Prologue

Shouting. It was common in the Hallcove household. Two voices, going back and forth, like an endless tug of war. Once it happens a few times, you get used to it really. What they were going about this time, only the heavens know, because instead of the few hours it would typically last, the argument was cut short.   

A bang, then silence. Blood poured over the floor, filling the cracks in the hardwood, as Maria Hallcove stood over the cold body of her now dead husband. A clean hole, though the temple, of Ace Hallcove. 

The woman was shaking with rage. She had finally had enough of the constant nagging to clean the floor, bring the man his beer, and cook for him. Tired of everything that he brought upon her, being hit, and told she was useless. She was over it, and was pushed over the limit. 

A cry. The sounds of wails rung throughout the hallway between the kitchen and the one bedroom in the house. A baby's cry. Maria stumbled out of the now bloody kitchen, gun still in hand. She reached out to touch the cold doorknob and roughly pushed though the doorway, still disoriented. A handprint was left there, scarlet in color. 

A cold glare. The woman stared at the child, thoughts blurred together, like the view in front of her. Tears had collected in Maria's eyes, matching the small child that laid in front of her. A small thud could be heard, as the gun hit the floor. The woman grabbed the child gripped it close to her chest as she sobbed. Crying. A weird thing honestly, even so, it happens, it doesn't help anyone... it's useless. 

It was 11pm, and the family Hallcove had been reduced to 2. A body laying in the kitchen, a woman and a child, sitting on the ground.  No one would care, in this small neighbourhood, in the middle of nowhere. A place where people go missing everyday, where laws are broken as though they were never there to begin with, and no one gives 2 shits. 

This was all they could afford. Four walls, a roof, one bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom. A small house, where they were trapped. Ace had quite a reputation in the area, known for drug dealing and then wasting all of the earned money on gambling. Something he was quite dreadful at. 

Even with all of the pain around her, Maria tried to ignore her husband's wrongdoings. She painted a picture in her head. 'He does this to care for us. The money he spent won't affect us. We'll be alright.'

Lies. Common things. They save people from punishment, protect people's feelings, and get others killed. This picture that Maria painted, shattered. Along with it, her sanity. 

But no one would care, in this small house, in this neighborhood, in this world. People are cruel. Lives are lost. Lies are told. On this warm summer night, the bugs could be heard outside, chirping away as they always do. Some people could be heard outside speaking in hushed voices. 

On this warm summer night, Ace Hallcove was murdered. Shot in the head by his own wife, with his own gun, in his own kitchen. 

Maria finally looked up, after crying for what felt like forever. A mirror. The frame was a basic wooden one, and they had barely managed to afford that. Another version of herself was staring back, laughing. 

"Ahahaha... oh dear, what have you done."