Disclaimer: I do not own the show or characters. All I own is the story and writing.
Author's Note: So, I've been into watching these horribly sad murder documentaries lately...and they kind of gave me some ideas for a new story. A dark, twisted, angst-filled story, of course. This story starts off with Nicky and Lorna as young elementary-aged children. That will only last for the first couple of chapters as to give background information on their pasts. I hope it's interesting for those who read this; feel free to leave a review with feedback. Thanks in advance.
Update (8/19/18): I've decided to re-title this story Concealing Enigma as I feel it suits the plot better. I'm currently working on chapter six, finally, and hope to update very soon. I'm so sorry I've seemed to neglect this story but I promise I haven't.
Warning: This story is for mature readers only. This contains dark, angst-filled writing. Childhood abuse/neglectful parent. Not for the faint of heart.
Concealing Enigma
"Nicole, get your lazy ass up before you damn well miss that bus," Marka Nichols yells impatiently up the stairs. She's sick of her nine-year-old daughter refusing to wake up every morning. Not only does this vicious cycle make the rambunctious daughter of hers miss the bus but it makes her late for work and that angers her. She's spent a good deal of her time dedicated to that beloved job and there's no way she can allow her own child to ruin that for her.
With a budding exasperation, the impatient mother quickly marches her way up the stairs and into her daughter's bedroom. Her hands fold around either side of her hips as she stares gallingly at her still snoozing child. She jogs over to the bed, harshly ripping the comforter off of her and yanking her up by the ear.
"Do you enjoy making your mother late for work? You little brat; you're nothing but trouble," Marka bitterly growls out. She tightens her hold on the child's ear, pulling her out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
Nicole rolls her eyes. Her mother cares more about work than she does of her own daughter, she knows. "Why are ya so mean, mom? And I need to change—ya can't make me go to school in pajamas!"
A hand swipes rough against the redhead's cheek. "Don't you insult me, Nicole. I am your mother; I gave you life and a place to live. You ungrateful child, you. Oh, believe me, I can and will make you go to school in that. You chose to sleep in and sacrifice your time to get ready so guess what? Now, you have to pay the consequence," she retorts, dragging her out the kitchen door to their car.
Eight-year-old Lorna Morello timidly walks around the playground—during recess—looking for a friend to play with. Her family only moved here a few days ago and, so far, she has yet to make a friend. No one seems interested in her, it seems. She sighs. She knew moving to a new state—in the middle of a school year—wouldn't turn out good.
She's about to give up on her friendship quest when she notices another young girl seeming to play all alone on the basketball court – kicking a ball from one side to the other, over and over. A smile spreads on her face. Lorna skips her way over to the girl, the smile on her face only growing.
"Hi, I'm Lorna," her voice bubbly greets, a very prominent Boston accent seeping through. "Me and my family just moved here! What's your name?"
The somewhat taller child turns away from her basketball and looks across at her. She smirks. "Yeah, I can tell ya ain't from around here. Ya got a weird accent," a small chuckle escapes. "Where you guys from? I'm Nicky."
Lorna's eyes widen at the comment. She grumbles slightly, not sure if coming over here was such a good idea. Her arms cross defiantly over her chest as she stares at the redhead. "Well, your accent ain't much better. We came here from Boston cause of my daddy's dumb job. It sucks because I hadda leave all my friends and ain't no one here is nice. I guess they ain't nice to you either since you're over here by yourself?"
Shrugging her shoulders, Nicky kicks the ball across the court. Her brown eyes pierce strongly into the smaller child's. "I don't care for any a these idiots. They're all younger than me anyway… I had to stay back a year because of my bad grades. Marka doesn't care so why should I, ay?" She sighs, almost feeling a tang of sadness rush through her. Sometimes—rather all the time—she just longs for her mother to act like a mother. As quickly as the sensation came, it leaves and she chuckles. "Ya need a friend? I guess maybe you could hang around with me. Long as ya don't mind being known as the class failure!"
"Who's Marka? Your sister?" The brunette arches her eyebrow in confusion. She smiles, though, and shakes her head. "Ya seem nice, I wouldn't mind being friends with you. Sides' I ain't that smart neither…at least that's what daddy says."
Nicky lets out a loud laugh, her messy curls bouncing with the shake of her head. "Marka's my mother. But she surely don't act like it. That's fine, though, cause' I don't gotta worry about my grades or nothing. Ya know, since we both suck at school, how bout' we skip the rest of it?" Her big eyes gaze over at the other, a hidden gleam in them.
"Your mom lets ya call her by name? That's disrespectful…my parents would give me and my siblings a good whoopin' if we ever called them by name," Lorna informs, her eyes wide to hear that. They widen even more at the other's suggestion. Her parents would send her away if she ever decided to skip school. But the thought brings a rush of adrenaline over her body and she finds herself slowly nodding her head.
The taller child smirks, grabbing Lorna's hand, and runs behind the school—towards the woods—with her. "Marka doesn't care," she answers as they make their way through the muddy swamp.
Lorna looks down at her shoes with an increasing concern. She has no clue how she's going to explain this to her father. These shoes were brand new and she knows they'll be her last pair for a long while.
Letting out a light chuckle, Nicky pats her shoulder and continues to pull her through the woods—finally reaching the other side, which leads to the local shopping center. "Ya ain't into hiking, are ya?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that…it's just these are new shoes and I don't want my parents to find out I ain't in school," the brown-haired child blabbers out. She's always done her best to please her parents and is sickened with herself for giving in to some random girl she met on the playground. She'll have to spend the weekend cleaning for sure now, she knows.
