A/N~ I do not own any recognizable characters, I do not own twilight, except in my dreams *giggles*
Watching in horror as your child gets beaten black and blue is one of the worst possible things a mother could go through. To make it worse, the person giving the beating is the child's grandfather. Being the child's mother I wanted to rush to her side. Knowing I couldn't because of my own injuries I could only cry softly as I listened to my three year olds screams of pain. I swiftly looked over to the basinet that held my eight week old son and widened my eyes as my father suddenly rushed over to him, once Amelia became silent. I screamed loudly "Daddy please! NO!" my cries fell upon deaf ears and I whimpered as my son started to cry helplessly.
The cries of my son became silent and I feared the worst, my vision was beginning to turn dark, I welcomed it, but at the same time I feared it. I worried for my son, Jackson, and my daughter Amelia. Finally I could take no more of the pain and the darkness overcame me. I awoke sometime latter to the small body of my daughter wrapping herself around me. "Momma! Wakes up! Jackson quiets!" she screeched. I winced as she made her grip on me tighter.
"Mia?" I cooed softly, calling Amelia by her nick name. I evaluated her injuries. I noticed that her blond hair was caked with dirt and grime; she was far to skinny for a three year old. Her once vibrant blue eyes only held pain, she had bruises on her face, dried blood on her lip and I looked at her limbs, no obvious breaks, she was not favoring any bones. I would have to convince Michael, the bastard who does this to us, to allow me to bathe Mia, and perhaps I would be able to gauge her injuries better.
"Momma! Hewp Jackson, him no cwy no mowe." Her voice was weak and she whimpered in pain as she moved. I sat up swiftly, my own pain temporarily forgotten as I looked across the room to see a small unmoving body. I widened my eyes. "Momma? Him 'onna be otays wites?" Mia asked.
"I don't know baby." I replied as I fought back sobs, I knew. I crawled over to my son, telling Mia to stay put, she always listened to me. Whimpering as I crawled I noticed as I got closer that his small chest was not moving. I reached out and lightly brushed my fingers along his face, he was freezing to the touch. I bit my lip and carefully picked him up; it was then that I noticed he had dried blood all over his face. I checked for a pulse and the tears finally pooled in my eyes and began to fall as I noticed he had no pulse.
Jackson James Swanson, born June 17th, 2009, was lying dead in my arms. I looked up at the digital clock on the end table and saw it was August 5th, 2009. My son died at eight weeks old. I sobbed loudly and Mia, though I told her to stay put, slowly crawled over to me. "Momma?" she asked, tears pouring down her little face.
"Sw..sweetie, you remember when your daddy when to heaven?" I asked her, I was fighting hard to keep myself in check. She simply nodded her head, she and Jackson both looked so much like their father. I bit my lip and continued after swallowing hard. "Jackson…is in heaven with daddy now angel." I held my sons lifeless form close to my heart and I sobbed, Mia began to cry loudly, her tiny frame shaking with the force of her sobs. Michael chose that moment to walk in with a sick twisted smile on his face. I wanted to yell at him, but I knew I couldn't.
"Funeral arrangements are set, your boyfriend did this to him, am I clear?" His voice was evil, his dark hair and eyes, that matched my own, made me sick. When I was thirteen the abuse started, shortly after I got pregnant. When I had my daughter, her father had no idea what was going on with me at home. He was supportive of his daughter while my own father beat me black and blue. I whimpered, when I got pregnant with Jackson, his and Mia's father, Jackson Sr. died on impact in a car crash. I had never dated since, but Michael had me use dating as a cover up for my children and my own bruises. I nodded weakly and clung to my son.
"W-when are th-they com-coming to get him?" I asked, I knew better than to speak without permission and Michael came over and grabbed a fist full of my hair and slammed my head onto the ground.
"Hush up slut! They will be here in ten minutes, I will be back later." He dropped me to the ground and left.
"Momma?" Mia asked softly and whimpered in pain. I looked at her and she spoke softly "meh hold Jackson?" her voice was so soft, so weak. I nodded and helped her to hold her baby brother, for the last time. Ten minutes later, right on cue, the coroner arrived. I watched as they loaded my son and then I was approached by a police officer.
"Miss Swanson?" he asked. I nodded and I noticed he was looking I and my daughter up and down. "Who did this to you and your children?" He asked.
