CeCe's Lullaby

"Let's go," my mother broke the silence that had been building, "we have everything we need." She again grabbed my hand and pulled me behind her as she opened the door. My father, the man that up until a few minutes ago had been my father, was on the floor much the same way my mother had been in the past. Blood and vomit covered the floor, his clothing was soaking much of it up already. We both stood frozen at the sight before us, this ogre that had terrorized my mother for so long was now nothing more than a broken man.

"These two," Angel said, his voice just above a whisper but still forceful and commanding, "they belong to me now. If they see so much as your shadow, there will be consequences." Gently, he took both of our bags and led us outside the house, a place that just until a few moments ago I had considered a home. Neither my mother or I bothered to turn back to look at the man still laying on the ground, his sobbing escaping through the façade of manhood he had carried on him like a brittle armor.

Angel took us to a large house with multiple rooms, I would later learn that the home was a brothel for exclusive clients. My mother had been good with bookkeeping; the Madame immediately took her under her wing and showed her how to run the place effectively. I was enrolled in school and forced to take classes in order to earn my GED. I tried to protest this decision, until I learned that it had been an order given by Angel, even in my young mind I understood that his orders were not to be questioned. Most of the girls in the house took special attention to my needs, and would often help me understand more complex course problems. I came to call many of them friends, and learned each of their backstories. Most of them were there to fulfill some debt to the family, others were there out of their own accord, the rest of them simply had nowhere else to go and had taken a liking to the lifestyle that came with meeting such important people.

It would take less than a year for me to complete my GED requirements, and in that time Angel would often stop by to check up on my current projects and to make sure that we had everything we needed. I noticed that while every single pair of eyes in that home looked at him, he was always careful to make sure that his eyes were always fixed on me. Every time he looked at me it felt like I was the only one he was looking at, I would learn that it was a family trait as D would often have the same effect. Our conversations began light, but eventually they became far more personal in nature. I learned many of his likes and dislikes, his moods, and his desires.

"I want to join the Family," I told him one day, "not just as a way to thank you for all you have done for my mother and I, but because I want to feel like I belong somewhere."

"Do you understand what you are asking?" He looked amused, as if he was speaking to a little girl that was still clueless about the world, "do you know what it is that we would ask of you?"

"I don't want to be like the girls in the house," I replied, "I want to be there with you."

"What does your mother think about that decision?"

"She doesn't know," I replied, "it's a decision I made on my own just now. I see how everyone looks at you with awe and respect, some even with fear in their eyes. I want that."

"Have you met my brother?" The smile in his face was genuine, it was one of his most enduring features, something I could not get tired of seeing.

"Just in passing," I replied, "he is not very talkative."

"No, he is a lot of things," Angel replied as he laughed, "but definitely he is not the talking type. Tomorrow we are going to the range, I'll swing by and pick you up."

"I've never shot a gun before," I replied, unsure if he knew that or not.

"You'll learn," he said, "then you can ask me again about joining the Family."

That night I could not sleep, the excitement of the following day's events kept me awake, every time that I would close my eyes the excitement forced me to shoot out of my bed. These past months had been great for both my mother and I; she had begun seeing men but had yet to introduce me to any of them. I tried to understand why but figure it was her way of dealing with our very unique situation. By the time Angel stopped to pick me up, I was more than ready at the doorstep.

"You are far too cheerful for it to be this early in the morning," Angel quipped as I jumped inside the car, "how much coffee did you drink?"

"I don't drink coffee," I replied, "just really excited to go shooting."

"Well," Angel said, "this is more a qualification range than a familiarization. This means that you have to be able to shoot a certain number of targets, but the extra challenge for you is that you'll have to learn how to handle the weapon at the same time." He saw how my demeanor had changed, "don't worry, I have an excellent instructor that will make sure that you do well."

"I don't want to embarrass you," I found myself saying this before the words registered in my mind. By the time I realized what I had said it was far too late to do anything about it except blush with my own embarrassment.

"You could never embarrass me, CeCe," he replied, his eyes piercing into me. "Relax, its going to be a good day."

We drove for what felt like hours, outside of the city and into the less habituated places deep in the desert. The scattered mountains and dunes would embrace you warmly in their death trap, many a person had lost their battle with Mother Nature in places like this. As we drove I could make out the sounds of weapons being fired, from the distance it sounded like popcorn being made, the uniformity in which the shots were being fired helped with the illusion. The car slowed, the hot air slapped me almost immediately.

"Here," Angel reached into the front seat and retrieved a pair of sunglasses before handing them to me, "make sure that you always protect your eyes, they are one of the most important weapons we each have. We are only as good as the equipment that carries us, so we have to take care of our equipment, and ourselves." We walked toward a large table that was littered with what looked like headphones, he gestured for me to grab a pair. "Come on, time for you to meet your instructor."

As we walked, I noticed the overwhelming activity as lines of men loaded bullets into magazines, some broke weapons apart in order to clean them, and still another group were hanging paper targets. Their organization was incredible, each group knew their exact role and performed it automatically. I was beginning to regret my decision when Angel made it even worse. We were walking toward a man that was kneeled down beside another one that was holding a weapon up, aiming away from where the men that were hanging the targets were located. The man that was leaning was clearly the instructor, he was giving the other man careful instructions regarding his last set of shots.

