Posthumous

Tears streamed down his face. They seemed to be rebelling against inner frustrations on his willingness to cry. He promptly faced the passenger window, refusing to allow his father to see them. Although he was sure his dad, Jeffery, knew what was happening, regardless. The two of them had to move. There was no other way. They'd haphazardly thrown some clothes in a couple of sports bags. His dad also took care to not forget the specialized weapons and handwritten books, of course. God forbid they forget any of that. They hadn't been able to get ahead of the rainstorm, but they weren't in the middle of it either. Staying just ahead, Dern hoped his dad would think it was only the rain. He couldn't take anymore yelling. He caught a glimpse of himself in the side mirror. His brow was furrowed with so much severity, it reminded him of his dad. Of how he looked when getting focused on prepping go to out for a hunt. Dern hated the resemblance. So he tried forcing himself to relax. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard in an attempt to stop the tears and settled back in the passenger seat. It was near impossible to get comfortable in the ancient '69 VW van. The cracks in the leather vinyl seemed to find a way to pinch the back of his legs even through his jeans. Granted, they were faded and thrown countless times through washing machines in laundromats all over the country. But still. “Trying to get ahead of this storm,” his dad muttered under his breath from the drivers' seat. It was so faint, Dern almost could have sworn he didn’t say anything at all. “Where are we going, anyway?” He managed to ask his dad without a shaky voice. Success, in the little things. “Out of town," he replied with curtness over the sound of the windshield wipers. They were scraping away at the rain in desperation. There seemed to be a theme to tonight: failure. The drops were falling too fast for them to be wiped away. Well, that's obvious, Dern thought, bitterness seeping into his brain. He imagined it leeching across the two of them, enveloping his dad so he could finally feel how he did. For once. But he also knew when his dad got into this mood, there was nothing that could be dragged out of him. There were two types of moods he got into after a hunt. Either an overwhelming sense of placidness or indignation that would last for days. Over having lost an innocent, a sloppy kill, or having to leave behind loose ends. Actually - if Dern was being honest with himself - there were a lot of reasons his dad was angry. Only this time, he knew the exact reason why. And as always, he couldn’t do anything about it. All his life, he continuously felt helpless. He couldn’t go out on hunts, he was never even allowed to do research. Eve, his mom, wanted to protect him from that lifestyle. And especially now, he couldn’t help his dad. He was the direct cause of his dad’s anger, this time. Dern had to settle for not getting a direct answer from his dad. Perhaps he didn’t even know, himself. They’d get to wherever they’re going when they got there, he supposed. Nothing much he could do about it, now. He absentmindedly scratched at the new mark on his chest; it was still taking some time getting used to. It seemed like they would never get ahead of this storm. Dern feared this would be the theme for the rest of his life.