The Tortured Smile

By Jeffrey C. Armstrong

As children, many of us have had dreams and aspirations of what we hoped to achieve in our future. But for some of us, we only hoped that our tortured lives are nothing but a mere dream. However, for Kelly Anderson, this hope is too much to ask because her nightmares are indeed real.

As long as she can remember, Kelly had been surrounded by violence and dysfunction. Having a mother who was emotionally unavailable and a father who was a violent alcoholic, it is no wonder Kelly felt abandoned and alone the first time she was raped. But Kelly would soon learn that her only escape from her torture is by death.

This is the true story, based on actual events, of a childs struggle to cope with the pain and confusion of physical and sexual abuse. In this disturbing story, you will experience life through the eyes of the victims as well as the victimizers. You will follow Kellys quest to find love, freedom and serenity amid so much turmoil. You will feel Kellys pain and understand what really lies beneath:


THE
TORTURED
SMILE

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456724474

Jeffrey C. Armstrong

I have always enjoyed writing and storytelling. When I was in Elementary School, I had written a short story for my classmates and I was in awe as all of the children gathered around and seemed to be enthralled by my tales. However, it was at Edmondson-Westside Sr. High school that my love affair with writing began with an English teacher that recognized my love of literature and encouraged me to stay focused. As a young teen, I had written a ‘soap opera’, which included all of my classroom and neighborhood friends as lead characters in fantastic and enthralling ongoing sagas. I was amazed at how, as I told the daily tales, those who were interested would follow my characters diligently and eagerly awaited the next segment of the story. After graduating from Randallstown Sr. High School in Randallstown Maryland, in 1989, my love for books escalated. Even after obtaining a Commercial Drivers License (CDL) from Kirkwood Community College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa and traveling across the United States as a professional tractor trailer driver, I utilized most of my down time listening to audio books of all genres while traveling. One day, I had decided to write a short story. Although I never published it, I allowed other truck drivers to read my rough drafts and the feedback that I received was riveting. I was told by readers of all kinds, that my writings made it seem as if the reader was not just an onlooker, but an intricate part of the story. They said that the detail to events, actually made them feel as if they were actually one of the characters in the story. I was asked by many with anticipation, to write a novel and I finally decided to do it. Now living in Baltimore Maryland and commuting to work in Rockville, Maryland daily, I still find the time to write and read novels whenever possible. I love music and art, but I am always blown away by a good novel.

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© 2011 Jeffrey C. Armstrong. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 2/15/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2447-4 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2448-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2449-8 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011900149

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

AKNOWLEDGMENTS

This Novel Is Dedicated To:

Tyrone M. Hammond-Greene, Claudia Faulcon, Valerie Williams, & Avery Diana Hammond

Thank You for Your Confidence and Unwavering Support

THIS NOVEL IS BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS

THE CHARACTER’S NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THOSE INVOLVED

As children, many of us have had dreams and aspirations of what we hoped to achieve in our future. But for some of us, we only hoped that our tortured lives where nothing but a mere dream. However, for Kelly Anderson, this hope is too much to ask because her nightmares are indeed real.

As long as she could remember, Kelly had been surrounded by violence and dysfunction. Having a mother who was emotionally unavailable and a father who was a violent alcoholic, it is no wonder Kelly felt abandoned and alone the first time that she was raped. But Kelly would soon learn that the only escape from her torture is by death.

This is the true story, based on actual events, of a child’s struggle to cope with the pain and confusion of physical and sexual abuse. In this disturbing story, you will experience life through the eyes of the victims as well as the victimizers. You will follow Kelly’s quest to find love, freedom and serenity amid so much turmoil. You will feel Kelly’s pain and understand what really lies beneath: THE TORTURED SMILE

Chapter 1

THE BLACK ROSE

It is quiet. He likes it this way. There’s a chill in the air. A light breeze blows from the west, rustling the dry leaves in the night air. The chilly autumn air makes him want to bundle under a warm blanket and fall into a deep sleep. But tonight, he cannot sleep. He is succumbed with too many urges, too many thoughts racing through his mind. And the chilly autumn night doesn’t make it any easier for him to rest.

He looks upward to the sky and chuckles, A full moon, how ironic.

