Hell's One: Mother and Father (Past Arc)

Note: This chapter is set in the past and doesn't center on the current timeline of the story. Reading this chapter isn't mandatory for understanding the story, but it would enhance the overall experience. The choice is yours. (Canon)

I am Zane Orion, and this is the story of how I turned out to be what I truly am. 

That being an absolute abomination.

......................................

My mother pulls out her key from her purse and unlocks the main gate. As we walk down the path towards our home, we encounter a sight that I had feared for far too long.

The night had truly fallen now.

My father stands before us, breathing hard, holding a shovel with blood stains. In front of him lie two lifeless bodies, a stark contrast to the serene countryside setting.

He looks right at my mother and says,

"They're back for the debt."

To aid in preserving my innocence, my mother shielded my eyes with her hands, though it proved futile.

As I've mentioned, destiny is sealed upon encountering death.

Those who assaulted my father first are bound for Hell.

My father is innocent; they are not.

We're now secure, with no one left to hinder us, so I'm puzzled by my mother's anxiety.

"Mom, they're gone. They're dead. We're safe, right?" I ask.

She doesn't answer whatsoever.

"Zane, get in the house and prepare for bed. You have school tomorrow," my father commands.

His face remains devoid of any emotion.

He simply points towards the house.

I just don't understand.

Why are they so concerned about those who are already gone?

As I'm about to speak, he interrupts with a sharp, "Home! Now!"

I don't have much to say now, especially in the face of a father's commands.

I make my way to the house, avoiding eye contact with the two lifeless bodies.

Refusing to even glance at those corpses, I realize I've sunk into hypocrisy.

I always spoke of how we should ignore these simple corpses, for they will inhabit dimensions that are distant from our world, but now I realize that my mind and my words don't quite match up as well as I initially thought.

I really am afraid of them.

As I swing the door open, I catch the sound of light footsteps behind it, ones unfamiliar to me.

I hesitate before pulling it open, but my curiosity wins out, and I swiftly reveal the intruder, prepared to defend myself if necessary.

Anticipating to find a stray animal inside, given the lightness of the steps, I'm instead confronted by a black-haired girl clutching our kitchen knife.

"Who are you?" she demands.

"Hey! That's my dad's knife. Let go of it," I assert.

"Oh, you must be that man's son," she remarks before relinquishing the knife onto the kitchen counter.

Her appearance suggests she's endured hardship, as if she's been subjected to violence by someone.

"You're injured. Did my father rescue you from those dangerous men?" I inquire.

"Yes, but there's more to it. It's not so straightforward," she replies.

"In that case, let's talk upstairs in my room. My father doesn't want me lingering down here. He and my mother seem rather...distressed," I suggest.

She dashes upstairs with remarkable speed, even for her age.

Now that I mention it, she looks a little younger than myself.

She's swift, but she dashes with fear in both her legs and eyes.

Poor soul.

I ascend the flight of stairs, finding her already nestled under my bedsheets in my room. I want to assume that she feels comfort, but her facial expressions and body suggest otherwise.

"I see you've made yourself at home in here," I remark.

"These sheets are the closest thing to warmth I've felt in a long while," she responds wearily.

A crucial realization strikes me.

"We've barely exchanged names, and yet we're already in the midst of our second conversation. I'm Zane Orion. Pleasure to meet you," I introduce myself, extending my hand for a handshake.

...

She ignores the gesture, casting a sense of awkwardness over the room.

"I'm Emma. Emma Sophia," she finally reveals.

It seems she's not inclined toward small talk.

I mean, there's a reason it's called small talk.

Small beginnings require these moments, but whatever.

"Alright, you can have the bed. I'll make do with the floor for tonight, but only tonight. Tomorrow morning, I'm expecting to hear your story," I declare.

She simply collapses onto my bed, turning her back to me and the room.

Her apparent disregard for someone relying on the hospitality of another bothers me, but I choose to overlook it.

"How can you be so unhinged?" Emma's voice trembles with disbelief.

I pause, forming a gaze. "What?"

"You just saw two corpses right outside of your home, yet here you are with your lightheartedness," Emma's words come out rushed.

I feel a knot form in my stomach. "Well, I... uh..."

Emma just waiting for my response.

Now that she mentions it, I am a tad bit unhinged.

"It's just the cycle of life, Emma," I finally manage to say, though my voice wavers with uncertainty.

Regardless, it's time.

Let the night fall

And indeed, it has fallen, like a cascading waterfall.

