Author's Note: Here is the latest installment into the long running story series with the character of D. If you have followed the series up to this point, you are aware of the current condition the main character currently is in, and these stories focus on characters from his past that will take more prevalent roles in the upcoming chapters. While there is no need for new readers to go back and read the entire series, it would be appreciated if you did.
There is very little sex in this story, and there are some graphic scenes that depict violence done on people that could cause some troubles for some folks. This story is designed to entertain and to further broaden the picture that I have been crafting with these characters for just a little over a year. When I started this, I honestly did not think I would go this far. Like I mentioned before, I am beginning to include these characters in other areas of the site, so please follow up with them if you want to get the full story.
Please comment and rate the story, with the new website upgrades please follow me to get updates whenever I publish, constructive criticism is always welcomed and much appreciated.
Much love,
aka_Mike
...
I knew immediately who the target had been from the name of the city and the location where the shooting had occurred. Rumors had been spreading like wildfire that D had returned to the Family. The masses of people that had exiled themselves due to the inefficiency of the previous Head of the Family were slowly flocking back to their respective folds. I knew as much because I too was making my own way back. There was a part of me that knew that as soon as D had learned of Angel's incarceration, he would rush back to his rightful place. Something inside me told me as much, but I had ignored that voice and rushed out on my own to make my own investigations. If he did not come back, I knew I owed it to the Family to find the guilty parties. Both of the brothers had moved the world for me, this was the least I could do.
To say that I was surprised when the Private Investigator found me would be a huge understatement. It did not take D very long to point him in the right direction, and the bits of information he had supplied me with had proven to be far more beneficial and saved me an unbelievable amount of time. His mind still fascinated me. As I carefully read and reread his carefully hand written note, I felt something that I had put to rest many years ago. This man, still with his innocence, was reaching out and touching me with nothing more than a few scribbled words on a piece of yellow legal pad paper.
For anyone else, the note would have been nothing more than a greeting among friends and former lovers, but I was well aware of the distinctive way that D encoded his messages. His message was simple: find the person responsible for the setup, then bring the information forward. I was to remain hidden until I saw a sign that I needed to make myself known, there is no clearer sign than the one I had seen in the news. It had taken me less than five minutes to gather my equipment, my tools, and I was on the road to rejoin the Family. I had a name to contact, the younger brother of the man that had been killed during the setup, and D's main advisor second only to Edith.
I had my own complicated history with Edith, going as far as either of us could remember. While not hostile in the traditional sense, she never made it a secret as to how she felt about me; I knew that it had a lot to do with my own checkered past with D. Edith was more than familiar with that past, she had mentioned it on the few occasions that we had interacted with one another. Each word would always be delivered with a poisonous sting designed to maim rather than kill.
...
I had just turned fifteen when my father had decided that it was time for me to earn my keep in the household. I had to quit school and find a job where I could earn some money, for a girl of my age it was far easier said than done. There was only one place where I could get a steady job, a small market just a few miles away from where my parents lived. The place was ran by a couple, both the husband and wife had always been kind to my mother whenever we shopped there, and when they saw me looking for a job they immediately took me in. Things were working out great for me, and with Pa's guidance I was able to open my very first checking account. Ma was quick to teach me how to save up every penny I could get my hands on, and how to do careful shopping so that each cent was stretched to its limit.
When I turned sixteen I had a good amount of savings in my account, Ma and Pa were quickly becoming surrogate parents and their wisdom was much appreciated. One day, on my way from work I heard my parents arguing, much like they had been doing with increased frequency over the previous months. But this argument was different, this time my mother was laying out faults and deficiencies at my father's feet, both her and I were the only ones bringing money into the house while all he did was eat and drink it all away. She was tired. When I opened the door to the house, their argument did not stop. More charges were spewed, my father looked at me and with a wicked smile he made his move.
In less than a second, my mother was on the floor, her face a crimson mask of gore as she screamed in pain. Next, my father drew his foot into her abdomen, once, twice, three times. My mother coughed violently, clutching her abdomen and screaming in pain. As he continued to kick her, my father continued to hold my gaze with his eyes, that grin never leaving his face. I stood frozen as the assault ended, my father spat down at the prone body in the floor and then walked by me as he left. I gingerly helped my mother to her bed and laid down beside her, holding her as she drifted in and out of sleep.
The following morning her face was a complete mess, her left eye was swollen shut and a large bruise covered nearly her entire face. Sometime during the night she had managed to spit out a few lose teeth, the blood had crusted in the corners of her mouth. She asked me to drive her to the doctor's office that morning. As we drove, she tenderly held her abdomen, her breathing was shallow as if that very act caused her pain. When we got to the office, she asked me to go inside with her, I was afraid. The doctor was very polite, she immediately rushed my mother into the back office. When she asked my mother if I should step out of the room, my mother shook her head vigorously and asked the doctor to speak freely.
