Cradled Mercy

Chapter One- Jonathon
My mother always told me love was the slowest form of suicide. In my home, it was known as a poison which blinds the eyes, deafens the ears and paralyzes the body. I always agreed. Though deep in my heart it was a passion I always longed for. I always dreamed of one heart, one soul to love no matter. Whether it be life or death, our love would live forever.
Of course I couldn’t tell my mother that. Ever sense my father ran out on us and left us with absolutely nothing, my mother’s ideas on love have been rather morbid. Just the word, the action is enough to throw her into a wolrd of emotions. I never said the word, but I thought of it constantly…
  I’ve never really understood why exactly my father left. I was so young I hardly remember. I’ve asked my mother a few times but all she ever says is, “All that matters is it wasn’t your fault.” Though one time I did manage to get a little more out of her… All she mentioned was they had a fight and he just… left. Since then I haven’t really cared much why he left. What I do know is that I hate him. I hate him for all the pain he’s caused... not for me, but for my mother.
  There’s been many times where I’ve seen her up late at night crying and holding a picture of him. She never lets me see the picture. I don’t really want to see it, to be honest… I fear that if I do I may… remember.
  It’s not that I don’t remember him at all. I do have a few vague memories that linger in the back of my mind. I figure if God wants me to remember, I will. I can somewhat picture his facial structures in my mind. But most of the time I push the image away. I try not to think about him too much, though I often find myself using the corner phone booth to call agents who could easily find my father. But I cowardly hang up. I guess you could say I’m in fear of what I may really find, and plus, like I would ever have the money to afford such a project anyhow.
  I’ve never really understood why God has placed me in the life. Sometimes I feel as if I’m just… a mistake. Why would someone that lived such a perfect wonderful life place a child in a life of such misery? Surely he can see me… Surely he knows my name and my pain… why doesn’t he help me? I feel like he's simply sitting on his big thrown and treating me like an immature child would an ant with a magnifying glass.
My life hasn’t always been so terrible. I know at one time we were quite wealthy. My dad ran a business of some sort, which brought in all kinds of money. But when he left, we were broke. Ever sense then it’s been a life of poverty for us. I wouldn’t say we live on the streets, but pretty close. We don’t really have one single place to live. Sometimes we’ll live with friends, when they’re willing. A few times we’ve had to stay in dark alleyways, as we are now, for months. The best times are when my mom gets a raise at work and we rent an apartment. That’s rare though…
  I don’t know exactly what my mother does for work. If I ask her, her only reply is “All that matters is I bring home a little money now and then.” What ever she does, it must be tough… There have been many times she’s come home with black eyes, fractured bones or cuts and bruises. Sometimes she stays out late... often until three or four in the morning. I miss her, but I guess if she’s brings home money, it’s fine.
  My mother has never really pushed me to strive for high goals. She’s never made me go to school, or read, or any of that stuff. But secretly, I love it. I love it all… Reading, writing, school, being smart... everything! Last year I found a box of encyclopedias in a dumpster and now every night when my mom leaves I read a page or two. I find it all so interesting, all the wonders of the worlds, all the theories that rot in the minds of the dead and living legends of science.
  I don’t have many friends at school. Most kids try to avoid me because I don’t dress “cool” like them. But my mother rarely has enough money to buy new clothes. Most of the clothes I have are from the Salvation Army or from my mom’s friends. Sometimes my mother will bring home clothes from work… I don’t know how she gets them, but that doesn’t really matter.
I wish I could change this life, but I can’t. That is me, this is me, and I will always be… Jonathon.

