The clouds were black today. Generally she would think that meant that the laundry would fly away or little Emily would spill paint on the floor, but not today. Today she felt those clouds speaking to her; today she felt them telling her that it would be worse. Standing outside and staring at them for a while, she silently pleaded for them not to do this, but it was inevitable and she knew that. The day had come. She had expected it to come.
Looking down at the grass, she realized that even it looked darker than usual, she looked around her as the trees nearby rustled hauntingly and the sun seemed to dim.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
Dropping her laundry basket on the floor she rushed inside and shut the door behind her. Taking a deep breath she walked into the living room where she knew he’d be watching TV. She stood at the door for a minute, silently watching him. There he was, feet propped up on the table, a bowl of popcorn in his hand and a violent movie on the screen. What a surprise. Thirty-five years old and he still acted like a child. No wonder he never blessed her with any grandchildren. Though with what the clouds were telling her, that in itself was a blessing. She walked up behind the sofa and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Honey..” she couldn’t even say his name.
“Mum,” he said shrugging her hand off, “I’m watching something. I have work later so lemme have a break okay.”
His eyes didn’t even shift from the screen.
Suddenly she felt her throat choke up. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that a mother’s love in unconditional and they would die to keep their children safe, but she couldn’t. All she could do is turn around and flee the room. She tripped on some shoes by the door, but even then she picked herself up and kept running. Faster and faster up the stairs she ran until she got to the attic and locked herself in it. If what she sensed was meant to happen, she would not witness it.
Haphazardly she rummaged around, throwing boxes and precious valuables as if they were scraps of paper. She looked and looked until she found it. There, in a little red box, wrapped up in tissue paper were the memories that she had tried to forget. There they were.
The pictures.
One by one she touched each one carefully, trying not to further ruin their tattered edges. There he was. Her sweet child. Playing on his bicycle; eating an ice-cream; kissing her on her birthday; being tweedle-dee in the school play. It was all here. Tears stung her eyes as the memories washed over her. Where had her sweet little boy gone? When had he morphed into the stranger in the living room?
She had tried so very hard to fix him. She had told him not to be in the wrong crowds in high school, she had grounded him when he got home past twelve, and she had even made him do chores around the house when she found drugs in his drawer. But when he came home one day with blood on his shirt she knew she had failed. There was no more to do, he would not change.
The second time he came home with blood on his clothes she begun to be afraid. Afraid of him and afraid of what he was doing; where he was getting heaps of money from. She was not a naive woman, and soon she realized that her son was an assassin. And he was not working for the FBI.
She tried to reason with him, but he firmly told her that this was his business. She tried to kick him out of the house but he threatened her. There was nothing she could do. Torn between the loving memories of her sweet baby boy and the hate for what she had created, she was prisoner in her own home.
She knew the time would come when the tables would turn on him. She just never really thought that that time would come so soon. When she thought about it, the time hadn’t come soon at all. She had been scrubbing her screwed-up son’s clothes for years now, praying that he would wake up on day and realize what he was doing with his life, my son, my sweet baby will go to hell.. she thought, tears spilling down her face.
Why couldn’t she have stopped him? She was his mother after all. She had tried and tried but he just didn’t listen. After the death of his father he had just changed, he was no longer her sweet loving son, but an unknown soul in the body of her child.
She had contemplated telling the police so many times, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. And now, the time was here. They had found out, she was sure of it. Now they would come for him. And this time, she would not protect him.
She sat there, clutching the pictures for god knows how long when she heard the door open downstairs. The sound of heavy boots against the wood of the floor could be heard all the way in the attic, for the house was basically empty. Next she heard some noises, shouting, running, things breaking. The noises got louder and louder, and her whole world spun. Curling up in the corner she rested her head on her knees and shut her eyes. Still clutching on to the pictures for dear life, she forced herself to remember the past. It wasn’t her fault. She had done all she could. She was a good mother.
She didn’t want him to die. She had given birth to him after all. But for the first time in her life she had no wish to interfere in the course of events that she knew were happening.
He deserved to die.
Silent tears running down her cheeks she felt her heart stop as she heard a gun shot. She knew exactly who had died. Opening her eyes, she looked down into the picture she was holding. Finally it was over. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. No more blood to wash, no more secrets to keep, no more guilt. She could live again. Her son was dead, but in truth, he had died ages ago. On the day her beloved husband died, so had he.
She heard her name being called, and slowly she got up, her body no longer shaking as she walked towards the door.
Opening it, she faced the officer who looked at her suspiciously, “Ma’am, we have some questions to ask you, will you come down with us?” he said, but it was more like a statement than a question.
Taking a deep breath, she was surprised at how calm she felt. Everything would be fine now.
“Of course.”
She was sure of it.
