DISCLAIMER: You know why I write disclaimers? Because they prevent the title and then the chapter (in this case, Ties that Blind, then Prologue) from looking off kilter. Because sometimes I've noticed that happens. But if I write a disclaimer, that seems to fix the problem. Oh, sure, I could write something witty instead, but it's just easier to pretend to write a disclaimer. Most folks don't even read these things. But, in case you are a rare individual that loves Disclaimers, here it is... All I can claim to have created in this story are my own original characters and the story itself. Otherwise? Nope.

Ties That blind
Prologue

February 13, 2000

She was six years old, not a baby anymore and she knew a lot of things. She knew how to tie her own sneakers, (chase the rabbit into the hole), she knew how to write, knew there were big letters and small letters. She could read a whole book by herself, One Fish Two Fish. Some day she would read every book in the world, but One Fish Two Fish was a good start. She could make her own bed, she could set the table for dinner. She could do so many things.

What she couldn't do was fix her daddy, and something was wrong with Daddy.

Most of the time, she loved her daddy. He wasn't home much, his job kept him on the road so much of the time, but when he was home, most of the time it was wonderful, or it used to be. Her daddy was big, like a bear and most of the time he wasn't like a mean bear, he was like one of those cuddly bears, like Smokey or something. Except he didn't tell her to prevent forest fires, although she had no intention of starting any fires, instead he would scoop her up and give her hugs, or chase her around the house until she was shrieking with laughter and Mommy had to remind her of her "indoor voice," and scold him about getting her all "riled up." But she would usually smile when she scolded them, so it was good scolding, not a bad scolding. Like Mommy really enjoyed seeing them happy, but being Mommy, she had to make sure they were following the rules, too.

But sometimes, Daddy wasn't Daddy. Sometimes Daddy had "bad days." When she was smaller, bad days meant she had to be very quiet. Daddy had a headache and the slightest noise would make it worse. So, she learned to be very quiet. Sometimes she forgot, and when she did, Daddy would scold her, a few times he even yelled at her, but it was okay, Daddy didn't mean it, it wasn't him talking, Mommy told her, it was the headache talking and using Daddy to talk, like she might use her voice to make her stuffed animals speak.

But, headaches became "Daddy is sick" and unlike when she got sick, Daddy didn't get better, no matter how much he rested. Sometimes he seemed better for a bit, but then he would go right back to being sick. And being sick was different for Daddy, he didn't just lay in bed, instead Daddy got angry. And when he got angry, bad things happened.

I can be quiet, she thought, as she stuck her fingers in her mouth. I can be very quiet. I can not make a sound, no matter what happens.

There was so much yelling going on. Not Mommy though, Mommy wasn't doing anything but crying. She wanted to see what was going on, hug Mommy and tell Mommy it was all going to be okay. She wanted to tell Daddy to stop yelling, to stop saying terrible things. She wanted to hug her daddy and tell him it was all going to be okay, that if he was sick, he had to lie down and stay in bed until he was better. That's what she did when she was sick, Daddy needed to do that too. But she couldn't, because she made a promise. When the screaming had started, her Mommy had run into her room and pulled her out of her bed, she hadn't been sleeping, the noise wouldn't let her. But Mommy pulled her out of her bed, not caring that she was yanking on her arm, and that it hurt. When the girl wanted to cry out at the pain, the look on her Mommy's face shut the cry right in her throat.

And then Mommy opened the door to the closet and pushed her in there. "You stay in here," she ordered. "You stay in the closet and I don't care what you hear, you are not to come out. You are not to make a single noise, do you understand? I don't care what you hear, you stay in here, do you understand?"

She had wanted to shake her head, no, she did not understand. Closets weren't for hiding in, they were for clothes. But something about the way her Mommy was acting told her that she had to understand, or at least pretend to understand. So she nodded and her mother bit her lip, looking over her shoulder as if making sure Daddy's yelling was still coming from their bedroom, not getting any closer. "Remember, not a peep, no matter what you hear! I love you, baby."

Then she shut the door. And now the girl was in the closet trying so hard to be quiet, but it wasn't easy because the noises her Daddy was making were terrible noises. He was screaming terrible things, things the girl didn't understand, but she knew they were bad. Evil was never a good word. Neither was bitch. Bitch was one of the worst words, bitch got her a smack to the hand when she once said it herself, so she knew it was a really bad word. She was hearing those two words a lot, along with other words she didn't understand, but she knew they were all bad words.

And the thumping, the thudding. So much of that. While her daddy screamed and her mother just made moaning noises as if she were the one who was sick, not Daddy. She thought it would never end. Except that it did end, there was a very, very, loud noise, as loud as the sound she heard sometimes outside, a sound that always scared her and made her jump until Mommy or Daddy told her that it was just a car "Backfiring." But this hadn't been from outside, this had been from inside the house and there was no car in this house. But after that, it got very quiet.