Tonight’s moon is surrounded by hundreds of stars and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. His face glows in the moonlight as a light breeze blows past him. He folds his arms and shivers softly as he stands in the doorway. There is something about the moon that makes him feel uncomfortable. Slowly, he looks away from the dark sky and stares at the scenery of her small front yard that is before him. It is obvious that she takes pride in her yard. There are a few colorful leaves on the grass, the first noticeable signs that winter is on its way. His eyes focus on the metal chain linked fence that surrounds the yard and he notices that there is no divider gate to separate the front of the yard from the back. This may seem minor to some, but to him, this is absurd. There is just a single fence that surrounds the entire house, just one fence!

How stupid, he snorts.

He turns around as his gaze follows the fence to the rear of the house and, nodding his head he says, With all of this land, why doesn’t she have a gate to separate the two yards? She has nothing, no added fences, no bushes or trees. She doesn’t even have a dog. Why? Why doesn’t she have a dog? He grimaces with this thought and continues, If this house were mine, I’d at least have a damned dog!

He doesn’t particularly care for dogs but if he could afford one then he’d certainly have one, if only to flaunt it. But she can afford a dog and she doesn’t have one. He snorts again with disgust.

He begins to imagine his family living here. His mother would have taken better care of this house. Things would be much better than this if his family were only so lucky. His eyes dance in the moonlight as he thinks of how they would have had a chain-linked fence to divide the front yard from the back. They would have a dog, or maybe even two. He thinks of how he would plant trees and flowers throughout the yard and how there would be bushes surrounding the entire fence. He would spend his money to beautify this house if his family lived here. His house would be the envy of the neighborhood. His uppity neighbors would come in from their worthless jobs and say, ‘Wow, their house looks great.’ Or maybe they’d use big words like, ‘fantastic.’ He’s heard people use words like that before.

"Yeah, that’s what they’d say, ‘fantastic’." he smiles.

Their home would look ‘fantastic’ because he would put all of his money into its beautification. If not all, then he would definitely spend more money than she had spent to make their house look worthy of compliments. With the money that she makes, hell, she should have money pouring into this home. She has a fancy car and she dresses like one of those people in the fashion magazines. He knows that she is not rich but she can afford to splurge a little more. For God’s sake, this is her home! She’s not struggling and she knows that she could surely get a lot of cash from that deadbeat husband of hers if he had an unfortunate accident.

Clarence, that son of a bitch. he growls.

Surly she would receive a substantial amount of money from his demise and he could make that happen if she’d only ask. He had thought about just how he could make something like that happen for quite some time now. He would disable the brakes of his car and place his drunken body in the passenger seat. He would drive to the top of Heathcliff Hill, secure him in the driver’s seat, put the car in neutral and let it roll. He would watch as the car slammed into the guard rail and over the embankment and presto: more money.

But she would never ask for him to do such a thing and he doesn’t understand why. She is so afraid of him. She seems to be scared to even breathe around him. Apparently, she does not need any extra money and why? …Because she isn’t struggling. He looks around the yard again. She isn’t struggling at all. She is not impoverished as his family was, so she does not understand what it is like to be desperate.

She never went to bed hungry. She always had warm clothes and shoes for her children. She always made sure that her house had heat and hot water. She made certain that her family always had the luxury of having the lights on as well. And because he knows this, he is absolutely sure that she can certainly afford to build a fucking fence to separate the front yard from the back! And she certainly can afford a damned dog! Hell, she can afford almost anything that she wants.

If she can afford a car and clothing, if she can afford to keep the heat on and food on the table, then surely she can afford these simple amenities. She doesn’t worry about how her children will eat tomorrow as his mother had. She never suggests’ that her family sleep with their coats on because there is no money to pay the heating bill as his mother did. And her son did not have to watch his father share his bedroom with his sister just to keep warm at night, as he did.

He begins to anger and he feels his blood boil. He tells himself that he must think of the brighter side of this picture before he snaps. He admits that she did sympathize with his situation. But he also acknowledges that she could never understand it. How could she? She owns her own car; his family had to catch the bus. Her family has a different meal almost every night whereas his family feasted on hotdogs and pork and beans constantly. She can pity his situation but she can never understand it.

Some people are so damned lucky. he exclaims quietly as he steps backward and takes in the scenery before him again. "Just look at this. Look at how they are able to live and look at me. Just look at where I come from."

He looks around at her precious lawn with his arms folded tightly across his chest and sighs solemnly. He turns slightly and glances at the single bush to his left with the wood chips beneath it in disarray. Why do I care? he asks himself. Why do I even care? Why did I fight for her? Why did I save her ass? Nodding his head, he looks downward, sorrowfully. Nobody cares about me.

