14 Haunting Memory
Frederick Mortcombe remembered that particular night when he stealthily took a photo of Rafael, as though it happened only yesterday.
It was their last night travelling before returning back home and they both decided to have a nice drink at the local bar. Halfway through their stop, Rafael being Rafael, he did not want to miss a single opportunity as he saw a group of girls enter the bar.
Sensing his company was no longer needed, Frederick excused himself to the loo before returning to the hotel. It did not take long for his best mate to warm up to the girls because the moment he exited the toilet, Rafael was in control of the conversation.
The girls were fawning over him. Some were touching his muscular biceps. Some daringly run their fingers against his thigh. While others were charmed by his smooth talk.
Despite donning simple casual wear of a white tee and blue jeans, Rafael looked rather dashing with the flirtatious smile etched on his face. He looked natural as his body leaned forward on the table, to be closer to the women with his leg propped on one of the woman's stretchers.
It was then that Frederick whipped out his phone and capture the moment. It was meant to be a topic of mockery. Instead, it became an image that changed his life.
That night was the last time anyone ever took picture of Rafael's scarless face. Because a few days later, calamity has befallen them causing his best friend to wear the hideous scar on his face forever.
Upon his return, Frederick came home to the empty house. Unsurprisingly his parents were not there. But Gerard, the housekeepers and the staff, they were nowhere to be seen.
The scenario itself screamed odd. But Frederick Mortcombe remained vigilant of his surrounding. He tiptoed in his own house, searching for the unknown that seemed to linger in his house.
One by one he opened the door of each room. He pulled apart the wardrobe's door and drew all curtains. Nothing seems amiss yet he knew there was something going on.
As he entered the study room, he caught sight of two weird silhouettes placed on the display cabinet behind his father's desk. He did not remember seeing such peculiar yet familiar shadows.
The young lad flicked the switch by the door to get a better look but the lights would not come. With his precious dagger nicely wrapped around his fingers, he inched closer to the stationary objects.
Upon further inspection, he noticed that both the peculiar object had a similar feature to a statue bust. The nineteen years old Frederick extended his hands, only a few centimetres from touching the foreign objects when the sounds of heavy footsteps ran in his direction, closing in behind him.
In one swift move, Frederick aimed perfectly towards the person's head and pushed the dagger deep onto the face before slashing it. When the person staggered backwards, the young Frederick took the chance and strangled the intruder until his body turned limp from unconsciousness.
The rogue was about to crack his prey's neck when a familiar voice startled him. Fortunately, the warning came in the nick of time.
"Stop! Stop! Young Master Mortcombe, please let go!" pleaded Gerard, who stood under the door frame with a crowd behind him.
Circular orange lights shone onto his victim's face, with a deep gash on his face and blood trickling down to the ground.
It took a chorus of gasps to echo in the hallway to bring the predator to reality. He glanced at the limp body lying on the floor, as the man's precious crimson liquid drained from his body and then to his two bloody hands that caused harm.
The young master immediately fell to the floor and cradled Rafael's face, screaming in inconsolable pain as tears continuously stream down his face.
Gerard tried to pry his master apart so he could tend to the injured while one of the housekeepers was on the phone calling for help. But the predator never left his prey's side. He grasped Rafael's hands and apologised profusely between his sobs.
Frederick could not understand why his best friend would sneak up on him like that. Or why he did not utter a word. The ambience of the house was already suspicious as it is, he could not help but attack.
But it was useless defending his actions for the damage is done. He had lacerated his best friend's face. All that was left of him was to be consumed with regrets.
* * * * *
Rafael was in the midst of surgery while Frederick waited loyally outside as though his presence would make a difference.
Gerard, the Head Butler, had been urging him to come home and rest but he refused. He wanted to be there when the surgery was done, regardless it was successful or a flop.
"Young Master Mortcombe," Gerard's deep voice was filled with sadness as he remained standing firm beside Frederick. "I have some bad news to share with you. It's about Master and Madam Mortcombe."
"Enough, Gerard. I will not be going home tonight until I see him out of that theatre," berated Frederick. He buried his face between his knees, trying to reenact the scene over and over again in his head. He could not stop wondering whether the whole thing could have been avoided.
"Young Master Mortcombe," Gerard disturbed him once more. This time, he kneeled on the ground with Frederick and held onto his hand, "I insist that you should hear this news, young master. You see, both Master and Madam were found dead."
Instantly Frederick sprang up from his coil, unable to believe that this happened all at one time. He asked, "Mom and Dad? Are you sure?"
"Yes, young master. We suspected they were murdered while we were away."
Although the news was not surprising to him, the hazel-eyed boy was slowly getting into a dizzy spell. His head was feeling extremely light he would not be surprised if his soul began to float away. "Did someone find their motives to kill?"
As his lips uttered those words, his vision blurred before blacking out completely.
