The comments really dropped in the last chapter :( are you guys bored? Did you lose interest in the prequel? :( *cries in the corner*

Chapter 3 | The captors

Dominic was just eleven when it happened.

Too young, too fragile, to handle the lowest treachery of destiny; the cruel kind that would prey slyly behind a corner, watching, waiting with the widest conniving grin, before finally pouncing forwards when least expected—when everything seemed so impossibly perfect—because it liked to shock people like that. It got Dominic well. Too well.

He sat slumped on the couch that day, his head lolled back lazily and his arm dangling off the armrest. If anyone looked at him from afar they'd laugh at how he seemed like a grown up rotten from work but in reality he just hadn't slept well, partly because baby Lou really liked to show off his vocal skills at night and partly because his thoughts always turned hyperactive after midnight.

Dominic thought he was graced with the privilege of rest for a second, only until he heard an unmistakeable whine emit from Lou. His chest lifted and dropped in a hopeless sigh, because he knew that whine was the warning of upcoming sobs, before he forcefully pulled himself forwards with reluctant movements like a machine that needed to be oiled. Any other person disturbing his sleep would've received quite some colorful words, but Lou was a different case.

"What is it now, Lou?" He murmured to himself more than to the eight-month-old baby, slowly trudging forwards until he was by the crib with his elbows propped against the railings. The whines stopped for a moment and Lou's wet lashes fluttered cluelessly at his brother a few times. Then, his face puckered again and his dusty brown brows dropped like he was saying, don't just look, hold me! "Come here, don't cry. Anything for you, señor."

A fond smile betrayed Dominic's flat voice and the unamused expression on his face. He was tired and he wanted to sleep so desperately but Lou never failed to pull at the frayed threads of his dull emotions. Lou warmed his heart in a sense no one else could. Dominic wasn't an emotionally raw person but every damn time baby Lou's fingers would latch around his index so tightly, like he trusted him more than anyone, he'd feel something in his chest. Warmth. Rare for an insensitive child like Dom.

Dominic reached out to pick him up, well aware that his mom wouldn't exactly approve because, "He's barely a year old, Dom, you need to be very careful with him."

Of course Dominic would be careful with Lou. Of course he wouldn't drop him. He was his little brother. But his parents never felt too safe about it, maybe because Dominic wasn't exactly a typical eleven-year-old competent of being given the freedom to handle a fragile baby.

And to some extent, Dominic really wasn't. Sometimes he would be a bit too angry, others a bit too bitter, a bit too reckless. Always teetering off the axis of norm, leaning towards more or less but never balanced. He had mood swings. People called him spoiled. Maybe it was just his nature and engraved in his DNA but there could be no denying to the external factors which had fed the blemish of his personality since very early youth until it became this noticeable. He wasn't spoiled; he was lonely. He'd been left.

He always felt lonely until baby Lou came into the world. It had been a day-night change for him; somewhat fascinating, to have a little brother. All the careless behavior would diminish around Lou completely but his parents didn't seem to fully trust him on that.

Lou quickly became quiet and content as soon as he was cradled securely in Dominic's arms. It was odd how gentle Dominic was with Lou compared to how inconsiderate he'd always been with other kids and typically everyone. Anyone would be surprised to see the shift of behavior which was simultaneously odd and endearing, weird yet understandable.

Dominic carefully walked around with him, slow and calculated, watching his brother with dark eyes that glowed fondly. Eventually, the agitation dissipated completely and that half-upset look on Lou's face turned into a fully content one; Dominic always managed to calm him down effortlessly.

Lou's small cherry lips curved up in a smile, and his amber eyes compressed to crescents as he intrusively reached his hand up to his brother's face. He found it fun, for some reason, to slam his palm onto Dom's nose, then slide his delicate finger along his cheekbone and onto his lips. Dominic chastely kissed his finger as soon as it touched his mouth. Perhaps it had been ticklish, because Lou burst out into a hearty string of giggles, each echoing deep from his little youthful lungs.

"Funny, huh?" Dominic raised a brow. He laughed along to the tune of Lou's giggles.