He thinks of his life, his awful life. He thinks of his home and his sister. He wonders what she is doing at this moment. He wonders how her life is going. It has been ten months since he’d last seen her. He hasn’t spoken to her since…that night. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes, pushing a tear down his cheek.

I did it for you, Lisa, he nods woefully. "Don’t you understand? I did it for you. I just wanted for you to love me just as you loved him. He didn’t deserve your love. I did."

He thinks of the pain that he has dealt with his entire life. Then his thoughts settle on the memory of his mother and the pain he’s dealing with now. The tears are now streaming down his face and his throat tightens. It is getting harder for him to swallow. He chokes on his tears as his pain and sorrow resurfaces. He squeezes his eyes tightly and tries to shut out his life. He wipes the tears from his face and slowly takes in the scenery of the small yard again.

This is bullshit. Bullshit! Nobody cares, he whispers, nobody.

But he knows that somebody cares. He knows that she cares. She is the only person that does care. She was there for him when nobody else was. Yes, he knew that she cared for if she had not, he wouldn’t even be here now, standing on her front porch and staring at her yard. She dealt with the backlash of her Clarence’s wrath just so he could be here now. He knows that it is just easier for him to be angry. It always has been. It has always been easier for him to say, ‘fuck the world.’ It’s easier for him to deal with his pain…and his lost this way. So he continues to tell himself that nobody cares if only to make it through another night. He replays what his life was like just a few months ago when all was normal. The thought of his mother and her words chimes in his head like a bell.

‘Son, it takes a boy to hate the world, but a man to except it as is.’

He closes his eyes as the memory of his mother flood his mind. He remembers her jovial face, her laughter and her wisdom. He hears her soothing voice whispering his name in the breeze of the October night. The leaves ruffle in the lawn as his mother’s soothing call turns to a desperate gasp.

She gasps for another breath, and another. Her gasps become panicked as she struggles for air. She struggles for the breath that she is prevented from having because of him. He then hears her coughing and gurgling. He sees her clutching her throat desperately as she struggles for air. He hears her repeated attempts to call his name through her gasps. She continues to struggle as the air is prohibited from entering her lungs. She struggles to speak but even sound is prevented from escaping her mouth. He hears her struggling begin to subside and her gasps lessen. As the sound of her last gasp echoes in his mind, his eyes snap open. His tears have disappeared and he stares at the visions in his mind. The disarray of the wonderful Christmas dinner is now scattered on the floor amidst the broken dishes. The food that he prepared for the holiday is still lodged in the back of her throat, robbing her of her last and desperate breath.

He looks at his hands and notices that he has been twirling his pocketknife between his fingers. He stares at the knife momentarily and then glances at the full moon in the sky. The moonlight continues to make him feel uncomfortable and he shivers again. He thinks of his sister and his longing for her love before he slowly turns and disappears into the house, quietly shutting the door behind him.

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It is quiet. She likes it this way. The bright moonlight peeks through the branches of the tree and there is an eerie reflection of it on the bedroom wall. The thin ruffled curtain sway gently in the darkness and the reflected shadows on the wall sway with the curtains. From the light of the moon, her teddy bears and dolls glow eerily. Her games and trinkets atop her desktop patiently await her attention. The clothing that she wore the day before, that never made it to the cloths hamper, lies crumpled on the floor next to her bed. And in her bed, there, she sleeps.

The blanket covering her torso rises and falls with her rhythmic breathing. The dim light glows upon her peaceful face as she scratches her head and inhales slowly. A light smile grows upon her lips as she rests. Her eyelids move rapidly and the glow of the moonlight makes her appearance seem almost angelic. She looks so innocent, so beautiful and so tranquil. As she rests, as she dreams, as she sleeps, she does not notice the darkness. She does not notice her dolls and teddy bears on guard duty. She does not notice her swaying curtains and the glistening of her toys. And she does not notice her doorknob…turning ever so slowly.

Her blanket continues its rhythmic rise and fall as her doorknob continues its motion. She inhales deeply and turns onto her side with her back facing the door. Suddenly, the turning of the knob stops. There is an unusual calmness in the room. She continues to rests, undisturbed and unaware. She is unaware of the moon in the sky that is creating the shadows on her wall. She is unaware of the breeze seeping through the window, causing her curtains to sway gently. She is unaware of her and dolls smiling and watching her in the darkness creating the eerie silhouette of shadows. She is unaware of the slight creaking sound that is being made in the silence; the creaking of her door opening ever so slowly. Darkness is all that can be seen from behind her bedroom door as it continues to open. Slowly, silently, the door widens.

‘CREAK.’

