XAVIER:
Pushing aside the haunting memories, I retrieved the blood-stained towel Jimmy had concealed at the bottom of the overflowing hamper. The sight of it made my blood boil, unable to bear his suffering any longer. Exiting the bathroom, every step felt labored, my breaths ragged.
Flicking on the lights in the dimly lit room, my eyes fell on the bulletin board adorned with images of Jimmy. His gentle gaze momentarily eased my turmoil. I reminded myself to remain composed and to focus on rectifying the damage. Approaching the board, my hand tenderly traced his face.
In every stolen photograph, Jimmy wore a familiar expression.
A mask of sorrow and weariness, never a hint of a smile. His lifeless eyes weighed heavily on me. What would it take to make him smile? To bring color to his cheeks and add spark to his eyes?
The blame lay squarely on them.
Turning away from the images of Jimmy, I shifted my attention to the other board, displaying the faces of the living and the deceased. A surge of resentment coursed through me, particularly toward HIM, Jimmy's father. Drained, I retrieved a wooden box from beneath the table, unlocked it, and carefully placed the bloodied towel among the mementos I've gathered over the years.
I awaited his call. Promises of contact echoed in my mind, but I knew deep down it wouldn't come. I should have insisted he reach out. Regrets flooded my thoughts, a relentless cycle. Exhausted, I knew I needed sleep. I hadn't slept in seventy-two hours, and my body was beginning to feel the strain. Tasks awaited completion, yet my body pleaded for rest, signaling an imminent collapse.
Turning toward my bedroom, I picked up a sticky note and quickly wrote on it before crawling into bed.
Hopefully, this time, I will get enough sleep before my nightmares wake me up once more.
***
Have you ever experienced that gut-wrenching cry of fear from a tortured person on the brink of death? Or witnessed a scene so horrifying that it momentarily freezes your brain in confusion? Have you truly felt fear? Fear so intense that it grips your heart, rendering you paralyzed from head to toe? Unable to move or speak. Your brain goes numb, yet your eyes remain open, able to see, hear, and blink, but nothing more.
I have felt that fear, and I have heard that cry.
The cries of my dying mother. I have never heard another cry of fear like that since that night.
Her screams fuel my nightmares, and the images haunt me, causing me to break out in sweats each night.
A six-year-old boy descended the stairs upon hearing his mother's cries, concern etched on his young face. But as his eyes fell upon the scene unfolding before him, he froze, the world plunged into silence.
Looking back now, wasn't six too high a number for a single house robbery? And if they only intended to steal, why did they stay even after taking everything my parents had? They didn't leave until they had taken their lives.
And I watched them die.
Even as my mother lay dying in a pool of blood, her eyes found mine from the stairs. I could see her silently reassuring me with her gaze that everything would be okay. Her eyes remained fixed on mine until her last breath, refusing to close even then.
How did they overlook me?
I was right there, at the foot of the stairs, witnessing it all. Yet somehow, they did not notice me. Did not even know I was there. I don't know how long I stood there, observing the blood and their motionless bodies, appearing serene as if they had simply drifted off to sleep.
When the haze lifted, I collapsed to my knees and crawled over to my parents. Sitting in their blood, I tried to rouse them, but they would not wake. Rising, I made my way to the kitchen, fetched them each a glass of water, and brought it to them, attempting to awaken them so they could drink. Surely, the water would help, considering the blood they had lost. Yet, like all my efforts to stir them, they remained unresponsive.
Tears streaming down my face, I eventually drifted into a fitful sleep.
I awoke from the nightmare of their murder, finding my eyes still fixed on their lifeless forms, the overturned water glass had spilled mixing with their blood nearby. Despite my hunger, I couldn't bear to leave them alone.
I needed to be near them.
They were all I had in this world, and with them lying so motionless, I feared being truly alone.
Drifting back to sleep, I awoke once more to a strange smell, perhaps the lingering scent of blood, though I couldn't be certain. One thing was clear - nothing smelled pleasant to me anymore after that day. Regardless of the fragrance, it all seemed the same. My stomach growled, signaling my need for sustenance. I ventured into the kitchen in search of food. Though I couldn't reach what I truly desired, I managed to grab a box of cereal with the help of a stool. Returning to the living room, I sat between my parents, sharing my meager meal by placing a handful of cereal on their lips. But, like when I offered them water, they remained still.
As I finished my impromptu breakfast, the door suddenly burst open, revealing my uncle's voice and a group of officers. Recognizing the six men who had committed this heinous act, I began to scream uncontrollably until they eventually took me away.
Despite their attempts to convince me otherwise, I refused to believe that those men were police officers. In my eyes, they would always be the murderers of my parents.
The sound of my six-year-old self screaming as they separated me from my parents echoed in my ears, my body shaking with fear, drenched in sweat, gasping for air as tears streamed down my face. Clutching my knees tightly, my knuckles turned white. The shaking and screaming seemed endless. My breath came in short, rapid bursts, my heart racing, head spinning.
The end felt near.
Just a bit more.
And then, it was over.
***
I sat up in bed, my body soaked with tears and sweat. My eyes landed on the mirror, where I noticed a sticky note attached to the surface. I focused on regulating my breathing before rising from bed. I had a part-time job in an hour and afternoon classes to attend.
But first, I needed to read the note. I stood and made my way to the mirror, smoothing my hair as I removed my current clothes and picked up the neat ones laid out nearby. Retrieving my glasses from the table, I put them on.
Prepared to decipher the note, I peeled it from the mirror and began to read.
'Hello, Benson, I tried to clean up after myself last night, but I encountered him and ultimately forgot to take care of it. You know what to do.'
I shook my head and walked over to the window. Pulling down the blinds, I spotted heavy-duty trash bags placed beside one of the field benches. I counted three, as usual, and sighed.
It seemed another tree needed planting.
With that thought lingering in my mind, I exited the bedroom.