Victim
By
remember losing hope
©2004 Kendra-Lynne
An Unperfect Fanfiction
A Split-AppleJuice Production
Rated: R
Warnings: murder, k/j from my story "Love Or Something Like It"
Pairing: Joren centric (PotS)
Finished: June 6, 2004
Summary: Normally, his dad was only home when it was dark out. He knew that when it got dark, he needed to be quiet.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never was mine, and this is a figment of my sick imagination.
Authors Note: This comes from a Kel/Joren story. Kinda spruced up. Got a B on it in class. heh. Had to write a short story, fiction or fanfiction. kicked ass.

VICTIM

He watched, careful not to make a sound. If he made a sound while daddy was hitting mommy, he'd hit him too. So he stared around the corner, and under the arm of the chair.

He wanted to make sure his dad wasn't going to hurt her too bad.

When his dad did that, he went and called the hospital, and told them that his mother was going to be coming in, that she'd fallen down.

That's what his mother told him to say.

Now, his father was yelling louder than he ever had before. And the smell of liquor, that awful stench of layer after layer of alcohol, wasn't there. Not only wasn't it there, but his dad was here and it was the middle of the day.

Normally, his dad was only home when it was dark out. He knew that when it got dark, he needed to be quiet.

Only this time, when he crept away to call, he heard a scream. He moved forward again. And he saw his father pull a gun.

He knew what guns did. His friend's dad was an officer of the law, and he showed him it and told him he should never touch one. If he saw someone with one, he should run away.

"Even the Officers?" he'd asked.

His friend's dad told him that if and officer had his weapon out, he should run away. Usually someone bad was around then.

Now though, he couldn't run away. No, his mom would need him, when his dad was done hurting her. Hopefully he'd storm out of the house like always.

Thinking of his friend's dad, he moved back and dialed his friend's number. When his friend's mother answered, he told her his father had a gun. He was waving it around.

His friend's mother said to hide and she'd call for help.

When he finally crept back out and watched what was happening, his father had pointed the gun at his mother's shoulder. When he shot it, more blood than the six-year-old had ever seen sprayed out.

He'd have to ask his friend's dad where it all came from.

His mother was screaming now, holding her shoulder. He knew she was in a lot of pain now, because she normally took whatever she got with out a sound.

His dad was yelling even louder. He could hear people outside yelling and sirens in the background. He ducked as his father spun around and yelled something. When he dared to look again, his mother was being shaken like a rag doll.

His father's face was purple in rage, and the blood was still poring out of the gun wound. But now her mouth and nose were bleeding. He never had known both could bleed at the same time.

When he heard the crack! he didn't know what it was. Later he would learn that it was the sound of a neck breaking. His mother was dead now.

The doctors never really knew if she had died from blood loss or because of the snapped neck. And if they did, no one told the little boy.

When the officers yelled something about them being surrounded and to come out with their hands up, he was all for it. Except his father didn't know he was there. Or at least he didn't think so.

When the officers finally got his father, someone came and got him from his place in the hall.

When his father saw him, he started yelling again, telling him he'd end up like his mother if he ever said a word.

He told the officer's anyway, because they said it would help his mom. That it would bring her justice.

The Hospital staff ID'd him as the one who always called in about his mother being hurt. They told the officers about all of the injuries.

He told them his mother always said to say she fell down. But he guessed he could tell them that his father had hit her and hurt her. That she was graceful, like a cat and never fell if her father hadn't hit her to make her.

He was small, pale. His blue eyes were cool, but they were still being formed by fate. It wouldn't be until later that his eyes would take on their icey chill and that he would become a stone, set in the ways of his patterns.

He watched all of the people, his eyes waiting for the one he wanted to see, his mother…

But she never came. The six-year-old knew, deep down, that she wouldn't. When he explained what he saw the Officers, they looked sad, and told him everything would be okay.

But he didn't understand. When a priest from the temple of Mithros came, he explained to him about the Black God. Joren knew this was all a fairy-tale. Few people still thought about death in the forms of gods, but more so as a fact of life. The gods were no longer important, as religion became a household thing, not a community thing, or a country thing.

He would understand later, why this was. Because of so many people, believing in so many things… And the difference of how they traveled.

But now, he was just a little scared boy whose mother was never coming back and his father was to be killed.

Of course, no one told him that.

When his father was sentenced, he didn't know what it meant. Lethal injection. He didn't know it meant that five months after his mother died his father died too.

He didn't know that their justice system worked fast on cases like these. And this trial had brought public notice, so they sped up the death sentence.

He didn't know it, that day, when his father died. When he asked about him almost a year later, they told him.

He understood justice then. He felt the surge of welcome for the news. He knew what any victims family felt when they were told that the person who committed the crime was gone forever.

They just didn't know what it was like to be him.

Once he was released from the hospital, where they'd taken him so they could keep and eye on him, he was sent to a boarding school. When he turned ten, he'd be allowed to pick the Service over University.

When he had spent a month there, listening to all of the other kids complain about their parents, he made a vow with himself.

He would never leave a child parentless.

He would be there for his child, and he would be there for any other child that needed him.