I don't own NCIS. Never have, never will.
Chapter 1 : The Beginning Of The End
"Mom? Guess what?"
The dark-haired boy slammed shut the enormous front door and ran towards the living room. In his haste, a bouquet of roses threatened to slip from his grasp as he threw his school bag into a corner.
"Sorry I'm late, Mom. The teacher wanted to .. Mom?"
He frowned, momentarily confused by the empty chairs. His mother always waited for him to return from school. He turned his attention towards the kitchen. Nope, not there either. Her car was still in the garage and she wasn't in the garden. None of the hired help knew her whereabouts. He pounded up the stairs towards his mother's bedroom. He hesitated at the closed door. He really wasn't allowed into his parents' inner sanctum. Shrugging, he knocked on the door.
"Mom?"
Hearing no answer, he twisted the door knob, slowly opening the door. He peered inside, cautiously. No one was there. Her keys and cell phone were still on the bedside table. Strange.
The little boy clutched the flowers tighter, suddenly feeling cold. She can't still be mad, can she? He has been seriously out of line during the argument with his mother last night but he already apologized the following morning. A deeper frown appeared. He knew his mother held grudges but that was what the roses were for. This.. disappearing act .. was not normal. He bit his lower lip, wondering if he should call his father but immediately dismissed the thought. His ears were still blistering from the last time he did that.
He opened his bedroom door and stilled, blinking in surprise. Of all the places in the house, what was his mother doing lying on his bed.
"Mom?"
She looked more peaceful than she has for days. Lips red as the roses in hand, dark ebony hair fanned out on his pillows like a dark halo, her dress a dark hue of red against skin white and pale. One arm hung limply from the side of his bed. She looked like a fairy tale princess taking a nap.
…Snow white …
She looked too still
… fair maiden…
Her son crept forward, a horrible realization forming. He touched her hand. So cold.
…dead…
"Mom!"
Seconds ticked. Minutes flew. Hours dragged by. Days passed.
It all seemed like an eternity; it all passed too quickly.
It seemed only a second ago he found his mother on his bed, sleeping for eternity.
Now, time stood still as he watched her being lowered into the ground, thinking that she looked as beautiful dead as she did alive.
The funeral was a tasteful affair, held at the family chapel.
Her priest bemoaned her tragic passing at such a young age, praised her charity work, sympathized with her husband and only child. He deftly avoided all mention of suicide.
The choir sang beautifully, their hymns speaking of redemption, love and eternal life.
Lilies, her favorite flowers adorned her casket. Candles around the casket flickered, showering her still features with a soft angelic light. Her favorite dress gave her an elegance that rivaled the living.
Family and friends attended, dressed to kill in black. They were all whom she hated in life, and yet here they were, celebrating her in death.
The boy thought that his mother would have been pleased with the arrangements.
If she wasn't dead.
His father wore his best black suit, the darkest sunglasses and his most expensive tie. A shield against the world and grief. Any emotion was deemed a weakness to be hidden from the circling vultures. He shook hands and nodded appropriately at the platitudes offered.
He did not seem to notice the small stoic figure standing by his side.
Nor did he attempt to touch him.
Rumors were spreading faster than wildfire.
Everyone knows she killed herself.
What pushed her over the edge? She found him in bed with his mistress, that's what.
Her husband loved female company a little too much, if you know what I mean..
She isn't so innocent. I heard she was having an affair with the gardener.
She drank a little too much.
The little boy heard them all. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick them until they took back their words. Instead, he crawled under the table, shut his eyes tight and covered his ears with his fists, trying to block out the poison in the cultured voices.
He took his cues from his father. Everything his father has ever taught him, precious little as it were, were mantras he chanted daily to cope.
Never cry.
Never show any weakness.
Never need anyone, they'll only disappoint you.
Never believe in love.
Never assume that you matter to anyone else.
He repeated them daily in his head and believed.
He was his father's son, after all.
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