Killer Instinct

It was a mild September morning in The Great Wood, Wessex. Considered to be a prime hunting location within the United Kingdom; the large national park covered an area of 566 square kilometres and was made up of vast tracts of unspoilt woodland, heathland and river valleys with wild deer, ponies and cattle roaming the ancient heaths and woodland.

For generations, the Lancaster family had hunted these lands. On this date, William Lancaster, the 19th Marquess of Wessex, chose to take his two sons Thomas and Henry out for their first hunt. They were accompanied by Alan Jennings, the gamekeeper for The Aethelstan Estate, and Edgar Ludlow, the family’s majordomo. The three adults, and Thomas, the elder of the Lancaster boys, were each armed with bolt-action hunting rifles. Henry, however, being eight years old, had not been allowed to use a firearm by his father.

The hunting party, led by Jennings, slowly moved its way towards the Kings River, where a herd of red deer had been spotted a short time ago.

“OK chaps, the herd is through the other side of this dense area. I spotted at least a dozen drinking from the river,” proclaimed Jennings, as he gestured his arm in a waving motion, encouraging the hunting party to quieten their footsteps.

“Ok boys, this is it,” Lord Wessex had turned to address his two sons. “Thomas, are you ready to take your first kill?”

Thomas nodded at his father, clasping the rifle with both hands, “Yes father”.

Thomas listened to his father’s instructions and walked ahead to join Jennings. Henry tried to join his brother, but his father pulled him back.

Henry’s appearance turned to one of despondence and frustration. The young lord watched on as his brother stalked the red deer within sight of his scope, and then smirked as the heir of Aethelstan stood on a stick, sounding off a large crack - and caused the herd to flee from the river.

The hunting party descended upon The Great Wood once more, this time without Henry. Lord Wessex had become obsessed with his heir taking his first kill this season; Thomas was the same age as his father when he had taken his first kill. 

Jennings again led the heir of Athelstan to a herd of red deer, remaining silent as he lined up his shot. After focusing on his breathing, Thomas inhaled for the final time before squeezing the trigger. A large bang echoed through the Wessex countryside as birds escaped from the trees they had been resting in, and the herd fled from the scene, except for one large stag.

The hunting party approached the wounded deer, who had been shot through the torso. It cried out in pain as it lay mortally wounded on the floor.

Lord Wessex approached his heir, “Not a bad effort son, you hit the target, but you need to aim for the head to ensure the animal doesn’t suffer”.

“Yes, father”. The young lord seemed shellshocked, concerned for the deer’s welfare. He was a kind-natured boy, and hadn’t wanted to partake in the hunt - he did so only to please his father.

Jennings reached the stag first, “Come on boy, I’ll show you how to…”

Suddenly, a second bang was heard, and the party threw themselves to the floor. The second shot struck the stag in the head, killing it instantly.

Ludlow and Jennings look around to spot the shooter, whilst Lord Wessex examined his heir.

“Are you ok, son?” he asked Thomas, who nodded yes.

“Who fired the shot?” Edgar shouted. 

Suddenly, Henry walked out from an overgrown wooded area. As he walked into the open, he opened the breach of the rifle by pulling back the bolt, and the bullet was ejected from the rifle to the floor. The hunting party was stunned as they all watched the young lord, who failed to acknowledge them. Instead, he remained focused on the stag he had just slain, the kill he had taken from his older brother.

Once he approached the stag he knelt, resting the rifle beside him. After staring at his first kill for a moment, he ran the index and middle finger of his right hand through the pool of blood that had collected from the entrance wound of the bullet hole in the stag's head and proceeded to rub it on both of his cheeks.

Lord Wessex’s health had rapidly deteriorated since the summer of 2021, and after a barrage of tests, terminal lung cancer was diagnosed. The disease had now metastasized in the Lord’s brain, and nearly seven years after the death of his firstborn son and heir, Thomas, the Lord’s own life was rapidly drawing to an end.

The doctor had broken the news to Lady Wessex that her husband now only had mere days left to live, and due to the disease spreading to his brain, Lord Wessex level of consciousness fluctuated from a state of confusion to being unresponsive altogether. He laid in his bed with nasal cannula up both nostrils, and a subcutaneous infusion of morphine and a sedative in place, both keeping the Lord comfortable.

His younger son and second heir, Henry, emerged from the shadows of the corridor and entered his father’s room, closing the door behind him.

“Father,” Henry said. But there was no response, his father’s eyes remained closed. “FATHER!” Henry again called out, louder this time, shaking the Lord. Finally, his eyes opened.

Lord Wessex stared at his son for a moment with a look of confusion on his face. He reached up to Henry, running the back of his hand on his face. “Thomas... is that you?”

Henry, feeling rejected, closed his eyes as he grimaced in pain, “No… it's Henry”.

Henry finally opened his eyes, “Father, I am not Thomas… it’s me, Henry”.

Lord Wessex shook his head, “No… not Henry… Henry is not the heir, it is you Thomas. Henry is not like you and me, he never could…” the lord’s words quickly turned from clear to incomprehensible as his mind drifted off once more.

Henry's face was twisted with hatred, with anger and jealousy. His father’s latest rejection cut deeper than any previous time had before. After closing his eyes once more and inhaling in deeply, the heir quickly regained his focus, opening his eyes as he exhaled. He gave his father a fake smile and leaned over him, kissing the lord on the forehead.

Henry stepped away from his father as the lord continued to talk nonsense. As he turned away, the heir of Wessex picked up a spare pillow from the chair next to the bed. Clutching it with both hands, after concentrating on his breathing once more, he turned without hesitation and forced the pillow over his father’s face.

The lord didn’t struggle initially, too weak from the disease that had festered within his body. Henry continued to push down on his father’s face as he stared at the door, worried that his mother, the nurse or even Edgar would enter. His face was eerily vacant, little emotion was shown. His father finally tried to fight off his heir, albeit in vain. As the oxygen was deprived from his body, Lord Wessex grasped at his son’s arms.

“It’s ok father, it’s all going to be ok…” Henry said in reassurance, unsure if he was telling himself that or his father.

After a few moments, Lord Wessex’s breathing changed, and finally, both his arms fell limp onto the bed. Henry held the pillow in place a little longer to be sure that his father was dead before finally removing it, revealing Lord Wessex’s lifeless face. Henry quickly returned the pillow to the chair, and straightened up his father, repositioning the oxygen tubing into both nostrils.

Satisfied that his father looked comfortable, the now 20th Marquess of Wessex pulled up the chair beside his father’s bed and sat down, holding the former Lord Wessex’s hand.