David Pelzer Mother Novels & Stories

"Are you referring to my mother as an evil woman, why had she done to deserve that tittle from you.” David shrugged realizing his manners. "Let me just say the Alfred family were unfortunate in her wicked scheme. It's a long and dreadful encounter but all I know is that this she deserved the death that came to her." Marcella felt anger boiling within her but she suppressed it and turned to listen carefully. "How can you say that my mother deserve death, who are you to be so judgemental?" David started walking away. "I'm sorry for my words about your mother but if you're aware of the things she did then you'll understand my use of words."

Then, lowering his voice, he added, “Between you and me, I never wanted my son to marry that woman Lizzy. Gold-digger, if you ask me.” I barely had time to respond before a well-dressed woman in her fifties approached us. Her smile was warm, but there was an air of elegance about her. So, this is David’s mother. “Nice to meet you, Bella,” she said, her gaze appraising. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” “Nice to meet you too, ma’am,” I replied, feeling suddenly small under her scrutiny. As we made our way to the dining room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. David’s eyes were on me, but so were the rest of his family’s. The scrutiny was unnerving.

David was wailing again in tears and this was the first time anyone had ever seen this arrogant man spill all his sorrows there. Valentino himself was stunned to see David who was very visible missing his mother. Almyra, who was present at the funeral and now standing beside Detective Ferisha, shared David's pain. As long as she knew David, Almyra had never seen the young man shed tears, let alone cry.

Margaret secretly took it twenty years earlier. On the back, written in faded blue ink, was a single sentence: “June 12, 2004. This was all I could do. I'm sorry.” I closed my eyes and took a slow breath. Then I slipped the photograph back into the envelope. “Let's go.” “Where?” “I want to visit my mother.”

“Sit.” Her voice was crisp and commanding. I sat, my heart pounding but not allowing myself to show it. She smiled faintly. “You’re Mrs. Dahlia. Katherine’s stepmother, right?” I nodded, speaking in a level tone. “Yes, I am. And you?” “I am Zelda.” Her eyes were as sharp as the knives she cooked with. “I am Dacre’s mother.” The mention of his name made me grip the pew so hard my fingers ached. Zelda was a woman of power and sharp edges. She was said to be cold, hard. I had heard stories.

Others looked newer, as if they had been printed some time ago. He picked up one of the family photographs. His index finger pointed to a woman standing next to Mr.Jimmy. “This is my mother. Her name is Catherine. She died when I was six.” David looked at me briefly, his eyes full of pain. “She was poisoned.” I furrowed my brow. “By whom?” “Emily Thomas.” I am shocked and look at his eyes. Then, i gripped his shoulder. “David, I'm sorry to hear that. It must be painful for you.”

She remembered him telling her you are not in this alone and together. "No," she said safely. "He isn't going to be angry." She said goodnight, put the phone down, and sat in the quiet dark for a long time. David Carver. A name she had never heard until tonight, attached to a history she had been living next to her entire life without knowing it. Her mother’s address was on that paper simply because a man she trusted had exploited it. It wasn't her mother’s choice, and it wasn't her mother’s guilt. It had become a weapon in Roland's hands all these years.

So I knew he was the most hurt of us all. I put the cellphone back in my pocket. I looked at the flower again. I was reminded again of the happy memories Mama and I had. Tears are already forming in my eyes. I grabbed mama’s tombstone and followed the engravings on it. Ma. Keziah Peralta. Very good name that the Perezs just broke. I bit my lips when I remembered Mama's prone body. They have no mercy. They are not satisfied with a gun. They rained down on Mama from her chest to her head.

“And... What about the Perri family? How is their court case going?” Before I could answer, the door swung open, and my mother strode into the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor with authority. She was dressed impeccably, as always—her black blazer fitted perfectly, the silver brooch on her lapel catching the light as she walked. Her sharp eyes were already locked onto me, and I could tell from the way she carried herself that she was not in the mood for any excuses. “I was about to ask you the same damn question, David,” she said, her voice cold and cutting.