Chapter Two- Angela

I couldn’t sleep. The cold wind blew down the dark alleyway and chilled me to the bone. I had been up all night waiting for my mother, Angela. She didn’t know, but I often worry about her when she’s out late. I stared at the battery powered clock I had found in the dumpster behind some apartments. It has been trusty but I’m sure the batteries will die soon.
  “3:00 am…” I whispered, “Where is she?” I heard footsteps. It sounded like high heels. “Finally…”
  I arose and stared into the darkness. I couldn’t see a body, but I could still hear the footsteps. It had to be Angela; only she would be wearing high heels in an alley. I heard something else…. A light whimper… My mother’s face formed out of the night. Blood trickled from her eye.
“Oh my God! Mom!” I screamed, “What happened?” I ran towards her and held her in my arms. She cried for a moment on my shoulder. I could feel her warm teardrops drip down my skin.
  She pushed me away. “Go to bed,” she muttered looking down at the ground. I stared at her, holding her hand, studying the tattoo she had. It was of a deep orange sun with detailed, vibrant rays. The alley was silent. Angela’s warm eyes burnt my skin. “Go to bed!” She screamed, pushing me away.
  I walked away, listening to the gasps of my mother as she cleaned her wound. I laid down a cheap mattress left in the ally by the past “residents”. It wasn’t the best thing to sleep on, but it was all I had. A spring dug into my side, but I didn’t care... I stared into the pale night sky. Little stars were visible because of the city lights. I could feel tears escaping my mind. My pillow grew damp. I rolled over and fell asleep to the soft cries of mother.
  When I woke up the next morning my mother was gone. She usually doesn’t leave so early but I thought nothing of it. A chill wind blew down the alley and I pulled my blanket closer. It was damp. It must have snowed overnight.
  I got up, pulling the blanket tight against my body like an Eskimo. I walked over to my dresser. We had found it, like we find nearly everything we have, in a dumpster. It was in pretty poor shape but at least it kept my clothes out of the rain and snow. I opened it and took out my best clothes for the cold day. I quickly got dressed, grabbed my coat, and went out to roam the town.
  The sky was a light, hazy gray. Snowflakes fell soft as feathers, weaving in and out through quiet breaths of the wind. The ground was covered in a single blanket of snow; it glimmered like a thousand sparkling diamonds. But soon the snow would become a slushy brown, and the beauty of it all would dwindle until the next snowfall.
  I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do today. I figured I would site see, as I often do. I hoped when I got home my mother would be there and be willing to tell me what happened last night… though I knew she wouldn’t, because she never does.
  I saw many people throughout the day living the life I dreamed of. One mother was walking with her two children, swinging them back and forth and singing the “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”. Though it sounds silly, I almost began to cry because I wanted someone to love me like that. No one has ever loved me so intently… I felt like as a human, I deserved more than what I got. All I’ve ever wanted is a few friends… and today that dream was thrown in my face.
I got back home at about 6:00 and Angela was nowhere to be seen, nothing unusual though. The day had been cold, wet, and tiresome… I sat down on the concrete, my head leaning against a brick wall. My stomach growled. Oh how I longed for food. I couldn't remember the last time I ate...
The door to the meat market in our alley burst opened and a man carried out a large box and sat it out by the wall. “Food…” I whispered. When he went inside I ran over to the box and tore it open. Fish! Uncooked and old but better than what I normally eat... God, was it better.
I made a faint fire out some matches, which we usually keep a good supply of, and random dried leaves and cloth that I found lying around and quickly ate the food. I was so full I couldn’t move. I sat there, staring towards the street. The sun was dimming, soon to leave man at the hopes of their artificial light. As almost every day, I watched as the streetlights flickered on, and the roads slowly grew deserted.
I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I held it, the pain pinching my ribs and sending shockwaves throughout my body. I looked towards the stars, grunting. As I began to feel light headed, I took a deep breath, the world grew dark, and my head slammed into the cement.