Sticking to the lie my father had come up with I spoke in a dull, lifeless tone "My boyfriend…" I didn't give a name; Michael never gave me a name to give. I was trembling in fear, because this police officer was a man. He lifted his hand to push the button on his walkie talkie but stopped short when both Mia and I screamed. Mia yelled "don't hurt me!" over and over, while I just grabbed my daughter and held her tightly, while still managing to be mindful of her injuries.
The officer left and a beautiful woman with caramel colored hair walked in, she had the most stunning shade of emerald eyes I had ever seen, Mia was scared still, she didn't trust anyone and she just clung to me tightly. I held onto my daughter who was skin and bones, though I probably wasn't much better. "Hello dear, my name is Esme Cullen, and you are Sandra Swanson correct?" the one called Esme asked. I simply nodded my head, finding myself running my fingers through my daughter's filthy hair.
"Tell me, how old are you dear?" her voice was soft, caring, and almost motherly. I scoffed internally at that, if only my own mother had not abandoned me when I was twelve. "I'm se-seventeen." I replied and then images of my son, who had been taken from me, rushed through my head and I screamed. Mia continued to cling to me, not fazed at all by my screams. "JACKSON!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. Esme made a move to touch me but Michael entered the room, playing the part of the 'concerned' father he rushed over. I winced as he wrapped his arms around me.
"What happened Sandy?" He asked, using my nickname, I winced again, as did Mia.
I didn't reply, he knew damn well what happened, yet Esme took it upon herself to explain it anyway, not putting two and two together. Michael gasped and forced tears to fall from his eyes, he was 'mourning' the death of his grandson. When he moved to hold Mia she screamed "NO gampa no huwt me no mowe pwease!" My daughter was trembling, something in Michael snapped and he was no longer playing the concerned father but instead he yanked Mia up by her hair and began to shake her forcefully.
"DADDY NO!" I yelled, jumping up and instantly collapsing as my whole body was burning with pain. My ribs were hurting, and my head was throbbing. I'm sure I was covered in bruises as well. Whimpering loudly as I heard several voices rush in and then a mass of screams and shouts from my daughter before she was placed safely into my arms. The both of us were sobbing, from pain, and mourning the loss of someone we both loved dearly. I was picked up, I think it was Esme, I couldn't be too sure.
Several hours later I was in the hospital, sharing one of the narrow beds in the emergency room with my daughter. Esme had a piece of paper with the funeral arrangements for my son, and I whimpered. She wasn't alone though, with her was a man, he was tall with blond hair and stunning blue eyes. "I'm doctor Carlisle Cullen, are you Amelia and Sandra Swanson?" he asked.
I shrunk back against the bed in fear. He gave me a sympathetic glance and began to speak to the woman beside him, quietly. My daughter was still trembling in fear and I was trying to figure out if we would be separated. I already lost one child; I couldn't lose another one too. As it turns out Mia and I would have to stay in the hospital for three weeks, however we would be taken to the funeral by Esme and Carlisle on the morning of August 8th, 2009. I cried for several hours, my daughter had a cast on her left leg, as it turns out HE broke her leg two nights ago. She had an IV in her tiny hand and a feeding tube down her nose, she had refused to eat. I had to give my consent. I had a matching tube; I myself was refusing to eat. I had an IV as well, my ribs had been tapped and my face stitched.
"Jackson, your son has joined you in heaven today. Please…love him…and tell him every day that I love him with all my heart." I whimpered, it was then that I noticed a picture had been placed on the beside of the hospital table in the room Mia and I were moved to. It was a picture of my son. I stared at the picture, he looked just like his father, had his daddy's blond hair and bright blue eyes, in the picture I was holding him close to me, it was the day he was born. I wanted to know when this picture was taken, I'm pretty sure Michael would not have taken it, upon closer inspection I noticed my head had been somewhat cut out of the picture and I saw tiny fingers in it as well. I chuckled weakly knowing Mia had taken that picture when she was brought in by Michael to visit me.
Staring at the picture I let the breathing of my daughter, lull me into a light slumber. Peaceful sleep was something I knew was not to come. I knew I would see my son dead over and over again, but I still let the darkness claim me.
A/N~ I hope you all like this story so far. I will post the next chapter on Tuesday September 18, 2012, I will post it sooner if I get at least FIVE reviews.
