Chapter 4—Ring Them Bells

Marcella watched in suppressed horror as Martin Gallagher had her pinned against the door, that devilish gleam in his eye as he inched closer and closer to her. She could feel her cheeks flush in nervousness and embarrassment, and although this had happened to her about a million times before, there wasn't a single time that she didn't make an attempt to keep him away. Marcella laid her hand over Martin's chest, pushing him away. It was most evident as she turned her head to the other side, avoiding all eye contact.

"Don't be like that, Marcie." He whispered in her eye, planting kisses along her cheek. She gulped.

"Don't call me that."

Martin ignored her and made a low noise from the back of his throat as he turned her head, more violently than she'd anticipated, and began to kiss her throat. She did not tense at the feel of a hand cupping her breast, but she felt a great deal of misery inside her as she already knew where this was going. A tear slid down her cheek and she whimpered slightly, when Martin's hands reached for more mischievous places.

"Stop crying." He commanded.

She didn't.

"Stop. Crying." His demand became a growl and he pushed her more aggressively up against the wall.

"Stop it," Marcella pleaded, a little helplessly. Martin could hear it in her voice, the desperation, but like hell he cared. Martin only grunted and forced her again into the wall, with an evident harshness and demand. He'd begin to act like an animal and there was little to no human nature in him when he said:

"Shut up or I'll fire you, damn it."

Marcella was helpless, and it was Martin's lust that refrain him from showing any form of compassion. Marcella was lost in an agonizing reality and felt numb when Martin forced himself into her; all she could think of was the day all of this started. The rainy evening she had her first job interview; she had no hope other than this job, with her newborn, Reese. It was a desperate time. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Martin had a corrupted nature from the start; it wasn't her fault that the only way she would get the teaching job would be to sleep with him. If she had a choice, events such as the like would have never occurred, but she had no control over such determinations. She wound up getting the job, not just as a teacher, but as Martin's personal slave. Marcella felt guilty, disrespectful toward Julie and Phoebe but there wasn't much she could do. She wished she had a way of warning Julie and Phoebe about their beloved Martin's true nature, his colors, but what could she have done without losing herself? Without hurting their family? She was caught in this way; she wanted to help them, but if she did, she would be in trouble. If she didn't, she was still in trouble.

All Marcella wanted was someone to love her, to care about her. Someone that wanted her for more than just her body; she wanted him back, their romance. But it could never be restored. The only existent romance in her life was with her one love, Reese, and she had been content with so long, never longing, never asking of anymore from anyone else in the world. But she had begun to feel lonely, especially during times like these, where she was taken of such awful advantage. She wanted affection, not aggression. And so when she lay in bed that night, sore from the forced intercourse, she kept thinking of what it would be like to marry and love, to complete the life of herself and her daughter; a husband, and son perhaps, life in the outskirts of Hillsborough and near the strawberry fields—what more could her heart desire? She'd fallen asleep, dreaming of what she wished she could turn back to, what could happen again…

Marcella had waited for what felt like an eternity. She'd returned the field, over and over, in hopes of meeting the one that had saved her and in hopes of restoring her, what seemed to have been emptiness, that lingered within her. She'd missed him, Dante, and his memory followed her round until she finally left the fields, deciding that maybe, it was possible that he upped and left. She'd remembered him telling her, over lunch, that he wasn't fond of the town and there was little to nothing in specific about it that had truly appealed to him. She'd been not upset at him but at, oddly, at herself for not giving him a reason to stay. It'd been strange to her. She'd never bothered to change for certain people, she'd been happy with who she was; it was all part of her values, her moral code. And then comes along this man, which she barely knew, and she found herself kicking herself for not being better; for not having a luring charm, or not being so endlessly boring as he had been so interesting and fascinating. And she pondered what type of woman Dante had been into in the first place. She'd began to question her sexual appearance and even if she'd maintained her abstinence and remained chaste, if she needed to whore herself around to get Dante to turn her direction at all, so be it.

But it was much too late; at least, she thought so.

She was walking slowly, careful to not trip in her higher-than-usual heels and crossed her arms along her bosom, letting her loose bangs hang over her eyes as her fishtail braid hung over her left shoulder. She was caught off guard when she heard a family voice; deep, husky… soothing to her, almost.

"What's the matter, babe? Am I looking to good for you?"

"Huh?" Marcella's head shot up to reveal a familiar demon-hunter, dressed in a deep crimson. "D-Dante…" she said in realization, quietly.

Dante stepped closer, a firm grin placed upon his lips. It'd faded when he noticed the perplexed expression that melted along Marcella's arch-like brows, and brightly blushed lips.