The door opens entirely and his silhouette can be seen in her doorway. His large frame hovers and overshadows the tranquility of her bedroom. He stands motionless in the darkness. He clenches his fists slightly in sync with his breathing. His breathing is even, hungry, yet calm. He glares at her angrily. He stares at her with fierce intensity, ogling her while she sleeps. She remains undisturbed and unaware of the monster standing before her.

Slowly, he steps toward her. He turns his head slightly to assure himself that he is alone…alone with her. He steps toward her bed as his coarse bare feet glide over the hardwood floor. He stares at her lustfully in his approach. His eye’s squint and he admires her. He is absorbed, entranced by her beauty and tranquility. He is entranced by her innocence. He bites his bottom lip and nods slowly as he listens to her quietly inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He clenches his fists again and takes a deep breath attempting to match his breathing with hers. He exhales slowly. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. He smiles and takes pleasure of accomplishing his task of matching her breathing. Now they both inhale and exhale perfectly in sync. He is fascinated by this simple task and his chest expands as he takes in the air.

He tilts his head backward, closes his eyes and silently, methodically releases his clenched fists. The air can be heard exiting his nostrils in the darkness. He feels as if he is being lifted into the air, afloat in the calm autumn air. Slowly he levels his head and opens his eyes. His dilated pupils reflect sheer darkness. Then, without further hesitation, he pounces.

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The flowers in the field are as colorful as they could ever be. There are so many beautiful colors of red, blue, purple and green. There are some colors that she has never seen. There are colors that she could have never imagined or ever describe. They are absolutely beautiful. It is an ocean of beautifully colored flowers and she wants to touch each and every one. As she admires her surroundings, a huge smile creases her face and she begins to trot through the field. Her silk white gown flows in the wind as she reaches out gently and touches the colorful pedals during her race. She laughs and sings as she skips through the beautiful scenery. The flowers emit a wonderful aroma into the air. She takes a deep breath and can smell the scent of every flower. She inhales. Exhales…Inhales…Exhales. The aroma generates calmness within her mind and she looks into the beautiful blue sky above and continues her journey.

The shining sun enhances the pollen floating in the air as she passes and touches each flower. The field is a fiesta of beauty and she admires the peace and tranquil atmosphere and wishes she could be one of the beautiful buds in the field. She continues to skip through the remarkable ocean, spinning and laughing, skipping and singing. She continues on her colorful journey feeling gay and free, with a smile so broad across her face, that her eyes can hardly be seen.

In the distance, she notices an unusual flower that seems to stand out from all the rest. Her curiosity guides her toward this strange flower in the field. As she makes her way toward the flower, she slows her trot through the field and her smile slowly diminishes. She comes to a complete stop as she visually absorbs the strange flower. She cautiously takes another step and approaches flower again. Suddenly, she stops once more. Still at a distance from the unusual plant, she tilts her head slightly to the left and a look of confusion engulfs her face. She gradually takes another step and approaches the plant again until she finds herself standing before it.

With her head still tilted slightly and staring oddly at the plant, she notices that the bulb is closed and its stem stands taller than all of the other flowers in the field. This flower is odd. She looks around and notices the field of fresh flowers and all of its remarkable colors in full bloom. Then, she turns again to the flower that stands before her. This flower seems to stand-alone among the millions in the field and it is very different. All of the other flowers around are in full bloom with a vast array of colors, but this one…is different. The bulb on this flower is not open like all of the rest in the field and it is tall, almost taller than she. This flower does not share the bright colors as the others for, this flower is black. Pitch black. The sunlight does not reflect off of this darkness. It is as if she is looking into a hole on a stem. And the stem…it too is black. She gapes at it from stem to bud in awe.

Huh? she whispers.

She ogles this unusual plant feeling a strong desire to touch this one as well. She becomes overwhelmed with fear but the urgency to touch this flower becomes dire. Slowly, she lifts her hand and points to the bulb. Her finger gets closer to the flower, despite the fact that she hasn’t physically moved any closer. The flower seems to be drawn to her fingertip. She tilts her head even further as her fingertip gently grazes its pedal and she lunges backward. She loses her balance and falls onto her back. She looks up at the flower from where she has fallen and glares at the towering plant. Slowly, the bulb on the looming black flower begins to open.

