Hell bound

Chapter 2: A Mother's Desperate Choice

It was 3:00 a.m. when I was suddenly jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of raised voices from the kitchen. My parents were in the midst of yet another heated argument. Though the words were unclear, the tension in their voices was undeniable, and it was obvious that the disagreement centered around money. A knot formed in my stomach, not just from the stress in the air, but also from an urgent need to use the bathroom. Yet, I hesitated. The thought of leaving my room while they were fighting made me feel more anxious than the discomfort in my bladder.

As the shouting continued, the pressure inside me grew stronger. I tried to lie still, hoping that the argument would subside, but it only grew louder, intensifying the unease in my chest. Eventually, the pain in my stomach became unbearable. With no other choice, I quietly slipped out of bed, carefully opening the door just enough to check the hallway. When I saw no one, I moved cautiously, tiptoeing toward the bathroom, every sense alert to the slightest sound that might suggest my parents were near.

I had almost reached the bathroom when I collided with my father in the hallway. His face, usually calm, was twisted in irritation. "Why aren’t you asleep?" he demanded. I explained as calmly as I could that I needed to use the bathroom, but he didn’t seem to believe me. Instead, he accused me of eavesdropping on their conversation, something I knew was forbidden.

Before I could explain myself further, he grabbed me by the arm, his grip firm and unyielding, and dragged me back to my room. I heard my mother’s voice, yelling at him to stop, but it had little effect. He shoved me toward my bed, his voice cold and commanding. "Forget this happened," he ordered. I felt disoriented, a sense of fear and confusion flooding through me. What had just occurred? Why was everything so wrong?

The next morning, I awoke with a jolt, the weight of the events from the night before still heavy in my mind. As I stirred beneath the covers, I realized something wasn’t right—my bed sheets were wet. A rush of panic hit me. I quickly yanked the sheets off the bed, stuffing them into the closet before anyone could see. I didn’t have time to process what had happened, my thoughts clouded with dread. I opened my bedroom door, only to be met by the unexpected sight of police officers standing in the hallway.

Their presence was unsettling, and their confused expressions mirrored my own. They gently directed me back to my room, but I pushed past them in a panic, desperate to find my mother. My heart raced as I descended the stairs, but the scene that greeted me at the bottom stopped me in my tracks. The kitchen was cordoned off with police tape, and forensic investigators were everywhere, their movements deliberate and methodical. Detectives were snapping photos of bloody handprints on the wall, while another carefully placed my mother’s favorite kitchen knife into an evidence bag.

It took a moment for me to fully comprehend what I was seeing—one detail that my mind struggled to register. My father lay on the floor, his face marked with deep gashes. He was completely still, his body unnaturally rigid, his eyes lifeless. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. Before I could process the enormity of the scene before me, I heard my mother’s voice.

"I only did it to protect Lucy," she said, her tone desperate and filled with regret.

My legs went weak, and a cold wave of fear washed over me. The world around me seemed to spin. Could my mother really have done something so unimaginable? Was she capable of such an extreme act? Could she truly be a murderer?