My lips trembled.
"No… no no no… you're lying. This isn't real. It's a trick, it has to be - "
My chest heaved, words spilling out faster than my lungs could keep up.
"Why? Why would you do this? Why? Why? Why?"
He didn't speak again.
The shaking in my hands turned to fists, slamming against the wood, against my dress, against anything that wasn't answering me. "Answer me! Bring him back! Give him back to me!"
Papa's head was slipping in my lap, the blood soaking into me, but I clutched him tighter, desperate, screaming at the man I thought I could trust.
"You said you would protect us! You said... YOU SAID!"
My voice tore itself raw, breaking between sobs, but I didn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
"Papa trusted you. I... I trusted you. He told me you were his brother. "
The words burned through me, a storm that wouldn't let me breathe.
"Brother! But all you are… is a butcher. No… worse. You are a Brotcher. "
Papa's head slipped against my chest but I held it tight.
"You're supposed to be our family! Then why… why him? WHY?!"
I remembered.
I remembered Mama.
The night she… changed.
Her skin had gone all wrong, stretched, tearing, her face twisting into something I didn't know anymore.
Her eyes weren't Mama's eyes... they were different and sharp, and her mouth was too wide.
She screamed, but it wasn't her scream.
It was like a monster had stolen her throat.
I tried to call her, I tried to say something, but I couldn't.
Papa grabbed me and pulled me back.
I kept shouting, "Mama! Mama!" but she didn't answer me.
And then it went black.
My head hurt.
I fainted.
When I woke up… I saw Papa's sword through her chest.
She wasn't Mama.
She wasn't the woman I loved.
I told myself that.
I told myself over and over.
But she had Mama's hair.
Mama's hands.
Mama's dress.
And Papa was crying while he held me.
I didn't hate him.
How could I? I knew he had to do it.
He saved me.
He saved himself.
He didn't have a choice.
But everything after that was gray.
The house was quiet all the time.
No Mama humming.
No Mama laughing.
Just quiet, painful silence.
Sometimes Papa would sit with his head in his hands, and I'd pretend not to see.
Sometimes I'd hear him crying when he thought I was asleep.
But then in the morning he'd smile at me.
Always as if nothing was wrong.
Like he wasn't breaking inside.
He made me breakfast just before that day...egg bhurji with too much salt sometimes because he never measured it right.
He would say, 'That's how real chefs do it, Sylv. You don't know anything.'
And I'd laugh, and tease him.
But eventually I would eat it, even when it was too salty.
He told me jokes.
Silly ones.
Bad ones.
He would mess them up halfway and start over, and I would still laugh because he laughed too.
His broken car, Gods know how much mama and I nagged for him to give up.
But he never did.
He said, it had many years left. It would... It would be with him when he was old.
He carried me on his shoulders when my legs hurt.
He brushed my hair, even though he was clumsy and always pulled too hard.
He tucked me in at night, every single night.
He lay beside him, and I would curl up against him.
He tried so hard to make me forget that Mama was gone.
He tried so hard to make me happy again.
And for a while, it worked.
And when we found the diary… he looked different.
He looked… alive again.
I was so excited.
I wanted to know what grandma had left for him.
For us.
And then... he was gone.
Papa was gone.
Just like Mama.
Just like before, I saw it.
I saw it happen.
I felt his blood on me. His head in my lap. His eyes wide and empty.
And I realized he was all I had left.
Without him, there was no one.
No Mama.
No Papa.
Nothing.
And I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't stop shaking.
My chest hurt like it was splitting open.
He wasn't just my Papa.
He was everything.
And now he was gone too.
And it was that man's doing.
The man I called Uncle, the man Papa called brother.
He...he was the one who did it.
"No no no no no! Why?Why?WHY?!"
My throat burned, my voice cracked, but I didn't care.
"This isn't fair! It's not fair. You can't leave me... not you too!"
Hot tears blurred everything, smeared his face, the blood, the dress.... my whole world.
I screamed until my voice was raw. I screamed until it didn't even sound like me anymore.
And then it broke out of me, words I didn't even know I had.
"Kill me too! Do you hear me?" My voice cracked, as I looked at Toby. "There's nothing left! Nothing! Mama's gone, and now you're gone! And I can't... I can't- "
"Why?!" I shrieked, choking on the word. "Why him?! Why my Papa?! Why take him from me?! Why why why why WHY?!"
I carefully placed Papa's head on the ground and pushed myself to stand.
My legs felt like someone else's and I lunged at him.
I don't know how I moved so fast.
I only remember the anger and hatred I had for this man.
My palms slammed into Toby's chest.
I clawed at him.
I punched him.
I kicked him.
I couldn't find any meaningful words anymore, but I didn't care.
"YOU KILLED HIM!" I yelled, "YOU DID THAT! YOU- YOU- YOU- "
He didn't push me away at first.
He just let me hit him.
Then he swung an arm, and I braced myself for the hit.
But it never came.
His hand found my head and he whispered, " It's hard on me too, Sylv. I know you won't believe me, and I know nothing will change. But... for the first time, I got attached as well."
Then I saw some light above my head, and I started feeling sleepy.
But I didn't want to sleep. I tried my best to fight it, to fight him.
I looked where Papa was.
His eyes still stared.
His mouth still hung open.
But soon, sleep won.
My father was dead, and the man who killed him was just standing here.
But the world didn't care.
It never does.