From The Other Side

Chapter Fourteen: Trial

Opening his eyes had never been so hard before. Everything was a blurry mess. He felt himself lying still on the cold, rough stones of the floor, scared of what else could be waiting for him to wake up.

For most of his life, his biggest sorrow was never getting the opportunity to meet his mother. Then, his biggest wish became reuniting with his grandmother. Hearing her sweet laugh, feeling her warm hugs, at least for one more time.

Now, he knew how cursed those wishes were.

He forced his eyelids to stay open. The sun was silver on the cloudy skies. He could see it right there, he could see its light, but he couldn't feel any heat.

"Look who's awaken," his father scoffed. "Your grandmother sent you too early. Not even the bitch can bear to stay around you anymore."

Oliver felt his tumour kick inside him. He grunted, curling into a ball of misery and exhaustion.

The man sat by a small table in a dark corner of his room, looming over an empty bottle of whisky. He glared at Oliver through the corner of his eye. He grimaced, watching the boy struggle to stand up.

He carelessly threw the bottle at his son. The boy flinched, hiding his head behind his arms. The heavy bottle missed him for less than an inch, shattering against a wall in a loud explosion of shards that made his heart race. It was too real. It was feeling like a helpless five-year-old all over again.

"I need another," his father muttered as he got up and went to his little bar to grab more whisky. There was no more of his favourite drink, so he threw the whole cabinet to the floor. Glass spread beneath the mahogany wood, the same way it had spread under the car after the crash in that snowy winter, all those years ago. He could almost hear "Jingle Bells" glitching on the radio as he crawled over the cold asphalt.

"So, this is it," he started, bitterly. "No alcohol, no money, no job and no wife. But I have this crippled thing sitting right behind me. It's the only thing I can't lose, and the only one I want to."

His expression grew darker.

"Come here," he ordered. Oliver sat on the floor, shaking, staring down intently at his lap. "I said," he growled, his voice getting gradually more aggressive, "come here!"

Oliver stood up, hesitating, with nothing to hold on to other than himself. He stopped beside his father, feeling the man's despise emanating from his body.

"You take everything from me... you ruin my life... and you won't even look at me..."

The boy felt his unsteady breath on his neck.

"Look at me!" He roared in pure wrath.

Oliver flinched, trying to hide from that anger, to find some shelter from all that violence. But he had nothing, no one, and he never did, and he never would. That was his life. Eventually, it would be his death too.

However, he didn't need to look at his father's eyes to feel the hate, the disgust stamped on his face.

"Kneel," he commanded, pointing at the glass covering the floor.

Oliver shut his eyes. His lips quivered as he sobbed and whimpered, struggling to get anything past his throat.

"Dad, please," he started.

"Kneel!" The man screamed louder.

The boy walked towards his punishment. He knelt, feeling the shards digging into his skin, his head always down, always defeated, always just waiting for the next humiliation.

"And you dare to call me dad," he spat. "Apologise. Apologise now, right now, apologise!"

He shouted at Oliver's face, with an arm raised and ready, thirsty for more punishment. The doors swung open. His brother walked in.

"It's time for the trial," he stated calmly.

"Alright," the father said before hitting his son with all the strength he had. The boy fell with the impact. "Let's go," he said, leaving the room.

Oliver was escorted by the guards as if he still posed any threat. He thought they would have known by then that he was nothing. Just someone who lost every battle, every fight and every argument, the one who was wrong no matter the circumstances. Whatever they were judging on that trial, he had no doubts about the verdict.

He walked down an aisle marked by impaled corpses, all rotting, just in different stages of decay. It was clear that Eros and Austin's had been recently placed there. Blood left their bodies through the many open wounds on their skin, the marks of their brutal lashing. Except for the fact that their eyes and mouths had been stitched up, they still looked like themselves.

He stood before two thrones made out of black steel, where his father and his uncle sat side by side, tall and unchallenged. In the middle of them, the python lay frozen, lifeless, a shell emptied of everything it used to carry, and stuffed with their ideals: a symbol of power; a symbol of domination.

His grandmother walked in, pushing a wheelchair. He couldn't see his mother's face underneath her black veil, but he knew it was her on that chair. They remained in utter silence for minutes, until his uncle spoke: "'You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.' Book of Leviticus, chapter 18, verse 22."

Suddenly, he was back in Erotes with the angels. They watched him with their sewed up eyes.

"Oliver Madsen, for the sins of betrayal, heresy, sodomy, and for disrespecting one of the 10 Commandments..."

"Honor thy father and thy mother," his mother scoffed from the corner of the room.

"... I, Christian Madsen, in the name of this court, find you guilty," his uncle said finally.

Oliver was hit with another wave of pain, almost making him throw up. He fell on his wounded knees as bile filled his mouth, and something tried to crawl out of him.

"'Neither idolaters, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.' Book of Corinthians, chapter 6, verses 9 to 11," his father quoted. "Now, it is your time to rejoice in our holy mercy and be sanctified."

Christian stepped down of his throne. He held a dagger, and with one single move, he sliced through Oliver's flesh, cutting his stomach open. Then, he searched with his bare hands for that tumour, that poisonous cancer feeding off the boy.

Oliver cried and whimpered as his uncle thoroughly examined every bit of his body. The man found it. He grabbed it and pulled it out, that warm apple, red as blood, pulsing like a second heart.

"Your path to redemption starts today," he announced.

Without another word, Christian grabbed Oliver by his arms and took him down neverending stairs into the dungeons. He threw him inside with nothing but a torch.

"I'll be back for your session this evening," he said, his voice low and melodic as usual. "Enjoy."

The sound of the shutting door swept the darkness surrounding him. At last, the judge, the jury and the executor banged his gavel.