Jaspierre (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 1)

by Mixi J Applebottom

  ***Nineteen years earlier***

  Mother came down late for breakfast. Her hair was pinned up like a movie star’s, but Jaspierre barely paid attention. She pushed at her scrambled eggs with her fork and couldn’t seem to get any bites in her mouth. Her small eight-year-old body was frustrated. Rainbow was safely locked in her room so Mother couldn’t hurt her. But it seemed unlikely the kitten would make it to a full-grown cat. Mother was not nice.

  But even that wasn’t bothering her at the moment. Mother poured herself orange juice and sat down on the edge of the table. Her floor-length robe was white and had feathers sewn down it. It swirled as she moved, her tight, sexy, white silky lingerie peeking out from underneath it. “What’s a matter with you, kid?”

  “Mother,” Jaspierre started. She wasn’t sure if talking to her mom about this was a good idea. “I have this friend, Chance, and he is kind of mean sometimes.”

  “Mean how?” Mother sipped at the juice with amusement.

  “Well, he’s…” Jaspierre paused. She didn’t want to explain it. Chance was mean— sometimes he kicked her, sometimes he hit her. He always pulled her hair. But sometimes he was nice too. He picked her flowers once. “He keeps asking me why I don’t have a dad, and I… I don’t know what to tell him.”

  Mother set down her glass with a giggle. “Oh, is that it? And here I thought I would have to beat the shit out of this little Chance. You want to meet your dad? Let’s go.”

  Jaspierre dropped her fork. What?

  “Come on. Don’t tally.” Mother’s white heels clicked on the floor as they walked. Jaspierre looked down at her dress. It was yellow, but it wasn’t special.

  “Should… should I change?” Meeting her dad sounded terrifying. How was he even here?

  Mother turned to her daughter and smiled. “Oh, he’s gonna love that you wanted to meet him.”

  She clicked her heels up the staircase and they walked down the hall to her room. “He is in your room?”

  “He is in your room?” Mother parroted back and opened the door. Jaspierre rarely went in her mother’s room.

  They went into her room and stepped through her closet. Mother pulled a little latch and a secret door swung open. Down they went, down a spiral staircase. At the bottom of the stairs was three doors.

  Cold fear crept up Jaspierre’s skin. This could be a prank. Or worse. Mother was a monster. She closed her eyes and counted to ten.

  “Jasp! Come along.” Mother opened the last door. Jaspierre didn’t want to know any more. “Come. Now.” Mother’s voice took an edge Jasp knew all too well. She walked forward.

  As she peered into the room, her small mind could hardly comprehend what she was seeing. “This is your daughter.” Mother’s heels clicked, and her feathered robe swirled dramatically as she revealed Jaspierre.

  Jaspierre’s eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth. She closed her eyes as quickly as she could, and let out a tiny terrified whimper.

  “She is beautiful.” A soft, deep manly voice filled the room.

  “You fucking monster.” The low, nasty, raspy whisper rang in Jaspierre’s ears. A different voice, a second man.

  She opened her eyes again. A thin angry man was chained to metal rings with his hands up above his head. He was naked. His feet were standing on two metal rings attached to the wall. He was like that puppy. His skin was not his own. His toes and fingers looked like they were dying. His teeth were in pieces. Jaspierre trembled and could hardly speak.

  “Thank you for letting me meet her,” the other voice rang out again. The nicer one. Jaspierre turned to the sound, and saw a second man. He was muscular and handsome. His face was nice, and left untouched by surgery. Yet his fingers were different colors, and one looked dead like the leg they took off the dog. His back was a completely different skin than his front. He was chained to the wall. All he wore was a small towel tied around his waist.

  “Jasper.” Mother looked at the skinny man on the wall. “She looks like you, don’t you think?”

  “Fuck you.” He urinated in front of them.

  “Which one is my father?” Jaspierre struggled with this. “How… how long have you kept them here?” Her body trembled.

  “Jaspierre, don’t be dense. They are your father. Right Pierre?” Mother licked her lips in a naughty smile.

  “Hello” Pierre’s warm voice sounded sad.

  Jasper’s coarse rasping sound gurgled out of him, “You named her after us?” Disgust rolled out of his mouth like smoke.

  “Jaspierre, go on up. That is enough for now.” Mother’s robe slid off her shoulders and she hung it on a small hook on the wall. She walked over to the wall in her tight silky lingerie where Jasper was and climbed the rings, heels and all. Pierre turned toward Jaspierre.

  “Go quick, please, dear child.” And he turned to follow Mother. Jaspierre ran out and sobbed in her room. Her father was a monster. A monster made by Mother.

