Fool’s Game

A sudden bang woke her up. Cecilia was sure that it was a gunshot, she paused for a second, her eyes wide open, her long black hair drenched in sweat as well as her nightgown. The electricity in their district was out again. Everything was pitch black. After gathering herself she grabbed a flashlight and went to her son’s bedroom. The door creaked as she opened it. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. And when she pointed the light towards her 14 year old son’s bed she felt at peace. Her clever little boy was asleep. It felt only like yesterday she would sing him a song to help him sleep at night. Now her son is all grown up, he spends more time away with his friends rather than being with her, it used to be she would carry him in her arms and dance him around their house. She felt a sudden wave of sadness and  she longed for the days when her son was still a little child. She was 21 when she gave birth to him. She called him, her light and peace.  Despite the sadness she had felt, a feeling of peace and calm swept her. This was the life that she had always wanted, a simple life. Her husband would work through the night and come home in the morning with a smile on his face. They were not rich by any means. Their house was simple and small. The district they lived in was not the safest. It was a far cry from what she was accustomed to, but she did not mind. As long as she sees her husband’s warm smile and her son’s beautiful smile, she is at peace. She set the flashlight at the dining table and hopped back into bed.  She dozed off as soon as she laid her head on the soft pillow. And then suddenly she was in another place, a room. A room that felt familiar yet strange at the same time. It was a dream she thought to herself. It was her father’s old study. Bookcases decorated the four walls of the room. And a painting of their family was set just behind her father’s desk. She saw the familiar wooden table with the weird engravings. As a child she would run her fingers through the table trying to make sense of the engravings. And her father will be seated at his leather chair managing their business. The dream felt real, she thought to herself. Almost as if she was relieving a memory. And as she reaches her hand to feel the engravings a voice calls out to her. “Mother?” She recognized the voice as her son, Mark, but it was older, and had a hint of sadness about it. She replied “Mark!”, but the voice did not answer and as she returned her attention towards her father’s desk; there she saw her son, Mark Conroy, sitting on his grandfather’s chair.  “Mark, there you are.” She said as she walked over to her son, but before she could grab him, blood started to drip from her hands. She looked her son directly in the eye. His blue eyes staring right back at her, however, the son that projected love and affection toward her, the son that she loved more than anything in this life, frightened her to her core. It was as if a dead person, or an abomination was looking at her. She could not speak, or move. Her son’s cold eyes had frozen her. “Their blood is on your hands, mother. As theirs is mine.” Mark’s words broke her of the trance she was in. Mark pointed towards her, at first Cecilia thought he was pointing at her but realized he was pointing at something behind her and as she looked behind her they were no longer in her father’s study, they were in a graveyard with no tombstones, only piles of corpses.  “This is your legacy.” Mark declares and before she could look back towards her son her dream abruptly ends. She was back in her bed. She was filled with dread, her dream felt so real. As if she was actually there. “I am safe now.” She said to herself multiple times, her husband now sleeping beside her. It was already morning. The sun illuminated their room. Electricity has not yet returned.  “Good morning, Mr. Conroy” she playfully says before hugging him. “Morning, my love. I prepared breakfast before I went to bed.” He said still half asleep. She got up, put on her robe, kissed him on the cheek and went outside. Mark was already eating. She tried to shake off her dream and went in for a kiss on her son’s cheek.  “You’re up late today mom.” her son said while eating the cold eggs his father had cooked hours ago. “A loud noise woke me up last night. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you.” For whatever reason she could not look his son straight in the eye. It was the thing she loved about him the most, his blue eyes. It reminded her of her siblings. Especially her younger sister Daphne, whom she adored the most. Aside from that he was the spitting image of his father. Same thick lips and thick eyebrows. His hair was long unlike his father’s though and it was always parted in the middle. She adored her child so much. “Guess I was too tired.” his reply snatches her from her thoughts and back into reality. “Well I’m sure it was nothing.” She replied with a forced chuckle before digging into her breakfast. “Conroy!” A sudden shout from outside disturbed the morning the two were having. “Conroy!” another shout from the same voice. Slightly annoyed she set her fork down, stood up and went to the door. As she opened the door, she recognized it as Walter Campbell; a short fat man with balding hair. He was covered in sweat and was trying to catch his breath. His dirty white rolled up shirt was wet with his sweat. And his boots were stained with mud. “Mr. Campbell, what is the reason for this shouting so early in the morning.” She said with a slight annoyance in her voice. “Oh, Cecilia. Oh no!” “What is it Mr. Campbell?” She insisted her annoyance only growing with each second “Your husband has to hide. Jorge Pascual’s looking for him!”