"You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah I just uh…"

"You just…" Dante craned his neck slightly, trying to look in Marcella's eyes. She looked down and then back up at Dante, a nervous smile faintly appearing and then disappearing along her lips.

"I just… I thought you left."

"Leave? Why would I leave without asking for a follow-up date?"Dante grinned. Marcella felt her heart pounding in her chest, screaming and rejoicing in happiness as she merely stared at Dante, her neck angled upward, staring into Dante's eyes with false intent. Dante smiled a little at the captivating violet shade of Marcella's eyes.

"You have damn nice eyes, babe." He mentioned, still staring into them. Marcella felt a blush spread across her cheeks and she wanted to hide, she wanted to be confident and reason enough for Dante to never leave Hillsborough, and she looked down at her gladiator-like sandals, unsure of what to do or say. Talk about nervous.

"That braid isn't all that bad either," Dante complimented for a second time, trying to get Marcella to look at him. She touched the braid with her fingertips and looked up, a brief smile on her face, still anxious about what to do. She hated the idea of Dante just flirting with her to get in her pants, even though she knew it was probably true. It made her uncomfortable for her to be so nervous and interested in a single guy and know that he probably didn't give half a damn about her, even if he'd been asking for a follow-up date. From what she knew, he would keep on asking for follow-up dates, just until he'd get inside. Then that would be it, he would up and leave. She knew it, but she wanted to pretend he was different, she found herself wishing, even praying that Dante's nature had been different.

"Th-thanks."

"What's with you? You weren't this nervous last time I saw you."

"I know, I just—"

Dante ceased her words with his hand in front of her, a "stop" sort of gesture, and he was thankful to have her respond accordingly.

"You can explain when I take you out tonight."

The next few days passed in tranquility for Reese. Although she had no idea as to what her mother was up to as of late, she had cheered, and Reese's conscience was often reminding her of what that man who'd saved her life told her: to trust her mother. Reese did trust her mother, obviously, but until this man had pointed it out, she didn't realize she trusted her so much. Reese could have given Marcella a million dollars, or her own life and there would be an unspoken assurance that nothing was to be quarreled with in the hands of Marcella; that Reese and all she had to offer would be safe. Strangely, however, Reese trusted the man too, and it had been a while since she'd seen him. She didn't wish to, nor did she hope not to; it was simply that she'd expected running into the man even though she didn't for quite some time.

Reese had forgotten his name by the Friday following that week, when she would encounter him again. After school, Marcella had prepared to have her father over for dinner, and so she was unable to join her daughter when she went to church. Reese spent a lot of time in church, half because she was typically bored, and half because she'd actually had faith in God, unlike most of the kids her age, who, believed in God, but only because they were forced to, because their parents and everyone around them believed in God. Not because they thought about God the same way Reese did.

The hours passing had gone in peace, just as Reese expected and just as most worship services should be. When the pastor left was when things changed.

Reese was sitting very close to the altar, her legs swinging back and forth as her heart beat steadily, her hands folded together, her head was tilted down and she closed her eyes. When the church's pastor, Lorenzo, called for Reese, she could feel her long, pale blonde braid whip to the side when she turned.

"I'm leaving, Reese. Are you okay on your own?"

"I'm fine Pastor Lorenzo, thank you. Do you know what time it is? I should be home at eight."

"It's six-thirty right now. David will be coming in soon, so you won't be alone too long. Is that okay?"

"That's fine, thanks."

"Good-bye then, Reese. God bless."

"May God be with you, Pastor Lorenzo."

Reese had resumed to her prayers, for what seemed to be just five minutes before she heard strange noises coming from the top floor of the church. The church was more of a cathedral, the beauty and architecture of the building close to impossible to describe. The intricate design of the building, the height and captivating beauty; too much for words is all that can be said about the cathedral. It was tall, and it alarmed Reese when she heard slamming and dropping noises, which seemed to have come from the bell tower.

Looking up in her interest, Reese left the benches and sermon area, and began to walk up the stoned spiral staircase; the click of her flat shoes echoing as they stepped upon the cold, grey surface.

"Hello?" she called, still walking up the stairs. No answer. "Hello?" she called again. She continued to walk up the stairs, passing different levels of the cathedral, and she'd been distracted by more sounds here and there, but continued walking for her destination, the bell tower, where most of these noises had been coming from.

One other noise had been from outside the church, where Reese dismissed it: a motorcycle halting to a stop, very closely to the church. This was because meanwhile, Dante Sparda had seen strange activity, what he sensed was demonic, from the bells of the nearby cathedral he passed. Dante hadn't an idea that Reese was in the church, otherwise he would have made a run for it. Wearily, however, and with skillful caution, he'd held onto his trusty guns, Ebony and Ivory, and began walking up the spiral staircase of the picturesque place of worship. In addition to Reese, Dante heard strange crashing and clanking noising emerging from the very height of the artistic building, and it was his instinct that lead his feet closer up to the noise. The tiny clicks of Reese's feet along the stone staircase echoed behind her, but not too far, at least not far enough to reach Dante, whose hearing was superb anyway.

