Hey guys. This story is actually rather old. At least, the first few chapters are. I uploaded this story a while ago, but then abandoned my account for a while. Somewhat like EXTREME writer's block. But I'm back now. I've tried touching up the chapters a bit, but bear with me. Heh... Please read and review! I would really appreciate it.
†Havoc
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Chapter One: Love
Cooing came from the center of the barren room where a tiny, pale baby lay cradled in the blankets of a wicker basket. The baby's mother, the one making the cooing noises, silently stood up and walked towards the large, polished wood doors. She pulled them open a tad and then turned back and whispered in a weak voice.
"I love you."
Then she slipped through the doors and pulled them soundly shut behind her. Almost all was silent and still in the room, the baby was alone. The only noises came from the baby wriggling underneath all the blankets, gurgling, smiling.
Later that night, the door opened a crack and a single ray of light fell across the room. The door then opened wider as a man pushed through and soundlessly closed them again. From his pocket he produced a brush pen and a bottle of smoky-looking liquid. The baby wobbled and wiggled happily in its basket at the sight of a new person. He always was happy to have someone in the room with him. As the man bent down towards the baby, he got a malicious look in his eyes and a wicked grin spread wide across his face.
Popping off the cap on the liquid and dipping the brush inside, the man hissed, "I'll show you love all right."
'Love.' The baby perked up at the word. He had come to be familiar with it. His mother loved him, she told him so often. His mother loved him even though he had a raging demon trapped inside of him, or so it was said.
"If it's love you want, then that's what you'll get!" the man continued, his lunacy rising. Pulling the brush pen out of the liquid he placed it above the baby's head. The baby reached up smiling and groping at it as if it was a toy. The man snickered. "Yes, you'll get it soon enough, child," he hissed in the tiny baby's ear. The baby gurgled and kept reaching for the brush, always smiling.
Finally, when the man couldn't take it any more, he placed the brush to the baby's forehead and made a stroke. The baby whimpered as the once colorless liquid turned blood red, and for good reason. The liquid was searing the skin, the brush, cutting it. With each stroke the man took, the baby became more confused, whimpering and crying. When he was finally done, the man leaned back to look at his work. Now, on the baby's forehead was the symbol for love, carved out of its own flesh and in its own blood. The baby was wailing as the man laughed and dashed out of the room. The room was again still, but filled with the baby's cries rather than silence.
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The police had first come to the home that night after "suspicious noises" were reported. When arriving on scene, they found the entire household murdered, except for one tiny, red-headed infant. Early the next morning, the detectives arrived on scene. Outside the polished wood doors, muffled voices could be heard, and bits of conversation picked up.
"…All dead? … Where's the baby? ..." A tall detective heaved open the doors to see the basket still lying right in the center of the immense room. He walked up to it cautiously and leaned down to take a closer look. "What kind of sick freak…" The detective trailed of mid-sentence. He was staring upon the gruesome sight of the little baby's new "tattoo." Bit by bit the blood had been mixing with the liquid to create a red scar on his forehead. The detective stood up, clearly disgusted. He walked towards the corner where someone in an official uniform was waiting and murmured, "Twisted…" once again trailing off.
The man in the uniform stood straight postured waiting for the detective. "Doctor," the detective said, nodding.
"We're worried about him…" The doctor began. "We've gotten no response from the baby. He just sits there, staring at the ceiling. Not a smile, a giggle, and barely any movement." The Doctor cleared his throat. "We can't get him to eat anything. A baby like him can't live long this way. Luckily, there wasn't much blood loss. And then, there's the fact that now he doesn't have any parents and…" He stopped himself as a few people enter the room. He waited for them to leave before continuing. "And if we don't get this boy help soon, he won't live for very much longer."
A concerned look swept across the detective's face. He always had a soft spot for children. "I'll see what I can do," was his only response. And with that, he picked up the basket, baby and all, and headed out of the room and away from the home.
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Early the next day, the search began to find where the baby would be placed. The majority of its family had lived in that same house, meaning the majority of his family was now dead. When a relative was finally found, it was a bit of a hesitant decision. They lived very far away from where the baby had been living and were not a very solid family. But they didn't have much of a choice. And soon, the baby was wisked off to its new home.