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Clean and pure. Everything I know my family is not.
Sitting up slowly, about to take my boots off, I notice an envelope placed dead centre on my pillow. An envelope with my name scrawled on it in my mother’s neat and cursive handwriting.
Instead of opening it, I make my way to the bathroom door.
“Mum, what's this letter?” I ask, knocking lightly on the door. There is no answer. In fact, there is no noise at all. Only the ticking of a clock coming from down the hallway.
“Mum?”
Still no answer. I gently knock on the door, only for it to open slightly, the door not locked.
Scrunching my brows together, I slowly step inside, the flicker of the candle blowing rapidly with my presence as I brush past it and turn on the light switch. Bright light illuminates the stark white bathroom and that’s when I see her.
She looks so peaceful, she could’ve been sleeping, but I know what she looks like when she’s asleep. Her face is always scrunched up and her chest rises and falls quickly, like she’s always nervous about being unconscious. Nervous about what could happen to her during that time.
But she isn’t asleep now.
No.
She’s dead.
I scream.
A scream that pierces the air, travelling over the hills and lakes that surround the Second District.
I stumble, losing my footing on the bath mat, and knock the candle from where it was perched on the edge of the sink. Fire spreads up the drapes, surrounding the window, and panic sets in.
I start pulling at it, trying to rip the curtain down to stamp out the fire. Flames lick my arms, the heat attacking my flesh in my attempt, and more screams surface from deep in my throat.
The drape falls down and I quickly stamp on it—fortunately, I’m still wearing my boots. The fire is out quickly, not having spread further, but my lungs heave in the smoke it caused, burning down my throat, my arms still ignited from the sensation the flames had left.
I turn back to my mother's lifeless body, lying there in the freezing bath water, and scream again. My hands reach into the water and I bite out a groan as the cool water covers my singed arms.
Holding my mother's cold, lifeless body in my arms causes me to shut down. I scream and scream until my throat is raw and there's nothing left in me. No more sound comes.
The tears are uncontrollable as they stream down my face. The sobs, once loud and deafening, are now a whimper.
I don’t know how long I stay there. It could be minutes or hours, but I come to my senses when I hear the front door bang open and heavy footsteps racing up the stairs.
“Dad” I scream, begging for his attention, guiding him to the bathroom. “Dad!”
But it isn’t my dad who walks through the bathroom door.
No. It’s Carlo Rhivers, the leader of the First District, who barrels through the doorway, taking in the sight before him.
“What are you—Where’s my dad?” I manage to say in a shaky voice, completely struck by his appearance.What the fuck is he doing here?
Carlo Rhivers isneverin the Second District unless he’s on business with my father. So why is he here now?
“Theodora, let’s go,” he says, gauging what’s happened, trying to reach for my arms that are still firmly around my mother’s lifeless body. “Theodora, this is a crime scene. You need to let her go!”
But I can’t let her go. I can’t. And I’ll be damned if I let this man tell me what to do.
As I try to cling on to her, strong arms heave me up. I’m hauled away from the bath and away from my mother. I kick and scream, but no matter how much I fight, I cannot shake them.
Once we’re away from my mother, I’m put down on the ground and into someone’s arms. The scent of my father invades my senses and I continue to break down whilst he holds me, my wet clothes soaking through one of his ridiculously expensive suits that he always wears.
“Where were you?” I scream at him, angry that he let this happen even though I know it’s not really his fault. There’s no way of knowing if he even knew or not.
