A/N: To be completely honest… I don't know why I decided to pick this back up. Writing the second chapter was one of the hardest things I've done and I know for a fact it won't get any easier until I hit Wammy's. I suppose it's just the hopes that you people will read this and review it. Oh, and that little need inside me that says I want to be the one to document Mello's life.

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, or Mello, or any of the other characters from the series that I use in here.

Chapter 3: A Light To Clear My Path…

If I had known back then that being hit once by my father would set off an addiction with him that made him continue to do it, I would have left right then.

It wouldn't have mattered where I went, or how I got by, Hell would have been better than staying with my parents, while I tried to convince myself that they loved me.

They were my parents. They were supposed to love me. Right?

There were many times when I didn't think so.

After that one day, when my father struck me, he began to do it regularly. Day or night, public or in the privacy of wherever we were staying; it didn't matter. He'd be fine, calm, or deep in thought one moment then hit me the next.

He'd yell at me over and over as he repeated the violent action, screaming that everything that was happening to us was my fault. We had no permanent house, my fault. We had no food, my fault. We had no money, my fault. But the one thing he'd scream at me that hurt the most…

My sister's suicide...my fault.

I tried not to ever show how much his fists as well as his words hurt me. I always tried to wipe away my tears the moment they threatened to spill over, and I'd stay completely silent so as to not provoke any more actions out of him.

Andrea had said that I needed to be strong for myself, and I could find no strength in letting the tears that inevitably came fall.

I was a child, and because of that I had no voice worth listening to. Fighting back in any sense of the word would have been pointless.

So this continued for many months.

But I remember the day that things began to change again. It was the day that I saw the light for the first time ever. When I saw it I promised myself I'd never forget the sight.

It was the middle of the afternoon and I was walking with my mother along a sidewalk in a German city that I can't recall the name of. We passed the people as though they weren't even there, eyes never straying from straight ahead.

My mother was in thought, and that's why she did it. I was just copying what she did.

We stopped suddenly at a crosswalk with a group of people and began to wait for it to be safe to walk across. Only then did I allow my eyes to stray away from what was in front of me.

I looked around at all of the people, watching some gaze down at their watches, while others talked amongst each other. Then I began to look at the buildings that lined the street.

My eyes were drawn to one across the street in particular.

It was built out of a light stone that seemed seamless at all points, and stood tall over the other buildings below it. There were stained glass windows higher up on it and two wooden doors at the top of a set of stone steps that looked to be thick and heavy. The sun was positioned in a way behind it that created a thick white light around it that no other building had. I was mesmerized.

"Mom," I asked quietly, tugging on the sleeve of the faded red shirt she had on. "What is that building over there?" I asked once her blue eyes looked down at me.

Her eyes followed where my finger was pointing. "That's a church, sweetie."

"What's that?"

"It's a place that people go to when they want to feel safe, or be forgiven." She explained to me as the cars on the street stopped and we began to cross.

"Who forgives them, Mom?" I asked with wonder. I held on to her sleeve so she could lead me and my eyes could stay trained on the building that held so much of my interest.

"God forgives them; the people believe that he keeps them safe as well." She explained.

"Can we go there someday?"

"Maybe one day, Mihael, but not today." That instantly told me to be quiet and to not speak any more on the subject.

I continued to watch the building as we walked. I wasn't sure what it was that held my interest so much. It was just a building that now had a name. Perhaps it was the thought that something inside of there had a promised security that the rest of the world was devoid of.

I tried to memorize exactly where I had seen this church as much as I could.

-

Three days later things picked up again. We were staying in an abandoned hotel on the outskirts of whatever city we were in.

I had put myself to bed only a couple of hours ago and was beginning to fall into a soft dream when all of a sudden the door to my room was slammed open. In my haze of half consciousness I thought the sound was simply part of my new dream.

But just then, a strong hand ripped me out of my sleep and I was met with the sight of my father holding me up off my bed by the collar of my shirt.