  Three days later Jaspierre snuck into Mother’s room with a large tray of food. She looked for the latch and clicked the door.

  She tiptoed down the spiral staircase, careful not to drop any of the food. When she got to the bottom she walked to the last room. It wasn’t locked, and she opened the door.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Pierre stood up. “Where is Severina? Where is your mother?”

  “Do you want to eat?”

  Jasper called out from the wall, “You feed us, but then you have to fuck us.” His angry, hoarse whisper scared her so much she nearly dropped the food.

  Pierre chided, “Hush, you idiot; at least we get to eat today.”

  Pierre didn’t move any closer to Jaspierre. “Don’t listen to him. Can you bring it to me?” He stood frozen in place with his hands held out, like someone trying to coax a frightened bird to hop a little closer.

  “I…” Jaspierre trembled. She handed him the tray. “I want to let you out.” She whispered to Pierre, and stared into his oddly colored eyes. Were they even his eyes? Jaspierre shuddered.

  “I don’t think that is a good idea,” Pierre whispered back sadly. Mother would kill them all.

  “I have to,” Jaspierre said, her tiny eight-year-old self did not budge. “I cannot leave you down here. I cannot do it.”

  She held out the keys and Pierre unlocked the chain at his ankle, unwrapping it from his waist. He handed them back to her. “Tell her I took the keys from you by force.”

  Jaspierre couldn’t think of anything to say, so she nodded. Pierre grabbed two handfuls of food— green beans and turkey— and fled. Jasper let out a sad howl.

  “Don’t leave me! Let me go! Please let me go!” His voice was still hoarse. His cries were muted like a dog who had been debarked.

  “Shhhh,” Jaspierre hushed him. “How do I unlock you?” He was scary. But leaving him down here was wrong.

  Jasper whimpered, “Up here, you have to climb.”

  She hesitated. He was naked and scary. His skin was falling off his leg in a big, dead patch. She didn’t want to go near him. “Please. Please.” His scared voice gave her strength. She started climbing. She had to go around his leg. Her left foot was directly under his naked penis. Her right foot was pressed close to his knee. She tried not to look at him. The right half of his chest was covered in hair. The left half had pink, smooth, hairless skin that didn’t look like it belonged.

  There was one lock at his waist: the chains from his waist and feet and hands all led back to his waist. She unlocked it, her hands trembling with nervousness. “I’m sorry my mother did this to you.”

  “I am sorry too.” His hoarse voice felt so close on her face. She climbed down as he freed himself from the chains. He dropped to the ground behind her. His face was set into a fierce look. She turned to get him the tray of food, but before she could even pick it up, a chain was crushing her throat.

  “You are the devil’s spawn and you must die!” His words rang into her ears as she helplessly choked. A tiny child against a grown man
. A man filled with hate. Her body was desperate to survive.

  “Jasper!” Pierre made a horrified noise from the doorway, racing into the room. He punched Jasper in the face.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you loved her. You sick fuck.” Jasper released the girl and swung the chain, smashing it into Pierre’s soft face.

  Jaspierre collapsed to the floor.

  Pierre ducked Jasper’s next swing and charged into the man’s stomach. “What if I did?” He punched Jasper’s face and he fell to the ground.

  “She is a fucking sociopath. She keeps taking us apart and putting us together! I will fucking kill that bitch and her spawn!” Jasper screamed his hoarse, broken voice at Pierre. Pierre took the man’s head and slammed it into the floor over and over. Jasper lost consciousness, but Pierre couldn’t stop. He had years of pent-up fury he couldn’t stop anymore. He beat and punched and pummeled the man’s skull until his brain leaked out.

  Jaspierre watched it all, curled into the corner of the room. She couldn’t even sob yet. She was so frightened. Pierre relented. He sat there in his small towel, eyes shut, his body still trembling.

  He wiped his hands on the towel. “Are you okay?” His voice sounded soft and warm again. But he looked like a monster to her.

  Blood pooled between them, swirling into the drain. Pierre stepped over it to the small girl. “I didn’t know you were going to let him out too, or I would have stopped you. I am so sorry. Are you okay?” He held out his hand, and she cringed.

  He bent down close to her. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He held out his hand again.

  Her tiny little body sobbed frightened wails. He scooped her up off the floor and, for the first time in her life, she was hugged. He held her and kissed her forehead. “I am so sorry.” He carried her out of the room. Then he walked her up the spiral staircase to Mother’s room. “I am so sorry, Jaspierre.” His voice sounded so warm and sweet. “Where is your mother? I… I don’t want her to…” He was uncertain what to say. He didn’t know how Mother was with Jaspierre, but letting him and Jasper out would ruin it.

