Chapter 6

Jason's POV

My head is pounding. I'm having trouble breathing. What happened? I open my eyes and sit up slowly. What the hell?

I'm sitting on the worn out floorboards and moldy carpet from my childhood home. What's left of the wallpaper is peeling from the old termite damaged walls. The ceiling is cracked and shows signs of water damage. The only furniture is a worn out couch, infested with fleas. A chipped lamp sits on an old crate from a shipping company. An old, moldy rug is on the floor in front of an old black and white TV, which has three channels.

A blue eyed, raven haired, six year old boy is sitting on the moldy torn carpet playing with an old and damaged toy car that he found near a dumpster. He's skinny from not getting enough to eat. He's dirty. Water and soap are expensive. His clothes are too big, swallowing the boy in fabric. His clothes are old, torn, covered in patches, and stained. A purple bruise covers his left cheek.

A shabbily dressed woman enters the room. She is blonde and pale. Wrinkles crowd her once beautiful face. Bags form under her eyes. Her once white, beautiful smile is replaced by a yellow, rotting grimace. Needle marks coat her arms. She is shaking from the drugs. Self-inflicted knife marks are also present on her once beautiful body; accidentally carved into her flesh do to the effects of the drugs. Bruises are also present, due to an abusive drunken bastard for a husband. Her blue eyes are clouded, but its okay. She is aware of the real world today.

She bends down and kisses the boy on his forehead. He smiles up at her. She returns his smile. The door is thrown open, revealing a 6'2, muscled, drunken monster. Immediately the child and his mother cringe at the sight of her husband, his father, their curse. He can barely walk straight. Yet, he staggers towards her, shoving her against the worn-out wall. Pressing his whiskey lips onto hers, drinking her in. The boy quickly scurried away from his father; wishing he could be invisible or at least that Daddy would be in a good mood.

Without warning, his hand catches her cheek sharply. She gasps at the slap she just received. She trembles before her spouse. His hands then wrap around her once beautiful neck, cutting off her breath. Her eyes roll back into her head. Yet, she makes no attempt to leave him or to fight back or to protect her only child.

The boy is afraid. He is afraid for his mother's life, yet terrified of the monster attempting to take it. He feels he has to do something. He leaves his safe haven of hiding behind the couch and his hands grasp at his father's shirt begging for him to stop. He releases his wife and turns to the boy. The beast's eyes narrow with hatred as he backhands the boy and pitches him on the floor besides his unconscious wife.

I turn my back towards them. I can't watch what happens next. I'm blinded by the tears falling from my eyes. I scream in rage and fury. I'm on the floor again, driving my fists into the floor over and over again. I can't seem to be able to recover breathing properly. I'm making as much noise as I can, trying to block the child's screaming. I can't take it anymore! I draw my weapon and empty round after round into the bastard's head. My efforts are futile; the bullets only pass through his skull. He cannot be touched.

I watch as my six year old self crawls towards the figure of his unconscious mother. Little does he know, she will be dead in ten months.

That was the last time I saw my father. I watch as Willis Todd stands up and walks through the front door for the last time. He will only live for a little longer. He will be murdered by Two-Face.

I turn to look back at the figures lying on the floor. They're gone! They've vanished! I turn as I hear the door being opened and that same dirty, skinny boy slams the door. He's no longer a child though; he's seven years old, a man, forced to grow up too fast.

He slinks against the frame of the door; gasping for breath. He removes the bread and the money he was caught stealing by a cop. He hates the police. The police take one look at him and automatically investigate him. He has never been caught; he's been seen, but never caught. He's too fast for them. He can't afford to be slow. He does what he has to for his mother, for his life, for their survival.

He hides the stolen money in the flea infested, stained, torn upholstery couch. He prays his mother won't find it and buy more needles or drugs. He calls for his mother. He receives no answer. He still thinks that everything's fine. It will be okay. She probably just passed out or something.

He checks the sorry excuse for a bedroom. She's not there. He opens the door to the bathroom. She's on the floor. A spilled bottle of drugs and a package of previously used needles lay beside her. He shakes her shoulder for hours, trying to wake her. She's dead. She's not going to wake up. The boy is afraid. She's never been out this long before. He starts screaming for someone to help him. To help her. An officer currently investigating a crime on Crime Alley hears him screaming. Within a few hours, the government will bury her body and he will be sent to a foster home to continue suffering.

I fall into darkness. This part of the game is over. I'm waking up from this nightmare. I sit up slowly and open my eyes. Immediately, I'm surrounded by cobwebs, darkness, and dust. There is no little boy. There is no overdosed mother. There is no abusive father. I'm alone. The wall in front of me is covered in holes. Bullet holes. Scrunching my eyes, the bullet holes come together to make a word. 'School.'

I glance at my watch; 7:17 AM. I've been here for almost seven and a half hours! I push myself off of the floor. I can't stay here. I know what nightmare he'll make me relive next.