Like Father, Like Son: The Apple Never Falls Far from the Tree

By Laura Niculae

General Kent Brown has been a patient at the Camarillo State Mental Institution for over a decade, but the day has come: Kents son Samuel is on his way to pick him up. Kent doesnt feel ready to face his son, not after what happened, not after Kents betrayal. He wonders whether Samuel has forgiven him. Kent knows that under certain circumstances, time does not heal all wounds.

Back in 1941, before Samuel went off to war and before Kent went off the deep end. Samuels girlfriend, Shirley, stayed with Kent while Samuel was in training. Samuel, of course, trusted his father to watch over the woman he loved. There was nowhere safer for her to stay while Samuel was awayand he would be sent far away, overseas to battle the Germans, much to the heartbreak and chagrin of his beloved Shirley.

Strange things happen when lovers are apart. Emotions blossom elsewhere, and lust threatens to overtake. Despite his devotion to his son, Kent cant fight the way he feels about Shirley, and she shares some of his feelings. When Samuel returns home safely from the war, but when he does, will he still have Shirleys love? Only time will tell what legacy their actions will leave.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475913446

Laura Niculae

Now a published writer, Laura Niculae finally believes she has found her purpose in life. She currently lives in Ontario, Canada.

Book preview

Chapter One

9781475913446_txt.pdf

When Kent Brown stared, he stared with a precision that could strike through any means. Whether it be as hardheaded as a bull or as soft and light as a feather, Mr. Brown understood the omnipotent power of the mind. Just with his dark blue eyes alone, he could command fields of soldiers to follow the words burning on his tongue. He had, years upon years ago, lead numbers of war pioneers through the fields of battle in Eastern and Western Europe. But, unfortunately, no matter how strong his eyes may have been or still remain, they could never and will never compete with the shackles around his wrists.

For god sakes, Doc— Kent stopped his lips from flaring in a profuse puff as he gazed at his Doctor with annoyance. I've been at this place for half my god damn life and you still can't trust me? Kent shook the restraints with anger, pushing his back against the white wall of the Mental Institution.

The middle aged doctor stared at his sixty year old patient with smiling green eyes. I trust you, Kent.

You have a really funny way of showing it.

Doctor Robinson almost laughed. The Doctor had always enjoyed his Tuesday's and Thursday's with the ex-General. He was a force to be reckoned with and Doctor Jerry Robinson had always enjoyed a challenge. It's not my choice, Kent. The Doctor admitted, slouching down on the only seat the room possessed. If it were up to me, we would be having this session outside in the sun instead of this old and sorry-ass excuse for a quiet room.

Kent pushed at the metal around his wrists with his fingers, sighing loudly as he glared at the only window in the room, feeling the heat the sun was delivering heavily on his face. The sun beating so darkly reminded him of the sound of waves and the voice of a woman with strawberry blonde hair giggling softly within his ear. He looked away from the window almost instantly- trying to block away the memory of olive green eyes from his mind as he fiddled with the restraints around his hands.

What is it, Kent? The Doctor asked his patient with true compassion. He could see a new found emptiness rise within the man's eyes.

Kent swallowed, his pupils shifting towards the Doctor as he asked It's today, isn't it?

‘Such an obvious question, wasn't it?’ The Doctor mentally noted. What day would it be if not today? But just as Robinson was about to crack a joke about the choice of wording, he bit his bottom lip and nodded before he replied in a serious tone Yes, Kent. It is.

Kent Brown thought for a moment, bowing his head down to look at the dirty flooring of the Camarillo State Mental Institution that he had been kept prisoner in ever since his late forties. This place had become his home filled with friends like Doctor Robinson and other patients who were just as sane as he was- but after tonight, after his release, where exactly was he to go?

Doctor Robinson hated silence. Your son, Samuel, will be here in a few hours to pick you up.

Kent scoffed at the Doctor's choice of wording. As if he needed reminding of what his son's name was- he definitely did not. And he was going to be 'picked up'? What was he some sort of package? Kent smirked, his lips twitching as he asked And where exactly am I going to be 'dropped off'? The ex-General paused, his lips leering wickedly as he continued On the side of the road, somewhere? Or maybe, just maybe, if he's in a fine and dandy mood he'll only just bash my head in with a sledge hamm—

Perhaps, he'll feel differently now. Doctor Robinson interrupted him, explaining "It's been years, Kent. Time does heal all wounds."

Kent shook his head, memories of his past creeping around his brain and roaming around his mind like termites. No, not these wounds. His mind suddenly blurred, the shadow image of a young woman cradling a small child to her chest haunting his subconscious. They can't be healed. Mr. Brown shook his head, his blue eyes lurking upon the doctor as he continued Not for him, anyway.

