The Return of the Author: You guys should know by now I can't stay away from these stories…they reel me in and tie me up until I finish, just to reel me in again. It's an ongoing cycle, it seems. Although I hadn't planned on starting this right away, but I suddenly had a day off from work today due to an unexpected…root canal procedure :( That was fun….Anyway, this is the fourth installment of my Cell series, but unfortunately for your own benefit, if you're unfamiliar with my little story of Layrial and Cell, I suggest you read Shadowed Spirit (the original and if you have time Dignity of an Android), The Past Returns and The Kismet of Optimism. It'll just make more sense that way, but you don't have to.

Oh, and I hope all of you enjoy the title I threw on this one. Don't ask how I thought of it…it just popped into my head. Its fun to say three times fast ;)

Reviews are encouraged because they make me post chapters quicker and they make me feel better. Enjoy!

Behold Thy Scarred Heart

Chapter 1: His Name Was Cell

"I had hung up the phone and made my way to the sliding glass door that went to the small deck. I had a perfect view of the sunset. It was gorgeous. And although I had just thought all of those things about Cell, only one wasn't true. I think, deep down, there was some sort of respect he had for me…and that dream I had told me so. His eyes and smile had told me so."

I flipped stared at the last paragraph for the longest time. I reread it twice more. After looking up and watching the leaves flutter in the afternoon breeze I closed the book's faded blue cover and read the title "My Journal" engraved in silver letters on the front. For a moment I looked at it in disbelief at what I had just read. However, I knew there was more. They had all been put together and hidden under the cabinet under the bookcase collecting dust for over twenty years.

I pushed myself back in the chair, the wheels on the legs swiveling as I guided the piece of furniture with my feet back to the cabinet. I leaned over and replaced the blue book only to pick up another one. This one was set in a green cover with gold letters that spelt out the same two words, "My Journal." The date on the inside cover was eight years after that of the first, but I continued to the first page.

"So much time had passed. So much had happened since I last took the time to stand and think about what my life was all about. I mean, I know that things have changed—for the best I think—but its amazing just how long ago those changes came about. It's been nearly eight years, I think. Yes, it has been. Where did all that time go? The funny thing is, though, that those eight years seem to be overpowered by the memories that still haunt me.

"Actually, it was eight years ago last week that I had knocked on death's doorstep only to be denied and thrown back into the world of the living. I don't wish that I remained dead—I never wanted to die, but sometimes I still wonder if it actually happened. It wasn't possible to die and come back to life, right?"

I read the entire book, just like the first. The house was quiet and I was alone, so I finally had the chance to sit down and read these without interruption. I had to keep this knowledge to myself; I couldn't allow anyone to catch me reading it.

I flipped through the pages, my mind in complete awe as my eyes touched upon each word. The first journal was a surprise…the second seem like a science fiction novel. I had never in my wildest dreams…

I finished that book and glanced to the last one sitting on its side on the shelf in the cabinet. Did I dare open to the first page of that one too? Was I prepared to see what else was kept from me all these years?

Glancing at the time, I decided yes. It was only three-thirty in the afternoon and I had another hour before she would come home. I felt angry, hurt, and betrayed…but the need to know was far greater than any other emotion that played out in my heart. I got up and tossed the second of the trio of books back into the cabinet and picked up the final one. I opened to the first page and started to read.

A few pages in, I had to stop and stare at the name that was printed near the top of the page. It hit me as if I had no idea who this person was or where she came from. I couldn't understand why everything was so different in these books than what I had known from real life…

"I picked up my nine month old daughter and held her to my chest, supporting her head so it wouldn't fall back. She automatically put her thumb in her mouth and sucked on it gently; I kissed the top of her head where dark hair—like her father's—was starting to grow in more fully now. I bounced a little as I stood there and was happy to see that she was in a good this morning—there were days where she started off the morning crying and begging for all the attention she could get. She definitely was my little girl in that respect.

I brought Sasara down the hall and Toshi glanced up with a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. He smiled as he sipped his coffee and waved to our daughter. "Hey there pumpkin," he greeted. "How's my little girl this morning?" I handed Sasara over to him so I could get her bottle ready."

My name seemed so sacred that I nearly cried. I knew I was loved and cared for—that was never the question. The question came from learning what had happened before I was born, before my mother even knew my father. I had known for a while now that she had once been a reporter; I had my grandparents to thank for letting that cat out of the bag. Other than that I knew nothing about her. Just who was Layrial Adercon Sutiiven before she settled down?

It was upon learning about her career in journalism, though, that I realized that my parents were keeping something from me; especially my mother. There was something she held as a deep secret that I wondered if my father even knew about. History classes had told us of the Great Hercule's big defeat of a world terror named Cell. When I had come home talking about it one day my mother had made the comment that you can't believe everything you hear.

Now I knew what she meant. Hercule hadn't defeated Cell; in fact, he hadn't even had a chance. Cell was a monster, as was stated in the textbooks, but he was different in my mother's perspective. The story was heartbreaking in ways, but yet shocking to the furthest extent. I can't say how many times I had to stop reading to skim back over in order to absorb the details she had written.

I glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly four-thirty. I had to hurry through the last few pages. Yet I couldn't bring myself to skim it—this part was the most interesting in terms of the android. He seemed to have changed enough towards my mother to act…human? And yet, at the end of this segment, my mother married and such, she still cared for this creature.

