61 Act 3 | Chapter 14

I let out a cry of pain as my hair was tugged at. My mother didn't seem to care about my well being, I wasn't even sure what she was doing. She seemed fixated on the basement door and tried reaching for the knob.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I screamed at my mother.

"You're my daughter, and I don't give a damn what you say. You're staying here with me." She responded in a sharp tone, glaring back at me as I tried reaching for her arms to break free. I couldn't believe she was actually doing this. Was she going to lock me up? No, I need to get to Riley, she will protect me. Frantically, I grabbed at my mother's hand and started clawing at it with my nails. Eventually, she loosened her grip enough for me to break free, at the cost of a small chunk of my hair. It hurt like hell, having it ripped from my scalp. As my mother stumbled back, I quickly got to my feet and pushed her out of the way. My target at the moment wasn't the door, but the kitchen. I needed something to defend myself with, to threaten her if she came any closer.

Quickly, I opened the kitchen drawer and drew out one of the kitchen knives. Gripping it tightly by the blade I turned around to face my mother. At around this time, both my father and brother came down from upstairs. They must have heard the screaming, and once they both saw me with the knife, they froze.

"Zoey." My father said, actually acknowledging me for once. Is this what it took? Intimidation? "Put down the knife."

"Stay the fuck away from me!" I yelled at the three of them and held the knife out in their direction. "Back the fuck up!" Slowly, the three of them took steps backward and out of the hallway path that led to the door. The only way out that I could see was the front door and all three were technically standing in my way. Pulling the knife a little closer to me, I slowly started walking towards them. They were all afraid, I could see it in there faces. John was the closest to the stairs, while my mother stood between me and my father.

"Zoey. Put the knife down." My mother repeated my father's orders.

"No. You're going to back the hell away from me, and never, and I mean never, contact me again." I lunged towards them a bit to give them a quick scare, "I don't want to see any of you again, Period. I swear to god if you even think about following me, or speaking to me, or seeing me, I will fucking kill you!"

"Zoey." My mother started, "We both know that someone as skinny, and arrogant as you will never commit murder." She said that with a hint of pride thrown in. There was a smug grin on her face, knowing that she was right in the sense that I was too innocent to hurt a fly. That's where she was wrong though. Without much hesitation, I slashed the knife forward, cutting into my mother's arm and splashing blood onto the wall as the knife's blade flung it from her body. She let out a loud scream in pain as she stumbled back, holding her now gushing red arm.

This was my father's chance. He lunged at me and grabbed at my arm. He started to squeeze it until I dropped the knife. I let out a grunt of pain as he tried holding me down, grabbing at my other arm and twisting me around so both arms were tied behind my back. I let out a cry of frustration as my father looked to my brother and yelled for him to go call the police, while my mother stood up and quickly made her way to the basement. I knew that there were some first aid supplies down there. Seeing as she didn't close the door behind her, and instead left it wide open, a plan popped into my head.

My father tried harder to restrain me, but it didn't work out in his favor. I managed to kick him in the shin with my leg as I flailed around, causing him to loosen his grip on me. Once I was able to pull myself free, I wasted no time grabbing at him and forcing him to the ground. My dad was definitely stronger than me, but not as smart. He managed to knock me off him and started to stand up, which was his mistake. Quickly, I bumped him with my shoulder and sent him back towards the open doorway. He lost balance and fell backward. With each thump, I heard a groan of pain, followed by the sound of something snapping, and a yell before another snap and then silence.

Taking a few deep breaths, I approached the basement door and looked down. The dim light above the steps highlighted my father's corpse, his leg bent unnaturally, and his neck snapped in a similar fashion. He was dead. It hit me then and there that I had killed another person. I broke my promise to Riley, but I was blinded by rage. Even though I should have, I didn't care about the promise right now. This was self-defense though, that had to count for something. Taking my time, I walked down to the basement and stepped over my father's corpse. After a quick glance around, I concluded that my mother was hiding somewhere. I made my way further in, walking slowly with the knife in my hand, blood dripping from its sharp blade and leaving a trail behind me as I swung it around. My breathing was heavy.