Glancing at the alarm clock beside me, I notice it's 3:00 AM.

I've been asleep for quite some time now.

"You moved us here to the countryside. I followed you, married you, and had children with you! You assured me they wouldn't follow us anymore! You said it yourself!" I hear my mother's voice booming from downstairs.

They're arguing.

Please, not this.

I can already foresee the ugliness that will ensue.

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me! I thought they were gone. I never imagined they would come after us! I mean, moving from Mexico to Italy is a huge distance, especially for them. They weren't supposed to be here," my father retorts.

Stop.

Stop all of this.

I can already sense this uneasy sensation creeping in.

"Motherfucker! I should have never loved a Mexican like you! To think I gave myself to you and brought your child into this world was bound to be a mistake! Now, I'll suffer for giving my heart to you so easily. What?! You think I'm some cheap whore? Huh?! I should have never brought Zane into this world, nor should I have given you my heart!" my mother's voice echoes with bitterness.

I have no value, not even in the hopeful sense you might hear from a loved one.

To my mother, to those swine at school, and perhaps even to my father.

Like a chemical reaction gone awry, and I am the poison born to this very world.

"Keep Zane out of your mouth, you bitch!", my father's voice booms.

The sound of metal striking something else reaches my ears.

It's like a pan hitting flesh.

I want to rise from my bed and intervene, but fear paralyzes me.

My mouth feels sealed shut, yet inside, I am screaming.

Outside, rain pours, though I see no clouds.

Ah, I understand now.

It's the storm within me.

And so, morning arrives, and the sun ascends.

My eyes have scarcely blinked since the conflict erupted, and it's been over four hours.

I rise to find Emma absent from the room.

The window remains shut, indicating she hasn't left.

Descending the stairs, each step feels heavier than the last, not physically, but mentally.

Why does it have to be a 'mental thing'?

If faced with physical pain, then my body can heal.

When confronted with mental scars, those last.

Reaching the ground floor, I discover my mother on her knees before the wide-open door.

My father has already departed for work.

The sound of the pan from yesterday really was a blow.

My mother's entire right cheek is bruised, a deep purple hue.

No one is outside, so why is she in such a vulnerable position?

"Mom, I have to go to school. Is breakfast ready?" I inquire.

She simply gestures toward the dining table, where Emma is already eating yogurt with a banana mixed in.

Her gesture lacks the force of my father's, yet considering what transpired yesterday, I would likely experience a similar mix of emotions in her place.

I approach the table and sit with Emma, ignoring the food as I try to discern what has captured my mother's attention.

Leaning to the right, I glimpse a black present with a pink ribbon on top.

Christmas-themed tape adorns its base.

Even from this distance, an unpleasant odor emanates from it.

While I'm not so bright when it comes to remembering dates, it's nowhere near Christmas right now.

My mother opens the present.

I can't see its contents from here.

Her face pales, and she clamps her hand over her mouth.

Tears stream down her cheeks as she struggles to contain the urge to vomit.

In an attempt to escape the overwhelming shock, she hurls the package aside.

As her voice wavers and trembles, my mother says, "There won't be school today. I think it's been canceled. Zane, you never liked it anyway, right?"

"What's wrong, Mom?" I ask, rising from my chair to approach her.

"Don't. Don't get any closer. I'm feeling unwell today, and I don't want you to catch whatever I have," my mother replies. "Just take Emma with you to the backyard and play around that treehouse of yours, please. Look at my face; it's just an allergy that suddenly flared up."

I know she's lying.

One thing I've learned in my short life so far is that a mother's tears are not shed over trivial matters. Such matters would be akin to those of simpletons, or the mundane aspects of life itself.

What's really going on?

What's in the box?

Even amidst all of this, she still manages to smile.

Why?

She said she should never have given birth to me, all to save herself.

A mother's instinct.

That instinct is like a universal language among mothers worldwide.

I glance at Emma and say, "Let's go to the backyard. My mother isn't feeling well. She's sick."

I may question her claim about falling ill, but deep down, I sense her mental pain.

And as much as it pains me to admit it, I despise her.

........

Future Zane here.

Not to darken things any more than they already are, but I'll just say this: ever since that day, my father has not come back.

So, I think everything makes quite some sense now.

He was the present, specifically his head with a candle attached to it.

I wasn't able to see all of this myself early on in my life; however, our future investigations led us back to this present, and well, it was all revealed as such.

........