"Prosecutors report that the suspected mafia boss has allegedly tortured and killed over three dozen people in the second and third degree. Other allegations include assault with illegal weapons, possession and sales of illegal substances, child abduction, and rape. If convicted, Malone could get life in prison without parole, or the death penalty. Malone's family was unavailable for comment..."
Jesse stood up from his spot on the floor by the television. His fists were clenched, and he was shaking as he fought back tears. He tried to take a deep breath, but it seemed impossible; there was a lump rising in his throat making it hard to breathe. Slowly, he stalked down the hall to his mother's room. The fact that she was frantically buzzing about the room, throwing messy piles of clothes into an over-stuffed suitcase, didn't make him feel any better. He was used to this by now; normally, however, his father would be there helping her.
"Mom?" He called, fighting to keep his voice from trembling. She didn't hear him; she was searching for something in the depths of her closet.
"Mom?" Jesse tried again, a little louder. Finally his mother looked up, hitting her head on the door as she turned to face him.
"What is it, Jess?" She sighed hastily, rubbing the back of her head. "I need you to go pack..."
"Why is dad on the news?"
"Jess, I said go pack-"
"Why, mom? You said he was on a business trip..."
"Dammit, Jess, I said go pack! I told you an hour ago to start packing...."
"You told me he was on a business trip!" Jesse shouted, his facing pulling into a frown he couldn't fight off.
"What was I supposed to say, Jesse!? Things happen. I can't control everything."
"Why is he in jail?" Jesse cried desperately, hating himself for acting so weak and crying, hating the way his voice rose up in a persistent reminder that he was only eleven, not yet the man his father wanted him to be.
"I don't know, he wasn't supposed to get caught..."
"Caught doing what!?" Jesse was screaming. He couldn't help it. Suddenly his mother was on him like a hawk, clutching his arm and dragging him back down the hall to his tiny bedroom. Jesse cried out in surprise and pain. He kicked until his mother sat him forcefully down on the bed, grabbing his hands firmly in hers. She looked desperately up into her young son's troubled, tear filled eyes, her forehead creased in concern as she knelt before him.
"Listen to me, Jesse," she said in a low voice. "You're father is a good man who has done some very bad things." Tears were shining in her eyes, but she was a mother; she knew better than to let them fall. "Sometimes, really good people are pressured to do some really bad things. But your father loves you. Just remember that."
"No, he doesn't," Jesse whispered.
"Yes, he does," his mother insisted. "And he always will. Right now I need you to be strong and get your things ready. I'm going to go pack for Laura." She stood up and kissed his head. The gold locket her husband had given her for Christmas dangled in Jesse's face as she leaned down and held his head in her hands. He wondered now if it was stolen.
"Be brave," she said, kissing him again before she turned to go. "Pack," she called back as she left.
For a moment longer, Jesse sat still on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at a dirty pair of socks crumpled in the corner as he turned over what the news lady had said in his mind. Torture; murder; child abduction; illegal substances; weapons; assault; rape; he was trying to figure out what it all meant. Live without prison. Death penalty. A shudder ran through him as the last two words imprinted themselves in his mind. He grabbed his pillow off of the bed beside him and whipped it as hard as he could at the opposite wall. Underneath was an old picture of his family. His mother, smiling at the laughing baby girl in her arms; his late older brother, grinning confidently with his arms folded across his chest; himself, seated on his father's shoulders, seven years old; his father, going grey but smiling, one arm slung over his oldest son's shoulder, the other raised to hold on to his younger son's leg. His brother had died shortly after the picture had been taken. Jesse wondered whether this was before or after his father joined the mafia; in fact, he wondered about a lot of things in that moment, including whether his brother's death had really been an accident, whether his father had been involved... whether or not Colby really was dead. At that moment, he realized that his whole life had been a lie. He crumpled the pictured, stuffed it deep into his pocket, and began to shove whatever her could into a duffle bag under his bed.
But just then, sirens pulled up to the house, and somewhere in the distance, his sister started crying.