What he had done to his son, all those years ago, was unforgiveable. A sin committed in the name of insanity, haste and envy. His son had once acted like a Saint, but he could feel within the intensity of his veins, that his son was no more that good natured boy of merely twenty-something. He was now a man. And if he was anything like he had been at that age, Mr. Kent Brown would be fortunate to survive the evening with all his bones still intact.

The date was December 5th, 1941. There was a sinister wind that blew across the land. It blew both strongly and swiftly across the city of Seattle, Washington. It was one of those peculiar weather conditions that not only mocked the cold but also paraded as its cousin. Inevitably, however, its powerful blades pierced the skin so harshly that warmth was created. It was a type of heat that stung the skin like a bright fire that burned with a supernatural force, unreadable to the human condition.

It was because of this wind that Kent Brown found himself chopping wood early that cold December morning. Kent was in his early forties, forty-two to be precise, but he had the aura of a stubborn child. His large, dark blue eyes were his most prominent feature. His eyebrows were arched perfectly above his eyes. They were the same dark blond as his effortlessly parched hair. He was almost as flawless as they were created. His only imperfection consisted of a thin and lined scar that nestled nimbly above his perfectly round upper lip, below his nose.

He continued to chop the wood, his calloused hands gripping the axe tightly. He swung the axe hard against the already fallen tree, his fingers stinging like needles from the vibrations of the hit. He took a deep breath in, shallowly, exhausted from his previous endeavor. A beat of sweat hung below one his perfectly placed eyebrows, his loose fingers removing it in one swift movement.

Kent knew the undeniable truth. He was not as young and as dapper as he once was. His strength had been incredible. At the age of twenty, he was able to chop wood with two axes, one in each hand, the lumber splitting from the trunk smoothly and naturally. Presently, however, his hands ached and begged him to put an end to this insatiable desire for firewood.

He took another long and deep breath, this time exhaling as the howling wind hit his light autumn jacket. His dark blue eyes peered around his land. Everything seemed to be in its place, he realized as his body shivered from the irrefutable force that was to soon return back to his land.

He promptly searched the long and frost covered field, his hands resting on the bank of his hips as he continued his cycle of low breathing. Kent was a wealthy American man that owned his own field close to the heart of the city. He was not a farmer, however. He was solely a city man with the pure and simple desire of seclusion. His heart belonged to his hometown of Boston, but because of a few mere complications, he was obligated to transfer to his present estate.

One of his most prized possessions was his large, brown-bricked house that stood in the middle of his field. It had six bedrooms, three bathrooms, an attic and a basement that he had filled with his war memorabilia.

Kent was a General during the Great War, his name known nationally for his heroic efforts against the Germans and Austrians. He had been given a Medal of Honor for his courageous leadership skills and for his successful attempt at destroying an enemy battalion with his company, which consisted of only twelve men.

His medals, certificates of success and his most prized possessions were kept safely in his basement, away from the world and from himself. That basement was his church, his place of prayer, where he marveled at how wonderful he once was. Nevertheless, those days were over. He understood that with a deep hatred, that pained him deeply to admit.

The sound of the house door wavering open caused his eyes to peer immediately at it. A woman whose attire consisted of a long, pale pink dress and a plush white jacket walked down the few house steps, rubbing her arms trying to create warmth. Kent cringed as she walked towards him, his heart immediately sinking with every step she took. He turned around to face his wood, raising his axe to take a swing. He had no intention of giving this woman any type of satisfaction. Today was not the right time do such a thing.

He groaned, forcing his aching hands to chop the firewood with precession. He gritted his teeth and took another swing, lumber flying towards the wheel barrel he had bought years ago from a Native Indian man with crooked yellow teeth.

Tired, Mr. Brown? The woman paused, a smirk tugging at her lips as she continued Would you like me to take over?

Kent couldn’t help but smile. Shirley Jones always knew how to tug on his heartstrings and make him melt with every word that she uttered. He tried to hold in his heavy panting as he replied Shirley, I’ve been through war— he swung his axe down once again, before he finished his statement —a few pieces of firewood are not exactly as conflicting. The word conflicting was so familiar with Kent that it felt exclusively ironic to state.

Shirley Jones was a young and an extremely beautiful woman. She was twenty-three but unlike Kent, had a mature aura that claimed her not only older but stronger. She had long strawberry blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back. Her eyes were a light olive green, a color that was rare and precious to the human eye. Her skin was pale, matching with her white, plush jacket. Her eyes too, were her most prominent feature. It was hard, at times, for Kent to look at her without drowning in them.

She shivered from the cold, placing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, as she whispered softly He’s coming home today. She trembled once again, this time not only from the chill but also from her declaration.

Kent dropped his axe rapidly at the mention of him. He took a deep breath in and hid his knowledge of the situation. Is it already the 5th? He spoke the question lightly, as if it had not been playing on an endless loop, in his mind, for the past month.