The air begins to thicken and she finds it is becoming difficult to breathe. She inhales deeply, attempting to force air into her lungs. The black rose opens one black pedal at a time in uniformed manner. She begins to struggle to lift herself to her feet, but the soil beneath her begins to sift, causing her to lose her footing. She begins to panic. She tries again to regain her footing but fails to lift herself off of the ground as the sod beneath her continues to sift. Another pedal from the bulb opens and she now feels a sense of urgency to regain her footing. She knows that she must get out of here before the flower is in full bloom. She doesn’t understand what is happening. Every time she gets a solid footing on the ground, the sod shifts, causing her to fall again.

Another pedal opens on the blooming flower and her struggle become frantic. She looks around in hopes of finding some item that she can grab hold of and use for leverage but her search is futile. All of the other flowers that were surrounding her seconds ago are now at a further distance. The only thing in her immediate grasp is the shifting sod and the tall black rose towering over her, moving yet another pedal.

She struggles violently and tears began to form in her eyes. She stares at the rose as she witness’ the last pedal begins to move itself into bloom. It moves slowly, tauntingly. She cannot take her eyes off of it. She stares at the flower, almost hypnotized, with a sub-conscience curiosity of what is lurking behind that last pedal. The pedal gradually moves from flower bud to full bloom as her struggle to lift herself off of the ground, cedes.

With the sod still shifting beneath her, she stares at the bud motionless. She does not blink as its last pedal falls into place. With her face lit with confusion, she tilts her head slightly, as if this action will make sense of what she is seeing. Slowly, she lifts her hand and extends her fingertip and points to the black rose. She points to what looks like…

Is…is that a…? she mumbles.

Suddenly, before she can finish her sentence, the eye in the center of the rose snaps open. She screams at the top of her lungs but no sound emerges. The black flower swoops down and the eye in the center stares at her with intensity. She panics and attempts her struggle for footing again but still, she cannot stop staring at the flower: the eye. The black pupil is so close to her face that she can see her reflection. Her struggle becomes violent as a black oily root begins to emerge from the moving sod. She panics as the root grabs her left ankle. She attempts to lift herself to her knees and crawl away. Tears begin to run down her cheeks. She tries to scream again but still, no sound protrudes from her throat.

Another root emerges from the soil and wraps itself around her right ankle, pulling her backward. Her fingers claw at the unstable sod beneath her as she desperately tries to gain leverage. Another root emerges and wraps itself around her waist. Another root emerges and grabs her right arm and she falls onto her stomach. Another root grabs her left arm and rolls her onto her back as another emerges. Another root, and another rises from the ground. More and more roots continue to emerge from the sod and coil around her body. They begin to encase themselves around her, causing her to spin on the ground. Soon she is completely engulfed in the black wormy roots, wrapped in their web. They cover her body completely, leaving no part of her silk dress to be seen. She soundlessly screams and struggles against the untiring attack. Her body lies at the foot of the black rose, covered by its roots, encased in their oily wad. She lies on the ground, resembling a cocoon covered with wet black worms.

The roots slowly slither over one another, wrapping themselves around her neck. The cocoon moves slightly as her small body struggles to move within it. The only thing to be seen is the eye; her eye, peering through the wad of roots that are encasing her. And with her eye, she stares into the blackness of the towering black rose that hovers over her. With her eye, she stares into the darkness. With her eye looking through the oily roots, one teardrop falls.

Slowly, her struggle subsides. She stares into the eye of the black flower as she lies helplessly on the ground. She then attempts to look around the flower by turning her head slightly to her right. She vaguely sees the scenery of the other flowers in the field. She notices the many beautiful colors begin to near her fallen body. All of the colorful flowers in the field are coming closer and closer until the sod cannot be seen. Yet, the towering black rose continues to hover over her. Slowly, the colorful field of flowers that surrounds her begins to fade to gray. She struggles again to move from her cocoon, to escape from her captivity, but with every twist she makes, the roots tighten its grip. She struggles to take a breath but is unable to get a full gasp.

I…can’t breathe. she whispers

The gray scenery begins to fade from gray to black. She tries to remain focused on the colors surrounding her but everything begins to fade. Peering through the oily roots with only one eye visible, she sees everything getting darker. She notices that all of the flowers are turning black and becoming darker, darker and darker. She looks back at the eye of the black flower still towering over her and stares at its black pupil. Attempting to focus on it, she notices that it too is fading. It fades darker…darker…then, black. The blue sky, the sun, the world is no longer colorful and serene. All she now sees is darkness. The darkness is pure and unimaginable. All she hears is even worse. All that she hears in this darkness is silence; dead silence.

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The eye stares at her menacingly.

