Paula wiped the bloody knife off on a cloth she had lying on the table. Sighing she watched the red gel like liquid cling to the material, bringing her eyes up she saw her son knocked out in the chair, cuts running along his arms, legs and some on his cheeks. She never wanted things to get this far but Glen had chosen his side, his father.

“Ma’am?” a tall African American carefully asked, keeping his voice low as not to disturb his boss out of her trance but merely coaxing her out, “What are my orders?”

Taking a deep breath, filling her lungs up with new life she slowly pivoted around, “Get the troops ready we’re going to move out and make sure they are loaded down with as much ammo as possible.”

“Yes ma’am,” he took a step and stopped, “Anything else?”

Crystal blue eyes sparkled in the dim light; a ghost of smile laced her face, “No Anthony that is all…”

He nodded knowing full well she wasn’t as all right as she seemed but he was the follower, her lackey, it didn’t matter that on some days she invited him into her bedroom as an equal. It didn’t matter that when he was thrusting into her or shaking beneath her or when they just laid in all their clothing on top of the sheets talking for hours on in, laughing at his jokes or both wishing away, it didn’t matter for once he stepped out the door she was in charge, his boss, and he was loyal to a fault. They didn’t cross the line. They couldn’t.

Exiting the room he left her in there with her son tied to a chair and her inner demons.

Paula scooted a chair closer to Glen whose head hung low, chin to chest, eyes sealed shut, breathing heavy, chest rising and falling as only someone who is unconscious and has a broken rib or two can. The chair legs scraped across the cement ground causing Paula to cringe slightly as she sat down and stared at her son, her mind so far away in her thoughts, remembering times when he was running around and smiling.

Reaching out she brushed sweaty strands of blonde hair off his bruised and bloody face, kissing his forehead she whispered sorry as she began to slowly washed his wounds, a wet rag sweeping over his raised flesh, wring it out, the blood mixing with the warm water turning it a bright color. Soon he was bandaged and she pushed a syringe of pain medication into his arm before untying him and taking everything out of the room including the chair Glen had been sitting in.