, I'm sorry." He tried to get to his feet, but she slapped him and sent him sprawling back to the ground.

"Where'd you get the money for all these, you little faggot?"

"Momma, I'm sorry!" Another slap.

"Have you been stealing from me?"

"Momma, it was just some change." She screamed and kicked him in the stomach as layed on the floor.

"How dare you steal from me, your own mother! I have down nothing but work my ass off for you, you fucking bastard, and you go and pull this shit!"

"Mommy," he cried, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough, you worthless, little brat."

She began grabbing the books and tossing the through the window, knocking out the remaining glass. Luke didn't cry, he just layed on the floor and watched. When she was done, May grabbed Luke by the arm and began dragging him down the hallway, faster than his short legs could manage. They went through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the yard. She threw the young boy down by her feet and kicked him again.

"So boy," she snarled, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a cigarette lighter, "I hope you liked those books, because they're gone now."

"Momma no," he cried out, scrambling over to her only to be kicked again. She crouched down by the pile of books and clicked on the lighter. "Mommy, please stop!" He screamed. She lit the closest book -and old book of nursery rhymes the neighbor gave him when he was four- and the rest quickly followed suit. He looked at the flames, screaming and crying. He didn't even know that his mother had went back inside. And he wouldn't know until later that she had locked him out. That night, while trying to sleep on the back porch, he realized -as best as any young child could- that any love he had left for May Castellan, had burnt up with those books.