After a few levels passing, there'd been a corridor where the stairs would continue, but also where it intersected a separate hall. As Reese passed, with care, naturally, she'd felt as if something had been moving behind her, and she turned around in surprise. Again, she could sense a moving being behind her, causing her to turn her initial direction, and with much more caution, and a fair amount of newly arisen fear, she continued walking up the staircase, holding on the railing with much more might and protection than before.

Finally, Reese found herself entered into the circular room, wherein the middle of it, had been the bell with a hollow bottom. If she'd fallen, she'd have died, so she kept a firm clutch on the steel railing.

"I-is anyone up here…?" she said loudly, oblivious to her own echo, slithering down and around the church. In response to the question, the large bell that sat atop two smaller ones was rung, vibrating and startling Reese to her feet. She covered her ears, and shut her eyes, but it was no help. She could hardly hear anymore and once she was secure that the bell was finished articulating—this wasn't until minutes later—she uncovered her ears, stood up, and called out again.

"Who's there?" she couldn't hear herself yelling, for Chrissake, she thought she was deaf at this point. She thought she'd never get her hearing back and she found herself with tears in her eyes. She didn't have time to let the first tear drop, when she was abruptly thrown into the railing. She gasped, her eyes wide open, but before she could even see anything, she felt a large claw-like grasper squeezing her neck and picking her up, holding her against the wall. She coughed and threw her hands to the claws, failing to break lose. Her legs were kicking quickly and fiercely when she was lifted off the ground, but her made attempts of harm were unsuccessful, though her courage was more productive.

She could see, through her little dark-blue eyes, that the monster, what seemed to have been an olive-colored monster, or demon, with no nose, but two yellow eyes and a disgustingly sharp tongue and teeth. This monster had been uttering something, though she'd lost her hearing, and now, her consciousness.

"In you…is the blood of—"

The demon was interrupted at the sound of a low, angry voice emerging from behind it. For when he turned, he saw a man dressed in a red trench-coat, holding out two guns. "Leave her," Dante grunted.

The demon sniffed and then grinned menacingly, devilish thoughts circulating within. He dropped Reese, who landed on her side and regained no consciousness, and left her there, lying, as he inched closer to the son of Sparda.

"Say your prayers," Dante smirked. The demon had no time to react. He was plagued by the negativity of fate; he'd been shot, stabbed, and killed on the spot. No fight, no time to react. Death swarmed him and there was nothing left of that demon after Dante threw him off the bell tower.

He walked closer to Reese, watching her with genuine care, wondering whether or not she would wake up. With sensitivity, he touched the wound that embraced her neck, and the blood on her temple, and gingerly stroked the side of her little face, recognizing now that this was the same little girl with the big smile, the one that threw her arms around him more than a week ago. Now she was almost lifeless in his hands and he felt his heart sink, feeling sorrow.

His fingers pressed against the right side of her neck, very gently of course, and rejoiced silently when he felt a slow pulse. He carried her in his arms, taking her down the steps. She did not wake, and lie with no consciousness, to Dante's dismay. He searched for any of her belongings in the cathedral, and found her backpack, which he realized, may have had her address to take her home. Inside, was a lunchbox, and a notebook. All the info that the lunchbox had was:

Reese Weatherfield Ames
Grade 3

The "Weatherfield" part was crossed out, however. In regards to an address or phone number, nothing was found. Then, Dante opened her notebook.

Reese W. Ames
Grade 3
English Language Arts

[return to 1963 Marinwood Avenue if lost]

Perfect.

Marcella Ames carried two big, brown paper bags, filled with vegetables and breads and broths in her arms. Almost oblivious to the world, Marcella precisely inserted the keys into her doorknob, before noticing Reese lying on the porch bench. Marcella felt her jaw drop slightly and completely disregarded her door, and she quickly paced over to her unconscious daughter, dropping her bags in front of her. She turned her little girl and saw that whatever wounds may have inhabited her body had been covered and taken care of, which made her wonder by whom. She found a note in Reese's tiny hands. Written in a neat cursive it said this:

"I've taken care of whatever damages were done.
Your daughter should be fine as long as she gets her rest.

P.S., It's not your fault this happened,
the pastor left her alone in the church.
But the city has been getting more dangerous recently.
Keep an eye on her."

A/N: Well that was a royal pain in the ass to write… I hope you guys enjoyed it! I'll try not to make the next one so damn long. Leave feedback if you'd like! =)