"I'm home, darling!"

I wiped my feet on the new 'welcome' mat that I had bought a few days before, and I dropped my keys into a small bowl sitting on the side table next to our front door.

"What a busy night. There were so many people, I could barely hear myself think."

I walked into our cozy house, awaiting a response; but not a single sound occurred. I looked around curiously and cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "Johnny?" I said, louder than I had originally intended, but there was still no answer.

That was strange; his car was parked out on the driveway. I knew he was home.

My eyes wandered to the living room, and I noticed that a half-empty baby bottle was sitting on top of the coffee table. It was the same bottle from when I fed my son this morning. I set it on the table before I left, and I told Johnny to feed him again at noon. Had he not fed the baby all day?

As I looked around, I noticed that everything was exactly the way I left it before I went to the malt shop this morning. Johnny hadn't touched a thing, which was very odd; he was a neat freak, constantly cleaning and washing things, even if they weren't dirty.

I steadily walked through the house and glanced at the calendar hanging above Johnny's work desk. It was the 8th of August, a Saturday, and my sisters were supposed to come visit today.

Something felt off to me. I brought my eyes away from the calendar on the wall and studied the house; the lights seemed dimmer, the floors seemed creakier, and the aura held something different – something hateful, something angry. I felt a rush of anxiety hit me.

"Johnny?" I called again, flicking on a lamp that sat on the desk. I turned around to face my front door, and I noticed 3 pairs of heels sitting along side it. My sisters must have gotten here earlier. Still, where was everybody? I called out for my sisters, hoping they would answer to me. "Betty? Marianne?" I looked down the dark hallway. "Cynthia?...Anyone?"

I gave up on waiting for answers and I started to walk slowly down the hall. The walls that once reflected the sun's bright rays off of their fresh ivory paint, were now swallowing the darkness and expelling an eerie vibe; chills ran down my spine and my heart fluctuated oddly as my quiet footsteps kept their steady pace. It was only 8 at night – yet it felt like it was 3 in the morning, and I had just woken from an uncomfortable sleep. I rounded the corner and stopped walking once I found myself standing on the outside of our bedroom door. I couldn't see well, considering the small area was only slightly illuminated; but as I looked down and reached a hand out to open the door, the dim luminescence was just bright enough for me to make out the red substance coating the silver doorknob.

I was confused for a moment, but my heart soon squeezed its way up into my throat. I noticed that the door wasn't even shut all the way. I closed my eyes for a moment and swallowed, I didn't know what I was going to walk into. I didn't want to see what was on the other side of that door; but my hand shook as I raised it up and placed it on the dark wood. I pushed the door open; and to my absolute horror, there was a gory massacre layed out in front of me: our white-carpeted bedroom was tainted with crimson stains, the light walls were splattered, speckled, and my sisters... My three beautiful, sweet sisters, they were spread out on top of our king-sized bed; all three of them with their slender throats slit from one side all the way to the other. I brought my gaze up; and there, standing behind the bed with a bloody kitchen knife clutched in his tight fist, stood my husband; with a twisted grin upon his wet, sticky face.

My stomach churned and I dropped to my knees, feeling my body go numb and my throat close. I was speechless, emotionless, I didn't know how to react. My evil husband chuckled at me, his button-up shirt parted carelessly, as he removed his glasses with his free hand and wiped his brow with his forearm. "So nice of you to join us, Audrey," he said, his voice deep and chilling. "I was going to wait until you got home, but I just couldn't help myself."

I looked back down at my three sisters. Marianne, my only older sister, she was so strong. She was 29, she was married, she was brave, and she was a fighter; always protecting me and my two younger sisters. Now, as I looked at her, she layed helpless – no longer fighting for herself, or anyone around her. I looked at her hands, and I noticed the blood underneath her long fingernails; and I knew that it wasn't hers. I looked back up at Johnny for a brief moment. There were deep, raw claw marks all over his chest. She tried to fight.

