"You clumsy brat!"
Unwilling to ignore what is going on, blue eyes peer warily around the door. His jaw tightens, fists balling. He knows he should stay out of it. Hide away. Avoid the punishments as he has managed for so many days now.
But the tears he can see remind him far too much of his own experience, draw on the anger he conceals in his submissive attitude.
He inhales a breath, steels his resolve and pulled the door wide. His father spins, glares across at him. he feels his resolve wavering. He keeps walking though. Enters his sister's room and moves to her side.
"All right, sprog?" He finds her uncertain brown eyes, gives her a reassuring grin. Can practically feel the fury rolling off his father. She nods, her little hand reaching up to grasp his larger one. "What have you been getting up to?"
"Wesley." The grating growl of his father's voice makes his skin crawl. "Let go of her hand and go to your room. Now."
"I fell over at school and tore my tights." His five-year-old sister whispers, tears brimming over from those helpless, lost eyes. Ten years his junior and going through the same Hell as he did as a child. "It was an accident."
"Wesley." The voice is harder, colder. Threat drips on those two syllables. "I told you to go to your room."
The teenager raises blue eyes. Meets his father's raging gaze calmly. "No." He is startled to realise that it was really his mouth that said the word. His father looks as surprised as he feels himself.
"What did you say?"
Steering Sophie behind him with one hand, he straightens his back proudly. "You heard me, father." He says. He's shaking, so hard he's certain his father will hear his teeth rattling together. "I'm not leaving her."
Hands on his hips, father looks away. Off guard, Wesley glances down at his sister. Catches the blur of motion a second too late. The fist hits his jaw, spins him dizzyingly, explosions of light behind his eyes.
"Wesley!" Sophie's scream reaches him, through the black fuzziness.
Stabilising himself against the wall with one hand, he raises a trembling hand to his lips, sees his blood there. Sophie is by his side, arms around him, stares at her father in terror. He blinks, shakes his head to clear it.
"Your room." His father snarls, furious. "Now."
"Wesley?" Scared brown eyes stare up at him. Its a choice. Either she gets punished for nothing, or he gets both of their punishments. Then, he thinks, add father's temperament and its going to be bloody awful. Sophie would never be able to deal with it.
Picking up the proverbial noose and drawing it over his head, he lays his hand on the lever to pull the trapdoor from beneath his feet. Tilting his chin up defiantly, he meets his father's bitter gaze icily. "Go. To. Hell."
Pulls the lever. The trapdoor drops. The noose pulls tight. His tiny sister is thrown aside, tumbling across the floor. A vice-like grip wraps around his upper-arm, drags him out of the pink room, pushes him into his own room.
Sobbing, the little girl can hear the sound of blows. Can hear cries of pain. Curses from her father's lips. Words that sound as hurtful as the blows. Big brother's in trouble because of her, so she wouldn't get into trouble.
Sophie gets to her feet. Her back hurts where she hit the wall. She runs out of the room. She has to find mummy. Mummy can stop it. Mummy can make daddy stop hitting Wesley. Make him stop hurting him.
Down the stairs, she runs.
Mummy has a meeting in the conservatory.
She knows she shouldn't interrupt, but she hears Wesley scream, keeps running.
"Mummy!" All the old ladies look at her. Gasp. Sophie feels the blood on her face, running down her cheek. "Daddy's hurting Wesley!"
Mummy frowns. "Don't be silly, dear." She beckons. "What happened to you? Did you fall over in your room?"
Sophie shakes her head. "Daddy hit Wesley and Wesley bleeded on me."
Mummy's face goes white. "Excuse me." She says, grabs Sophie's hand, drags her back into the living room, drops to her knees in front of her. "Sophie, don't tell such frightful lies about your father."
"I'm not." The tears were falling fast. "Daddy was going to hit me, but he hit Wesley. He's hitting Wesley. He's hurting him."
The screams from upstairs reach them. Mummy clasps a hand to her mouth, brown eyes wet with tears. "Oh God..."
"Mummy, please...stop daddy..." Mummy gets to her feet, runs to the stairs, runs up towards the bedrooms. Sophie follows on little legs.
Mummy pounds on the door with her hands. Screams to daddy. Screams that he has to stop. Screams that he must leave Wesley and Sophie alone. Screams all kinds of rude words through the door.
The door opens.
Daddy steps out.
His face is red. He has blood on his hands. On the front of his shirt and trousers. He grabs mummy by the neck, makes mummy scream. "Don't tell me what to do, bitch." His voice sounds angry.
"They're only children!" Mummy scratches daddy's wrists. Sophie tries to help mummy. Feels something hit her, falls over. "Sophie!"
Sitting up, Sophie feels dizzy. She can taste blood in her mouth. Her tooth hurts. She can see into Wesley's room now. Can see him, lying on the floor, not moving. "Wesley?" He doesn't move. He looks like he's dead. Daddy's hitting mummy now.
Sophie gets to her feet, runs, runs all the way down the stairs, runs to the phone and phones the police and the hospital, tells them what daddy has done. Tells them that Wesley is dead. Tells them mummy is screaming.
*
Running into the ward, Sophie clambers onto her brother's bed, sits beside his feet and grins at him. There's a gap where her front tooth was, before daddy hit her.
Daddy has gone now, though.
He was taken away by the police when Wesley was put in the ambulance. He only stopped hitting mummy when the police grabbed him and put handcuffs on him.
Wesley tries to smile. It still hurts a lot, but he feels better now than he did before. Now that father won't be there to beat him once more, when he gets home. Maybe now, its going to be all over at last.
Mummy walks into the long ward, smiles at her boy. Her arm is in a sling, her face as bruised as Wesley's is, but she looks happy now. She sits down, squeezes Wesley's unbroken fingers gently.
"How are you feeling?" She asks. Stupid really, looking at all the bandages all over him. But she has to ask. She's his mother. It's her duty. To ask silly questions. To protect her children from their father, albeit belatedly. To tell her husband she's divorcing him.
He returns the squeeze to her hand, almost smiles again. "Much better." He replies, voice a whisper. "Much, much better."
She knows the feeling.