Page 68 of Beneath the Light of the Moon
Cold wind brushed across his tear-soaked cheeks as more threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t sure how there was any left given how his body was tired of crying—of grieving for someone he’d never see again. But here he stood, eyes distant and wet, lips chapped from his breathy, hiccuping gasps.
If his father caught him like this again, weeping in public, he’d be punished, but Mikko couldn’t find it in himself to care. Maybe the pain of his father’s discipline would erase the current agony lingeringin his heart. Either way, he had to get it out or he’d implode. Besides, howwashe supposed to react to visiting his mom’s freshly covered grave? She felt so far away, swallowed up by the earth, forced to return back to the ground she came from. And while Mikko knew her soul wasn’t here anymore, he still feltuncomfortablethat she was in the ground.
All alone without her colorful paints to keep her company.
If the roles were reversed, he’d want someone to comfort him and stay nearby even in death. If only for a little while.
Hushed voices spoke rapidly in Russian behind Mikko, one of them being his father, “We’ll need to tighten up our forces. They’ll expect weakness from me during these times, but we must show them this doesn’t impact us.”
“Of course, sir. We will make sure things continue to run smoothly,” another man replied—one of his father’s grunt workers. Mikko couldn’t remember his name, uncaring for the formalities. Small talk bored him, especially now since his mom wasn’t even around to tease him for his introverted tendencies.
Another droplet threatened to slip past the rim of his spiky lashes. Mikko wanted nothing more than to vanish into the darkness of his room, the ache that came with social interactions in the wake of the worst event of his young life was too much to bear.
“Good, and he will need to be monitored,” his father continued, surely nodding to Mikko’s hunched frame. “His mother was everything to him, and he’s always been emotional”—Mikko’s little jaw clenched—“but he knows these tantrums are not to be tolerated.”
“Yes, sir. You know where to find me if you need anything else,” the other man promised. A shuffle and mumbled goodbyes were muttered while Mikko took the brunt of the wind, some of it erasing the words spoken. When it died down, another man was talking with his father.
Despite the supposed time of grieving, people continued to bombard them—pestering them with questions despite the freshly overturned soil at Mikko’s feet. No one cared that his mom was dead, that they hadn’t been given the adequate amount of time to grieve. Instead, everyone was rushing forward, planning and scheming, making sure things were in alignment so Alek could continue his reign without interruption. The rest of the world was content to move on with or without Mikko.
Had mom known her husband would turn into this ruthless man after her death?Mikko internally questioned.
It was hard to imagine the softness of his mom paired with the brutal edges his father boasted. Although, he hadn’t always exuded such tenacity. Over the years, that sinister darkness had intertwined itself with his father’s very being until it seeped out, overtaking everything in its path. Mikko feared the death of his mom would exacerbate that.
The new man brought conversations about “personal belongings” and “consolidating assets” all of which made the young boy’s stomach turn. Maybe this was how death always was, sterile and transactional, but he disliked it nonetheless. His mother was more than that, more than the items she left behind. Mikko hoped his father wouldn’t sell off the small collection of paintings she’d created over the years. He vowed to hide them as soon as they got home.
Stooping down, eager to distract himself, Mikko touched the semi-dried flowers fluttering in the breeze. There was no headstone for his mom’s final resting place yet—a matter he’d heard his father threatening another man over—but the abundance of flowers warmed what was left of Mikko’s heart. She was cared for in his mind, sheltered by beauty for a little while longer. It was how she would’ve wanted it.
The only difference was the color of the petals; the hues had bledaway, leached out from the harsh rays of the sun, leaving only brittle, withered remains behind.
Just like his mom.
In the end, all that had remained of her was a small, fragile piece of her former self. She used to shine brighter than everyone in the room, a silent but radiant figure. She was someone Mikko would cling to and search for when he went anywhere.
And now, that light was gone, snuffed out by cancer.
Mikko couldn’t recall much of those last days, but the memories of her gaunt face, bony hands, and blurred moments in between stuck with him. There were many nights he’d spent asleep in the back of his father’s car as they traveled from the hospital back to their house, falling into an uncomfortable and restless slumber.
But more times than not, he pretended to be asleep so Alek would speak more freely around him during his late night phone calls. It was in those moments he learned more than an eleven year old boy should’ve.
In some ways, these thoughts were too much, memories Mikko wished he could forget. But forgetting wasn’t an option, it was a privilege.
More tears pricked at his eyes, but a rustling behind him made him inhale and force the feeling down. He waited for his father to speak.
“Say goodbye,” Alek spoke, accent thick since he’d been speaking in Russian for the past ten minutes, “we have other places to go.”
Nodding, Mikko hoped the evidence of his crying had vanished. One might’ve thought this death would bring the father and son closer, but the opposite could be said for the two of them. Alek’s wife and Mikko’s mom was the glue holding them together—the light they both basked in—and now she was gone.
And so were their formalities.
Alek thought Mikko soft, had said as much to his men, and hadalready begun to push him into the family business despite Mikko’s hatred of it.
I won’t succumb,Mikko thought,I won’t let him force me into something I don’t want.
But he couldn’t have been more wrong.
The anger that had festered beneath the surface of his father’s skin began to bubble up until it spilled out and onto Mikko. It was a contagion that quickly ate away at whatever stood in its way, devouring someone from the inside out.
Soon, the warmth of his mom was replaced with the blaze of rage, and despite longing to be better, todobetter, Mikko failed. He discovered the universe could be as cruel as it was rewarding, and cruelty bred a whole new kind of monster within people.
