One Shot, One Kill.

Chapter 7: Murder he committed

I did not know how to feel about the fact that Isaiah lived in a nice house. Not after what he had done. Not after what I believed her had done to my father. To my mother.

He had a nice bed. A roof over his head.

He still had his mother to look after, and to be looked after.

It had been an hour and eighteen minutes since I got to the front of the house Isaiah shared with his mother.

Thankfully, because the fence was one of the low ones, it had been really easy to climb over.

I couldn't help but notice that they had had a lot of time to tend to the lawn. The grass was beautifully mowed. The flowers thrived.

I hid behind the rose bush, and then subconsciously reached for the gun I had brought along, curling my fingers tightly around the grip.

I had come here without a plan.

But I prayed deep in my heart for the door to open.

Even more so, I prayed that whoever walked out of the house would be Mrs. Keys. She would be easier bait.

I looked like a creep. Just standing in front of their house, waiting for someone to walk out of the door made me feel like a creep. Like a stalker.

I drew in a deep breath and then exhaled, feeling my muscles tense when I heard the front door open. However, I felt a bit at ease when I saw Mrs. Keys walk out of the house, carrying a garbage bag in her hand.

I let out a quiet sign of relief.

"-Just taking out the trash, Siah." I heard her call out, undoubtedly to Isaiah. My hands were shaky, and I gulped loudly as I watched her approach the large garbage can a few steps away from where I was crouched.

She walked care-freely. Fearlessly. She believed herself to be safe because she was in her own home.

Just like how my mother had believed herself to be safe in her restaurant.

Before Isaiah abducted her.

Thankfully, when Mrs. Keys stopped in front of the bin, she had stopped right in front of me, but in a position whereas her back was turned to me.

After mentally counting to three, I forced myself out from the bush and then carefully stalked towards her. My heart was racing hard against my chest. I was afraid.

Afraid because I knew in my heart that I was committing a crime.

Afraid that she would sense me and turn around.

And that it would all be over before it even started.

That I would be on the news, labeled as my fathers son. That I would only add to the dishonor they had attached to his name.

But she didn't seem to notice my presence. Not until I was successfully standing behind her. And when I placed my hand over her mouth, I felt her jerk in shock. And I felt her struggle to resist my grip.

But she was too frail.

I was scared, and I was sorry.

I didn't want to hurt her. I had absolutely no intentions of harming her.

But I needed Isaiah to think that I was going to. I needed him to be scared. If not of me, then for her.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Keys." I muttered under my breath, pressing the hard metal gun to her head. I could feel her trembling. Her breathing was hard, fast. "I'm not going to hurt you, ma'am" I continued. "I just need an audience with Isaiah." I continued, moving the gun a few centimeters away from her head.

"On the count of three, I'll take my hand away." I told her. My hands were trembling. "Please do not scream." I told her and then drew in a deep breath. I mentally counted to three, and then pulled my hand away from her mouth.

I had no idea what I was doing.

I had no idea what I was thinking.

But as soon as I pulled my hand away from her mouth, she turned to face me. She didn't seem surprised, nor scared. Instead, she her forehead was creased with worry. And her eyes, filled with sadness.

I realized that she might not have been feigning her concern the last time we met.

But why?

"Isaiah has been waiting for you." She told me. "We've been waiting for you."

****

"Oh, how you've changed."

I stood across a very sickly Isaiah.

After Mrs. Keys led me into the house, and to Isaiah's room, I'd been met with the sight of Isaiah on the bed. It had taken me a moment to realize that he couldn't move.

Neck down paralysis.

I had no doubts in my heart that they were the ones who did this. These people who my mother feared, these men who controlled Omega X.

Now that I was standing right in front of him, right in front of answers, of possible information on where my mother might have been taken, I was scared out of my mind.

Now that I was standing in front of hope, I realized that it might be taken away from me.

"Dead or Alive." Mrs. Petrov had said.

"I know you have questions." He said after a moment, breaking my chain of thoughts. I watched his Adam's apple bubble as he swallowed. "You can ask." He said.

I rubbed my hands nervously against the fabric of my jeans and then flicked my tongue over my lower lip. I had so much to say, I had too many thoughts. But when I opened my mouth to speak, the only words I could mutter were,

"What happened to you?"

I was terrified and it was evident in my voice. As evident as his eyeballs shifting until he was looking at me from the corner of his eyes. And for a few minutes, he remained quiet before he said;

"What do you really want to know, Christopher?"

I bit down on my lower lip and then let out a shaky breath.

"My father."

I could feel the walls of my throat contracting.