"You have to control the weapon," he said in a tone that showed his vast experience teaching others the deadly arts, "don't let it control you. Keep your eyes open, focused on the target. Slow your breathing, sharp inhale, slow exhale. Like a pendulum, slow and steady, where your eyes go the weapon will follow. Don't think, don't picture, just focus on breathing and on keeping your eyes on the target."

"He is teaching the man how to take long distance shots using the iron sights on the rifle," Angel whispered, "its good practice to have in case it is ever needed."

"...when you see your target aligned with the sight post, and your exhale is at its down swing, hold your breath to steady your rifle. Then gently press the trigger with the tip of your finger. Don't anticipate the recoil, don't shut your eyes from the noise. Keep them open, concentrate on holding your breath and on the target." A soft clank of metal on metal broke the building silence as we watched this man hold his rifle steady as he pressed the trigger. "Who is this with you, Angel?"

"The girl I was telling you about," Angel replied, I was surprised that he had noticed us approaching as we had not made much noise and his back had been to us the entire time.

"I am not a miracle worker," the man replied, "and as you can see I have my hands full with the teams that we have in place." I was shocked that this man would talk to Angel in such a way.

"You complain a lot," Angel replied, "besides there is no one else I would trust to teach her, you know that better than anyone."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," the man replied as he stood and turned.

"Come on, D, you know that's a lie."

"Fine," D replied, I stood in complete shock, I of course had heard the legends surrounding this man. The shock that he would be my instructor quickly overtook the fear I carried around for him, it took me a while to realize that he had been speaking to me. His youth was a sharp contrast to the amount of respect that flowed from the people around him, it was out of place but at the same time completely ordinary. Like Angel, he carried a darkness to him that was overwhelming, drawing a sharp melancholy from me. "She's not too sharp, is she?"

"She is just intimidated by your rugged good looks," he replied, "pay attention girl, behind my brother's pretty face is a mind crafted and forged for warfare."

"...yes, I'm sorry," I managed to spit out through my suddenly dry throat, both of them laughed at my uncomfortable response.

"Grab a pistol, girl," D replied, "you won't need ammo just yet. Say bye to Papa Angel," he joked as he returned to the man he had been working with as we walked away, I realized that was the most words he had ever said to me or around me.

It took him less than three hours to familiarize me with a variety of weapons, from semi-automatic pistols ranging from .22 all the way to .45 calibers, to revolvers and single shot. Before lunch break I had fired each pistol available and quickly qualified in my choice of weapon. I had taken a 9mm Beretta as my own, the weapon was light and fit perfectly in my hand. I felt good, even if the smell of gunpowder and cleaning fluid hung to me like a ghost, I had gone from a completely naïve girl and became far more confident than I could ever had hoped.

"You have to remember some rules, CeCe," D said as we ate together, Angel had not returned since he dropped me off. "Never draw your weapon if you don't intend to use it. That goes for your pistol as for your mind." That afternoon we focused on smaller caliber rifles and shotguns, while not as detailed as the work we had done with the pistols, it was still an almost overwhelming amount of information. The last part of the afternoon was spent qualifying with the rifle, this one was a 5.56 AR-15, similar in design to the military rifle.

"I can't get it to shoot the way I want it to," I was complaining after the fourth round of qualification range where I had failed to make the minimum amount of necessary shots. "I am doing everything that you had told the guy to do from earlier, but it doesn't seem to be working for me at all."

"You are forgetting a very important detail I pointed out to him," he replied, his tone had remained the same throughout the entire day. He was very well versed with instructing people unfamiliar with weapons, his patience was almost divine. "You control your breathing well, your sight picture is precise, even your trigger squeeze is perfect. But you are doing something that I distinctly told him to avoid. Can you figure out what that something is?"

"I am thinking," the answer was absolutely obvious, before every shot I was focusing on trying to impress Angel with my ability. I had underestimated how much that small act was affecting my shots.

"You have to learn to shut off your brain," D replied, his voice like a whisper, "remember that your breathing is like a pendulum going back and forth ever so slow. That image alone will help shut your brain off enough for you to concentrate on the shot. You are, after all, about to take a life, that act alone deserves the upmost respect."

"Why would I respect the enemy if my job is to take their life?"

"Its not always an enemy," he replied, "you have to realize that life is in fact precious, valuable. It is the most valuable thing anyone has in their possession, that is why taking it from them is the greatest theft you can commit. You respect them because scopes and sights aim both ways, its just a matter of perspective on which end of it you find yourself on."

Our time together grew, the location would change but other than that our interactions were always intended to teach me about the profession. D was taking my instruction seriously, something that I was greatly appreciative of, I was still unsure if Angel had been serious or if he had instructed D to simply babysit me. His lessons were no less brutal with me than they were with the others. They were all cold, calculating blocks of instruction that were designed to build muscle memory. I would not understand their exact value until years later, when instinct became as fluid as muscle memory. His lessons were not just limited to weaponry and tactics, but D had this defiant nature in the way he saw life.

