Obsidian Hearts: I

Thirteen: False Security For The Wicked

— Paris Delaney

Just as purity can be a choice it can also be forced.

There are a lot of people in this world who don't know it but their innocence is due to selfish reasons. Sable is one of those people but she's so naive and innocent that if I were to come out and say it she'd freak.

Her fucking room is that of a 12 year old girls and her clothes are no better. Everything is church dresses, knee high socks, and white frilly skirts. There was a section in her closet for every occasion. Home, church, school, family outings, practice, and of course the famous pageant outfits. Not one piece of fabric consists of color except in different shades of pink.

Her shoes were all flats and closed toe. No sandals or heels.

These days girls her age wore clothing more their age group not shit from the little house on the prairie. Of course I could be wrong but I seriously doubt it.

Her underwear drawer is only cotton white fabrics, with a few select pieces that had lace along the band. Everything was mundane and gave the impression that the clothing was owned by a child.

She was sheltered, that was obvious, but it didn't sit right with me knowing that her mother was walking around this bitch in red bottom heels and the most expensive shit there was. I'd understand if it were a choice but it's not, Sable is clueless to so much shit it's ridiculous.

They were grooming her to be some old perverts wet dream. Innocent, and radiating every sense of purity.

As much as I wanted to track down her weird ass mother I figured that wouldn't work in my interest just yet. So instead I went to the second source— Adrian Simmons.

It didn't take me long to get an address, five minutes max. I parked across the street from his house, turned off my car and waited. I waited an hour after all the lights turned off before getting out and walking up the front porch. I picked the lock the door popping open easily.

Not bothering to close the door, I couldn't care less if the people from this shitty ass neighborhood robbed his punk ass.

The light from the fireplace lit up the small living room area and I saw pictures placed up right a few down on their face.

Picking up the first one, it's a picture of a woman. She's blonde with a smile that could possibly light up this dark room. She was pregnant and I say was because the date at the back says it was taken five years ago. Placing that one exactly as it was I move onto the next.

It's the same woman but she's holding a child. A little girl who's the exact carbon copy of herself except she had brown hair. They were playing in the park, the one just a few minutes away actually.

I remember it because I buried someone under that mulch. I was drunk one day and decided to take a little stroll. Just to my luck some nasty fucker thought it'd be okay to jack off behind a bush right where kids play. I did us all a favor, shot his dick off then waited till after dark to bury him in his favorite spot. In my opinion he got the death he deserved.

Taking my time to scope out the house I see nothing out of the ordinary. It's just a plain brick house with minimal furniture and a few kitchen appliances. I checked upstairs— found nothing, not even pastor Simmons. Someone had to be home, I'd been here long enough to see if he'd have walked out that front door, which he hadn't. Growing bored I come to a sudden stop when I hear the quiet sound of music. It's small and barely noticeable but it's there. Following it to the back of the house I see a set of stairs leading down just beside the laundry room.