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Non-HP related Fanfics >> With out Dad (Preview) by Sirius_06

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.

Jack Reed climbed the stairs to reach the landing. He listened. It was quiet. Too quiet. He pushed open a bedroom door to reveal his sons’ room. One glance told him that three of his six year old sons were glued to the TV. Then his gaze fell on the fourth, Sam, who was sitting next to a pot of orange paint, painting his hand. Without looking up, the small boy turned, pressed his hand hard against the blue wall, and pulled away to reveal a perfect handprint. He then turned to his father, who smiled.
“Look daddy, hand!” exclaimed Sam.
“Looks like we’ve got an artist in the family.” Jack muttered to himself as he carried his small son to the bathroom.
Eight years later, a fourteen year old Sam was sat on his bed, staring at a small, orange handprint on his bedroom wall.

Chapter 1, Sam

I always thought of Dad, whenever I stared at the handprint. Always. The way he used to push me on the swing when I was a kid; the way he greets me with a “Hey up, Kiddo!” or a “How’s it goin’ mate?” the way he’d always joke around with the four of us, and take our side when Mum was on the rampage, us boys together.
As I looked now, I thought of the future. What will Dad be like in, say, ten years time? I’ll be twenty four. Will he have grey hair? Will he still crack jokes, play pranks, and gang up against Mum? Or will he be a doddery old man, leaning hard upon his stick?
I grinned, then. It was impossible to imagine our Dad, who is always so full of energy, hobbling around with a stick.
The phone rang. I ignored it. There were four other people in the house besides me, they could answer it. It’s probably Dad, I thought. Ringing to see if we’ve eaten yet, and whether we want him to pick up a take-away on his way home from work.
I could hear voices, but I tried to ignore them. When you’re one of four boys you cherish these rare, private moments. When I say one of four boys, I don’t just mean we are brothers who share a room. I mean we are brothers who share clothes, parents, books, DVD’s, and even a birthday. Yeah, we’re Quadruplets. Four. All born at the same time. Well, near enough. I was the last, so I’m counted as the youngest. Rory, he’s the “eldest”, followed by Ben, then Daniel. I’m last. I’m always last. Last to get up in the morning, last to go to bed at night, last to use the bathroom, last to pick what DVD we watch…the list goes on.
My thoughts turned back to Dad. He was late. I imagined him bouncing through the door, any minute, a big grin on his face. He’d dump his bag, give us all a high-five in turn, (me last), and then sweep Mum into his arms, apologising profusely.
Suddenly, Daniel burst through the door. I grinned at him, then realised he was white and shaking.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Sam, there’s been an accident. It’s Dad, he’s hurt bad…”
Daniels voice trailed off into darkness. I wasn’t fourteen, and I wasn’t sitting on my bed. I was six, sitting by the wall painting my hand. Dad was smiling, I was smiling, we were together, happy…
The breath was knocked out of me as I hit the floor clutching my stomach, tears of physical pain rolling down my cheeks. I blinked, and looked up into the furious but scared eyes of my brother Rory. He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me to my feet.
“Snap out of it! And get downstairs, now! We’ve got to get to the hospital!”
The next half hour passed in a blur of tears, cars and hospital smell. Before my feet touched the ground I was sitting in a waiting area, doctors and nurses rushing past in all directions. I looked across at Daniel. Had this been any other day before now, he would have been in his element. He loves Science, medicine, human body organs, chemicals, space craft, and science fiction. He could sit up till midnight easily, looking through his telescope, pointing out stars to us.
Now, however, his face was still chalk white, and his glasses were slipping down his nose which was wet with tears. I looked around. Rory was staring at the floor, his fists and teeth clenched. Ben was pacing, cracking his knuckles as he walked. Tears were pouring down his face too.
I couldn’t’t cry. After all, I thought, he’s not dead. They said it was a car crash, and that we needed to be here as soon as possible. They had taken Mum down a long corridor some time ago. We were left waiting…
Suddenly the doors opened. Mum made her way down the corridor, half walking, half supported by two nurses. One look, and I knew it was bad news. Tears were streaming down her face, and as she reached us she pulled us all in a big cuddle.
“My boys, oh my boys. What are we going to do?” She sobbed.
I broke away, walked towards the cola machine, the bright red far too cheerful. All my emotions, hate, love, sorrow, anger, had piled up into one.
But I couldn’t’t cry, I still couldn’t’t cry…
I sat up, and stared at the orange handprint. I couldn’t’t think. Not about Dad, what had happened, or anything. It seemed unreal that only a few hours ago I had been sitting here looking at the same spot on the wall, thinking about the future. Now there is no future. Not for Dad anyway…
I could here Mum sobbing. I could here the comforting voices of Ben and Daniel. But not Rory…
I made my way slowly, downstairs, stopping outside the living room door. I peered in. Mum was sitting in the middle of the sofa, Ben on one side, Daniel on the other. They were all crying but comforting each other together. A door opened, then closed. I ignored it. Voices greeted me from the living room.
“But, w-where’s Sam and R-Rory?” Stuttered Mum.
“They need time alone, Mum.” Ben answered, his voice thick with tears.
I crept away. When I was alone, I wanted to be with them, but I knew that as soon as I joined them I’d want to be alone. I didn’t’t really know what I wanted. Wait. Of course I did. I wanted Dad…
I walked out of the back door, into the garden. It was dark, but the moon lit up the path as if showing me the way. I carried on down the path, until I reached the fork. One way led to the Shed, the other led to our Jungle Gym that Dad built, years ago. I took the latter.
As I swung, I noticed the light in our bedroom had just come on. Rory? Maybe. Then it went off, putting the upstairs of the house in total darkness. After a few moments, the back door opened, and the silhouette of my eldest brother walked down towards me. I stopped the swing with my feet, and got up to meet him.
“Hey. You alright?” I asked, with a faint smile.
He looked into my eyes, then suddenly, he grabbed me by the shoulders, swung me round towards the shed, and slammed me into the wall.
“Alright? Alright?” He yelled, looking deep into my eyes. “Of course I’m not alright, idiot!”
I closed my eyes, willing him with all my heart not to say it. To say it would make it final, the truth…
“Dad’s dead!” He yelled. “He’s gone, he’s not coming back! Ever! Not ever…”
Rory’s voice broke, and he started to sob. He sank to the ground, still holding me so I went too. I just stared at him. Rory, the toughest of all of us, sobbing like a baby.
Suddenly, I could hold it in no longer. I started to cry, tears pouring down my face. We sat there, Me and Rory, in the garden, holding each other as we cried. Rory pulled me close and hugged me tight, that was when I noticed his hand, wrapped in a bandage. I pushed away, wiping away tears.
“W-what happened to-to your h-hand?” I stuttered.
“N-nothing. I slammed it in a door that’s all.”
Later on, when I returned to our room, I gladly moved my Green Day poster to cover up a fist-sized hole that had appeared in our bedroom wall. After all, Rory had helped me cry.


Please review!!!!!
Sirius_06 xx

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