This is for my friend Marissa. She wanted a story like no other- gory, bloody, violent, brutal, and gruesome. I'm not promoting violence or violence toward women at all. This is just a one shot to show what happens if a promise isn't fulfilled. Please be warned- this is an extreme R rated story.
I saw her bloodied body in my mind again. She was missing her hair; her long, beautiful blonde hair that I helped brush every day. She was missing her hands; her arms ended in bloody stumps that protruded from her elbow. Her hands were usually covered in bracelets and rings; rings from her childhood, her engagement and wedding rings. She was lying in a dark crimson pool of her own blood; yet, she was breathing. I was sure she was in shock, being stabbed and shot repeatedly. The blue damask gown, the only gown she had left, was now a dark burgundy.
"Momma!" I screamed, flinging myself onto her torn and broken body. I knew who had done this. It was Trent Owens, better known as "Bloody Trent". He had given us a deadline to pay him back the considerable debt we owed him. My father was a gambler who used to be rich, but gambled away all his money. We owed him $300. The deadline was two months to get all this money, ' "or else" '. And we only got $120. Not even half. Between us both, we had two and three jobs! We had to set money to the side to get our necessities. We did everything possible to get money, except sell our bodies. Momma was a pious Catholic and she believed very firmly against adultery. In her eyes, she was still married to Poppa, even if he was dead.
She changed from the tall pompous woman she once was into someone I didn't know. She cried herself to sleep every night; she wouldn't eat at all to save money. It hurt me to see my mother, who used to be so rich, turn into a light-fingered pickpocket who begged on the streets for whatever she could get on the side of the road.
"Marina," she whispered, "Marina, it was Trent. Trent... did... this..." She broke off. I began to cry and held her body closer. "He... said... if he... saw you come back..." She stopped again and swallowed, "If you came back... he would kill... kill you too." I looked at her bruised face. Through the pain and anguish, I saw the hurt she felt. Trent was supposed to be our friend. He was Poppa's gambling associate after all. He used to care for me sometimes when Momma and Poppa went to the 'flickers'. He would call me 'Little Mari' and give me little peppermints. I cringed at the memory.
I came back to reality. "What did you say, Momma?" She was gasping for breath. I hugged her closer, noticing that her legs were most likely broken as well. They were trying to make sure she didn't come out of this attack alive, I thought. How could people be so cruel?
"The jewelry..." I gasped. She hushed me. "The jewelry," she began again, slowly. I feared that she would die before she would tell me of the 'family jewels'. The little trinkets that she didn't sell for some odd reason or another. "Look under Poppa's piano... pick up the rug... about... 2 feet under... there are some things that you can pawn... to get away." She choked on her tears. I couldn't begin to imagine how much pain she was in. "Get a ticket... go away... away from here." I stopped her and put one hand on her forehead. She was feverish. I knew she wouldn't live past the night.
"Go where, Momma?" I asked, wiping my tears. Trying to be brave like her. She was clearly dying and she had lain there in her own blood to tell me this. This must be important to her. She looked to the wall where the cross was. The cross that Jesus had died on. "Hail Mary… full of grace... the Lord is with Thee..." She began muttering, feverishly. I shook her, waking her from her reverie. "Go where, Momma!" I screamed, "Go where? Trent will find me! You know that! There is no place to hide!" She stopped her crazy mutterings and stared at me for a long time. "Go to Auntie's... Auntie Belle... Belle Lyon... New York... she's rich... she might help us out... go. Just go." She looked at me then, and uttered her last words. "Remember..." she trailed off. I waited for her to finish. "A debt... is unpaid... even... if it... is forgotten..."
That night my mother died in my arms. I will never forget it. After she died, I lay there with her. I didn't remember what she said about the jewels or Belle Lyon. I knew that I hated Trent Owens. He did this. Killed my family and scattered it to the winds. I remembered the old Irish adage my mother used to say, 'evil returns to the evil doer.' I couldn't wait until it rolled around and smacked "Bloody Trent" Owens in the face.
I don't know if I will continue this story. It seems good enough right where it ended. Please read and review. I apologoize if I have traumatized you, it wasn't meant purposely.