Kill Angels

By: AlongCameASpider

Part 1: Angela's Lament

Daddy, no! Stop!

She quivered uncontrollably, curled in the corner, as he approached her. His appearance was very intimidating and he used it to his advantage. His face was like stone, cold and solid, and never seemed to show any emotions. His shoulders were wide and his arms were bulging. His eyes burned through her, paralyzing her with agonizing terror, with the flames of illicit desire.

Tears streamed down her bright red cheeks and she began to struggle as he snatched her wrist. He twisted and made her cry out. Grabbing her other wrist he pulled her forcefully to her feet. He shoved her against the hard wall and pressed his body against hers. She sobbed and squirmed; she could feel his anxiousness between her legs.

"Now, now, Angela, play nicely." he hissed in her ear.

Angela screeched and tried desperately to claw at his face, but he had too strong of a hold on her. Not only that, she was feeling weak, exhausted from crying and fighting. She wouldn't be able to escape even if she did break free of him. The door was locked and he had the key. Her bedroom had only one window that was too small for her to fit through, purposely by daddy dearest.

A wicked smile snaked its way across his face. He allowed her hands to flow through his and drop to her sides. She had finally realized he will have what he wants and she cannot do anything to prevent it. She just might be a smart girl after all, he thought.

I'm beyond all hope…

"I, I'm sorry… I, I was just…" he scared the living hell out of me.

I had been examining a grave, which belonged to a guy I'd never even heard of, trying to find my mother. I held my breath with each stone I looked at, hoping it wasn't hers. The man seemed to have come out of nowhere. She didn't expect anyone else to be in the cemetery. No one dared go near Silent Hill. Not if they knew what was good for them.

The man had a face much like her father's, rough and unforgiving. Wisps of dirty blonde hair fell in his eyes. Yes, his eyes. This man's eyes were different than those of her wicked parent. They were soft and glassy. The eyes of someone who has been through many hardships.

"No, it's okay! I didn't mean to scare you," his voice was deep but hushed, "I'm kind of lost."

I wrinkled my nose, "Lost?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for Silent Hill…" he pointed across the cemetery to a section of rickety iron fence, "Is this the right way?"

I looked in the direction he was indicating and grimaced. Why on earth would he want to go there?

"Uh, yeah," I answered uneasily, "It's hard to see with this fog, but there's only the one road. You can't miss it."

He turned to leave, "Thanks."

I took a step toward him, reaching out slightly, "But-"

He turned back to look at me, his eyebrows raised. "I, I think you'd better stay away…" I stuttered.

"Is it dangerous?" his voice raised on the last word.

"Maybe…" I looked around the deserted cemetery, "And it's not just the fog either…"

He waved his hand, "Okay. I'll be careful." Again, he turned to leave.

I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and whined, "I'm not lying!"

"No, I believe you," he pulled away gently, "It's just, I guess I don't really care if it's dangerous or not. I'm going either way."

I flattened my brow into a puzzled look, "But… why?"

"I'm looking for someone. Someone very important to me. I'd do anything if I could be with her again." I could hear the sadness in his voice. "Me too," I said turning my gaze to the ground, "I'm looking for my mama-I mean my mother. It's been so long since I've seen her. I thought my father and brother were here, but I can't find them either… I'm sorry; it's not your problem."

"No," he placed his hand on my shoulder for a brief moment, "I, I hope you find them."

No one will ever forgive me…

The pain had been intense, unbearable almost. Starting at the outermost parts then shooting up through her. It felt as though he was ripping her up. Each of his movements was just as painful as the first. And he loved that.

She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Her finger nails dug deep into the meaty skin on his shoulders, enough to draw blood. Silent tears began to run down her cheeks. They way he was holding her left no way to escape or to struggle. She closed her eyes tight and prayed; prayed that it would be over soon and he'd leave her alone.

When he finally finished he sat at the bedside, running his fingers through her soft auburn hair as she sobbed uncontrollably. Before leaving Angela's room he kissed her forehead tenderly and whispered, "I love you."

'Burn in hell, asshole!' is what she would have loved to say.

But instead she kept it to herself. Thoughts have become precious. They were something of hers and only hers. No one else could steal them so savagely away.

He was gone now. She could hear him out in the living room, whistling as he read the days paper. Her mother, no doubt, was at the bar and would not return until midnight or later. She would stagger in and pass out on the couch. Dad will then carry her to the bedroom and help himself. They would both wake up early and have coffee together at the rickety kitchen table. They'd make small talk, then daddy would be off to work. Mommy would stay home until five in the evenings. Sometimes cleaning, sometimes working on her failed novel project, but always bitching about her hangover. Then it was off to the bar and the vicious cycle would continue.

Angela sat in her father's fluids with her knees drawn close to her. She was still bare and the cold winter wind leaking under the window make her pale flesh crawl. She shivered and hugged herself tighter.

I'm sure that I'm still laughing. Aren't I?