The girl thought about leaving the closet, but she had promised her mommy and she suddenly realized her Mommy hadn't told her when she could leave the closet. So, this must mean she had to stay there until Mommy came to get her. Hurry up, Mommy, she thought. I don't wanna be here anymore.

Then she heard footsteps in the hall, coming closer. Heavy footsteps which weren't like her Mommy's footsteps. Her mommy usually walked so quietly you couldn't hear her. She could hear these footsteps, heavy footsteps, like a bear might make if a bear wore shoes. Her daddy was like a bear, like a big old friendly bear, but he wasn't very friendly now and he was wearing shoes.

"Rhiannon rings like a bell in the night and wouldn't you love to love her?" a voice sang out, so badly off key that it should have been funny, it would have been funny, if she wasn't so scared. Her daddy couldn't sing, everyone knew that, even Daddy. He only sang when he wanted to make her and Mommy laugh. But she couldn't hear Mommy laughing and this wasn't funny at all.

She heard the door to her room open, heard the heavy footsteps coming into the room. "Rhiannon, baby, I'm singing your song!" her daddy called out, as if this was a normal day. "C'mere baby, Daddy needs to do something."

Rhiannon bit her fingers, very hard. Mommy told her not to go out no matter what. But this was Daddy and wasn't she supposed to obey Daddy too? But Mommy didn't tell her she should leave for Daddy. And Daddy didn't sound right.

She was six years old, she could do so many things, she could ride a two wheeler, she could color in the lines...

"What's this? You're not in your bed, little girl," her daddy said, and he was trying to sound happy, like this was all some game they were playing, but he didn't sound happy, he sounded wrong, so very wrong.

She was six years old, she could button her own shirt, even if they were tiny buttons.

"Where are you, little girl?"

She could add numbers. She could even subtract some numbers.

More thumping, more stomping. "You're not under the bed, my little Rhiannon, where are you? Daddy needs you!"

She could brush her own teeth, she could wash her own face.

"Get out here, little girl, Daddy needs to talk to you, right now!" His voice was getting louder, so much louder.

She knew how long to wash her hands for, she knew she had to sing Old MacDonald while she washed them to make sure the soap was on long enough. One whole verse. She usually picked a pig as the animal, because 'oink' was such a funny word.

She heard his hand on the knob to the closet door, she closed her eyes, and heard the door fling open. "There you are!" he said, and it would have sounded like a game, except that his voice was so loud, too loud. "C'mere my little princess, my little fucking princess."

She felt a hand grabbing her by her arm, pulling her to her feet and even though she didn't want to go, even though she knew this wasn't part of Mommy's instructions, she found herself letting it happen, she didn't even fight it as he hauled her out of the closet, because part of her wanted it to happen, wanted to see her Daddy and wanted to get this over with too, whatever it was.

"Look at you." Her daddy pulled her into her bedroom, and the lights were bright and she stood there, blinking in the middle of the room. Her Daddy knelt down in front of her, groaning a little bit as he did, because his knees hurt all the time. "look at you, my perfect little fucking Angel. My beautiful, evil, fucking baby angel, my pretty bitch fucking angel, future cocksucking little angel whore."

So many bad words, she knew sometimes that Daddy used bad words, Mommy always scolded him when he did, but usually it was just one bad word and it always sounded like a mistake, like the bad word had just slipped out. But now he was saying the bad words deliberately, like they were the most important part of the conversation.

"Daddy loves his little fucking Angel," he continued, staring at her and his eyes were red, so red, like where they were supposed to be white, they were red instead. Red with a blue ring, that you could hardly see, then black, oh so black. "And Daddy is so sorry about Mommy, baby girl. I'm so sorry that your Mommy was an evil bitch. I'm so sorry that I'm an evil bastard. But it is what it is. We didn't want to be this way, but we can't help it. We're evil, we're fucked up. And all I could do was fix it."

That's when he lifted his other hand and she saw the gun. And she knew instantly, that it wasn't a toy gun, it was a real one. The way he held it, it looked so heavy, and so cold and so mean looking. Her Mommy had told her about guns before, told her that if she ever saw a gun, not to touch it, not to stay in the same room with it. She was to leave the room and go someplace without guns and to call her.

What was her daddy doing with a gun?

"Mommy will never spread her evil again, my fucking angel sunshine," her daddy said, "And soon, neither will you."

She didn't know what he meant, but the gun was bad and she just knew that whatever her Daddy had planned it wasn't good. "Daddy," she swallowed, forcing herself to speak, even though every word was so hard to say, as if someone was sitting on her chest, not letting her breathe right. "Y-you n-need t-t-to go to b-b-bed, you're sick. Mommy will b-b-bring you medicine, j-just go to b-b-bed."

