• His cold, sticky finger tips caressed my pale skin. I looked at the man's face. It was stained with a crimson liquid, as usual. His dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight invading the dark room. A small breeze blew in letting a metallic smell into the room. I shuddered. The man laughed at me. The breeze blew his long hair into his face covering his devilish smile. He ran his fingers down my jaw bone until they reached my chin. He pushed my face up to face him. I refused to look into the man's eyes so I let my sight wander. He pulled my face so close to his that all I could see were is eyes.
    "Castiel," The man crooned. "For my son...you and I are very different." He pushed my hair out of my face. He grimaced.
    "That damned eye of yours. Two different color eyes you have. One from me and one from your wretched mother. Her eyes were the color of sunlight which I hated so much and mine are the color of midnight which I refuse to retire from." He covered my golden left eye with his hand. "I should just gouge your eye right now...just to get it over with...BUT I won't. I don't want to stain your perfectly white skin with red. Though...heh...you'd look pretty damn good in red."
    I pulled away from his touch. He cackled at my actions. "Did I scare you, Castiel?" He pulled my face even closer to his. Are noses were almost touching at that point.
    "This is going to sound horrible...but it seems I've forgotten your age. Five, Six...Which?" I didn't dare speak. "Come on...you must know your own age. SPEAK CHILD." His breath was hot and hit my skin unsteadily.
    "F-five." I found the courage to say.
    "There that couldn't have been so hard. For a five-year-old you're pretty brave, but then again your father is a murderer...so you can't be afraid of anything."
    It was true. As ashamed I am to say it; the man was a murderer. I never dared call him "Father" though. It just wasn't fitting. I always called him James. My dad was the 'White Chapel Murderer' otherwise known as Jack the Ripper.
    “Castiel...where is your mother?” He ran his hand through my charcoal hair.
    “You know very well where she is James.” I grumbled.
    “Well...I must have forgotten. Tell me.” He leaned in closer making or noses touch. “Hell?”
    “Maybe...anything but heaven...” I mumbled. He laughed at my response. My mother was a prostitute. She had sex with James and had me. After I was born she left us for another man. James became furious and tracked her down taking me everywhere he went. James became completely mad in search for my mother, but he was already in the effort of killing her. He wanted to kill her even more after getting crazy. I watched him kill her. I didn’t yearn for her. In fact, I was just as mad at her as he was. James killed several other prostitutes because of his anger. She definitely died, however it took me about two years to figure out that she was really gone. She wasn’t “lost” she was gone, yet I still didn’t long to see her.
    She “cared” for me out of pity. She didn’t “love” me she just felt pity. She even said it. Not to my face though. I overheard her in a conversation with her friend. I recalled that very same moment. It played over and over in my mind.
    “Castiel?” James interrupted my thoughts. “What are you thinking?”
    "N-nothing." I stammered gazing into his dark eyes. I had forgotten how close his face was to mine. He kissed my nose causing me to jerk away in alarm. He giggled. James grabbed my arm and pulled me close to him. He embraced me. I knew it wasn't from love though...what ever love is. There was a sudden bang at the door. I jumped in alarm.