"This is where my story of Cell ends. For the rest of my life I'll remember him, but it will remain a secret as to how I truly felt about him. Evil, perhaps he was, though there was something about him that captivated my mind and held me hostage every time I was within his line of sight. I loved him…there's no question about it. The fact that he was an android—murderous and hateful—meant nothing to me anymore. I saw a side of him that no one else was ever able to open. I had the chance to see a side of him that no one else had ever, or could ever open up…a side even Cell himself didn't realize he had.

In the end, though, after learning that there was another emotion besides hatred and power, Cell was complete."

I closed the book and returned the bookcase back to its normal appearance before I chanced another second of her not being home yet. I was thankful that she seemed to be running late, but half of me had almost hoped she would walk in to see me reading those books. I couldn't believe she had kept such a huge thing a secret.

In ways, though, I suppose I could be acting selfish. I could tell by the way she wrote her experiences that they weren't completely pleasant and that it was something traumatizing each time. She had been in a state of pain I couldn't even imagine. She had even died…

I heard the front door slam shut and keys clashing down on the table. She was home and two things pulled at my brain—ask or pretend I knew nothing? I got up off the chair and went into the living room to greet her, a small smile on my face, but not friendly enough to steer her in the complete opposite direction of my feelings. I wasn't mad at her…just disappointed.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" She asked me as she took off her summer jacket. "You look tired."

"I'm fine," I said plainly. "You're the one that looks tired."

She smiled as she went into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. "The end of the school year is always busy. I'm just glad it's the weekend."

My mother was in her fifties, but she was still a pretty lady. She stood straight and proud, short dark blue hair making her look a little younger, even with the specks of gray. Her gray eyes held a certain twinkle to them that gave her that elegant flair when she smiled at you. Many people said I looked like her. Actually, I did with the exception of my hair. It was much darker, on the verge of a true black, but on a bright sunny day one could see the bluish tint it held so well. As for my face, I could probably pass as a younger version of my mother.

"There's a birthday card from your father here for you," she said suddenly.

I must've spaced out because she was sorting through the mail and I hadn't even noticed. I took the card she held out to me and glanced at the writing. No return address, but the lousy penmanship proved it was from him.

"I'll open it later," I replied and tossed it to the counter.

I heard a sigh escape her mouth, but it wasn't unusual with such a topic. See, the thing is, my father divorced her about five years back. They got into a fair amount of arguments and finally my dad walked out after one of them. He came back the next day and told her he was moving out because he couldn't take her stubbornness anymore.

It broke my mom's heart. And it made me angry. The only time I heard from him was when it was a special event or holiday. He asked to take me out last year, but I declined and said I had more important things to do. After the way he acted towards my mom, there was no way I could forgive him—and she knew enough not to argue with me anymore. If there's one thing for sure, I had my mother's attitude.

During dinner, though, I had this terrible urge to open my mouth about my discovery. I watched her eat, quietly sitting there and chewing in the peacefulness of our home. She was a school teacher, but otherwise she had no other worries. I had recently finished college and was looking around for an apartment nearby in the city. I had already set up several interviews with top media magazines in hopes of landing at least a small job that I could eventually build up and get me through to the editor's chair. I definitely had high hopes for myself. After reading the first part of my mother's journal, I saw that I was more like her than I had originally realized.

"Mom, I need to ask you something," I said suddenly before I gave myself a chance to think clearly.

"Hmm?" She said as she looked up from her chicken and rice.

I fumbled for the words. I started it; the right thing to do was to finish it and get the answers I wanted. "Why had you never told me about Cell?"

It wasn't the way I wanted to put it. It also wasn't what she expected me to ask. "What are you talking about?" She asked, trying desperately to conceal her secret.

"I found your journals," I said truthfully.

I had expected her to maybe look away, perhaps sigh like she usually did and put her fork down, but instead she got up and left the room all together, half of her dinner still remaining on her plate. I heard the door close and knew I had screwed up.

"Mom!" I shouted as I went out after her. I found her in the front yard, her arms hugged around herself and her eyes gazing at the setting sun. "Look, I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to—"

"How did you know about those?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and came up next to her, not bothering to take a look at a face that probably had tears forcing their way out of saddened eyes. "I happened to open the bookcase cabinet 'cause I thought that's where you put my old textbooks. When I found those journals…I couldn't help but read them."

"They were hidden in that cabinet for a reason," she said sternly. "I wish you hadn't looked at them."

"Well why didn't you at least tell me something about your affair with that android?"

She snapped me a harsh look that could have cut my face had the figurative sense become literal. She glared at me as if I had stepped completely out of bounds—a look I hadn't seen since we argued about my father. "Don't you think I thought about telling you? Didn't you consider that maybe I kept everything from you for your own good?"

I laughed and put my hands on my hips. "What good, Mom? You had a thing for a mass murderer! How could that link to me?"

"Because I didn't want you to get yourself into trouble like that!" she practically yelled, causing me to flinch slightly. It had been so long since she raised her voice like that. "Cell was not a charming fellow who waltzed into my life and swept me off my feet. Sure, I had a thing for him, but I knew he wasn't safe! He was trouble from the first moment I met him and I will not allow you to think that it was all fun and games!"

"I didn't say it was!" I hollered back.

"Sasara, I don't want a word of this spoken to anyone," she told me seriously. "It's been kept a secret for a reason—I don't want my life turned into some freak show because it would make a good story. I've been on the other side and I know the hunger people in the media can have. I had it and look what it got me. You better watch out for that, got it?"

She turned and left. I stood outside by myself for the longest time. I had no idea it would've gotten under her skin this much. I read all of those journals back to back, but obviously she considered everything just a bad dream. As much as she said she loved that android, it was as if…she were ashamed.