Yes. I’ve been counting down the days since he left. She muttered, trying to convince herself more than Kent. She crossed her arms across her chest, as if the action would calm her hastily beating heart. There was something too charming about Kent that caused her strong interior to strengthen, even if in reality, she felt weakened by his presence.

Her reply felt like a needle, pulverizing his thick skin. He could tell that she was fibbing; she always crossed her arms when she was. He smiled at her, deciding to take the least hurtful approach to their conversation. Have I been such a bore to you, Shirley? He laughed cordially, bending down to pick up a few pieces of firewood.

Shirley shook her head at the question, while moving towards him to help with the pieces of lumber. No, Mr. Brown. You have been great to me— she paused, looking up at him as she straightened her back —a stranger in your home.

He sighed at the word stranger as he bit down on his bottom lip, pushing past her, towards the wheelbarrow. He dropped the pieces of timber down into the metal surface and asked, through small lips Shirley, even with what happened between us, you still think of me as a stranger?

His words flew to her like bullets but she dodged them by asking quickly If we are not strangers, what are we? Her pupils dilated as she waited for his answer.

He took a breath in, his hand begging to reach out and touch her pale skin. It had become just the two of them in that moment. The cold wind did not exist anymore. The field did not exist anymore. It was just them two, standing alone together, waiting for the other to break the silence.

What? No, ‘good to see you, Samuel’? Another voice broke the moment like a glass shattering. Both Kent and Shirley turned their heads towards the sound, seeing a young and handsome man standing there with a grin scratched across his mouth.

Samuel! Shirley screamed through a loud fit of giggles as she ran towards his open arms. She embraced the young man tightly, and he chuckled from happiness. Samuel Brown was in his mid-twenties and he was the spitting image of his father except for his light brown eyes and slightly darker hair.

He pushed Shirley a step backward, lightly, and removed a yellow carnation from his dark green jacket pocket. She cheered happily, her innocence shining brightly as he gave her the bright flower. I missed you, he whispered into her hair, as he embraced her once again. His lips finding their way to her own, to kiss her softly.

Kent gripped the wheelbarrows handles firmly, as he attempted to hold in both his rage and his envy. His son Samuel was everything that a father could desire in a son. To Kent, this was not a prize but a dilemma. Samuel was too perfect of a boy and this, at the moment, worked not only against his favor but it was also decreasing Kent’s always- unbeatable excellence.

He called out to his son, pushing the wheelbarrow towards the two lovebirds, Sammy! Come and help me with this thing!

At the sound of his father’s voice, Samuel let go of Shirley and walked towards his father, his face still sporting a large grin. Jeez, pops. I just got home from military training and you’ve already got me doin’ dirty work, huh? He chuckled happily and pushed on his father’s arm playfully, as he said And no hello? Jesus. I bet you didn’t miss me at all.

Kent looked down at his shoulder, trying his best to hold in his sour expression. He let out a fake smile as he let his hand out and rubbed his son’s shoulder in a loving manner, Who wouldn’t miss you, Samuel? He asked the question in a light manner but seconds later, his dark blue eyes meet olive ones and his expression transformed into one almost as cold as the wind.

Shirley trembled, her arms quickly crossing across her chest as she spoke, I definitely did. She beamed, her eyes focused only on Kent. He smirked at her, ignoring Samuel’s content appearance before he let go of the handles on the wheelbarrow, wiped a line of sweat from his forehead and took a few steps away from the young couple. I’ll allow you two to reunite.

He took a few steps backwards, his eyes inspecting the two like a hawk watching his prey. He cleared his throat once, turned on his heel and alleged Sammy, be a good sport and help me with the wood.

The two watched as Kent Brown walked towards his home quickly, clearly agitated. Shirley suddenly felt remorse for the man. Her lips thinned as she watched him from a distance, her hand being held by his son. And there he goes, Ladies and Gentlemen. The one and only Mr. Happiness. Samuel’s loud voice interrupted her thoughts.

She could not help but laugh at his sarcastic gag. Samuel reached for the wheelbarrow, holding the handles resolutely while he listened to Shirley speak. He’s a good man, Sam. He’s probably just relieved that I won’t annoy him anymore. She chuckled and continued, while they walked through the cold Did you see how he left so quickly? He is probably so insanely happy that he is writing about it in his journal.

"You couldn’t annoy anyone, Shirley. Especially my father. He paused and sighed, He doesn’t care for anyone enough to allow that to happen." Shirley could not agree with this, not one bit. She knew for a fact that Kent cared for others, like her for example. But it was no use in arguing with Samuel. He had a certain way with words that always concluded him as being the victor.

She shook the thought away and stopped