Warning: (Somewhat) Graphic depictions of abuse in this chapter.

-Chapter Five-

The Deadliest Secret Kept, Part I

The morning air was cool as a gentle breeze wove its way through town. It tickled the trees, causing the branches to dance. The mourning dove's soft cry could be heard throughout the quiet neighborhood as the occupants began to wake up. The sun had passed the horizon quite sometime ago and was steadily making it's climb into the heavens. It was another lazy Saturday morning in the outskirts of Baton Rouge.

Luke DeClour groaned in protest as the sun began to peek though the blinds, its bright tendrils resting on his face. Wearily, he struggled to sit up. His head was pounding and he blanched at the taste of stale alcohol plaguing his tongue. He knew only one cure for the condition he was in.

He nudged the petite form beside him. "Annie."

"Mmhh?"

"Go git me a beer, Ann."

"Make Remy do it." She whined, trying to curl farther under the blanket.

"Hey, boy! Bring me a beer!"

Luke winced as his own shout reverberated in his head. Annie moaned and burrowed her head deeper into the bedding. "Don' yell."

The room was quiet for a few moments. A steady thumping sound indicated Remy was on his way up the steps. The sound stopped and seconds later the little boy appeared in the doorway. "I brought it, daddy." He hovered cautiously near the door, as if scared to come in.

"Well, bring it here!" Growled his father. Remy quickly took the can to his father and bolted back out of the room. Luke just shook his head and took a swig of the beer. "Dere's somet'ing wrong wit' dat kid. Y'sure he's mine?"

"Since y' de on'y homme I evea slept wit', I'd have t' say 'm pretty sure." Annie let out a barking laugh from underneath the covers. "An' dis is comin' fr'm de man who begged me not t' abort de pregnancy." She pulled the sheets down slightly and glared at him. " 'We're eighteen, Ann. We can take care o' a baby, Ann. We'll be one happy fam'ly, Ann.'" She had moved so she was sitting up right in the bed, gesturing wildly as her tirade grew. "Y'said we'd be happy! Y'said dat dis would be easy! I can't t'ink o' a worse life den de one we're livin'!"

"Y'jus' PMSin'. Go back t' sleep." He dismissed her with wave of a hand as he made his way to the door.

"Git back here!" Shrieked Annie, her hangover forgotten. "Y'git ya ass back here. Y'always walk outta de room when I wanna talk."

"I don' feel like discussin' dat right now." Luke called from the hall. "I gotta be at work in forty-five minutes."

A scream emanated from within the room as a bottle crashed against the wall and shattered to the floor.

Annie was livid. She had wasted years of her life with this man. When they met in high school, he was a charming, exciting rebel. Now he was a deadbeat, abusive drunk. It all seemed so perfect as we planned it when I first got pregnant. Now it's one nightmare after another. Through all the anger, one frantic thought made it's way to the foreground. The grand scheme she had been arranging for years was going to take place.

Tonight Annie DeClour was going to disappear.

xxxxxxxx many hours later xxxxxxxx

Raven shifted nervously from foot to foot. Doubts raced through her mind. It seemed simple in theory: Go next door, strike up a conversation, and comment on Remy's bruise. Simple in theory, nearly impossible in practice.

Taking another deep breath, she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans before reaching a shaking hand up to the door.

Seconds before she knocked, the door flew open. She froze in surprise as Annie peered out at her.

"Well?" The young mother gave the older woman an impatient look.

"Oh! . . . I, uh . . . . You see . . ." Raven struggled to string together a coherent sentence. She had been caught off-guard and was trying to regain her footing. "Well, today is Marie's birthday and then Remy's said it was his, too. But you already knew that, didn't you? I mean he's your kid . ." Raven mentally berated herself as she continued to babble on. Get a grip and get to the point! "So I was wondering, I mean, Marie was wondering, well actually, we were both wondering if Remy would like to go to the zoo and then out to supper with us? I mean, you and Luke are both welcome to come. I mean, you probably want to be with your son on his birthday and everything . . ."

"Remy can't go out t'day."

Raven stopped mid ramble. "Oh."

"Is dat all?" Asked Annie, her hands poised to slam the door shut at any given moment.

"Well . . . Yes. Maybe the children can do something together later. Goodbye. Tell Remy I hope he feels better." Raven turned to walk away, but was stopped by Annie.

"What did y'say?" There was shock, panic, and a hint of fear in her voice. As Raven turned back, she could see how the younger woman's body had tensed and her tight grip on the door was starting turn her knuckles white.

Raven mentally slapped herself. What a time to stick your foot in your mouth, Raven! "I . . . I saw the bruise on his arm. It, uh, looks like he had quite a nasty fall." She hoped Annie didn't hear the skeptical tone in answer.

Annie relaxed some, her shoulders sagging, but her hold on the door remained firm. "Yeah, de kid's clumsy. All kids git bruises; some jus' git more den ot'ers. 'T makes people be nosy when dere's not'in' t'be nosy 'bout." So she did hear the skepticism.