I…can’t…breathe. she gasps as she forces her eyes open, staring into the eye. Her struggle against the roots becomes tiresome. The more she struggles, the tighter the roots hold her. She attempts to move her arms but soon realizes that the roots have wrapped themselves around her wrist and embedded themselves back into the soil. She then feels the oil from the roots drip onto her face and seep into her open eyes. Her eyes begin to burn. She immediately squeezes them shut and whispers, Dream…this must be a dream!

Still gasping for air she continues, All that I have to do is wake up! Just wake up!

She squeezes her eyes shut as tight as she can and quickly opens them again. Directly above her is the black rose. The single black eye that once glared at her, are now two black eyes. She squeezes her eyelids shut again and immediately opens them once more. Suddenly, it becomes clear to her. This is not a dream. No, this… is real. She begins to focus on the eyes staring back at her. The black piercing eyes that are staring back at her. She stares into his eyes as she gasps for air. She feels the pressure of his roots upon her throat and the weight of the other roots on top of hers body. With her every struggle, his roots squeezes tighter.

The roots, she utters as she grasps his forearms defiantly. She attempts to make him release his…‘roots’, to no avail. I’m going to die. she whispers as she strikes his forearms. I’m going to die. I can’t breathe. I’m going to…die

She begins to accept her fate and decides if she is going to die, she will not perish without a fight. So, she begins to struggle violently, kicking and tussling. She digs her fingernails into his forearm as deep as she can. Her fingernails pierce the skin on his forearms and blood begins to seep beneath her grip.

Sitting on her stomach with both hands around her throat, he does not flinch. As he grips her throat with all of his might, he bites his top lip until he can taste his blood seeping onto his tongue. This excites him and he tightens his grip. The moonlight presents a clear view of his attack as he reaches into his pant pocket and pulls out his pocketknife.

‘FLICK’

He lifts the knife to her face and watches her as she stares at it timorously. Do you see this? he asks in a soft yet threatening tone. Do you see this? He spins the pocket knife between his fingertips as the soft glow of the moon reflects off of the sharp blade.

With her eyes now focusing on the knife before her, she cedes in her struggle. She accepts her fate. She understands that she is going to die tonight. She lets go of his forearm and her hands slowly drop to her sides.

"This, he continues, tightening his grip around her throat with his other hand, this is how my mother really died. And this is how I am going to kill you. Yes, this is how I will kill you if you ever tell anyone what happened tonight!"

She looks up at him. Her eyes fill with tears and the view of him is now distorted. The tears overflow from her eyes and streaks down her face into her ears. ‘If I tell anyone what happened?’ she muses. ‘What would I tell anyone? That you killed me? How can I tell?’

And what would she tell? She does not even comprehend what is happening to her. Her fingertips begin to tingle and her head begins to feel light. The room starts to spin slowly as if she were on a merry-go-round and his face is now so blurred by her tears, that she cannot make out any of his features, although she knows who he is. His grip around her throat has not loosened and her body begins to feel heavy. But to give up just does not seem right. No, must try. She must fight, scream, kick or anything. She tries to lift her hands that are sitting by her side but they are too heavy as if…as if the roots were stopping her. She tries to scream but the roots are getting tighter around her neck. She looks up at him…the flower…the black rose. She tries to see this dark thing hovering over her. She tries to look into his eye but all she sees is the darkness: the black pupil. Faintly, she hears muffled noises. Someone is saying something.

Do you understand? Do you understand? he asks again tightening his grip around her throat.

She doesn’t understand. She really doesn’t. What is it saying? What is it? Her lips are beginning to feel numb. She struggles to move them but she cannot tell if she was successful. She wants to ask the flower, why it is doing this to her? But all she can do is glare at it…at him.

Why? she struggles to say. Why?

But she can no longer feel anything. Her eyes begin to roll into the back of her head. Her mouth stills from its futile attempt to scream. She attempts to look at the eye of the black rose once more and she sees that its eyes have opened wider. Then, she gives up. Her struggle subsides.

He realizes that he’s killing her. Lost in his rage, he is killing her. Her body seems to feel unusually limp beneath his mass.

You’re killing her. he whispers to himself. What good would it do if you killed her? Let her go. You don’t want her dead.

As he heeds his very own voice, he slowly he releases his grasp around her neck. Simultaneously, she gasps for air. The rush of air into her lungs causes her to cough violently.

Cough, cough, cough…

Shut up! he exclaims in a voice just above a whisper.

Cough, cough.

She turns her head to the side as he growls, Shut up!

She closes her mouth with the attempt to silence her coughs and