Laughed. Maybe at that moment, as his lips parted and laughter spilled through his crooked teeth, someone should've recorded it. Someone should've caught that very second and hung it up in a frame. Someone should've listened to it and enjoyed the essence of youthful chuckles from a young boy and his little brother.

Because it was the last time Dominic laughed before it happened.

It started with a distant crash that echoed somewhere from the kitchen, followed by a heavy thump and a muffled cry. Then silence. Dominic froze to the core the moment he heard those three sounds, and for a mere moment so did Lou. He didn't dare move, only listened on quietly for any other thing with the hairs on his arms bristling wildly and terribly loud alarms suddenly blaring in his head.

"Mom?" he called out tentatively as he stepped back to the crib and quickly tucked Lou in. Usually, his mom would directly answer and the lack of response was the biggest incentive for the goosebumps that trailed along his skin and the icy chills that skipped down his spine in sparks. With his brows drawn together in a frown of fearful contemplation, he edged forwards, slowly maneuvering his way through the corridor to the kitchen.

He pushed the door wider open with his shaky hand. The first thing that came in sight was the ladder that towered high up until it brushed by the cabinets hung up against the wall. But then, as his eyes swept further aside, they traced whilst gradually widening in shock his mom's figure sprawled on the polished kitchen floor by the foot of the ladder, her limbs splayed out grotesquely still at her sides. Blood pooled underneath her head. It leaked, slowly trickling down and filling in the thin dents between the tiles.

For a second, nothing could be heard but Dominic's slow breaths through his slack mouth. He blinked emptily, almost like he was hoping if he'd blink enough the delusion which was his mom thrown like that on the ground could vanish. Could disintegrate into fragments of imagination that belonged in his messy head and not reality. But no. She was still there, still unmoving, still bleeding from the back of her head.

Reality hit eleven-year-old Dominic hard. His ears finally popped and suddenly he could hear everything again; how his breath was getting insanely faster and how his mom was letting out the lowest, shakiest groans even though her eyes were closed and she looked nothing better than dead.

"Mom!" Dominic shouted as he raced forwards, thrusting himself helplessly down by her side and watching with wide, cloudy brown eyes the blood that trickled down from the pointy, sharp edge of the counter above her head. He could tell at this point that she'd slipped from the ladder, hit her heard off the edge of the counter and slumped onto the ground like that. He fumbled helplessly for a second, unable to move or reach for anything. His hands shook, and he choked on a gasp when he realized he'd pressed his palm right over her pooling blood. "M-Mom, wait, please wait. I-I'll call dad. Don't leave. I'm coming."

His foot almost slipped beneath him as he hurried up from beside her and darted towards the nearest phone he could find. Dominic was trying to call his dad as fast as possible, but the unbidden tears that had formed and now shrouded his vision like thick fog and the wild trembles to his soft hands were making things so much more difficult. It took more than expected for him to dial correctly. He pressed the phone to his ear, his teeth nibbling anxiously at his nail and his knee wobbling frantically as he waited for his dad to pick up.

"Dad! Dad, m-mom fell from the ladder. A-And-" Dominic was cut off by a disbelieving what! that came deep from his father's throat. He continued urgently through spasmodic breaths, "Her- her head is bleeding, and she isn't moving or answering me—" Dominic cried out in grief when the image popped in his mind. He felt like he was losing her already and he couldn't even imagine what he'd do if she died "—please d-do something, dad, please, hurry. She's bleeding so- so much."

First there were some frantic curses, then, "I'm gonna call the ambulance! G-Get a cloth and press it on the wound, Dom! Please, please, try doing that while I call the ambulance! I'll be there in a second."

Dominic nodded, then threw the phone down and hurried to find a cloth. As if it had happened in a blur, he didn't even know how he'd gotten the piece of fabric in his hand; whether he'd snatched Lou's blanket or grabbed a kitchen towel, or even torn his own shirt. It didn't matter. All he knew was that he'd somehow gotten the cloth before he'd thrown himself by his mom's side again, holding her head up in his lap as he pressed the fabric to the wound whilst biting his bottom lip hard and praying shakily that she'd survive this.

Please don't die. Please don't die.