"He loved you." I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I saw his eyes move towards me, until he was looking right at me. "He would never hurt anyone." I continued.

My statements however, came out sounding more like questions. I sounded unsure, and I hated myself for it.

I watched Isaiah draw in a deep breath and then exhale.

"Your father, Chris," He started, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. "Your father was a good man." He added, his voice breaking. "The best I ever met." He continued.

I saw a tear drop roll from his eyes to the pillow holding his head up.

"And I was young. And foolish." He said. "And afraid." He added. "Your father... he haunts me, every night." He continued, choking back a sob. "They all haunt me."

"I have done a v-very bad thing, Chris. And I am being punished. God-" He swallowed. "God is punishing me." He said and then drew in a deep breath.

I felt tears cloud vision and I sniffed, pushing my tongue against the inside of my cheek.

I was yet to cry for my father. I was yet to mourn him.

To pay my respects to him.

"Did-" I paused, feeling my airway constrict. "Did you bury him?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow. I watched Isaiah draw in a sharp breath.

And when he shook his head, I felt my heart break into a million pieces.

"I couldn't." He sobbed. "We-we do not," He swallowed. "We do not bury t-traitors. The g-general forbade it, the colonel forbade it." He said and then sniffed.

My heart shattered.

Into a million pieces.

Into possibly more than a million pieces.

"And my mother?" I swallowed. "You took her." I added.

He drew in a deep breath and then exhaled loudly through his mouth.

"I am afraid I do, I do not know where she is, Christopher." He said between breaths. "Wale took her. I never-" He paused. "I never saw her after that." He told me.

I did not think it possible, for my heart to break any further.

I did not think it's possible, for the pain to get any worse.

But it did. My heart ached physically.

And I couldn't breathe. For a short period of time. I pushed myself to say something. To mutter something.

But when I opened my mouth, what escaped was a groan. A groan expressing my agony. My cry for help.

"I am so sorry to you, Christopher." He said after a moment. "I know it changes nothing. And I know, I know that I have absolutely no right to ask for your forgiveness. I did not choose to live, I did not. T-they chose me. Because I was young. Because I am young. And cowardly." He continued.

I zoned out for a minute to collect my thoughts.

"But this very m-moment, meeting you, is the only reason why I have bothered to stay alive in the past two months." He continued. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, C-Christopher-"

I turned around and then began to walk away, trying to nurse the pain in my heart.

"I know where your father is." He said.

I felt my feet come to an abrupt halt.

"I... I know where his body is. The captain." He continued. "And also where your mother might be. I know who might have taken her. T-there are a group of men, p-powerful men, who give orders to omega... to Omega x." He breathed. "One of them will have her. One of them might have her." He said.

My heart was racing.

My head was spinning. The entire room was spinning.

I turned around to face him, my eyes burning with tears.

"Give me a name." I muttered under my breath. I could feel my knees begin to tremble as I saw Isaiah grimace. I watched him shut his eyes tightly and then release a shaky breath.

"I cannot." He breathed. "B-but in the first drawer of my wardrobe, Christopher, there is a map. It will lead you to the captain."

He was a coward, even in the brink of death.

He couldn't even say my fathers name.

Isaiah glanced at me, and then let out a shaky breath. But instead of answering my question, he offered me a sad smile and then said;

"I would like to rest now, Christopher. I would-" He shut his eyes. And I watched him draw in a deep breath. "I would like for you to help me rest." He added.

My eyebrows narrowed in confusion.

And for a moment, I could not understand what he meant by his sentence.

And when I did, a gasp escaped my mouth.

I knew that I shouldn't. It was wrong to take a life. And I knew that Isaiah only wanted the easy way out. The easy way out of his suffering, out of his guilt.

I knew that I should let him live a bit longer. That I should let him suffer.

But suddenly, I thought about my father. And I thought about all the Vile things that Siah had said. I thought about my mother. And I thought about Isaiah and his comrade walking her out of the restaurant.

My hands were reaching for the pillow.

They were shaky. Unstable.

My heart was beating heavily against my chest. And when I looked down at Isaiah, was looking up at me with a sad smile across his face.

When I held the pillow just above his face, I stopped breathing.

"Before I go, Christopher-"

The pillow was on his face before he could complete his statement. And I heard him make muffled sounds into it. I knew that whatever he was going to say meant a lot to him.

I knew that he must have thought about it over and over again.

But I pushed harder, and harder, and harder.

I pushed until I was certain that all the life was gone from him.

And when I stopped, I was sobbing uncontrollably.

But not for Isaiah. Not for what I had done.

I cried for my mother who I might never find.

I cried for my father who died a death he did not deserve.