#theirfather

‘A twenty eight year old man, and his eight year old daughter were victims of a brutal attack– the father’s throat was cut clean from ear to ear– the child sustained multiple stab wounds to the torso– both bodies were found by the wife and mother, Sarah Harper- the building had been set on fire following the killings and she managed to pull the bodies from the family home – the woman remains in a stable condition in hospital following smoke inhalation’

The reports have long since looped through her mind, any and all memories of waking at the hospital were quickly drowned out through another glass in hand. ’–Jacob Harper, and his daughter, Freya, were pronounced dead at the scene–’Reporters had followed her like a virus, infecting every little part of her life until she could take no more, until she had to flee from the spotlight. Police claimed that the arson had destroyed any viable evidence, that the killer could not be traced. She knew who it was, she had seen his face. A life in prison? That was no punishment for what he had done. So, she played the fool, said that no one else had been in the house when she had returned, that she could not name a single soul who would want to hurt her or her family. She can remember killing HIM. That bastard. She watched him die and she enjoyed every minute of it. She did the same as he had done to her family, brutalising his torso before opening his neck. A body wouldn’t be found. She made sure of that.No loose ends.

When she finally returned, Sarah had swiftly found a new home. The local bar, a place to bury herself in alcohol and snuff out any thoughts. An agonising moment of sobriety brought back the memories, the metallic stench of blood, the screams that she had heard before entering her home. The absinthe could take that away.She had the money, she could flaunt it any way she wanted to, and this had been her decided poison. Any new face that found a perch beside her own was swiftly willed away by a sharp tongue or harsh glare. Everyone knew who she was and what had happened. Everyone had something to say.What ones were worse? The pity bringers? Who reached to hold at her hand, to share their sympathies and how they somehow knew what it felt like. Or would it be the ones who spat venom in her face? Who pointed fingers, spewed accusations that she had been the one to kill her own family. That she had DESERVED it.

If she could not shake those demons that haunted her mind, she could do her best to forget that they loomed over her shoulder. This day had been no different until a stranger found his place by her side.Well groomed, elegant, money.Someone horribly out of place beside her, disheveled hair falling loose over mismatched eyes.Jacob used to say that they were his favourite thing about her. One blue, one gold. Rare, beautiful.Bitter, angry. An overbearing glare at the man who so softly smiled in return.

“Get lost. I have nothing more to give you people! Why won’t you leave me alone? Please, I can’t cope anymore, I can’t. Leave me the fuc-”

She was cut off, by the hand that came to rest on her wrist. It was different to the others, careful touch with one, the other peeling the bottle away from her fingers. The woman did nothing to stop him, other than stare with hazy eyes, hands trembling as soon as the glass left her touch.Oh god, oh god she can see the blood on her skin, crawling under her fingernails. She’s back in that house, drenched in the blood of her family and-His voice brings her back to reality, mellow words to accompany the soft blue stare, it’s a blur at first, some sort of offering of salvation, of purpose.She has been chosen, he says, chosen to become part of a family. That the father is guiding his children to a new life, a chance to atone for her sins, to be reborn. And she listens, by god does she listen, shaking hands falling still, focused on the herald’s every word and movement.She wants to be saved, she pleads him to show her this family, this purpose. She atones.And with that damned cool smile, John Seed leaves the bar with a new face for his brother’s sermon.

                   ——–  ;    Jacob was bathed in sweat when he came back from the fields. The sun had been shining from the cloudless sky all day and the work needed to be done before the foster parents returned home from the city. Frustration drew across his face as he sat down, leaning against the barn’s wooden wall. John felt sick this morning, which automatically resulted in the double amount of work for Joseph and himself, and once the evil was out of the house, Jacob sent his brother back into the barn as well. He did not like the thought of John being all alone in his condition  -----and under these circumstances.

        ♛ —– Ajay did not consider himself a member of the cult, a follower of THE FATHER . He used to be someone who RESISTED . But that just didn’t make sense to him anymore. It was useless, trying to grow bigger than something that never stopped gaining weight. He was forced to trust in the actions of JACOB . He did not want to, but his mind wasn’t functioning like he wished anymore.

        He didn’t get to know THE FATHER yet. And it was a mixed thought that went through his fragile mind during this moment. He was  CURIOUS. He was  SCARED. He did not know what to expect. Jacob told him it was time to meet him. And Ajay started to BELIEVE that. Then, finally he watched the man approach, unarmed and welcoming. That was how he expressed himself.

He acts like he cares. And maybe, in his own fucked up way, he does. But no matter how tenderly he might speak or treat her, Jane’s mind always dredges up all of the horrible things he’s done, all of the people he’s tortured and hurt and killed in the name of his doctrine, and she only wants to recoil.

She recoils now, suddenly, like she remembers all of this a split second too late.  She jerks her wounded but treated leg away from him, her hands clutching her own knee. Jane leans away from him, her eye fixed on him wearily, and all she says is, “Don’t need you hoverin’ if all I’m meant to do is rest. You can fuck off any time.”

Her predicament is precarious at best and fatal at worst. It’d be so easy for him to take care of the incessant thorn in his side right here, right now. Her hands flex against her bonds, her eye narrowed on him and filled with nothing but hate. She can only hope it hides her fear.

Thankfully, her voice is steady when she speaks: low, clipped, straightforward. Jane’s never been one for words. “Do what yer gonna do and be done with it.”