I apologize for the unoriginality of my title, but I thought that the title of the song would fit my fanfiction very well. I do not own Hellsing or the Soundtrack that goes with it.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Crow. Please, have a seat." A short, bespectacled man gestured to an empty chair in front of his desk as he himself sat down.
Allen Crow smiled warmly, taking up the offer.
"I'm sorry that we couldn't meet sooner, Mr. Morrison, but things have been hectic," Crow apologized. "With our new marriage, and settling down with her family, I haven't had much time."
Mr. Morrison flashed him a forgiving smile, shrugging casually. "I'm glad that Martha married you, someone who doesn't have a death wish."
"Yes," Crow agreed with a grin, "yes, I intend to stay for a while. And these last few months have been promising."
Mr. Morrison's smile grew at the corners. "That's good. I've noticed a change in Alexander, as well. I think that having you around will benefit him greatly."
"I hope so," Crow said, running a hand through his thinning red hair. "I sure hope so."
"Well, over the last few months, and even before you married Martha, Alexander's attitude improved. I understand that his father's death was a tragedy, but at least he has you to lean on now."
"Alexander's a good kid," Crow said, as if speaking to himself.
"Yes," Mr. Morrison agreed, chuckling, "he's a special child. Very bright, very bright…"
"He is an intelligent one," Crow said with a smile. "You seem to know my new stepson very well- even better than I do."
Mr. Morrison flashed a flattered smile, although Crow's comment wasn't meant to compliment him.
"You can say that I was a sort of mentor while he was troubled," Mr. Morrison explained, his friendly smile still present on his lips. "But when you walked into Alexander's life he seemed to change. He talks about you quite a bit."
A small twitch contorted Crow's formerly handsome features for a brief moment, and if one wasn't watching for the quick movement, it was nonexistent.
"Oh yes," Mr. Morrison elaborated, "he talks about you quite a bit. It's like he worships the ground you walk on, Mr. Crow."
Crow forced a laugh and stood up from the chair, holding out his hand. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Morrison."
Mr. Morrison shook his hand, still grinning. They exchanged a few more words, and Crow left the schoolteachers' classroom.
"Let's go," he commanded to the pair sitting just outside the room. Crow put an arm around his wife's shoulder, her son following them closely.
"So, what did Mr. Morrison have to say?" She inquired.
Crow smiled warmly at her, analyzing her features. Her son looked nothing like her; the only thing that was similar between the two was their bleach blonde hair. Martha Anderson had delicate features, soft eyes, and a petite mouth that was always pinched up in a sneer. Alexander, on the other hand, was the spitting image of his father. His bright eyes always seemed to be contemplating, his brow was always furrowed. Alexander had bolder features, the features of a fighting man.
"Martha, he told me everything we already knew." Martha smiled proudly, but her smile disappeared as Crow continued talking. "However, there is something we need to address once we get… home."
Alexander Anderson felt a cold sinking feeling in his chest as he heard these words. The feeling might partially have been because of the large purple bruise that already tattooed his rib cage, but he knew that that bruise was going to be added by a dozen more in a short while. He recognized that tone.
The trio walked home, the lovely couple leading the way with proud steps, the young boy shadowing behind them.
It was a cool night, and although the two adults didn't seem to notice the weather, it had chilled Alexander to the bone. He was thankful when they finally got to their house, a house that was only built for a small family like their own.
Once they got inside, Alexander immediately got started on his schoolwork while his mother and her husband prepared their evening meal.
The trio sat down at their small dining room table, not saying much while they ate. The cold feeling was still present in Alexander's mind, prohibiting his appetite slightly.
"Your teacher likes you, Alexander," Crow commented. Anderson looked up from his food and smiled as Crow continued. "I hear you're a very good student."
Alexander stayed silent, his mother looking snobbishly proud. "That's how I raised him," Martha Anderson said, her chest swelling.
"Yes," Crow smiled, that smile sending a bolt of fear through Alexander's heart. "But he said something quiet interesting."
Martha raised one of her thin eyebrows, retrieving their dishes and placing them in the sink.
"Alexander," Crow said, staring at the boy with cold, merciless eyes. He got up from his chair to stand behind Alexander. "He says that you… talk about me," Crow informed him with an icy edge to his voice.
Alexander turned and looked at him, fear in his wide eyes. "I only say good things!" He cried.
"Alexander, are you sure you're telling the truth?" Crow asked coldly. Alexander sprang up from his chair, stepping away from Crow, nodding vigorously.
