Tombstones stood in rows a far as the eye could see, in front, behind, to the left, to the right, everywhere. An ocean of long forgotten souls. Some of the grey stones stood erect and tall, as if attempting to dominate the others, some were just plaques on the floor name obscured by golden sunlight bouncing of the bronze metal. However, there were a few, every few feet that crumbled in at the edges, that had weathered many storms over centuries leaving the sharp corners to soften. Nature threatened to overpower some, wrap their branches around the cold stone and carry it off to oblivion. There were no sounds, not one. The silence echoes throughout the cemetery, so quiet and yet so painfully loud. It was like birds had been banished from the area, only death was to exist there. It was not a place of peace or of remembrance but of death. A place the living had no power over.

Donald Ressler could hear shoes on the gravel paths, crunching and crackling. Aunts, Uncles, people he had never met attending the funeral of the only person who cared, the only person who understood, the only person to love him. His suit itched his six-year old body but he didn't care, his mind was to focused on the woman being laid to rest in front of him. His mother, his best friend, his protector. His weary blue eyes that stung with fresh tears fell to the tombstone.

In Loving Memory Of

Evelyn Ressler

Beloved Mother and Wife

May She Rest In Peace

Donald's heart ached, he had done it, his father had finally killer her. Donald had always known he would, his father was a monster. His mother had taken the pain for him since his birth, but she could do it no longer and he didn't want her to, she had suffered enough. Donald was strong, his mother had taught him well.

"I love you, Mom." He whispered softly.

Those words were only for her, no one else had the right to hear them, especially not the dark haired man stood next to him. His father, Richard. The man was a good actor, if Donald hadn't known about his evil he would have been fooled just like the other mourners. Richard Ressler was a fox among the chickens and that was just how he liked it. The world saw him as Detective Rick Ressler the noble and brave Ohio cop. Donald knew the truth, he was a cruel, sadistic man who cared for no one but himself. He wouldn't take candy from a baby, no he would shoot the baby and prise the candy from their dead hand. Disgusting.

He watched as they lowered his mother's body down into her grave. Suddenly his mom's cousin who he only knew as Aunt Joanna started crying into her husband's, also known as Uncle Sidney's, coat. At least some tears were real, not like his father's sympathy ones, they were placebo tears, looked and sounded like the real thing but were nothing beyond that. He had never known why his father was the way he was, sometimes Donald thought there wasn't a reason beyond evil is evil. If angels like his mother existed then so did demons.

Hours past and he watched as people gave his father comforting words about how she would live on in their hearts, it was a waste of time his father didn't care. He would give his father one thing though, he was smart, not many people could have made her death look like an accident as quickly as he did. He felt like his heart had been ripped out and thrown in a blender, never before had he experienced such pain in his short life, not even his father's slaps had hurt that much. His father had used any opportunity to bend Donald over his knee and slap until Donald howled in pain. Monster. It just made his father's constant gifts even more disturbing.

XXXX

It was late when Donald and his father got home, the sun had long since vanished from the sky replaced my the silver moon.

"Go to bed!" Richard demanded the second the door was shut behind them.

The demon he knew as father slumped into his armchair as Donald began to walk, just wanting to be away from him.

"Wait!" Donald turned to look at his so-called father. "Get me a beer first."

Donald let out an inaudible sigh and padded over to the kitchen as his father ripped off his tie and turned the television on. It roared to life with some football game, Donald didn't really care he just wanted to be alone. The beer can was cold in his hands as he pulled it from the refrigerator and hurried over to his father, the man didn't like to be kept waiting. As soon as the can was close enough Richard pulled it from Doanld's little hands and opened the top with a click.

"Good, now go to bed."

Donald turned but found he couldn't move, his father had grabbed hold of his wrist with an iron strong grip, it hurt but he wouldn't give the man who murdered his mother the satisfaction of yelping. Donald looked back at him, not in the eyes, never in the eves.

"You forgot something, lad." His father sneered. "What about my good-night kiss?"

He sounded almost hurt that his son hadn't done it instantly. With a deep breath to steady his nerves Donald leaned over to his father and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Good boy." Richard released his son and pushed him away, Donald nearly faulted for a moment. "Go to bed then."

Donald had never been more pleased to leave his father's side. He brushed his teeth for what felt like forever that night, if he had bleach he would have used that. Soon though, the boy slid into his bed quickly running a hand through his strawberry blonde locks, he had always looked like his mother, blonde with sapphire blue eyes and pale skin. Donald was grateful for that. He hadn't cried, wouldn't let his father have the satisfaction of that, but in bed, alone, the tears finally fell. He buried his head in his navy colored pillow trying to stay quiet. He could do without the beating. That was how it went with his father, Richard would do something cruel or violent or simply get annoyed with something simple and then suddenly bring him a present and sit with him until the tears stopped, he would pull his son onto his knee and cuddle him unnaturally close while speaking apologies. Donald had learned rather quickly that the words were meaningless, they brought no comfort to the six-year old, just worries for the next time.

It took hours but eventually Donald fell asleep in his sodden pillow, he longed for his mother to tuck him in and press a soft kiss to his forehead, but Donald would never experience that again, she was gone.

Donald was alone.