My mind was clouded, I wasn't thinking straight, I knew that. It was so clouded at the moment, that I didn't hear the sound of footsteps until it was too late. I turned my head in time to see my brother running at me from behind. There wasn't enough time for me to react, and as I turned my body to face him, he lunged forward. My body filled itself with adrenaline as he pressed up against me, and I managed to shove him away. John stumbled back a bit and frowned at me. "What the hell was his plan?" Slowly, I looked down and found that out. The handle to something was pressed up against my torso, and just as I realized it was there, the pain set in. Immediately, it was like a mixture of burning and stinging at the same time. He had stabbed me. blood gushed from my wound. There was nothing I could do but let out a loud cry of pain as it all hit me at once. It was like lightning, striking me so fast I didn't even realize it happened until I noticed.

He ran at me again, and shoved me backward, sending me stumbling onto my mother's art table. I felt the edge of hit ram into my back as I fell limp onto it. My brother bent over to grab at the knife I had dropped and looked as though he intended on killing me. Knowing him, this must have been his dream. To get rid of his little sister. Someone who at least cared more about him, then he did her. I had to act quickly, glancing to my side, I saw my mother's pencil cup, and inside of it was her exact knife. Trying my best to ignore the excruciating pain in my side, I reached for the tool and grabbed it just as my brother got to me. Before he even had a chance to attack me though, I quickly went to stab him with the tool. I managed to get his arm, digging the blade into it and causing him to stumble a few feet away.

"Fucking bitch!" He cried out in frustration. There was just enough strength in me to sit up and get to my feet. The blade dug more into my flesh as it remained lodged in my body. I had to rely on adrenaline to ignore the pain, as I took a step further and stabbed to him again, this time going for his eye. I managed to get the blade stuck in his organ. It was oddly satisfying watching him stumble back in pain and scream before tripping over his father's corpse. Slowly, I approached John and managed to get to him before he had the chance to pull the knife out. I grabbed it first and yanked it from him, before thrusting it back into his eye again. He screamed at flailed his arms around, trying to push him off me, but he had little luck. With each thrust, the blaze destroyed more and more of his eye before I was finally able to cut it out. John died then and there, with a penknife through his eye socket, and a large amount of blood loss. His eye on the floor beside him. My shirt was covered in his blood.

The feeling came back. That feeling of bloodlust. A feeling I didn't want to come back, but it did anyway. I wanted to kill more. Kill again, and I knew just the woman to go for first. First, though, I had to remove the knife from my side. It took a lot of effort, and time before I was able to yank the knife free. A fountain of blood started gushing from my open wound and staining my shirt. It hurt even more now, the pounding and stinging feeling of something having torn through my skin.

Slowly, I wheezed and turned my head back to look at my mother. She was peeking out from behind the knocked over tassel in the corner of the room. She had the first aid kit with her and most likely was wrapping her arm in gauze. No, no, no, she needed to bleed. She needed to die. I bent over weakly, and with what strength I have left, I grabbed my knife started walking over to her.

"Zoey. Please." She begged. It was satisfying to hear. After all these years, and finally, I was stronger than her. She couldn't push me around this time, to do what she wanted. No, it was my turn, and what I wanted was this knife through her beating heart. She didn't even bother putting up a fight. All I did was slash at her other arm to cause her to stumble onto her back. She was crying. Tears rolled down her cheeks as I stepped on her gut, and slowly got onto my knees over her.

"Z- Zoey," She begged, "P- Please... I'm s- sorry."

I didn't even bother saying anything to her. The last thing she was going to hear was silence, and the last thing she would ever see was me. My eyes locked with hers, as I gripped the knife with both hands and slowly raised it above my head. Making a face of anger, I quickly thrust it down, penetrating her torso, and stabbing directly to where I thought the heart would be located. My mother let out another cry of pain as bloodshot from her mouth. I pulled the knife aggressively from her heart, and stabbed her again, this time in her throat. It was easier to stab into, and she started to choke and gag on her own blood as I pushed the knife further in, not stopping until it was as far as it could go. My mother's body went limp, her screams stopped, and her chest stopped heating. I sat there on top of her, looking down at her lifeless eyes. I had done it. "I killed her. I finally killed her." I thought, feeling a small sensation of joy, and sadness. Another one of my problems had been solved. She may have been my mother but that didn't mean I still felt pity for her.