There was a strong odor on his breath, alcohol, and a wild fury in his eyes. I knew instantly what was going to come next.

He ripped me from my bed and slammed me against the closest wall, pinning me with his strong hands. "You bastard!" He shouted at me; his words were heavily slurred. "You're the reason we don't have any money!"

I was silent but the fear was evident on my face, at the time I didn't know how to hide all of that. I also didn't know that my fear only added fuel to his drunken anger.

He hit me once in the middle with his fist but kept me pinned so I couldn't double over. "Dad…" I coughed out.

"Don't say a damn word!" He screamed. "If you weren't here we'd have money, and food, and your mother and I wouldn't have to do what we do! This is all your fault, Mihael!"

Again he hit me and my eyes squeezed closed trying to block out the pain; I wished he'd leave me alone. I couldn't help my existence and I didn't know what else he wanted me to do to remedy the situation.

"Lucas!" My father stopped at the sound of my mother calling him. "Stop it!" I heard her take a step forward into the room.

"No! Those guys want double the money that they did last time! If we didn't have this little shit we may be able to come up with it!" I could feel his heated glare down at me.

"Double? Look maybe we can bargain with them or something. Put Mihael down, Lucas!"

My father hit me again, this time hard across my face. I couldn't fight the painful cry that fell from my lips. "Please!" I said desperately, tears pricking at the corner of my eyes, "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't always work in the real world! Take what you deserve." Another hit was given to my middle, then he suddenly threw me to a corner of the room and began arguing with my mother again.

"You know they're not going to go for that!"

"I'll work double and charge more than!" She argued.

The sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh in a powerful hit reached my ears. My eyes opened in curiosity only to find my mother on the ground before my father. The sight was a painful one, and it only hurt more for me to realize I could do nothing to help her.

"You both are the reason for this! Especially you, woman, if you weren't an idiot we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with!" He screamed down at her.

My mother's face lifted from where it'd been pointing downward and her blue eyes found mine. "Go, Mihael, now." She told me.

"Mom?" I doubt she could hear my whispered question.

"Now!" Her eyes hardened on me to express the force.

I hesitated for only another moment before my actions took over. All of my pain was gone for a single moment that was long enough to pick me up off the floor and force me to run from the room.

My father didn't bother to chase after me; he was probably more content with at least having one person to take his anger out on. But at the time I didn't realize that. I didn't even consider what I had just left behind.

I didn't stop to think that I had just left my mother to take the force of his anger, and that I was fleeing like the scared child I was to no particular destination. The only thing going through my mind was the need to run; the need to get away from there and find safety.

But Andrea had told me that the world was cruel. If that was true then where was I hoping to find what I was looking for?

Then it hit me, a light to clear my path. The church!

In that moment I recalled all the details that I could about where that immaculate building was within this city and I tried to retrace my steps back to it. In the back of my mind I hoped that whoever this 'God' person was, that he was still there and still seeing people.

The city was a lot different in the dead of night than it was during the day, when the streets were filled with people. Almost all of the buildings had different lights on and looked completely different from how I had remembered seeing them.

I'll never understand how, but somehow I found my way back to that church that night.

Even the tall church, that had looked so serene during the day, was different at night. The light that had surrounded it was now gone, in replace for a light that came from within and lit the glass panels in an eerie way.

'Maybe that's how this 'God' person keeps people safe,' I thought to myself, 'he scares away whatever is after the people.'

Without another thought I ran up the stone steps, and with a final hope on my mind I pulled on one of the wooden doors with all my might.

Thankfully, it opened.

The inside was huge, and deserted. For a moment I wondered if the church was meant to be closed but someone had forgotten to lock the doors.

The inside was made of the same material that the outside was, or at least it looked like it was. The floor was a cold stone that made each of my steps echo. I looked around my surroundings, there were what looked to be at least a hundred wooden pews all pointing forward to one wooden stage where a large podium was positioned.

