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- 07/22/2015
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
God's Little Angel - 1. God's Little Angel
Noel woke up with a start, jerking in his bed against the bright, white light. Just as he raised his limbs, he felt straps around his wrists hold him down. Fear shot to the surface of his mind, and the only logical reaction he could muster was to scream.
The door to the pale white room was kicked open. There stood a familiar face: Lieutenant Pierre Ivans, affectionately Piers. The man was in his fatigues, worry painting his face as he ran to his side, resting a calming hand on his shoulder as he urged him back down. “Calm down, Noel! You're safe! You're safe.” Noel eased down as he took in his surroundings, realizing he was in a hospital. “Thank god you're awake. We were starting to get worried.”
Noel tried to speak, but the energy and adrenaline left him, leaving him weak. His voice was hoarse; his throat felt so dry. Piers noticed and poured water into a plastic cup and offered it to him, resting the pitcher on the bedside drawer. He brought the rim to Noel's lips and helped him drink. “Thank you,” he managed to muster, with much strain. Noel looked up at him, only noticing how his high-and-tight, chestnut brown hair was a little longer than he remembered, and how there seemed to be heavier bags under his eyes. He forced a smile for him, and the Marine smiled back.
“You remember what happened? In the alley?”
The mention of the event jerked him back to that moment. He remembered the shadows, the alley, the ambush. And George. He recalled how his boyfriend raised that iron pipe and brought it down on his skull. He gasped and struggled to breathe, wanting to claw at his throat but the restraints keeping him from reaching his own neck. Piers tried to bring Noel back, but he was too far gone. His screams were agonizing as he relived the brutal torment of his once-thought peers. All those sneers, that hate, and the betrayal. He cried and begged for his life as the doctors rushed in and sedated him.
Piers trudged out of the room heartbroken and looked to his right, seeing Jason on one of the chairs in the hallway. The pale man kept his face stoic, and dyed his hair fresh black again. He huddled into his leather jacket and crossed his jean-clad legs. Piers knew deep down, he was worried about Noel. He sat down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “Jaybird, we can't do anything but help him get better. It's over.”
“Those assholes should be dead,” he grumbled, feeling his hate coil around his heart. “I should've killed those punks myself!”
“Jaybird, Noel wouldn't--”
“Don't you fucking agree with him at a time like this!” Jason snapped at his brother. “Look what that brought him! And don't think you're better because of it. I know you want to do the same!”
Piers held his ground, fixing his glare on Jason's. “But Noel wouldn't want us to kill them. Respect that.”
Jason snarled like a rabid dog and stormed off. Piers sighed in exasperation. He didn't know how long he could keep Jason down. The man's rage was often on the forefront, hardly giving in to mercy. Mercy was Noel's department, and with him out, almost nothing could stop him. He knew Chris, their father, would keep Jason from doing something stupid, but with Noel's absence, everyone's relationship had a strain on it. It didn't matter if Noel wasn't a blood brother. He'd become a part of the family long before he and Jason were. And he was the keystone of their union.
It had been six months since the incident. They switched hospitals for Noel's safety while they arranged for the trial of Noel's attackers. George was sent to a psychiatric ward after he lost his mind some days after the attack. The other grunts were sent to juvie for two years, then to a proper penitentiary to serve their sentence full time for attempted murder. Piers leaned back in his chair and let out a shuddering breath. Jason was right; it wasn't enough. He wanted to make those boys pay for Noel's pain.
You'd have to know Noel to understand. He was the vibrant boy who was sincere and sympathetic. He had a heart of gold and skills to match, somewhat brilliant and crafty. Not as much as Jason and Piers were, but pretty damn close. He was loyal to a fault and loved to think the best of his friends. Clearly, the trait was exploitable.
He also knew when to fight back. The same group of boys bullied Noel to no end, but Noel was called 'Kitten' by Chris for a reason. He was a feisty cat, fighting back whenever he could. He was agile. Piers taught him how to kick while Jason taught him gymnastics. But that surprise attack in the alley had him cornered and outnumbered. He didn't stand a chance.
Piers rose up from his seat and checked back on Noel. The lithe young man was thinner now and snoring soundly. His heart broke seeing him attached to all those electrodes and IV cables. He took a deep breath, reigning in his anger before he did something unthinkable. He thought of how Noel held him when he first came back from that warzone in Iraq. He thought of how the three of them would play hide and seek in the forests during autumn and winter. He thought of all those nights Noel sung to him a lullaby to help him ease his pain.
A hand clapped on his shoulder and he looked behind him. A man with deep brown hair tied up in a manbun was there, his beared half-shaven, close to his jaw. His brown eyes looked over to Noel in hurt and relief. “Chris.”
“Jason's in the car, sulking. You want to go and comfort him, Piers?”
Piers nodded and waited for Chris to release his shoulder. “Any word from the governor?”
“He's disowned his son, even legally. Papers were finalized today.” Chris shook his head and swallowed a lump in his throat. “I feel like paying his kid a night visit, Piers. What do you think?”
“Would Noel approve?” Piers countered, steadily meeting Chris's gaze. The older man was taller than him. Being six-foot-two himself, it was quite a feat of genetics. “Chris, do you really want to do this?”
“Just rough him up a little. A spar.” The old man's carefully stoic face became a demonic leer, one that made Piers shiver with fear. Never had death been so intimidating. “Remind him that messing with one of us involves all of us.”