"Mommy can't bring me medicine," her daddy said, and he sounded almost sad. "Mommy's gone, Rhiannon, baby. Mommy's gone to hell where all demons belong. Where all evil bitches go. She was evil, baby. A demon wearing an Angel's face. Did you know that Lucifer was the fairest angel of them all? He was. Your mama was a fair angel too. That's why I fell in love with her. But she was evil, little Rhiannon. We both were. I was never a fair angel, but I always was a demon. And we made you. You, our perfect little Angel. But you're a demon, baby. Or, you will be. You can't escape it, it's the family curse. We poisoned you, baby. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay to be sorry, but you have to not do it anymore!" she said, something her mommy told her. "That's how you fix it!"

"I am going to fix it," her daddy said. Then he raised that gun, and he pressed the bad end into her forehead.

Rhiannon froze. She knew so many things, she knew how to use the remote on the TV to find her favorite TV channels, she knew how to answer the phone politely, she knew that you only petted cats so their fur went in the right direction, not the wrong direction.

She knew that guns killed people.

She knew that dead was forever.

She knew that Daddy had killed Mommy.

She knew Daddy wanted to kill her.

She looked at him. "Daddy, no!" she said, and her voice was barely a whisper, even though she wanted to scream and scream and scream, so loud that the gun would disappear. But all she could do was squeak like a little mouse. "Daddy, no, please, I don't want to- please, Daddy."

"Close your eyes, baby girl, and it will all be over soon," her daddy crooned as if they were at the doctor's and he was about to give her a shot.

In the vague, far away, distance, she heard what sounded like a knock on the door. A persistent knock. Was someone at the door? "Answer the door, Daddy!" she said, hoping this would distract him. "Someone is at the door, you have to answer it!"

"No, Baby, I have to finish this first," her daddy said. "They'll come in soon enough, the fucking neighbors called the fucking cops. But it doesn't matter, I just have to finish this and then they can come in here and do whatever they want, it won't matter. So just close your eyes my little Demon Angel and it will all be over soon."

"I don't want to!" She knew her voice was whiny, knew how much her daddy and mommy hated whiny voices, but she was so scared and she couldn't help herself. She didn't want to die. She knew so much, but she knew she still had so much more to learn and she wanted to learn it.

"Close your eyes, baby girl," her daddy ordered. "Close them now, or you're in big trouble."

The knocking was getting louder. Was it the police? Would the police get mad at her and take her away for not listening to her Daddy? She knew that's what the police did sometimes. She had seen it happen in the building they lived in, the police taking people away. Her Mommy told them that the police only did that if someone had done a very, very bad thing. Was not closing her eyes a bad thing? Would that get her taken away?

"D-do I have to do it?" she whispered.

"Yes,"

The gun felt hot and cold on her forehead and she thought if he kept it on much longer, it would melt into her forehead and become part of her. "Daddy!" she whispered, then slowly, closed her eyes while the pounding got louder and now there were voices coming with the pounding, voices screaming to open the door. I'll be good, she thought, I'll let it happen.

It seemed like forever she heard the yelling and the pounding, but she kept her eyes shut, waiting for what would come, waiting for her Daddy to pull that trigger. But that didn't happen, but the knocking and the yelling got louder and louder.

"I can't do it."

She felt the pressure on her forehead stop and she opened her eyes. Her Daddy now had the gun pressed the underside of his mouth and he was staring at her. "I can't do it, baby," he said, his voice soft as the gun pressed into his throat making it harder for him to talk. "I know I should do it, my little DemonAngel, but I can't. I'm sorry, I can't fix you. I can only-"

"Daddy, don't!" she screamed, finally finding her voice, finally able to scream and she did scream as loudly as she could, but maybe the sound of splintering wood drown out her loud scream, because her Daddy pulled the trigger, he pulled it and there was a huge, loud noise and she found herself just screaming and screaming as her daddy's head just exploded like a melon smashed on the floor and blood and other stuff just sprayed everywhere.

"Daddy," she whispered, and as he fell back on the floor, she fell on top of him, clinging to him, crying. "Daddy, I love you, daddy, come back."

She knew so many things

But she never could figure out how to fix her daddy.

End of Prologue

Author's Notes: Been awhile, hasn't it? Sorry, blame life. Job is still being ridiculous, and husband and I were in a car accident. (Long story, but we're both okay, now, at least physically. The car I was driving? A car left to me by my father when he died? That's totaled. If cars go to Heaven though, I hope my dad is driving around in something cooler than a Ford Taurus station Wagon) But, I'm trying to get back in the swing of things.

I actually started this story quite awhile ago. I thought I was going to abandon it, but then I got inspired to work on it again. I have a couple chapters finished. This is kind of a break for me, because while I have plans, I can also see where I might switch things around.

I know this prologue was a little on the gloomy side, but trust me, the whole story won't be this gloomy.

If you like it, please let me know. Because I'm not sure if I've still got "it" or not. But, even if it's just to say, "Hey, good start!" or "I'd like to see more" I'd be really grateful.