Chapter 17 Past #2
I felt a movement on my peripheral. It was quickly followed by a tall figure taking up most of the space to my left, making me smirk a little.
His arms were stretched in front of him, with his gun drawn in my direction – ready to blow my brain off if I so much as tried to be smug.
“Jesus
Christ,” he muttered under his breath, having finally witnessed my handiwork.
I tilted my head again and gave Mom a quick glance.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” I said. “I like her like this – so at peace and…quiet.” I swallowed and let go of a chuckle. “I especially like the fact that I won’t have to hear her voice anymore. Or do what she wants me to. It’s absolutely liberating.”
Sheriff Christopher Solo whispered a curse and angled his gun closer to me. “Drop your weapon and step away from the body,” he ordered.
I leaned in and moved some of the bloodied hair away from Mom’s face. “You think she can hear me right now, Sheriff Solo?”
“Dorran…” There was a firmness in his voice – one that made my spine stiffen a little.
I clicked my tongue and straightened. “Of course she can’t,” I stated, then grinned. “It’s because she’s fucking dead.” I started laughing, and it was the kind that didn’t stop, just kept on going.
“Drop your weapon, Dorran,” Sheriff Solo commanded again. “Fucking drop
it and step away from the body.”
I whipped my head in his direction – my laughter cut short for the second time that night – and gritted my teeth. “Or what?” I challenged. It’s the first I’d noticed the flashing red-and-blue lights outside, and how they reflected against the glass window behind the sheriff.
“Or I’ll be forced to put a bullet in you,” he spat at me. With his customary uniform and badge, and the noticeable presence he commanded, Sheriff Solo should be someone I should fear. But there was something in his clear blue eyes that made me stop and look at him.
Empathy.
There was an understanding in his gaze, although he’d just threatened to shoot me.
Not pity or disgust or confusion, or any of the other emotions a normal person would have upon having witnessed a son straddling his dead mother’s body – knowing he’d been the one who’d killed her.
Out of the dozens of things he could have expressed while pointing his gun at me, he chose to display empathy.
Towards me.
Towards my appearance, my condition. And that was something that instantly gravitated me to him. Because for the first time in my life, someone had openly reacted that way towards me.
He’d been the one who’d delivered the news of Dad’s death to Mom and I two years ago. At the time, I hadn’t thought much of the condolences and assurances he’d given us. I’d always thought to myself: He’s just doing his damn job. It’s in his nature to be monotonous in situations like this.
But maybe it wasn’t just part of his job; maybe he really did sympathize with us. Not that Mom cared one bit. She didn’t so much as shed a single tear that day, or at the funeral. Or during the weeks that followed.
Not until I had her at my mercy a few minutes ago.
Bravado born out of cruelty can only go so far, after all.
I sniffed and let the nail file slip from my fingers, resulting in it to make a wet cling like sound when it hit the floor. Pushing Mom’s right arm aside, I managed to shift sideways. I yanked at the hemline of the dress I was wearing, then stumbled a little before finally getting to my feet.
“Turn around,” the sheriff said.
I brought my hands in front of me and wiggled my bloody fingers. “You really wanna cuff me like this?” I told him. “I’m sure you’re good at what you do, given your rank, but even your law-abiding ass wouldn’t want blood on your person.”
He scoffed. An unreadable expression passed over his features, but just as quickly as it’d been there, it was gone before I could put a name to it.
He jerked his head toward the sink in the kitchen. “Be quick about it.”
I walked over and twisted the faucet’s knob, then placed my hands under the thick stream of water. Deep red droplets tainted the otherwise grey sink, and again, the smell of blood hit my nose, making me lick my lips.
I pumped some dish-wash liquid into my palms and began rubbing it between my fingers. “Mind if I change?” I asked. “I’ll make a better killer with some decent clothes on.”
“Don’t test me, kid.”
I chuckled. “Have it your way.” I turned the knob and stepped away from the sink, then walked over to Sheriff Solo before putting my hands behind my back.
“You wanna tell me what happened here?” he asked.
“If I do, will it change what’s about to happen to me?” I countered.
“Absolutely. If you haven’t done th–”
I snorted, cutting him off.
“Dude, if you think I didn’t do this,” I nodded towards Mom’s cold, wretched body, “then you seriously need to fucking retire.”
The sheriff placed the cuffs around my wrists. “If you’re trying to save some–”
“It had to be done,” I cut him off again, then stared at the pool of blood on the floor.
“I had to do it; I had no other choice. I was sick of it – so damn tired of the pain, the bruises, the insults. The…the rapes.” I swallowed, and blinked when my eyes stung.
“I couldn’t take it anymore. It had to go – all of it did.
But it wouldn’t while she was alive.” I laughed a little. “And so, I changed that.”
I heard Sheriff Solo let go of a shaky breath behind me. “Well then,” he said, and tightened the cuffs around my wrists.
I closed my eyes when the suffocating steel bit into my skin, and smiled when the sheriff started reading me my rights.
You have the right to remain silent…
You hear that, Mom? I thought to myself. Silence. Peace.
Retribution.