  He stepped into the empty hallway, still carrying the child. He couldn’t put her in Mother’s bed. “Which one is yours?” He brushed her hair from her face.

  She pointed, tears still streaming down her face. He opened up her door and stepped inside. A small cat jumped up from under the bed. He tucked the two in together.

  “Can’t you stay and be my daddy?” Jaspierre whispered.

  “I can’t.”

  “Please?”

  “I can’t. I am so sorry Jaspierre.” He kissed her forehead and that was the last she saw of him.

  Chapter 25

  The boozy scent burned Chance’s eyes when he opened them. It took him a moment to figure out what was happening. He heard the first match spark. The flames were faster than he was, and he barely made it to the front door when flames engulfed his body. The meaty scent of flesh roasting filled his nostrils. He flung the door open and rolled back and forth in the dirt driveway, putting out his burning flesh. Dammit. She was so fucking fun.

  Jaspierre walked around to her car. Burning him alive; it wasn’t enough. She knew it. She wanted more blood. She found herself humming as she opened the car door and started it up. “Oranges and lemons.” Just like Mother sang. “Say the bells of St. Clement’s.” She coasted down the road. “You owe me five farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin’s.” As she drove, she saw a ragged, bloody man standing on the side of the road. “Here comes a candle to light you to bed,” He waved his arms back and forth. She slowed and stopped. As he saw her, he stumbled backwards, trying to flee. “Here comes a chopper.” She smiled and climbed out of the car with the little knife. “To chop off your head.” Russell tried to run, but his limp, feverish miserable body had nothing left. He tried to protest as she slit his throat. “Chip chop chip chop” She took her time and severed his head. “The last man’s dead!” Jaspierre stood, her jeans and her shirt covered in Russell’s blood. Mother would be so proud. Russell had something in his hands. She turned and looked closer and saw it was her metal ring. She smiled to herself, and picked it up to take it home. Seemed like she was going to need it.

  She climbed back into the car and turned up the radio and drove home. She finally freed herself from those emotions that had held her back. She finally understood Mother.

  Jaspierre

  Jaspierre’s Descent

  Jaspierre’s Last Chance

  Severina- Jaspierre Begins

  Landlocked Lighthouse

  Padlocked Penthouse

  www.mixijapplebottom.com

  A Note from Mixi…

  Thank you for reading Jaspierre. I’d really appreciate a review if you aren’t too busy.

  If you enjoyed this novel check out the sequel Jaspierre’s Descent

  “You want a ride?” She clicked the keys and her sparkling black Lexus flickered its lights and let out a soft beep.

  “Is that your motherfucking…? Your car?” Dumbfounded, the man stumbled over and petted the black hood with his big meaty hands.

  “Let’s ride.” She opened her door and got in, and they zoomed down the road. She drove fast and dangerous, skidding past cars and around turns. She glanced at Baldy, who appeared to be trying hard to keep his beer in his belly. She grinned and went faster. Soon, she saw it—that sparkling hint of a lake. She pulled up close to the beach. It was tempting to smash into the water like she did last time. It seemed hard to believe it was a mere three months earlier.

  She parked and Baldy opened the door and vomited. “You drive like a man.” Then he threw up again.

  “Get out of the car if you’re gonna be puking.”

  He obliged and stepped out. She got out and slid out her blade.

  She desperately tried to take her time, but it seemed to be over so fast. She stood there, dripping with his blood on her body and her sword and found herself full of frustration. Why isn’t it working? She halfheartedly hacked at his corpse a bit more. When would she be normal again? She should have taken him home and locked him up. Her stomach turned at the idea of this filthy, hideous man in Lucas’s sweet prison cell. She rinsed herself off in the lake, leaving his body exposed for the wolves or whatever would find him palatable.

  She changed into the outfit in her trunk: a soft white t-shirt dress with a dark black cropped wig. She slipped on flip-flops and dropped the blood-soaked skirt, shirt, and heels into a bag in the trunk. While she was behind the car, she clicked the license plate changer so every minute, one number or letter would change. Disappointment crept in. She had been feeling off for quite a while now.

  How many men would Jaspierre have to kill to feel better?

  I wrote this novel while remodeling my ridiculous five-story fixer-upper house. I currently have three children and three cats. If you want to hear when my next book is out, sign up for my newsletter.

  Thanks so much!

  Mixi J Applebottom

  Feel free to contact Mixi directly at: mixijapplebottom@gmail.com

  or visit her blog at: mixijapplebottom.com

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