The Expecting America

Chapter Seven: Cracking Surfaces

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS RAPE, MURDER, AND CAR CRASHES

REFERENCE CHAPTER FIVE: HIS DANGEROUS JOBS FROM "ALFRED'S BOOK OF SECRETS" IF CONFUSED

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The group all appeared in the blank abyss like all the times before. Catori appeared in front of them with a small smile, her hair just flying freely behind her. She was clearly hiding something but was refusing to tell.

"Mama, what are you doing?" Canada cocked his eyebrow, very aware that his mother was not confessing something.

"Now, Kanata, I am not-"

"Yes, you are. What did you do?" Canada was unamused, knowing that Alfred asking about the ancients was her doing.

"Ok, yes! I visited Alfred briefly! I wanted to see him and my new grandbabies!"

"Mama!" Canada facepalmed as Catori squealed in excitement. The group groaned at her cheers but laughed it off.

"I also wished to bring him closure. He was having a flashback during the movie you were watching," she looked to the former USSR with a sad look. She looked to the ground and held herself, "I don't think any of you realize that the Cold War was just as hard as the Civil War and the Great Depression. Maska felt so out of place during that time, so out of place he took to policing to help him feel useful,"

"But Alfred is bloody brilliant with a gun. Surely it wasn't all that awful!" England tried to say before remembering the diary entries, "n-no, you don't-"

"Arthur, iz zomezing wrong, mi amor?" France looked to England, who began to tear up.

"You don't mean, him, do you?" England didn't even want to say the name. But, Catori nodded. Alfred was remembering him.

Jeffrey Dahmer

That sick son-of-a-bitch who raped, cannibalized, and killed seventeen men with possibly many more the law would never know about.

"I don't understand, who are you talking about, aru?" China asked as he looked to England.

"Jeffrey...D-Dahmer..." England whispered. Many of the nations felt a wave of anger and nausea smack them in the face at the name. Ivan, specifically, felt his blood boil. Native America looked at them with pity, looking at the floor.

"Would you like to see what happened?" she asked. Before any nation could answer, Ivan had stepped forward.

"I want to see so that I may truly understand why he was hurting. I want to know about all those memories of his dangerous occupations!" Ivan demanded with an undistinguishable emotion. They couldn't tell if it was sadness, anger, or distress. Native America nodded and faded away, the memory forming.

Alfred and Miles were in a garage, working on a few cars. Alfred gently slammed down the hood of his car, which had an American flag painted on it. He tapped the hood gently and wiped his forehead, looking over at Miles. Miles' car was painted navy with a bright red cardinal on the hood, flames going along the side.

"Miles! Brutus looks amazing! You did a sweet paint job!"

"Thanks, ma! Liberty is looking finer than ever! I still can't believe how close the last race was! Mac lost it by a hair! I bet he's steaming mad about getting silver to you again!" Miles acted so much happier in this memory. Alfred hugged his son and kissed his temple.

"You bet your sweet bridges, Miles!" Alfred looked at the clock and saw it was close to ten at night, "you should head to bed kiddo, I'll be home in an hour," Miles nodded and ran off. Alfred smirked and grabbed a set of keys, getting into Liberty and starting her up, allowing her engine to roar. He drove off and came to an abandoned depot, where another guy was waiting with his slicked up black car.