Raven was saved a reply by the harsh beep of a horn from next door. Irene and Marie were waiting in the car. Marie was making impatient gestures as she leaned on the horn. She turned back to Annie. "Guess I better go. Goodbye."

The only response was the slamming of the door. Dejectedly, Raven walked over to the car, determined to find a way inside.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As her prying neighbor turned away, Annie took the opportunity and quickly shut the door. She pulled the shades down and began to deadbolt the door. She had packing to do and couldn't afford any more interruptions

Grabbing the last suitcase from the hall closet, she hurried to throw all of her belongs into the luggage. Remy's nap would only last so long and Luke was due home soon. If she wanted to make a clean break from both of them, she would need to leave now.

Her busy hands stilled as they enclosed a framed picture of her family. A slight smile graced her face as she gazed down at the two proud new parents in the picture. They looked so young and in love. "What happened t' us?" She wondered aloud.

"We grew up."

The picture clattered to the floor as she felt firm hands wrap around her wrists. Her heart began to beat in overdrive. "Luke, y'home early."

"No earlier den usual." She winced as his grip grew painfully tight. " Y'wouldn' be plannin' a trip wit'out me, would ya?"

"No, 'course not!"

"LIAR!" The suitcase crashed to the floor as he flung her onto the bed. She winced as he straddled her midsection and held her arms down so she couldn't escape. "Where were y'goin'?" She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned in close to her face.

"Were y'drinkin' at work? Is dat why ya home early?" She asked to stall for time.

"Shut up an' answer de question, bitch!" He put more pressure on her arms, causing a sharp pain.

"No where." She cried out in pain as his fist connected with the side of her face.

"Ya liar! Y'were jus' gonna leave. After all I did f'r ya!"

She couldn't hold back the sarcasm that poisoned her tongue. "Yes, gettin' me pregnant at seventeen, marryin' me, den buyin' dis squalor f'r us t' live in. Y'gave up so much f'r me."

As he let go of one of her arms to strike her again, Annie stretched to reach the lamp beside the bed. Her fingers were almost there . . . she was mere inches away . . . When her fingertips first grazed the cool metal, the blow hit. Stars danced before her eyes.

Still reeling from the impact, Annie groped blindly for the appliance and swung with all her might. She felt, rather than saw, the contact; the lamp connecting with the side of Luke's face sent a jolt of victory through her own body. Luke rolled of her, swearing and cradling his head in pain.

Annie quickly slid of the bed. She, too, had to hold her head, to thwart off the wooziness the threatened to engulf her. Grabbing one of the packed suitcases, she made a break for it. She felt like a woman in a horror movie; the bad guy wasn't dead yet, he was just out of commission for a few moments.

She was almost to the stairs when he came racing after her. Annie tried to knock him down with the suitcase, but he caught it and threw it aside. She started to run, but he managed to grab one of her arms. She franticly tried to pull away as he tried to get a firmer grip. As one last desperate attempt to get free, Annie allowed herself to be pulled closer, then thrust her knee into Luke's crotch.

He bent over in pain, but he didn't let go. "Y'bitch!" Luke hissed.

Location forgotten, Luke flung Annie to the side. There was a sickening crack as her head hit the banister. He watched in horrified pleasure as her limp body rolled down the steps. He heard a muffled whimper and saw Remy standing in the living room, staring at his mother's body.

In his drunken angry haze, Luke saw no right or wrong. He felt no guilt or sorrow. The only thought in his head was, 'One down, one to go.'

Wow. Long one. Tension mounts. Sorry it took so long for me to update. Between work, school and graduation, free time isn't that common right now. Plus there was an . . . encounter, I guess you could say, with another 'author' on this sight. I use the title 'author' loosely because although that person writes fanfiction, they don't post it here because (and I quote, or copy and paste, as the case may be) "It's where it can be viewed by people who will give me more than the usual mindless comments shelled out here. You can search for it, but you'll never find it, simply because you don't know what to look for. You see, the name it's under and this name are two different things. I don't believe that one should judge a review's quality simply by amount of fanfic produced by the reviewer, and quality is in many ways a purely subjective item. A story can be highly well written, but simply not appeal to any given person, who will then call it bad. A story can be hideously written, yet concern a highly popular couple or setting, and be thronged to by fans. It's all in your mind, nothing more." This . . . reviewer, whom I shall not name, RIPPED one of my earlier pieces to shreds. Now, I'm not disagreeing with some of the points he made in his review, but he was a fucking jerk about it! I know that you can say whatever you want about people's stories in reviews, but there is a HUGE difference between criticism and constructive criticism. When someone concludes their review "Bad author. Bad." It doesn't do wonders for a author's self-esteem or confidence. Someone else reviewed the exact same story, and gave me alot more help that that idiot. Am I taking this too personally? Or is my annoyance somewhat justified? If anyone is extremely interested in this little saga, the fic was one of my one-shots called "Skin." Be forewarned: Not the greatest read if your really into the Digimon genre.

As always, I love all you faithful reviewers,

Takimiromy