He tried to maintain the pressure, but he could feel his hand going numb like all the nerves in them had suddenly withered. The more he stared at his mom's head laying in his lap with the blood of the wound drizzling onto his fingers and clothes, the more he felt sick. Nausea was starting to creep to his gut, slow and unsettling like it was taunting him with the searing acidity that hesitated torturously at the base of his throat. One second he felt like he was going to throw up and the next it was gone.

Dominic swallowed past his gagging reflex. "P-Please mom, hold on, I called dad, and- and he's gonna come with the ambulance." His voice was strained, vividly reflecting the emotion he didn't even know he was capable of feeling. He'd never felt this shattered; he was always either angry or recklessly indifferent. Never so tragically misshapen. He felt foreign to himself but he didn't even realize it midst the chaos. "Stay with me, mom. Please. They're coming to help you, I-I promise."

And like that, he was forced to watch his mom's consciousness dissolve completely, the blood that soaked the cloth on her wound slowly dripping onto his fingers. Alone. Lou was screaming in the background.

That was until the door was flung open, and several pairs of feet came barging in frantically. Dominic didn't even realize they'd gotten into the kitchen until he felt an arm around his shoulder pull him away. The paramedics hurried to his mom, first doing some medical things he couldn't quite fathom before pulling her onto a stretcher. His wide eyes fell down to the flats of his own palms and he stared at her blood with a burning pain in his chest.

Dominic finally found it in him to look up. His misty eyes fell straight in alignment with the last paramedic's who stood by the door, holding it open for the stretcher to pass.

"She- She will live, right?"

The paramedic gave him a sympathetic look. She smiled, but it wasn't happy. "We hope."

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Everyone wore black.

Black ties, black suits, black formal dresses. Perhaps it was a representation of Dominic's life now; perpetual darkness after the already dim light in his life had been brutally snatched away from him in the blink of an eye.

Everyone stood around her grave. She hadn't lived; hadn't even survived a single day in the hospital. It was the crack in her neck that killed her more than the bleeding wound; Dominic hadn't noticed how a bone had protruded from her flesh.

Her sudden death was a blinding shock, more than anything, to eleven-year-old Dominic. An unexpected blow, a nasty punch he hadn't even managed to catch upon his peripheral vision just to mentally prepare himself for the upcoming pain. Just so he could at least take a split second to breathe peacefully for a last time before everything would suddenly spiral downhill. But no; destiny had no mercy on him in this sense.

Now, he stood like everyone else just by his mom's grave. He could still remember painfully clear how things had been just two minutes before the entire accident had happened. How he'd been so dumbly oblivious, so ignorant and so unknowing as he laughed with his little brother, that his mom was about to slip off the ladder and tumble straight into her grave rather than the ground. One second everything was fine, and the next his mom was dead.

He wished that life had a warning alarm, something like: Don't get too happy, kid! Prepare yourself 'cause I'm about to punch you square in the face! Maybe then the shock wouldn't have shaken him so violently.

Dominic's thoughts were cut off when a certain adult—possibly his dad's co-worker or employee—bent down so he was eye-level with him. The usual; a little bit of piteous eye contact, a stupid word or two of consolation and perhaps a hug and a hand squeeze. That was what everyone did when they passed by him. Dominic didn't reciprocate the gestures to the man, nor to anyone else. He stood stoic in his place, refusing to talk or to show appreciation.

Because he didn't. He didn't appreciate the comfort they were offering. And
if he could, he'd punch them all in the face so they'd leave him alone.

Dominic hadn't gotten the chance to breathe when the man left before a woman was already progressing towards him with that familiar, annoying sorrowful look. But he could recognize her precisely this time; she was called Angelica and she was his dad's assistant whom he'd seen more than once. He tugged uncomfortably at the tight collar of the black dress shirt suffocating his neck as he watched her come closer. He was saddened enough and he wanted time with his mom's grave alone. It was starting to become annoying.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," the woman coaxed tenderly as she pulled Dominic to her chest. She felt him stiffen against her and heard a heavy sigh but she thought it was wistful. When she pulled back, her hand remained softly stroking his arm. "It's okay. It'll get better, it'll get better."

It's okay. It'll get better.

