The night my mother died was the worse night of my life. She was fine, she was on the mend. The doctors were confident she would be released the next day, none of them knew why or how she just died suddenly. She was taken to the hospital complaining of severe cramps, and the doctors pumped her stomach and gave her charcoal to swallow to clear out that poison that had been fed to her that night at dinner. She was moved into the ICU to recover from her bout and then moved into a private and less monitored room on the ground floor. Her window was bolted shut, for reasons I didn't know at the time, but no other security precautions were taken.
I was in the en suite restroom at the time when I heard the orderly slip into the room, presumably to take vitals and draw blood. Standard routine. I peeked out and saw her slipping some medicine into her IV, and then she was gone. Seconds later her monitor started beeping erratically and a code was called. The nurses rushed in and did what they could, but my mother was dead before they even got there. I tried to explain what I saw, but all toxicology reports came back negative and no autopsy was done, they ruled it as complications from the poison.
I was eighteen at the time, so they didn't worry about placing me with anyone, but eventually I received a message from an old friend of my mothers. The message was that I was in danger, that I needed to get out, and that a secret organization would step in and take care of my affairs and keep me safe. This was a long message that wasn't delivered by telegram or mail, for it would have been unwise incase it was intercepted. It wasn't made in person, for that was dangerous too. It was made by slipping a piece of paper in the toast that I was enjoying with my morning meal at the local cafe. The paper had a small sentence, one that would haunt be until I learned it's true meaning many years later.
The Wold Is Quiet Here.