"Allen, don't pressure him," Martha said to Crow, who looked at her with a fiery glare.
"Stay out of this Martha!" he shouted, turning his attention back to Alexander. "What sort of 'good things' do you tell them?"
Alexander threw a worried glance at his mother, who seemed to have lost interest. "I don't tell them anything!" he cried.
Crow stepped towards him. "You're not telling them about how you get these bruises, are you?"
Alexander shook his head. "Nobody's ever even seen them, nobody knows about it! I swear!" Alexander exclaimed.
"Why are you so upset, Alexander?" Crow inquired, placing a hand on Alexander's head. "Being upset is a sign of guilt."
Alexander opened his mouth to say something, but the only noise that sounded from him was a quiet choking sound.
Crow smiled at him cheerfully, retracting his hand. Alexander sighed, shutting his eyes. Somehow he knew that this was going to be one of the worst beatings he would ever receive. Alexander waited for Crow's cold hand to strike him, and he looked up when it didn't. The moment he raised his head to see Crow's smiling features, his stepfather's hand created a wave of pain on the left side of his face.
Alexander let out a surprised whimper and staggered to the side, holding his face. He envisioned the large dark purple bruise that would form just under his left cheekbone and spread down to his jaw.
I hurt myself while playing around outside, that's all, he would say if anyone asked. And then Alexander would smile. He had gotten rather good at faking his smile, so good that he forgot what his real smile looked like. Or what a real smile felt like. But as long as he smiled everything would be alright. At least, that's what his mother said.
"You never talk about me again!" Crow shrieked, his hand smashing across Alexander's face again.
"I won't!" Alexander wailed. "I'll never say anything again!"
Crow clapped a hand over Alexander's mouth. "Hush…" he whispered. When he withdrew his hand, Alexander was surprised to see it bloody. He felt his face and realised that a river of blood was gushing out of his nose, and he was now starting to taste the blood that was flowing into his mouth.
A hard, painful fist crashed against Alexander's stomach and he doubled over in pain, a few flecks of blood dripping from his nose onto the floor.
"You've been defiant lately, Alexander," Crow said angrily. "I've tried to refrain from doing this, but you deserve it!"
After a few more minutes of being beaten by his stepfather, Alexander was sent to his room bruised and bloody.
The teenaged boy sat on his bed, resting his head against the wall, holding his hand up to his nose until the blood stopped spouting out of it.
He yawned, thinking he should probably sleep despite how early it was. After every one of Allen Crow's rages, Alexander would be sent to his room for the night, with no contact from his mother or his abuser. That was what he expected from this night as well, and he started nodding off to sleep.
But before he had a chance to fall into the sweet sanctuary of dreams, Alexander heard the married couple sitting in the living room talking. They didn't talk, not after Crow would beat Alexander, and if they did talk, Crow would threaten Martha as well.
Alexander didn't hear their conversation, but he thought that his mother sounded slightly distressed, somewhat more disturbed than usual.
Now they were arguing, although he recognised that his mother was only arguing for the sake of discussion.
Then there was silence. Alexander didn't hear any more noise from the couple. His mother probably had her nose in a book, most likely a book about philosophy, and Crow would be sitting in the large armchair that he claimed as his own, consuming a large amount of some alcoholic substance.
And here was Alexander, sitting in the dark on his bed that hardly fit in his small room. The bed wasn't particularly comfortable, and it was giving him an awfully sore back, but it was a bed after all.
He resolved to go to sleep, to sleep for a long time so that he could go to school and not have to say a word to his stepfather, but somehow he knew that plan would be foiled. But, like the hopeful child Alexander was, he tried to forget his worries through sleep.
Alexander was awoken by the dry creak of his bedroom door opening, the hinges crying out to him in an inhuman language.
It's not morning yet, Alexander thought with some exasperation, a frown forming on the boy's face. He heard no footsteps entering his room, but he did not want to try and sleep again just yet. This didn't feel right.
A strange feeling made Alexander's stomach flutter, and he perked up a bit. He had a hunch that if he continued to sit here, he would be completely vulnerable.
Vulnerable to what? He asked himself, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness of the room.
Alexander looked over to the door, a shiver running down his spine. At first he saw nothing but the glimmer of the knife in the pale moonlight, and then he noticed his stepfather wielding the glinting weapon.
He quickly sprang off his bed to stand before the man, although his body shook nervously.
