Tainted : Book 1

Prologue : Waves of Gray

Rain lashed down the cemetery. A storm that had been brewing for days finally finding release. It poured down non-stop soaking the little boy who knelt in front of his mother's grave. Melissa Roselyn Nelson, Born February 10th, 1978, died at the age of 33. Tears streaked down his flushed cheeks barely noticeable as they mingled with the rain drops that already soaked his face.

Everyone had left after the funeral, leaving him alone to say goodbye. Only problem was he couldn't do it. He couldn't say goodbye, not to her, not now. This was his mother after all. Up to that point she had been his whole life. This wasn't fair, he needed his mother. How else was he meant to survive?

"Be strong, my little prince," those words echoed in his mind. He could still hear her lilac smooth voice saying them as she stroked his hair every night before he drifted off to sleep.

He wanted to be strong but the pain clutching his heart was horrendous. At ten years old he had never felt pain like this before. His lungs burned as if he was breathing poisoned air, his limbs felt like jelly as he fought to stay up, his eyes itched and stung as they filled with tears again. He'd been crying for what felt like forever; the tears wouldn't stop. His heart pulsed painfully against his tiny chest, for a moment he had feared it would rip right out of his chest. He wished it would stop.

He wanted to be strong but something had him pinned down. Anger had his eyes flashing red. He curled his fingers into fists. He was so angry, angry with the goddess for letting this happen, angry with himself for being unable to do anything to stop this, but most of all he was angry with her. He felt guilty for it, but he couldn't help it. She promised she would always be by his side. But he was alone now. How could he be strong without her.

The rain pouring over him was abruptly interrupted as someone held an umbrella over him. He looked up to find a tall man with dark chestnut hair and pale blue eyes that stared blankly ahead, standing beside him. He was dressed in a black suit very much like his own, with a white button up shirt and a black tie.

"It's time," the man said, placing a hand over the little boy's shoulder. His voice was monotonous, his face void of any emotion. But behind that blank face, behind the façade laid a man burdened by grief. The woman laying in that grave had been his employer but also his friend. A kind and caring woman. One that had been taken from this world too soon.

He looked down at his little master. There was so much installed for this child, and there was little he could do to prevent it all. There was little anyone could do.

The boy got to his feet wiping away the tears from his eyes and sniffling. He placed a dark crimson rose on top of her headstone and whispered a soft goodbye before he turned back to Harrod, his butler.

Quietly they walked back to the car and he settled in the back seat. The drive home was silent with the exception of an occasional sniffle from the boy. He stared out the window not really looking at anything in particular. The trees they passed blurred until all he saw was green. On either side of the road were evergreen pine trees, they stretched high and surrounded most of the small town of West Chapel. The wind and rain whiplashed against the window; the storm had picked up. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky followed by the roaring of thunder.

They reached the house in a matter of minutes, very much to the boy's dismay. The car passed the open gate turning into the long driveway leading up to the gigantic Victorian gothic style mansion. Looking up at it, the boy couldn't help but observe the house looked different. It looked grim as if the light would never shine upon it again. There was something chillingly cold about the mansion, as if a dark a shadow had been cast over it. It appeared bigger; too big for him to find comfort. But most of all the house looked lonelier. He had never noticed before how far away the house was from everything. It stood solitary at the outskirts of town. His house looked sad. If tears could pour out of the windows, he was sure they would.