Slowly, I stood up over my final victim, gripping my side in pain. Blood seeped through my fingers. I had to limp over to the stool where she had forced me to sit so many times before. My skin was crawling in goosebumps as I slowly lifted my shirt to look at just how bad the wound was. It was deep, and the blood flow isn't showing any sign of slowing down. I looked over to where my mother had the first aid kit. It was empty, not anything left. She had used the last of the game to patch up the wound on her arm and left me with nothing. Fuck me.

My only other option was to use something else to wrap around my wound and use to stop the bleeding, or at the very least slow it down. Using the knife I had murdered my mother with, I cut a large hole around my shirt, removing the bottom half entirely, and tying it around my torso. It stung to tighten the cloth around the gaping wound, but I had no other choice. Just as I finished tightening it, I heard a sound that sent a chill down my spine. Sirens. Police sirens. My head turned to look at the three corpses left here, John specifically. "He called them. He actually did." I needed to get out here. Quickly. Get to Riley, where it was safe. She would protect me. I stood up and slowly started making my way to the stairs. I must have lost a lot of blood because I started finding it hard to think. My head felt light and dizzy. It made it very difficult to walk, and I struggled to pull myself up the stairs. "Is this really what it's like to be stabbed. I can see why people don't like it." Just as I reached the top though, the flashing red and blue lights started to appear to form my window.

Despite all this though, this was the feeling that I loved. The adrenaline rush. Three people were dead in my basement, by my hand, and the police were on there way. It felt thrilling. Never in my life did I think I would end up like this though; limping through my kitchen, leaving bloody footprints behind me with a slash in my side. There was a knock at the door.

"No, I'm not just going to be arrested." I thought, "I had to get back to her. She would protect me like she always does. I'll kill anyone who stands in my way, I don't care who they are." 

"Hello, this the BCPD, We're responding to a call about a potential murder." I could hear them say. The front door was technically left open by a small crack, as I hadn't closed it completely, and I could hear it creaking open slowly. Making my way out of the basement entrance, and into the kitchen, I avoided the light that suddenly shinned down the dark hallway behind me.

"Hello?" I heard another voice say. Taking a deep breath, I looked towards the nearest window. It was just above the sink. Slowly, I lifted myself up onto the counter and tried pulling it open. My bloody fingers kept slipping and prevented me from getting any sort of grip. Shaking my head, I climbed down and tried running to the back door.

"Hey!" The voice said, followed by a bright light being shined in my direction. I tried pulling the sliding glass door open, but couldn't get the lock undone.

"Drop the weapon." Another voice said. "Get on the ground!" I turned to look at the two lights and held up a hand to block it. All I could see was the blinding light, nothing else.

"I said, drop the weapon!"

Slowly, I glanced down at the bloody knife in my hand, then towards the light. Everything happened so fast. I wasn't thinking straight, and slowly I raised my knife to the two officers, trying to keep them away from me while I reached for the handle of the glass door again, only I didn't get the chance to. In those final moments, all I could think about was Riley. I didn't get back to her. I wanted too, but I didn't. I broke my promise to her and doubled my body count in less than an hour. I wonder, have you ever killed someone? Feel your victims blood run down your body? See life leave one's eyes as you slowly insert a sharp knife through someone's chest? Hear the bones break and the organs rupture? The fountain of blood that comes pouring out of the once-living human? Some people do it for fun. Some do it for a thrill or an adrenaline rush, and some even do it because it arouses them. To see a victim strung up, with their guts spilled out onto the floor with the freshly cut gash across their stomach. For me, it was all three. It was in those last moments, that I heard only one thing. For a brief second, the sound of a gunshot rang out, and I blacked out completely.