My watery eyes moved to Cynthia. She was 22, born only a year and a half after me, and we were always so close. She was loyal, loving, and sensible. She always knew how to rationalize; in fact, she was the only one in the family that knew how. She rarely fought with me, but when we did, she always came up with a compromise. Now, as I looked at her, she layed helpless – no longer resolving our conflicts, or being our mediator. I looked at her hands; even in death they were clasped together in a desperate plea. She never fought him back. She tried to talk him out of it.

And then I looked at Betty. My sweet baby sister, her throat cut open at the raw age of 15. She was shy, afraid, unsure and unaware of the world around her. She never stood up for herself; she took what came to her, regardless of whether she deserved it or not. She was pushed around, told what to do, and taken advantage of. We all stood up for her, protected her. Now, as I looked at her, she layed helpless – no longer crying into my arms for guidance, for help. I looked at her hands; they were open, laying still, and her pink underwear was bunched up around her ankles. She never fought back. She never tried to reason with him. She let him take advantage of her. She didn't try to do anything.

My stomach was in knots as I took in the awful sight of my dead sisters. I couldn't breathe, it felt as though there was an anvil on my chest. I looked at Johnny, terrified, tears running down my cheeks. I couldn't get a word out. "W-What have you done?"

He just chuckled malevolently at my grief, and he set the bloody knife down on our white bedspread, right next to my sisters' heads. "Audrey, my sweet girl. I've made our lives so much easier. Now we're completely alone, just the two of us. Forever."

I sobbed for a moment or two, covering my eyes from the gruesome sight in front of me. His words rang in my mind; and something caught my attention. I brought my eyes back to the man standing in front of me and my heart jumped from my throat to the pit of my stomach. "J...Just the two of us?"

"Yes. Just you and me."

I clutched my heart in horror. "You mean..." I almost got sick, right there on the floor. I grabbed at my chest and gasped. "Oh, God..."

I jumped up from the carpet and turned to face the door. I pushed it open slowly; but soon I picked up my movements. My feet clumsily hit the hardwood floor as I ran down the hall, and I threw open the door to my son's nursery.

I stared at his little white crib next to the windowsill. I didn't want to walk in any further; I didn't want to see my sweet baby boy with his throat cut open. I couldn't bear it. But I forced myself to take a step in. My other foot followed, and I crept toward the little white crib; my heart screamed and my stomach knotted up, my eyes filled with tears and my body was shaking with fear and anxiety; and when I peered over the bars, I saw my little angel sleeping peacefully.

With a clear plastic bag over his head, tied tightly with a rope around his neck.

"No..." I whispered, my voice cracking, my knees giving out. I scooped my sweet boy up into my arms; his head hung limp as I pulled the bag off of him. "Oh, God! No!" I yelled, clutching him, holding him tight to my chest, my body wracking with sobs. I looked into his little blue face, that beautiful face that I carried with me for 9 long months; the face that I fell in love with the second the doctors handed him to me. I waited so long to see that handsome little face. My heart was broken. I wanted to die. I wanted to fucking die, I wanted so badly for my husband to come in with an AK-47 and blow my brains out of the side of my skull. I fell to the ground, still holding my son, and I wept into his tiny, soft chest.

Johnny came into the room and leaned up against the door frame. "Don't worry. If it makes you feel any better, he went peacefully. He was already asleep when I put the bag on him."

I picked my head up and looked at my husband, still holding the limp baby in my arms. "How could you do this? Christ! What have you done? Why did you... What... My sisters, my baby! Our baby! John, what have you-!" I couldn't breathe. I couldn't catch my breath. I felt like I had just ran a 10 mile race without stopping; like someone had taken a vacuum and sucked the air right out of my lungs, and I struggled so hard to get it back. I felt numb; yet at the same time, every emotion going through my body made me cry out in pain – having your limbs ripped off would feel like a cat scratch compared to this. I had lost the things most important to me: my sisters, my baby... And my husband. I looked up at him and sobbed, "Are you gonna kill me?"

He laughed again. "No. Not yet, anyway."

"Please," I begged, burying my face in my baby again. "Please, Johnny."

Suddenly, I heard sirens outside of my house. Red and blue lights soon flooded into our dark abode, and I continued to sit there, clutching my son, as if my touch would bring him back to life. Johnny looked out the window and smirked. "Ah. Just in time."