Right.

Like the stupid hug and damn arm strokes weren't enough to piss Dominic off. Like her entire presence wasn't enough to infuriate him right midst the sorrow of his loss. She had to say that on top. His mom died. How in the world would these words and actions make it up for it?

Angelica pulled back with a final smile. She was about to turn to his father, but was abruptly halted when she felt a hand grip her arm. On first thought she couldn't tell it was Dominic's because the grip was startlingly firm and strong for an eleven-year-old. But it was none other than him, she realized, as she spun back towards him with questioningly raised brows.

Dominic stared deep into her eyes. The sharpness of his gaze, akin to the edge of a knife, was unsettling. He'd heard enough shit. He'd had to tolerate lots of people telling him the same thing over and over again. Now he was tired of it and he almost felt bad that she was going to handle all the built-up wrath in his chest.

"You think it's okay?" Dominic asked. His low voice barely rose above the quiet chatter in the background and the soft blows of wind, but Angelica quickly caught upon the poisonous anger seething covertly in the undertone. "You think it'll get better?"

Her arched brows dropped to a frown. She was no longer unsure, now bordering closer to concern at his behavior. "Excuse me, darling?"

"I said, you think it's okay that my mom died?" Dominic repeated, the grip he had on her arm tightening. She could see the tension gathering in his squared shoulders, in his aggressive stance, in his clenched jaw. The rage couldn't have been clearer in him and it was immensely disconcerting for just an eleven-year-old. A child. "You think it's okay that I'm standing in front of my mom's grave? You think it's all fine? Is that what you think?"

"Oh my goodness, no, Dom, sweetie. No. I didn't mean it that way—"

"Don't touch me, don't call me sweetie. Why, why for God's sake, did you say that then? Do you have to talk?"

"Dom, I know it's hard for you. I just said that to comfort you."

"How about you shut up next time?" Dominic deadpanned. It was this brutal coldness in his voice and words that was most appalling. How just a child could be unnervingly aggressive yet calm all at once. "Instead of saying some stupid shit? Wouldn't it be better? I don't need you to comfort me. I just need to you to shut your mouth and stay away."

Angelica wanted to shout at him something along the lines of shut up you spoiled brat and have some manners, but she knew he was in pain and he couldn't help but take the condolences in the literal sense. She could tell he was traumatized but had it all hidden under this insolent, untouchable pretense. She knelt down so that all her weight was supported on her knee. "Look, Dominic. I know, I know you're hurt. But I didn't mean to pity you with what I said. Nor did all these people. All of us just want to show you that we care? That we understand what you're going through."

Dominic snorted. Still, there wasn't a single bit of emotion shone in his eyes. Only malice and grudge. "Do you really care? Do you now? Do you know what it feels like for your mom to die all of a sudden?" He let go of her arm in an abrupt thrust and straightened his spine, jabbing a finger in her direction. "If you knew, if you just understood, you would've actually shut up the moment I told you to. But you don't. You don't understand. You know why? Because it's not you. It's not your mom that died like that! Mine! My mom died!"

His voice was getting obnoxiously louder. People started looking at him, staring, frowning. Judgement flooded from their narrowed eyes because that was all they ever knew how to do right.

Angelica cleared her throat, her eyes skipping back and forth across the people around. She caught Dominic's father standing somewhere through the crowd. "Dominic, calm down. Please." She touched his arm but he flinched hard enough for her to withdraw immediately.

"Don't tell me to calm down," he hissed as he stepped away from her. "You don't understand what I feel." His eyes darted upon all the people around him, lingering on the ones who'd told him the same shit as Angelica. It's okay. The words kindled a fire in his chest. "All of you think it's so easy and that it'll get better. But it's not like that. And, and you know what?"

At this point everyone was staring at the frantic boy. Dominic breathed tensely through his nose before he spurt out the venom they'd injected in his heart to everyone there at once. "I wish all your moms die. All of them. And when they do, I'll come to the funeral. And I'll smile like it's nothing and tell you, it's okay, sweetie, it's okay! Let's see how better that'll make it for you!"