Is he going to kill me? Am I going to die? He asked himself, and nearly laughed at his stupidity. Of course, his mother wouldn't let Crow hurt him too badly.
"Alexander," Crow acknowledged in a cold voice. Alexander glanced to the living area, noting that Martha was reading her book.
Alexander stepped back as Crow entered his room, taking one pace back for every step Crow took foreword.
Crow closed the bedroom door softly behind him and stood in front of Alexander. Alexander looked at him with fear in his bright eyes, feeling small and insignificant in comparison to the man towering over him. His anxious eyes shifted momentarily to the knife that was still flashing at him with hearty cheerfulness, and Alexander whimpered quietly.
"You're a good child," Crow said, his words only slightly slurred from the alcohol he had consumed earlier. But this was not a drunken act. Alexander knew that sometimes his stepfather was more sober when he was drunk.
"But you're out of line," Crow continued, touching the tip of the knife's blade with one finger.
Alexander trembled, seeing a small bead of blood forming on Crow's finger. The intoxicated (but also sober) man wiped the dot of crimson off on his shirt, casually looking down at the new stain.
"H-how am I o-out of line?" Alexander asked in a tiny voice.
Crow analyzed him, raising an eyebrow. "You're a mess, Alexander," he said, with no intentions of answering the boy.
"I'm sorry," Alexander apologized, trying to scrape some of the dried blood off his face and straighten his clothing.
"You're sorry!" Crow cried out, making Alexander jump. "You're always sorry, Alexander." Crow waved the knife around, and Alexander caught a glimpse of his frightened reflection as the blade whizzed past his face.
"You're pathetic," Crow hissed. "How can a parent be proud of a lad like you if you're so feeble?"
"What am I supposed to do?" Alexander wanted to be his best. He wanted to be the best for his mother, whom he loved dearly, and he wanted to be the best for his father, whom he missed terribly.
"That is of no concern to me," Crow answered, his lip curling in a sneer.
"Then why do you care?" Alexander asked quietly, knowing that his bold statement will result in some punishment.
Crow bent down, his face close to Alexander. The teenaged boy grimaced, smelling the sick scent of alcohol on his stepfather's breath.
"I care, Alexander," he whispered, breathing a whiff of his putrid breath into Alexander's face, "because it pisses me off. It pisses me off to no end."
Alexander stepped back, his face contorted with disgust. Crow straightened, glaring at Alexander, who quickly wiped the revolted look off his face.
"What's wrong, Alexander? Don't you like your stepfather?" Crow snarled. "I'll have to change that." Crow held the knife by the blade and jabbed the handle in Alexander's direction. Alexander jumped back, his legs resting against the edge of his bed.
A moment later Alexander was seeing stars as the hard handle of the blade was being brought down on the top of his head. Alexander blinked and staggered as Crow relentlessly hit him. With each collision, the hilt of the knife made a dull thudding noise. Alexander felt a wet trickle drip down his face, and his tongue snaked out to taste the familiar metallic flavour of blood.
The boy swayed on his feet and Crow put his hands on Alexander's shoulders to steady him.
Alexander looked up at Crow with large, hopeful eyes, but the look only irritated Crow further. The kid had so much faith in Crow; he looked up to him so much, regardless of how much Crow hurt him. That large amount of childish trust sickened Crow.
Alexander's shining eyes flicked momentarily to the blade that was still gleaming, although it was mostly concealed in Crow's palm.
Crow's gaze followed Alexander's, and a grin crept onto the man's face.
"You're afraid of this," he commented, holding the knife properly again.
Alexander nodded and held back a sob. Crow tilted the knife, and both of them could see their reflections perfectly in the blade.
Crow saw himself, smiling like a maniac with a similar delirious look in his eyes, eyes that were slightly widened and glazed over from his earlier intake of alcohol. He saw no mercy, and seeing himself like this only encouraged his heartless attitude even further.
Alexander again only saw a terrified child, standing there looking up with round eyes that begged for sympathy. As he stared, he realised how much he had bled that night, and there were quite a few paths of drying blood trailing down his face. One trail, the one caused by the handle of the knife, had dripped all the way down to his neck and was now drying in a crimson smear.
Alexander trembled and averted his gaze, instead staring up into the shadow concealed face of Allen Crow. Crow's evil grin widened and with it, so did Alexander's frightened eyes.
"Now," Crow said in an almost business-like tone, "Alexander..."
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it so far. The rating will change as of next chapter.