Miscarriage, I remember that was the word. I had to ask Ma what it meant after I had driven my mother home and I had gone to work. Ma explained to me what it meant, even as tears flowed from her face. I did not know what to say or even what to think when I got home that night. My mother was still in bed, my father nowhere to be found. It would take my mother three days before she could gather enough strength to go back to work, and it would still be a week more before my father would return home. Things were icy to say the least, my mother had stopped cooking and instead would make sure that I had enough money to buy food while I was at work. Ma and Pa learned of this and immediately began bringing lunch for me. There were no more arguments between my parents, in fact not a single word was exchanged.
My mother developed a new routine; whenever she arrived home from work she would immediately head to her room or my room and lay down. Many times she would be crying in her bed, I could hear her sobbing through the walls, but even then my father would not say a word. The days quickly turned into months, and slowly their arguments began anew, however they were careful to have them while I was not around and would stop when I would arrive home.
One day, I arrived home earlier than usual only to hear a strange set of sounds that I was not familiar with, yet somehow I understood its significance. My mother was crying and screaming, ordering my father to stop while he screamed at her as well. That was the first time I heard the word whore, that was what my father was screaming at my mother. I heard the sound of flesh slapping on flesh, my mother screaming more and more, then she went silent. I recognized the sounds of their bed's springs as they rhythmically announced themselves. I stood frozen just within hearing reach as my mother resumed her quiet sobbing, my father opened the door to the bedroom where I could see large scratches on his face and chest. My mother was laying in her bed with her clothing torn and strewed about the room, the tattered remains were mounted in a pile right at her feet. She stared at the bedroom ceiling, unaware that I had made my way home. My father had that grin on his face as he made eye contact with me, he reached back and closed the door behind him.
This went on for weeks, each time similar to the previous time, the only differences was the amount of shouting that would come through the walls of the bedroom. Each time it ended with my mother's quiet sobs and my father's grunting, the sound of flesh on flesh and his loud scream. He would then open the room and smirk at me. Sometimes, I could hear my mother continue to fight even long after the sounds of the bedsprings would begin, during those times I would not hear my mother's sobbing but I would continue to hear my father's grunts. During those times, he would make sure that the door stayed open for longer periods of time, my mother would sometimes be in the fetal position, other times she would be laying on her back. But each time, he would give me that same smirk when he left the room only to leave the house and go wherever he went to after.
By the time my eighteenth birthday came around, these encounters were becoming an almost daily happening, however there were subtle changes. One time in particular I could hear my mother screaming in pain as my father laughed, her screaming and crying made him laugh louder. He would tell her to shut up, that whores should be used to that type of treatment, that she needed to get used to it, each demeaning comment peppered with his grunts and moans while my mother continued to scream and cry. This encounter was far more violent sounding that their previous ones, my mother's screams carried on longer than they had before, his own scream was more triumphant. When he opened the door he made sure that I could see my mother, her face was buried in a pillow while her rear end was pointed upwards.
"That's the only thing whores are good for," he said as he walked by without closing the bedroom door. I walked to the room to close the door, that was the first time I had ever smelt semen. Before I closed the door and the smell attacked my senses, I could see a white liquid oozing from my mother's anal cavity, her sobbing drowned out by the pillow. I quietly closed the door and made my way into my own room, an unknown fear slowly growing within me. For the first time, I cried myself to sleep that night as my mother's sobbing continued.
When I arrived to work the following day, Ma immediately knew that there was something wrong, she guided me into the backroom where no sooner had the door closed that I began to weep. My story flowed out of me like a cascade, each episode I described brought silent sobs from Ma, which quietly turned from sadness to an anger I never thought she could be capable of achieving. When I finished my story, Ma told me to stay seated while she fetched some tea for me, Pa immediately went to Ma as she opened the door. Quietly, they exchanged a quick conversation when Pa looked at me for a second, closed his eyes and nodded softly. Pa turned the store's sign from open to closed, gathered his hat and left.
"Where is he going?" I asked Ma.
"To get help, child," she replied as she hugged me. I felt completely safe in her arms, when she told me that Pa went to get help, that fear that had been growing within me immediately disappeared. "It's all going to be ok now, child," she whispered as she stroked my hair. Minutes later, Pa returned with a man I had never seen before, while he was not much older than I was, there was something dark to him that made him look older. As if he was carrying a large, invisible weight on his shoulders, yet was trying to hide the struggle of that weight. Ma retold my story in detail, much as I had told it to her, the man quietly listened to her every word and simply nodded. Pa clutched his hat in his hands, his knuckles whitening, and with a slight shake to his arms. The man simply extended his arm to Pa which immediately calmed him down.
"What is your name, child?" The man asked me when Ma had finished telling him my story, the warmth in his voice overwhelmed me.
"Cecelia," I meekly replied, "but everyone calls me CeCe."
"I am Angel," he extended his hand, "I am going to be looking out for you from now on, ok?" I shook his hand and nodded, "are you hurt?"
"Just scared," I replied as Ma held my hand tight.
"Your father," he began, "he did not hurt you?" I shook my head, "good, in the meantime, you stay here with Ma. I'll see you at your home, ok?" His smile melted my knees and left me speechless, all I could do is nod. The rest of the day was uneventful, when the time came for me to go home, Pa offered to drive me home. Ma's look told me that I should accept the ride.