The ceiling was high above me, and carved out into different arches and other elaborate designs. Candles hung down at different lengths from the ceiling and also stood around the walls; these provided the only dim light in this huge building.

I didn't know what I was doing, who I was looking for, or what happened inside this church. The pain from all the new afflictions were beginning to come back to the surface again for me to feel, so I walked up to one of the pews that was close to the front and took a seat. My face was hot and stung from the wound on my cheek, and I could feel new bruises forming in various places on my body.

Tears began flowing from my eyes; I hadn't even realized they were threatening. I didn't care to wipe them away anymore seeing as I was the only one here.

Realization hit me and it was just as painful as the physical pain was. I was just a child, barely eight years old, who was living a life that not many other children had to deal with. My family was ripped apart and getting further by the day and to top it all off, I had just left my own mother back with my father to do as he pleased.

I wasn't sure I should be here anymore. I wasn't sure if I was even worthy of being forgiven, or being kept safe.

Just then the sound of clicking shoes reached my ears as someone entered the room from a far door at the front of this huge room. I hadn't even seen that it was there.

It was a man who had walked out, an older man who appeared to be in his seventies or eighties. He was an average build, underneath the violet and royal blue silk robes he adorned; his hair was grey but his eyes were a bright green.

"Oh," he said as he caught sight of me, "Good evening, son, what brings you to this house of worship?" His voice was soft and kind. I'd never heard someone's voice go to that level of kindness while still sound so sincere.

I was puzzled by him and before I could think anything through, my words took over, "God?" I asked.

The man chuckled, "no, no, son. I am not God. I merely speak his words to the people in the hopes of sending his message."

My head lowered again till my, even at that time, long blonde hair blocked my view of him.

The clicking of his shoes started again, and within a moment he was standing by the bench I was at, "may I sit here?" He asked.

I nodded.

He sat and looked forward; there was an odd calm that filled me when he was there. "What's your name, son?" He asked kindly and with a genuine interest.

"Mihael." I answered.

"Mihael. That's a strong name. My name is Father Vincent, Mihael. What brings you to this church so late at night without any parents?" He asked.

At this time I understood that the life I lived was not the norm, but I never knew that the 'jobs' my parents had were against the law, and that so was what my father had been doing. "My Mom told me that this place is where people go when they want to be kept safe, or forgiven."

"Ah. Care to tell me why you're looking for those things?"

I shook my head.

"You came looking for God?" He asked.

I nodded.

"I understand." He stated. I looked up at him slowly and hesitantly, I couldn't figure out why he seemed to be so understanding. "Would you like to pray with me, Mihael?" He asked. When he met my eyes I saw his expression change, but the only thing I could see in it was remorse.

"Will God hear it?" I asked.

He nodded with a warming smile. He then proceeded to put his hands together and let his eyes close.

I followed him in the actions and listened as he began speaking in a language I didn't understand. I could only hope that he was praying for the safety and forgiveness I so wanted. Again I was mesmerized by the foreign words he spoke and how perfect they all sounded put together. It was a lot different than German.

When finally he stopped my eyes opened and my hands fell apart, I watched him expectantly to see what he'd do next.

His bright green eyes fell to me, "God will hear our prayers, have no doubts about that." He then stood up, "you may stay for as long as you'd like, Mihael, the church is always open and turns no one away. I'm afraid I have to get back to my duties now, but if you'd like to talk, or pray again please don't hesitate to say so."

I watched him leave to go back up to the front of the room but had nothing to say. That church filled me with a calm I had never before felt, and I actually felt that whoever this God was had actually heard me.

Hopefully now he would keep me safe...

A/N: Wow… that was a fun chapter to write. I don't know why, though. Alright, I'm not a Catholic, I wear a rosary and I love old churches but I don't ATTEND church, nor do I study the bible. So… that's why the actual prayer wasn't said in there (I was imagining that the priest was speaking Italian).

Please review all comments! (No flames!)
-Forbiddensoul562