Zombie
Victor doesn't move for the rest of the day. He thinks instead.
Sitting on the ground, thinking.
Replaying everything he can remember, which is a lot, in the new lense he's got.
His mother was a mutant.
But for all the kids to be mutants his father had to carry that gene too. Did he know? What had Victoria done that made Zebidiah so scared of mutants? They weren't known about back then, he couldn't have known it was some genetic quirk.
Maybe he thought it was a curse? A test from God like his mother said. Like Job.
In the end Victor stands in the dark, Arkady asleep on the couch, and stalks to the one place he hasn't been yet.
A boarded up room.
Boarded up ever since he…he killed his brother.
Victor presses his fist against the door.
He doesn't want to do this.
That room never changed.
It'll still have their toys on the floor, their beds unmade, the books that their mother read to them in the crate by Luther's bed.
Luther will still be there. In spirit, in scent, in memory.
Victor pulls the boards off the door with a grunt and slowly pushes the door open.
////////////////////////
“Come on Luther! Play with me!”
“I'm to old for pretend.” Luther sneers. But when Victor comes closer he smirks and tackles his brother. Victor squeals and struggles, but he can't escape Luther putting him in a headlock. Victor isn't scared for a second though, Luther has never hurt him and he won't start now. Luther keeps pa away from him. He loves Luther so damn much.
Luther lets go when the hallway floorboards creak outside their door. They scramble to look like they're doing something other than horsing around in the house by the time their mother opens the door with a knowing smile.
“come on boys. We've got a birthday dinner ready at the table and I don't think you'll want to miss it.” She said. She reaches down and grabs their hands to lead them downstairs.
//////////////////////////
Victor shakes off the memory.
He can't forget it.
He tried, once, but he knows now he can't. He's the only person left on this world that knew Luther. Claire was just a baby when he was alive.
Victor tiptoes across the room, trying to fight back the vivid memories coming to the surface like a bad lunch.
On Luther's bed is a brittle dried out forgetmenot.
Victor stands over his bed and crosses his arms.
God what is he doing here? This is all in the past! He's sabretooth! This is below him!
But…he's still here.
Staring at the bed his big brother slept in for all of his meager 10 years.
That pillow isn't laying right, not that he's not zoning out.
He's gentle to move the old moth eaten pillow.
Under it he finds something he didn't even remember.
Luther's sketchbook.
Luther was an artist. Something he hid from their father but his mother encouraged.
Victor chokes on a sob but bites it back. Holds it down like a writhing animal as he opens the book to the first page.
The first thing he sees is himself.
Sleeping, drooling onto his pillow across the room as the sun went down. Victor smiles. Just a little.
The next page is his mother. Doing something in the kitchen with her back turned.
The cattle on the next.
Luther's favorite barn cat, king Henry, on the next.
Victor again, older, the quality of each drawing only gets better.
The lines bolder, more skilled. Charcoal strokes put down on paper over a hundred years ago.
Then, halfway through the book, the drawings stop. There's a blank page, then another. Vcitors tear hits the page.
God what had he done!?
This boy, this strong boy, all that's left of him is in his hands now. Brittle and fragile. Half decayed to dust in this damn house.
It all boils down to one thing doesn't it?
Victor closes the book and tucks it under his brother's pillow again.
he stole Luther's life.
Luther should have lived this long.
The things he could have given the world, the talent, the love.
He was just a boy.
“He was just a kid…” victir drags his claws down his cheek. A small punishment for what he did and-
“So were you.”
Victor turns around with a start to see Arkady standing in the doorway but coming no closer. He understands the sanctity of this room. How precious it is to Victor to not fuck it up.
There's a crack of thunder from the storm that's been raging for over a day now.
“I killed him.”
“You were a child.”
Victor scoffs.
“I haven't been a kid for a long time.” He mumbles.
The wounds on his face have healed up. Leaving nothing but drying blood behind.
“You killed him a long time ago.” Arkady doesn't move closer though he clearly wants to. So Victor goes to him. Arkady grabs his hands and pulls him close. “You were innocent. You were too young. You didn't understand.”
“You're one to talk, you killed just as young as me.” Victor whispers. Arkady smiles.
“But I meant to. I wanted him dead. You were just playing.”
The storm rages louder outside.
“I need some space to breathe.” Victor said, he steps away from Arkady and heads out into the storm.
—----------------------
The first thing she feels is the rain, and then the thunder pops her ears. Ears that have been unused since the second world War was coming to a close.
She gasps and cracks her jaw and claws more dirt away to sprawl out on the ground in a tattered dress.
Turned dirt halos her, a rough hewn stone next to her head.
She's soaked like the mud around her in seconds.
Then she stands, on unsteady legs.
She finds, there and there, on her legs and arms the stitched together scars of where she knows she wasnt all put together just a second ago. She remembers it, the face of rage as a man she didn't know took her apart with less precision than a fly on your windshield going 60 miles an hour.
She doesn't remember her name yet, though in her head it bounces around. Waiting to catch on something and finally click.
"Clara?"
Is she screaming? Yes, maybe. Either way that's her name. She recognizes it now.
And then there, the face that said it. Is still saying it.
"Claire?" Qarm hands, she's so cold, pull her against a solid chest and she flutters her eyes open to a flash of lightning.
"Clara…"
Victor is staring at her and either crying or soaked in he rain. His blonde curls are attached to his face anyhow and she grabs onto the white shirt he's wearing to pull herself close. Unsteady on her feet, one of which was just regrown.
"Vickie." Her voice cracks like old wood and she clears her throat to look up at him again. God when did he get so tall? She swears she used to be almost as tall as him and oh, that's why.
She's falling and he catches her with a weak smile.
Her face screws into one of rage and she slaps him full forced across the face.
He seems surprised but all things considered he shouldn't be. Not after…after whatever he did! She'll remember, but for now she closes her eyes and falls against his chest when he picks her up.
—-----------------------------
Victor is frozen there on the ground with his sister passed out in his arms for so long he goes stiff in the rain.
"Victor." Arkadys hands on his shoulders, brushing his water sticky hair from his cheeks. There, now, crouched in front of him and wiping dirt from under his eyes.
"Inside Victor, the storm isn't going to stop for you to have your moment." He said. Victor shakes his head and holds Clara closer. He can't hear her heart and he's afraid it's not just the noise of the storm. Fuck he's so afraid that if he goes inside he still won't hear her heart.
But Arkady offers his hand and together they stumble inside, Clara cradled in Victor's arms until she isn't and she's instead settled on the couch with a blanket soon covering her.
Victor holds his breath snd when Arkady goes to speak Victor waves his hand for silence.
Oh thank God.
Under the ambient noise of the storm outside he can hear her heart thudding awy. Slower than he remembers but still beating.
His baby sister is alive.
How he has no idea, but that doesn't matter.
He hasn't lost everything after all.
He still has a pack to protect.