"They're gonna throw you in the electric chair!" I yelled angrily. "You... You're a monster! You're evil, You... You killed my family, just.." I couldn't pull my thoughts together. It was like someone had shaken up my brain and mixed everything I had ever known into one big mess. I screamed. All I wanted was my family back. I wanted to see them. "Kill me, John. Please, just kill me. Or I'll do it myself!"

"Nobody's gonna kill you, not even yourself. I called the police," he walked closer to me and leaned down so that he was in my face. "They're gonna take you away."

I was confused. "W-whaa-?"

Johnny pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed his glasses back onto his face. "Let's see. On August 8th 1964, you came home from a tough night at work to find all three of your sisters taking turns having sex with your your husband. You snapped; and in a rage, you grabbed a kitchen knife and slit all 3 of their throats. When your husband panicked and told you he was going to call the police, you threatened him with the life of your newborn son. He ran into the nursery, only to find that you had already asphyxiated your baby hours before. Once he finally called the police, you shot him in the leg. You murdered your sisters, suffocated your baby, and mutilated your husband; and according to Briarcliff, those are all perfectly acceptable reasons to be admitted."

I stared at him wildly, tears streaming down my face. What was he trying to say? "I... I didn't kill my sisters. I didn't kill my baby!" I looked down at his legs. "And nobody shot you in the leg!"

Suddenly, he pulled a handgun out of the back of his pants; he aimed it down at himself and pulled the trigger. The loud noise made me scream and shut my eyes – Johnny screamed, too, out of absolute agony. I opened my eyes and gasped in horror.

"Ah, fuck!" He bellowed. "Ssss. Ah!"

Blood squirted forcefully out of the bullet wound in his calf, and he smiled devilishly as the red liquid coated his hands. He looked at me and winced in pain, tossing the gun down at my feet, and he talked through his teeth. "You're in some... Big trouble, Audrey."

Suddenly, a loud bang came from my living room. My heart pounded as I heard keys jingling, guns loading, and men yelling. "It's the police! Everybody freeze!"

They busted through the door in the nursery and aimed their guns down at me, sitting helplessly, holding my dead son, sobbing. Johnny held his leg and screamed. So much was happening all at once, I thought I was going to faint.

Two men came in and placed my husband on a stretcher, carrying him out of the house. Two other men stayed at the doorway of the nursery, continuing to hold their guns pointed at me. "Set the boy down, ma'am."

I cried, and my grip just got tighter. "N-no, please, you don't understand-"

"I said set the boy down, ma'am!"

"I-I didn't do any of this! Please, please. You have to listen to me-!" The police officer lowered his gun and charged at me with his arms out. He grabbed my baby out of my arms, and the other man ran up behind me, cuffing my hands behind my back. My heart slammed against my chest and I wailed. "No! No, my baby!"

"He ain't your baby no more. He's dead, you killed him. You're coming with us."

"You don't understand, let me go!" I screamed, puling out of the cops' grip. "Please! You have to listen-"

"Audrey Davis, you're under arrest for the murder of Marianne Wallace, Cynthia Holden, Betty Holden, and Michael Davis-"

"I didn't-!"

"... You will be treated as a patient at Briarcliff Manor-"

"I'm not crazy-!"

"... Until your case is approved-"

"My sweet sisters-!"

"... And you are proven fit to stand trial-"

"My boy! He killed our baby boy-!"

"... If decided otherwise, you will spend the rest of your days-"

"Why would he do this-"

"... As a patient in Briarcliff Manor's mental institution."

"Please, just kill me! Put me in the chair-!"

"... Take her away, boys."

AUTHOR'S NOTES

I'm so sorry I took so long to update! My birthday was a few days ago and I had a huge party. All of my time was consumed. But now I'm back to late nights and nothing but free time.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Now you understand what Audrey went through. I decided to write it out as a scene, opposed to her just telling her story out loud to Kit. There was much more emotion this way.

Don't worry, Kit will be in the next chapter. This one was a bit of a flashback.

Thanks for the reviews, the follows, and the hits! You guys are great!