I haven't remembered anything in my life as well as I remember the one thing I wish I could forget. The feeling of suffocation from being silent under the bed, trying not to sob as I saw the body of my father hit the ground. No matter how much I wanted to close my eyes, I couldn't; I couldn't stop looking at Dad's barely recognizable face. Caked in blood and bruises.
Medusa's head in the hand of a knight right haunts me at night. The tattoo was right above the killer's ankle. He was stark white and vein-y and his voice sounded like gravel under combat boots.
The worst part was waiting. I waited an hour before I crawled from under the bed, into my dad's blood. I walked down stairs, blubbering at the sight of my sister Mae's dead body at the foot of the stairs. Gwen's corpse was by the front door, she was an inch away from freedom. Adeline was in the dining room, phone out of her reach. Their throat's where slit. All of them.
I waited twenty minutes for the feds. They arrived and looked mortified, one man I knew as David Hale muttered "Holy hell," under his breath as he entered. "What happened here?"
And I told them all I knew. I told them about the tattoo, about the voice. About the three sets of shoes I saw walk right next to the bed I hid under.
"Isla," June Stahl spoke as she stared me, eyes mocking sadness and sympathy. Fucking yuppie piece of shit."I need you to tell me all you know. I want to help you, sweetheart."
"I have," and I stood, looking at the bodies that littered the floor, wiping the tears from my eyes. "I need to make a phone call."
I waited five droning, infinite rings of the dial tone before someone picked up. "Teller-Morrow."
"Gemma – it's me. They're all dead."
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