Chapter Three- Searching

I woke up hours later, my head pulsing as if a railroad spike was being driven in it. I laid there for a moment, collecting myself, trying to remember where I was. I sat up against the wall again. I still didn’t feel good. I squinted to see the alarm clock. “Oh my God!” I screamed, “4:00 AM!”
I glanced around looking for my mom. Nowhere. Where is she? I thought. She’s been gone a lot lately. I felt something in my stomach… a different feeling…. Not sickness, but… a bad feeling... my gut feeling... which usually, in the long run, serves me right. I had to go find her. I grabbed my coat and headed towards the city.
The fluorescent lights beamed on the dirty streets, moths flocking to them. Strangers gathered around flaming barrels to keep warm. I wrapped my coat closer around me. It was cold… my hands were freezing. I warmed them with my breath. I glanced down dark, abandoned alleyways, peering deep into the darkness for any signs of my mother… She was nowhere to be found. I won’t stop searching… My gut rarely leads me wrong.
I gaped into store windows to see if she could be working in one of them, after all I had no clue where she worked, or if she was even at work right now. One tattoo parlor had designs posted in the window. One of the featured designs was of the sun my mother had on her hand. She had to work close by. I remember her mentioning getting the tatoo done at a parlor near her work.
I stammered down the street and turned on the corner of Charlemagne and Jefferson. My legs felt dead, I’d been walking so long. I looked around for the old clock tower but I had ventured too deep into the city. I sighed and sat down on the curb across from a car, resting my feet. Someone was sitting in the car, staring face forward. Fumes poured out the exhaust pipe, forming a light haze in the chilly breeze. The wind carried the smoke off until it faded into the stars.
I sat there for a moment, wondering why someone would be sitting in their car at such early hours, if not up to no good. I studied the silhouette of the figure closer. It was a man… He had shaggy hair. I couldn’t see much more. He seemed to be asleep.
Suddenly the man slowly fell across both front seats, his hand lying against the passenger window. It flinched. I heard a loud creak as the car door opened, and the man staggered out using one arm for support. I stood up, fear clinching my heart. The man, now crawling, stared at me. His shirt was torn and bloody. He looked as if he was trying to whisper something but nothing would come out. His eyes filled with anger, he took a deep breath, and collapsed on the ground. I gasped as I saw a knife protruding from his back.
"My God..." I whispered. I ran over to the man and kneeled near his body and felt his pulse. Dead. I looked him in the face but he didn’t look familiar. “Whew…” I breathed. I felt around the body for any ID. None…
I stopped for a moment and looked around, wondering what to do. “There!” I screamed. I could see a driver’s license on the ground near the car. I ran and picked it up. My heart sunk deep into my stomach. It was my mother’s ID.
Tears filled the corner of my eyes as I looked towards the car and saw a hand dangling out of the corner of the backseat with the tattoo of a sun on it.


Chapter Four- The Truth

I ran over to the car, pushed the door farther open, grabbed the arm and pulled the body out. I screamed and fell to the cement, crying, leaning over the body of my mother. Her face was drenched in blood, and her hair matted in blots of dark red. She was shirtless with her bra unfastened, but on. Her skirt was pulled up, and her panties at her knees. One wrist had a rope tied tightly around it.
I laid over her longer, crying and holding her hand. “Why?” I thought. “Why would someone do this? What is she doing out here?
Suddenly a felt her hand slightly grip mine. I turned her face towards me and could see her eyes trying to open. She mumbled. “Mom! I can't understand you! What do you want me to do?” I said. She mumbled some more. I couldn’t understand a word. “Mom! You have to speak clearer!” I screamed.
She cleared her throat and spoke slowly. “I… love… you,” she said weakly. She coughed as a tear escaped the corner of her eyes, “Hold me… Jonathon,” she whispered.
I held her closer to me, her head resting on my shoulders. “I love you too, mom,” I said. Tears streamed down my cheeks, drops falling on her forehead. “You’re gonna be okay, mom. Everything’s gonna be fine. Just hold on. I’ll get you help, I promise” I whispered.
She gripped me with what strength she had. “No... don’t leave me. I don’t have… much… longer,” she said taking deep breaths, “I have to... tell you something.” She coughed.
My lips trembled as I spoke and could only say, “okay.”
“None of this... is because of you. Make me proud... son. Never give up... and... don't make the decisions... I made in life..." her voice trailed off. She struggled to lift her hand up and brush my cheek. "I'm so sorry son... I was a... prostitute... I love you so much... never... forget that..." her eyes grew blank and her body limp as she faded into death.
A sense of denial overcame me. “No…” I whispered, clinching my fist. I pounded the ground and dug my face into her. "No!" I screamed. I sat there and cried for what seemed like hours, holding my mother’s hand and thinking of everything... literally... everything. It was growing cold.
A prostitute? No. Not my mother. It can’t be. I gripped her hand tighter. But… it all makes sense… the late hours… the cuts and bruises… the way she dressed… it all makes sense. The tears returned as I again I slouched over my mother, kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you,” in her ear.