Piers found it hard to resist. But he knew looking back at Noel helped. He turned his gaze over to Noel's sleeping form, which shivered from something they couldn't see. It was one thing seeing Noel happy. It was another seeing him like this. “...What do we do?”
“I'll talk with the guards and see if we can have a session with the kid. You bring the toy kit I keep in the basement. Should be fun. Jason and I will make the arrangements.”
Piers felt his blood boil at the mention of the toy kit. They were surgical tools, made for torture. He remembered when he tortured a few rebels with a kit just like it to extract information. Helped save lives. This was delivering a message.
They drove to the juvie and were escorted by two guards. All three men were dressed in black suits and sunglasses. They were escorted to a 'private' little room where some of the more sadistic of the guards could watch. The ring-leader of Noel's ambushers was the governor's little boy, Corgy. The little shit didn't know why he was strapped down to a chair. He watched with wide eyes as the men came in and set a briefcase down on a table that was set up. “Huh, you guys gonna offer me a deal?”
Jason, with a blank face, marched forward and socked the bastard in the face before planting an angry kick up his jaw, sending the bully tumbling back and lying on the ground, the chair keeping him tucked in place. “Think you're a tough little shit, dontcha?!”
The little boy only groveled and whimpered as Chris raised the chair up again and pressed two fingers on the his shoulder, making him scream from the intense pressure. Jason hit him across the jaw with a right hook just as Piers prepared the clamps. Chris grinned as Piers put the clamps on the kid's chest. Jason turned up a dial in the briefcase and hit a button, sending a violent wave of electricity up the boy, enough to make him piss himself and scream bloody murder.
Piers mercilessly tore off the clamps and reached for the man's left hand, gently pulling up a pinkie before abruptly bending it back, breaking the finger itself. They could faintly hear the cheers from the guards behind the one-way mirror. Piers then took out a needle and drove it into the hand slowly, paying no heed to the boy's whimpers and cries. He was beyond caring now. The more he looked at this bastard, the more he heated him.
They assaulted the boy any physical way they could, except rape. The pig wasn't even worth that. But they went all out. Spikes, drills, towel and water, barbwire, you name it. It was a while before Chris had the most brilliant idea. He'd make the kid a fucking vegetable, leaving him to panic and rot in his own head, shattering his identity and mind under his heal into fine dust and scattering them to the winds. He only taught Noel how to do this. It was one of his many masterpieces.
He held the boy under his jaw, forcing the brat to look him in the eye. Their gazes met, and as Chris began to chant, he felt their minds link. He'd show him every torment, every anguish, every pain this little snot ever inflicted, every pain he himself ever witnessed, every death imaginable. He wasn't just chanting; he was praying in reverse, in a tongue long forgotten, where the reversal was a curse. This boy wouldn't hurt anyone ever again.
Chris let go, and at that moment, the brat screamed so loud, so high, it was almost inhuman. His head thrashed from side to side as his body convulsed like a child possessed. Who knew? Maybe he was. Chris smiled as he stepped back and admired his work. He saw those eyes roll back and took pleasure in hearing the music of agony rush through those chapped lips. He looked to his sons, who stared in horror. He sighed as he took pity in their fear.
Chris waltzed lazily back to the boy and repeated the process, overwriting the first mental programming into something more… quiet. Once he stepped back, the boy limped, merely murmuring to himself.
Chris turned to his sons again, who gaped at him in shock. “What did you do?” Piers finally asked.
“Hat trick,” Chris simply answered, packing the briefcase and heading for the door. He opened it calmly and waited for his boys. “Coming?”
They were driving back to the hospital in silence. Piers never saw something so horrifying. Neither had Jason. Chris was whistling an old tune neither of his sons recognized to be a funeral song. Once they parked in the garage, they quietly made their way up to Noel's room, riding the elevator alone.
“Chris, what the fuck was that?”
“You know, there are books in my study I tell you boys not to read for a reason.” He fixed a warm gaze over to Jason. “Remember, Jason?”
Jason suddenly felt cold. A memory flashed in his mind. He and Noel were playing in his room back when they were younger. He found a book that felt warm to the touch, with a soft, leather cover that intrigued him. He remembered drawing circles from that book with Noel that day, just as Chris came back from his meeting. “No...”
“You should know what kind of weirdo your Dad is,” he laughed. “And Noel was always a faster drawer than you.”
At Noel's room, they saw Noel eating a cafeteria dinner that the nurses brought up, grimacing over the strange gray gruel. He beamed when he turned to face them. “Guys, you're back!”
“How you feelin', Kitten?' Chris chimed, walking over to embrace his godson. “Feelin' better?”
“I don't think I'll trigger anytime soon,” he laughed nervously. He looked over Chris's shoulders to Piers and Jason. “Come on, guys. Why are you standing there? You need to tell me what happened while I was out cold.”
Piers and Jason looked at each other nervously, but could only swallow their uncertainty for now as they returned their attention to what was really important: Noel's recovery.
I actually wrote this story as a prelude to my webcomic: Who'd Have Known. You might want to see it afterwards. Anyways, I wrote the entire storyline after feeling emotions of rage, anger, and hurt. Hope you guys enjoy. It's a little unpolished, but yeah. Was kinda fresh at the moment.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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