Jonathan Michael Bennett (nimio) wrote in horror_story, @ 2013-05-21 18:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | complete, cycle002, jon |
Who: Jon Bennett and Marianna Sanchez-Bennett
What: Cake or and Death
Where: Marianna's house
When: January 19, late-afternoon
Rating: Whatever our rating for "SOMEONE'S DYING IN THIS THREAD" is.
Marianna's life had always centered on her family, and would until her last dying breath. She would sacrifice just about anything for the well being of her late husband, children, and friends of her own children (who became children by proxy, that's just how it worked in the Bennett house). She was the matriarch of the family, a wise woman full of suggestions and advice. The middle Bennett boy, Jon, had a very strong connection with his mother. He loved her and respected her.
So in his moment of need, he turned to the only person he had left. Jenny was gone. It had been more than a week, he figured, since she'd gone missing. He'd dead ended at every turn, so he had finally started to lose hope that she was still alive. Chase was dead, and while Jon hadn't completely come to grips with it, he did let himself have a good cry. He couldn't bring himself to attend the small family-only funeral despite the invitation that Mrs. Parry had extended.
He'd found out the day prior that Ethan Fox had committed suicide. That fact, along with the note Ethan had left, cemented in Jon's mind that Ethan did have something to do with Jenny's disappearance and, subsequently, Chase's death. But he couldn't follow up on it. He couldn't break down Ethan's door and demand answers. All he had were unanswered questions and dead ends.
Jon found himself sitting at the dining room table, a slice of pineapple upside down cake on a plate in front of him. He hadn't touched it.
"I don't know what to do anymore, Ma," he addressed the back of his mother's head. She'd not looked up from the pie dough she'd been rolling since he had arrived. He watched as she grabbed another handful of flour and continued the task at hand.
"Well, first off, you should try the cake, and tell me what you think," came Marianna's heavy accent.
"Ma, I really don't feel like eating cake right now," he rubbed his brow, thinking over the events of the last week. "Everyone's gone plum crazy. Did I tell you Ethan killed himself? I was asking him about Jenny, and just a few days later, he offs himself. That's suspicious, is it not?"
"Grief makes people crazy, mijo. Eat some cake."
"Maybe in a bit, I'm not feeling it right now."
It wasn't strange to have his mother pushing food on him. It wasn't even strange that she clearly had spent the last two days baking everything she could possibly think of. Was the Church having a bake sale he wasn't aware of? He didn't recall seeing or hearing anything about one, and last he checked there was not a secret group of Relief Society women that held off-the-record bake sales. Then again, if there were, they'd surely not tell members of the Priesthood. Secrets and all.
"What surprises me the most is Marcus--," he trailed off, expecting the mention of Marcus' name to bring sounds of jubilation from the tiny Spanish lady, who was now fitting dough into a pie pan. When she didn't so much as make a grunt in acknowledgement, he leaned over the table a bit and spoke a bit louder. "Ma? Ma, did you hear about Marcus?"
Exasperation wasn't an emotion Jon usually had to express, but he was fluent in the sounds of it. After heaving a sigh, he pushed the chair from the table, stood, and made his way to pull his mother by the shoulder to face him. "Ma, Marcus is in jail. Are you hearing anything I'm saying to you?"
He paused for a brief moment, searching her face for some sort of proper reaction. But she pulled herself from his grip and continued working on her pie. Jon was shocked. "Do I have to talk to you in Spanish to get my point across?" That wasn't a surprise either. It was known in the Bennett house that Marianna preferred to speak in her mother tongue. Her English, while expanded over the years, was still less than perfect. And she disliked searching for words, so she spoke predominantly in Spanglish when she was speaking English anyway. It frustrated Jon, who preferred English. That's what he'd spoken in school, and save for time spent with Marcus, the only thing he spoke with his friends. He was comfortable with it.
Heaving another sigh, he tried again in Spanish. "Ma, Marcus is in jail. He killed Robert York. Yesterday. It's all over the news."
It was then that Marianna grunted --sighed-- and moved to grab the pie filling. "I bring him a pie. Sit down, mijo, and eat. Your cake is going to dry out."
"Ma, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't want to eat cake right now?!" He was speaking, or rather yelling, in English again. "The cake can rot for all I care! My girlfriend is missing, probably dead, a coworker of mine is dead and might have kidnapped or had a hand in her disappearance. And my best friend killed my other best friend. I don't know what to do, but if all you're going to tell me is 'eat cake eat cake', I'll just leave and see if someone else in this God forsaken town will give me some decent advice!"
Jon didn't see his mother move. He also didn't see the marble rolling pin cutting the air. He felt it connect, but it wasn't for long. Jon crumpled into a heap on the floor. The side of the pin had connected with his left temple. Marianna stood, as if almost in disbelief at what had just happened, before turning back to set the rolling pin on the counter and continue working on her pie.
Instead of calling the paramedics, she worked on lattice patterning the top of the pie. Rather than check on Jon's condition, as she normally would, she let him lay on the floor of the kitchen and slowly die from a brain hemorrhage.
Marianna Sanchez-Bennett would be arrested the next day for filicide. Her only request being that someone take the apple pie she'd left wrapped on the stove to Marcus Caravahlo, since she couldn't bring it to him herself. If you'd asked her a month prior if she'd ever find herself capable of killing her own child, she'd vehemently deny it.
Everything changed when she brought home an antique recipe box.