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The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla that usually lingers in the air is absent, replaced by something I can't identify.
It's dark. Really dark. I can't see anything. I almost slip on something wet and gasp. Philippe tightens his grip on my waist, holding me in place.
"Turn on the lights," he instructs. I nod, forgetting that he can’t see, and take a few steps to the right, fumbling to flip the switch.
A metallic, coppery scent assaults my senses as I realize what smells different. My eyes adjust. Blood. There was so much blood everywhere, splattered on the walls, furniture, and floors.
The first thing I do is stare down at my shoes. That's what I was slipping on.
I run through the hallway, Philippe on my heels. We reach the living room.
Mangled bodies lie in pools of crimson on the foot of the sofa, and limbs are twisted at impossible angles. My mom lies back on the seat, my dad on his knees. Throats slit, flesh torn.
My heart shatters into a million pieces as I stare at the horrific scene. This can't be real. It's just a nightmare, a terrible nightmare, and any moment now, I will wake up.
But I don't wake up. This is real.
A broken sob rises in my chest as I rush forward, heedless of the blood soaking my shoes and dress. I fall to my knees beside my mom, gathering her battered body in my arms. She is still warm, but there is no heartbeat, no breath. Just a ruin of flesh that was once so full of life.
"No, no, no," I whisper, rocking back and forth as a shock of memory threatens to overwhelm me. "Mom, please wake up. Please don't leave me!"
But she is already gone. They are both gone, taken from me in a flash of mindless violence. My chest constricts, suffocating in anguish and disbelief. Who would do this? Why?
A scream rises in my throat, a primal sound ripping out of me in a ragged sob. "No, no, no," I wail, clutching at them as if I can piece them back together through the sheer force of my grief.
Philippe's strong arms wrap around me, dragging me away from the horror. I fight against him, struggling to get back to my parents.
Philippe holds me tight, his grip unyielding as he pulls me away from the gruesome scene. My cries of anguish echo through theempty house, intertwining with the ghostly silence that hangs heavy in the air.
"Let me go! I need to be with them!" I scream, my voice raw with pain. I fight against Philippe's grasp, my desperation overpowering any rational thought. But he holds on. His voice is firm yet gentle as he tries to calm me down. "Bella, we need to leave. It's not safe here."
I turn my tear-streaked face towards him, my eyes filled with a mixture of anguish and rage. "Who did this? Who could do such a thing?"
Philippe's gaze softens, his own eyes reflecting the pain that courses through my veins. "We don't know yet,cara mia. But we can't stay here. We have to go, for our own safety."
He holds me tightly against his chest, whispering words of comfort against my hair. I cling to him, trembling uncontrollably, as anguished sobs shake my entire body.
How could this have happened? My mind spins in circles, unable to comprehend the atrocity before me. Nothing will ever be the same.
I bury my face in Philippe's chest, squeezing my eyes shut. But I can't escape the gruesome images burned into my mind. They overlap with another image. But it’s unclear.
Philippe strokes my hair and back in a soothing rhythm. "I'm so sorry,cara mia. So sorry." His voice rumbles deep in his chest, laced with regret.
Philippe gently turns my face into his chest, shielding me from the carnage. "We need to call the police," he says softly.
I shake my head, clutching at his shirt. "No, not yet. I can't - I can't leave them."
"I understand." He pulls me closer, his embrace both comforting and restraining. "But we can't stay here forever. The police will need to investigate, and your parents..." His voice trails off, but I know what he means. Their bodies will have to be moved.
A fresh wave of sorrow crashes over me at the thought of my parents being taken away like so much refuse. I can't bear it. I can't -
"The police will take them," I scream so loudly that Philippe is stunned. I take this chance to rush back to them and hold them again. Their blood is still warm. I feel the urge to bottle their lifeblood, to gather it somehow and keep it safe.
It is senseless. Everything is senseless. "No. No, please, no," tears flow down my eyes as I stare into my father's dead eyes, imagining their carcasses being inspected, bagged, evidenced.
"Tatiana." Philippe's tone is firm yet gentle as he comes closer and takes my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. Hisblue eyes are soft with compassion. "I know how hard this is, but we have to face it. There's no other way."
"No. I will not let the police turn them into just another number. I won't," I shriek over and over again, tears rolling down my face. "I want justice." I fall limp like I’ve forgotten all my words.