His eyes were glistening at this point but he didn't allow anyone enough time to look well. He bolted then, hastening across the path between the people so he'd get out of the place and come back when they'd leave, when he could be alone with his mom. But then the hindrance came in the form of a callous, rough hand gripping his upper arm and forcibly spinning him the other way around.

"Dominic!" His father shouted. He pulled him closer, leaning down so the scrutiny in his disappointed gaze could claw at the remains of his son's pride. "Respect yourself! All these people came to comfort you and this is how you respond? What is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with me?" Dominic parroted angrily, trying to yank his arm free. He came to no avail so he stopped moving and focused on speaking instead with eyes that were shrouded with both the blur of tears and dark shadows of fury. "I watched mom die, dad! That's what's wrong! You weren't there! You came too late. There was nothing wrong, I was just playing with Lou, and- and suddenly, suddenly, she died, dad. Mom died! And all these stupid people think it's easy!"

Dominic stopped for a moment and his shoulders shook ever so slightly; just a barely conspicuous quiver that was accompanied by a sorrowful sniffle. He covered his eyes with his hands, but the tears betrayed him and trickled beneath his palms until they rolled down the slope of his flushed cheeks for everyone to see.

"I- I just want mom," he whispered. He'd never been open like this. Never admitted that he loved anyone publicly, not even to his parents. "I miss her. I want her back, dad. I want her back." A strangled cry fought to echo but he fought against letting it out and his chest heaved erratically with the strain. "I didn't even get to tell her goodbye! I couldn't even tell her that I- I love her." This time, the sobs broke out and he didn't even care; his heart was tearing, ripping apart every time he remembered how he'd lost his mom. He felt like the pain would never lessen and the scar it left would forever burn.

His dad's grip loosened. "Dom, son, we all want her back. Not just you. She was my wife, and I loved her. I miss her too. And Lou. Lou won't ever even see her. He won't know what it was like being around her. Some people have it worse, Dom. Remember that. Gotta keep yourself together."

This in no way made Dominic feel better. It infuriated him further, if anything, that his own dad's comforting mechanism was shittier than other people's; making his pain seem insignificant and unworthy of being expressed. He didn't understand, like everyone else. No one did. Dominic wiped the tip of his nose off with the back of his hand then leered at his dad through the tears that welled along his lower lids. It was both theatrically impressive and startling how quickly he could go from sorrowful to angry.

"You know what, dad?" He finally said. His voice was broken but precariously stitched together. "Your wife is one thing and your mom is another. Even you don't understand. But grandma won't live forever. She'll die. And you'll know then what I feel."

Like that, Dominic turned and sprinted away from everyone, leaving the venom he'd said to linger amongst the small crowd surrounding the grave. His dad tried to stop him but it was too late, and he'd admit that he was almost ready to deliver a slap had his son remained in his place. He rubbed his face frustratedly, sighing deeply as he prepared to go after him.

Angelica gripped his arm before he could move. "Be patient with him," she said. "What he did isn't right, I know. But remember that technically, he did watch his mom die and he clearly isn't taking it well. He's too shocked, remember. Shocked. It happened all of a sudden for him. He needs help. A psychologist, anything."

He gave her an odd look, sorrowful yet frustrated. "He just thinks he's the only one hurt. We're all shocked. We're all sad."

Angelica watched him leave to get Dominic back. And she knew, that he wouldn't know how to handle a traumatized child. A deep sigh lifted her chest. Her heart ached because she knew that Dom's future was going to be darker than the grudge in his heart with the zero effort put to understand him.

"This kid's gonna turn out a mess when he grows up if this continues," she mumbled to herself.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

So your thoughts about the chapter? Baby Lou xD ? Dominic and his behavior? Their dad? Feel free to rant about all that and tell me anything, love reading them :).

I know this chap didn't talk about Cara, but don't worry the second chapter about the captors will focus on her(I couldn't mix them together)! :) Now the next chapter will be about Aaron again, get ready to know how he returned to his dad!!

Thank you so much for reading/voting/commenting! All of these mean the absolute world to me <33 also you guys are so amazing for being so understanding and patient about the late updates. I'm so thankful for you guys, I love you<3 I'm gonna try to update again as fast as possible!