Timmy would take it out one at time. He placed the old board his father had left behind on a rectangular desk and he sat still behind the desk. He went for the knight and he crossed the formation. He sat it carefully on a black track and it was left for his second player to make the counter move. But in there was no second player.
He went back into his memories and he took a replay of his previous games with his father.
His father had begin to teach him how to make moves since he was five. He had known Martin to be hard and strick, and he hated him every day non stop. At a time he wished he could perform some of the stunts he had watched in movies, those cold night he shared with a pile of books and an heavily stark shelf.
His father would sit him down with a long rod and he would force him to take moves. He would hit him with the rod repeatedly if he missed a move he had taught him in a previous game.
All the cross and counter move where numerous. He had been taught how to do the blend with a rod.
"I want you to be better than me." His father had said, hitting the blunt rod on his head, shoulder and back. He would cry and his father would go for him with punches and slaps, shake him up and scream in his ear.
"Stop crying and learn. I love you. Learn!"
Young Timmy was never exposed to a formal education. But the mystery no one understood were buried in the cold nights Jimmy would lock his son up in a room only occupied by them, two chairs a shelf filled with all kind of books.
Those night without a mother to stop the boy from been broken by a father who wanted to mold his son into becoming one like him. Even better.
Jimmy would argue all evening when ever Martin came up to check on the boy. He boy would look tired and weak. His eyes red from no sleep and strenuous hours behind the desk and unlimited exposure to dim lits. That was the condition.
He made the boy go with him down to his office and he made every decision right in his face. He kept him off the outside world without a friend except himself and the books he would prescribe.
Jimmy must have foreseen his foster death and soon he was pleased when five years passed again and his boy was stronger and sounder. He could play the chess game with him and end it up after seven hours in a draw. He would win his father at times by chance and his father winning would only came once in a blue moon.
Timmy was getting to like his father but his silly errors and ignorance as a boy would still bring down his father's wrath once in a while.
On a cold night in one August when Timmy was just ten.
Jimmy brought a strange man home after a business trip when he had earlier asked Timmy to run his office privately. Then Mike was new and he was always at the gate and he was still this young beardless man. He vanished all of a sudden and returned years later as a graduate only to be a security with higher pay.
The new man was strong and his physic was a killer.
He watched his father behind the doors and He listened to him tell the man to break him and rebuild him into a man. It was all about the fist and kick, but young Timmy was never ready for all of that.
Timmy flicked his lid open as he resumed his mind to eat deep into his present environment. Now the board and the players in front of him were making sense.
He took his knight once and he exchange it for the opponent king and he heaved a sign of relief.
His father told him that cold night with the heater in the room glowing with faint blue flames.
His father had moved the knight that night when the whole game was blocked up and he swap it for his own king. The boy wanted to scream -you just cheated- But he had known his father too much that he knew it a lesson coming.
"When it's all blocked." Jimmy had said carefully his gaze fixed on his son. "Take silent moves, do the unexpected, strike the head and break every protocol tied to the norms." Jimmy had said. "you get that?" He held the boy on his shoulder, shake cold off him and shake words into him.
On another night was that woman who had always stocked around, that woman who had always been there for the boy. The only woman who had ever checked if the boy was asleep when Jimmy was away. The only woman who cared if the boy had taken his drugs when he was high on fever.
She was up with Jimmy that night and it was all a wordy fight. They talked, yelled and screamed and from what the boy could gather the talk was all about him. He couldn't pick the connection but he held his name constantly.
That woman had just been kidnapped.
He was going to figure out everything.
Timmy left the chess board and he paced the room from side to side.
He already signed killing his father and that would be in less than a month time.
Now he was beginning to figure the plot. The trick was -fixed them up against each other and eliminate every key-
He nodded knowing he had to get back to work, finish the books he had to read and get a nice sleep before hitting the road like the kidnap wasn't his business.