The Lost Boy

Lightning struck, as if trying to split the earth with its roar. The white-framed window, its glass blurred by the relentless downpour from the sky. The ticking of the clock—which had always been a terrifying specter for me every night—I could no longer hear. Not because it was drowned out by the fury of the heavens, whose stars had vanished behind the darkness of the clouds, but because it was overpowered by the sound of my own heartbeat, like the countdown of dynamite. The stench of blood mixed with the smell of wet earth; my blood surged, singing a hymn of death. "You killed them! You killed them!" That voice rang out again from behind me, repeating the same two words as if I were a deaf child who needed to be shouted at millions of times to understand. His heavy chuckle greeted my ears, mocking me, sneering at me, making my dizzy head even more chaotic. "You killed them..." "YOU KILLED YOUR FAMILY, ELVANNO VILVFRED!" My heart stopped beating. My eyes flew wide open. The dizziness in my head vanished instantly, and I was fully awake. But as it turned out, closing my eyes was truly my best option. Because I felt like I wanted to gouge my own eyes out the moment I saw five bodies—those who had still been having breakfast with me that very morning—now slumped lifelessly, their hands tied behind their backs. Lightning flashed again, sharpening my blurry vision. Five bodies. My younger sister, my two older brothers, and both my parents. Five bodies seated in dining chairs, hands and feet bound, their lives no longer attached. Blood painted the twelve-square-meter room, covering the clean white paint that Father had only applied two days ago. I looked down, unable to stare at the five members of my family who had died so horribly before me. But why? WHY WAS I HOLDING A KNIFE? I felt my body trembling violently. The knife fell, clattering onto the slippery tile floor. I stared at my hands, drenched in blood, lifting them, sniffing them. Was this really my family's blood? Had I really killed my family, as that man had been rambling all along? "Five, four, three, two..." I turned around, letting my eyes meet his. A red-haired man. He smiled. "You killed them..." *** I woke up. Frozen. Strange—the ceiling wasn't the ceiling of my bedroom. I let my gaze wander, and I realized that this room wasn't my room at all. It wasn't the place where I'd last closed my eyes, because there was no way my bedroom would have an EKG machine. I swallowed hard, trying to shift into a sitting position, but instantly an unbearable pain struck my head. Lying back down, I looked at the actual sky through the window behind my head, its white curtains fluttering in the cool morning breeze. Ah, had the rainy season already begun? It was overcast even so early in the morning. Then my gaze shifted, and I stared intently at the IV tube that seemed to be biting my wrist. Is this a dream? I thought. Soon, the sound of women's shoes mingled with the rattle of wheels and the clinking of metal, growing louder. I guessed it was the nurse on duty delivering meals. Sure enough, the nurse came in carrying a metal tray whose contents I thought I already knew. Spinach soup and a set of side dishes. The metal tray clattered as it was set down on the bedside table—the nurse had absolutely no gentleness. I felt sorry for her future children. "It's been three days and this patient still hasn't woken up? Tsk tsk, that Demon really is different when he's asleep." After saying that, the nurse immediately left my room. I slowly opened my eyes, peeking to make sure she was completely gone. Clear, she was gone. But her departure only left an even bigger question mark in my head. Why did she call me a Demon? Was she some relative of my mother's? Shaking my head, I decided to slowly rise from my lying position and reach for the food tray on the nightstand with one hand. I lifted the cover, then blinked several times, unable to believe what I was seeing. My hand trembled as I picked up a slice of what I thought was tomato. I put it in my mouth and chewed slowly. It was indeed tomato. But why was it black? And why was the vegetable soup also black? The questions were like a cat endlessly giving birth to kittens. My head grew dizzier. Was this a delusion? Was I only dreaming? Ah, right. A dream! Slap! I slapped my own right cheek until it felt numb. I stared wide-eyed. Why was it numb? If it were just a dream, I shouldn't be feeling it this real, right? My appetite vanished instantly. I closed the food tray again and put it back in its place. Then I pulled back the blanket—with one hand, of course, because my other hand had to stay on my head whenever I moved. I'm not lying, my head really ached. As if a bullet had somehow lodged itself ghostly among my brain cells. One foot had already touched the floor when my ears accidentally caught the sound of approaching footsteps growing louder. I abandoned my intention, immediately lifting my foot back up and covering myself with the blanket. The door opened, just as I had just shut my eyes. I chose to pretend to be asleep. "Eh? Strange. He should have regained consciousness this morning. Why is he still asleep?" That was a man's deep voice, completely unfamiliar to my ears. But thank goodness, it wasn't the nurse from before. I'd feared she had returned to my room to do a check-up or something. Ah, but if I wasn't mistaken, weren't there more than one set of footsteps? "Let him sleep longer, because once he wakes up, he'll have to face me, the press, and the legal counsel." I was right. That was another man's voice, deeper than the first one, colder and utterly devoid of emotion. How to describe it? "Hey, are you really serious about what you just said? He's only a seventeen-year-old kid. Can't the law lighten the sanctions?" I almost frowned, I was so confused by the sentence one of the men had just uttered. Clearly, they were talking about me. But why bring up law and sanctions? Had I committed some fatal mistake? But I didn't remember anything! "What are you babbling about? This kid is a Demon Child. Whether he's sane or has a mental disorder, doesn't the fact that he brutally murdered his entire family strip him of his status as an ordinary human child?" I swallowed hard. What did that mean? They couldn't possibly be talking about me, right? "But if he has a disorder, juvenile rehabilitation centers and psychiatric hospitals are still wide open!" "Fine, let me ask you. If you were a staff member at a rehab center or a psychiatric hospital, would you be able to normalize a Mad Murderer?" "O-of course! Of course I could, because I'm an expert in that field and that's my job!" I could clearly catch the forced note of doubt in that voice. A heavy sigh reached my ears. The other man who was dealing with him sounded exhausted. But I kind of agreed with him; what he said matched reality. "Think about it from the perspective of this region. Do the people here think like you? The public who knows about this case has already cursed this child. If the state puts him in rehab and pays for his sanity, what does the state gain? Does putting this kid in rehab erase his fatal sin? And when he eventually gets out of rehab, what will he do? He can never socialize freely while the public vividly remembers the history he wrote that night. Please, Dakthes. I know you're a kid full of care and compassion, but don't you think you also need to start opening your eyes to the real world? The world isn't that kind." Ah, so his name was Dakthes, the man full of hope and kindness. "But—" "Enough. I'm going out for a smoke. You're suffocating me," the other man excused himself. I heard his heavy footsteps receding; he must have left Dakthes in my room. "Oh, right. You, the one pretending to be asleep—we'll conduct the interrogation after I finish one cigarette. So prepare yourself." I reflexively opened my eyes the moment that sentence was finished. Awkward, because my eyes met directly with Dakthes, who looked utterly shocked. The door closed, and the two of us remained silent. Quite a while, about ten seconds, until Dakthes finally let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He smiled at me. "Since when have you been listening to our conversation?" "Please explain what happened that night." "Ah, you heard everything, didn't you."