Chapter Five
I woke up hours later to the sound of an officer’s voice. I was still holding my mother, her body was cold and pale now. I looked around for a second. Police lines roped off the entire area. People stood and gawked at my mother and I from across the lines. The man that had died was no longer there, and now a white chalk outline of his body took his place.
The officer was crouched down beside me, looking at me. “Jonathon?” he said. I looked at him. How did he know my name? “Can you come with me? I know you’re a little shocked right now, but we need to get everyone away from this lady for a little bit,” he spoke softly, like a friend.
I knew I should leave, but I couldn’t. I can’t leave my mother. She’s all I have left. “No,” I said, a tear falling, “I'm not leaving my mother,” I said strongly.
The officer looked in shock. “This lady… is your mother?” He got up and walked towards a group of policemen and began mumbling, often looking towards me. The crowd of people began whispering to each other as a shock glazed over their faces.
The officer came back, with a woman. They both crouched down. The man talked, “I know you must be very upset, but please, Jonathon, you’re going to have to come with us. We have to get everyone away from your mother,” he said.
“No!” I screamed, “I’m not leaving her! She’s all I have! Go away!” Tears streamed down my cheeks as I gripped my mother with both hands.
He continued to speak, louder and more demanding “Jonathon, you don’t have a choice. I’m sorry, I know how much pain you must be feeling right now, but please, to make it all better for…”
“No! You don’t know! My mother is all I have! Get away from me!” I screamed. The man then grabbed me by the arms and the lady by the legs, “Stop! No! Mom!” I screamed. I started to kick and try to pull away but I couldn’t. I looked towards the lady, she was crying too, as well as most of the crowd. “Get off of me! Let me go!” I screamed. Another officer ran over, he had a shot. “No! Get away! Don’t touch me with that! Mom! Help! Mom!” I felt the needle press deep into my arm. “Ahhhhh!” I screamed, tightening my arm. “Mom! Please, Angela!” I began mumbling, “No… please… mom… help…” The world faded.
I woke up later in a dark room. I had no idea how long I had been out. The room was blank except for the uncomfortable, stiff bed I was sleeping on and the chair beside it. There was a door just left of the foot of my bed and a large window on the opposite wall, but it was so dark I couldn’t really see my reflection. I had no clue where I was… I wanted my mom.
The memories flowed back… the car, the man, my mom, the police… everything. I curled up on the bed and cried. I didn’t know what else to do. Where is everyone? Should I scream? Or should I just sit here and wait for someone? I'd never felt so alone... so rejected... so unloved.
I got up out of bed and walked over to the door. I peaked out the small window and didn’t see anyone. I turned the door know knob. Locked, of course. I sat down in the corner and rested my head between my arms, “I want out of here!” I screamed, crying, “Let me out!” No one seemed to come. I was alone. I missed my mom. “Someone! Help me!” I screamed. I looked towards the ceiling. My eyes were blurry and filled with tears. “Mom… please… help me,” I pouted, “I’m scared…” I whispered and rested my head between my arms again.