"Do you still get afraid?" I asked him once after we had just completed a training exercise, this specific one was designed to stress people to their limits, both physically and mentally, so that they could learn to perform in those conditions.

"Of course I do," he replied without hesitation, "it's a biological reaction to danger. But just like breathing, it can be controlled with enough practice."

"How do you control it?"

"You have to understand it first," he replied, "understand why it exists, why your brain is processing the situation in that particular way. Once you understand it, you analyze it for possible shortfalls, and ways to mitigate it. Then, you reason with your brain that the situation is under control."

"You make it sound so easy," I laughed.

"Its not," he responded with complete seriousness, "it is one of the most difficult things to achieve. I've had years to hone that skill, even though I am much younger than you, I have been training to fill this slot in life since I could walk. While I have learned much of the world in such a short span of time, there is still far more left to learn."

"Like what?"

"Like how to be at peace." As he said those words he turned his back to me and walked away, "tomorrow is graduation, Angel wants you to attend. I will see you there." That night I stayed awake until the late hours of the night, thinking of those last words D had spoken. I had come to admire him for his skills, his patience, and I had learned to see him with the same respect that others had for him. I began to wonder how my own life would turn out, and if I too would spend my days wondering if I would ever live at peace.

"It's a good cause for celebration," Angel said as he picked me up from the house, I had spoken to my mother of my intentions to join the Family and while she was hesitant at first she quickly understood. We owed them our lives, after all. Reluctantly, she gave me her blessing just as Angel arrived.

"Does that mean that I am now part of the Family?"

"Not yet," he replied, "this just means that you know how to handle yourself. There is plenty of time left to talk about joining the Family. Even if your mother gave her blessing, you still have yet to understand what it truly means to become one of us." We drove the rest of the way in complete silence, the sounds of the music filling the gap inside the vehicle. We arrived at the large house, long had it been the symbol of the Family's presence in the city. I had walked outside the gates many times when I was younger, but that first time being allowed inside was something that I would remember for as long as I lived.

"Who is going to be here?"

"Well, your graduating class of course," he replied, "along with many other members of the Family. All are here to celebrate your accomplishments, some to receive oaths of service."

"Like me?" I asked.

"No," Angel replied, "those are people that were sent to us as guarantees of loyalty and service. They are little more than servants to us, however their loyalty is expected as much as if they were in our Family."

"Then why am I here?"

"To see if you are ready to become a part of this Family," Angel replied, "I will be honest with you, D is against the idea. Not because he thinks you are not good enough, but he thinks that this life is not for you."

"Well its not his decision to make," I replied.

"It is not," Angel replied, "but it is wise to listen to his counsel."

"What's he going to tell me that is going to be any different from what you can tell me?"

"He can tell you reasons why you should consider not joining," Angel replied, "when you are certain of a direction that you want to follow with such blind ambition as you have, its always a great idea to find someone to point you in another direction. To give you better perspective."

"So he is going to try to convince me not to join?"

"With everything he's got," Angel answered, a smirk forming in his face, "that is his role."

The rest of the evening was quiet, drinks and laughter was shared among the many faces that I have become all too familiar with after the countless hours of training. I had expected that they would treat me like a sister, or perhaps like a fragile little girl that needed protecting. I was pleased to be wrong in that regard. As the night was drawing to an end, I saw fewer people in the large hall, many of them had spoken with D at some point throughout the night, and with the shake of a hand they had left to their own private celebrations. Within the hour, I was one of the few people still there, and the last in the group to speak with D.

"I don't know if you are hiding," D said, his silent footsteps startled me for a second. It was almost surreal how a man like him could walk with such silent steps even in the heavy combat boots he would often wear, "but if you are, you aren't doing a good job of it."

"No," I sheepishly replied, "I just wasn't quite sure how to approach you, considering what your intentions are."

"What intentions are those?"

"To try to convince me that joining the Family is a bad idea." Defiance was beginning to wrap itself on my voice.

"I see," he replied before breaking out in a laughter, as if the most hilarious joke had been shared. The more he laughed, the angrier I became, I know that my face clearly showed that emotion. I could feel the color on my face changing into a redness that would make any person steer clear from me. "So he only gave you half of the story then." His laughter could be contagious in other scenarios, but at this moment all it did was bring ire from within me. My fists closed tightly, I was beginning to feel myself losing control of the anger as my arms began to shake.

"What is so funny?" The anger was sipping out like an out of control fire, without much thought I unconsciously reached to where the weight of the weapon I had become accustomed to carrying should have rested. My actions seemed to draw out more laughter from him, which in turn drew more of the rage burning from within from me.

"I take it he failed to tell you that its my job to do that," he managed to say amidst fits of laughter, "and that it has very little to do with what I think of your abilities?" He turned his back as he began to walk away, "go see him, CeCe, you got my approval. Now it will be all up to you."

"What do you mean?"

His laughter stopped completely, the conversation became almost sinister in its feel, almost as if the temperature of the room itself had dropped by several degrees. "He's got a job for you. He'll give you the details."