"Eh, we can clean them before ya go home. Trust me, I do this all the time and no one ever notices. We'll be fine."
"Oooh, Lorna," her older brother taunts when she comes in through the living room's door. A snicker escapes. "Mom and dad ain't too happy with ya! Better do some extra chores if ya wanna avoid a whoopin'."
Lorna purposely ignores him and skips her way into the kitchen where she notices her mother's hovering over the stove. She sets her bookbag down in the tiny closet off the side before walking over to see what the older woman's cooking. "Hi mom; I made a friend today!"
Stansie Morello stirs the sauce quickly, putting the lid on to keep it from bubbling over, and turns to face her youngest child. She lets out a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. "How's come your brother says ya weren't on the bus? You made dad and I about have heart attacks. What the hell were you thinkin', Lorna Antonette?"
"I'm sorry mom. My new friend and I kinda decided to walk home instead…I didn't mean to make ya worry and I promise it won't happen again."
Her mother rubs her forehead warily. "You're damn right it ain't happening again. Your father is about ready to kill ya for what ya pulled today," she informs, a tired gleam shining through her hazel eyes. She inhales sharply and points her finger over to the table, "Get it set for supper. Maybe dad won't be so harsh on ya if he sees ya helpin' me out."
Nicky grudgingly makes her way up the sidewalk to her house. She hopes her mother's still at work; at least, that gives her some time to be alone and regroup after such a tiring afternoon of running around the city. Her hopes are quickly vanished when she walks in the kitchen door and sees her mother sitting at the island with what seems to be a glass of champagne—or another one of those fancy rich people drinks she prefers to wash down.
"Oh, you know what Paul? Lemme call you back. My delinquent daughter just walked in," Marka waves her hand in the air as if the man's sitting right beside her. She quickly ends the call, placing the phone in the pocket of her blouse. A deep breath is exhaled. Her brown eyes gaze heavily across into her daughter's. "Mind explaining why I got a call from the school? They tell me you weren't in any of your afternoon classes. Where were you, Nicole?"
The child shakes her head with an irritated groan. "Since when do you care what I do? You never bother to ask what I do at school or nothing. But now, cause' some idiot principal claims I skipped school, you have a problem?"
To hear her daughter speak in such a hardened tone makes Marka roughly stand up from the stool and march her way over to the short girl. She glares darkly into her eyes, raising a hand to smack gruffly against her cheek. "You keep your tone down, little girl. I'm the mother here and I will not have you speaking like that to me. You better not pull this stunt again or I'll make your life hell. I'm sick of your shit. Now get to work on your homework. I don't need to have a ten-year-old in third grade next year," her voice nearly shouts in Nicky's face. She gives her a hard push towards the table.
Nicky rolls her eyes, throwing the backpack on the floor and taking out her notebook. She sits down at the table, giving a piercing stare towards her mother. "I'm nine, Marka. You can't even remember my age, what a mom you are!"
"Marka? Did you seriously just call me Marka?" Miss Nichols shakes her head in a fury. She walks over to the sink, grabs a glass from the cupboard above it, and fills it with steaming hot water. Walking over towards her daughter, she viciously pours the water over her and yanks her up out of the chair.
"You are the biggest mistake I've ever made. You're disrespectful, ungrateful, and a goby little brat. I should of got rid of you when I had the damn chance," she cruelly retorts, throwing her to the ground and retreating to the living room with her phone.
The redhead withers against the cold wooden floor, her body still burning from such hot water. She feels tears leaking out; she bites the inside of her mouth and forces herself up. Her legs instinctively take her towards the staircase, they take two steps at a time until she reaches the top where she jogs into the bathroom. Quickly, her hands reach for the knob of the tub—turning it so that it's as cold as it can be before she climbs inside. She lets her body soak in the refreshing cold water. The tears slowly fade. She sighs and lets herself relax. She liked it better when her mom flat out chose to ignore her. If this is how her mother's going to give her attention, Nicky's not sure she can handle it.
Nicky runs to school, the next morning, before her mother has the chance to even look at her. She smiles when she sees a familiar brunette sitting in the desk right beside her own. Her pace fastens as she enters inside her third-grade classroom. After placing her bookbag on its assigned hook in the back of the classroom, she jogs over to sit at her desk.
"How'd it go last night? Did your parents find out about our school incident?" Nicky wonders with a small smile lurking on her face.
Lorna pops her head up from her book and turns to look at her new friend. A smile spreads across her face, she shakes her head. "Nah, they didn't know a thing. What bout' you, Nicky?" She looks at the taller child beside her and notices a few red marks across her face; the sight concerns her somewhat. "What happened to your face?"
The redhead nearly gulps, staring down at the doodles in her notebook. She didn't realize just how hard her mother slapped her and wish she would have, so she could have properly covered it up. "Oh, uh, ya know—I just smacked my face on one of our glass doors. I didn't realize it was closed," she lets out a slight laugh, one that she hopes is believable. When the other laughs as well, she smiles. But then, as she gets a closer look at her, Nicky notices a faint bruise on Lorna's forehead.
"Don't tell me ya got a glass door to? Looks like ya hit your head good," she jokes, not sure what to make of it.
The brunette covers her mouth; she didn't realize the belt her father smacked her with left any marks. But she quickly nods to Nicky's question and plasters a huge grin on her face. "Sounds like we're both real clutzy! We're gonna make such great friends, Nicky," she gently infers, staring at the other.
Nicky grabs her hand and squeezes it with a small chuckle. "I bet we will be, kid."