HELENA

I am running from a man who is chasing me. I don’t know who he is or why he’s after me. I’m terrified, feeling as though I must have wronged him somehow. He’s carrying a vase while pursuing me, his eyes fixed on me with murderous intent. I want to scream, but no sound comes out – fear has stolen my voice. So I keep running aimlessly while he continues his pursuit. Thunder roars so loudly that I can’t even hear my own heartbeat. I’m breathing heavily, praying for rescue, but I know I’m alone – just me, myself, and my pursuer. He’s not a robber; he doesn’t want my possessions – he wants me. I try the doors and windows, but mysteriously, they won’t open. Somehow, he’s locked them from the outside, though I can’t understand how. I rush to my room and grab a ballpoint pen from the bedside table – a pitiful weapon, but better than nothing. Even so, I know it offers little protection against him. I hide under my bed, my heart pounding so hard I can barely breathe. The thunder continues to roll, accompanied now by lightning. In those brief flashes of illumination, I spot something beneath the bed – a clue about my pursuer.

I can see his shadow and hear him whistling, the sound eerily calm while I tremble in fear. His footsteps echo through the room. Through the darkness, I glimpse the vase in his hands and the weapon he intends to use to crush my skull. He pauses near me, pretending to search, though I’m certain he knows where I’m hiding. He’s toying with me, like a cat with a cornered mouse or a tiger playing with its prey before the kill. He moves silently now, no longer disturbing the objects around him.

I watch as he pulls out a lighter and a cigarette from his pocket. He lights up and smokes casually while I remain trapped under the bed, desperately searching for an escape route. But there’s no way out – he’s positioned himself perfectly, waiting for me to emerge. It’s like a twisted game of hide and seek, but the stakes are lethal. He paces back and forth, methodically, careful not to disturb anything in the room. The thunder continues to roll outside. I wait for him to leave so I can escape, but instead, he drops his cigarette, crushes it under his foot, and sits in the chair beside my bed. He knows I’m here, cowering like a frightened child, a prisoner in my own home. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray for him to leave, but he stands and resumes his haunting whistle. The pacing continues until suddenly, everything stops, including the whistling, the footsteps, all of it.

I open my eyes and cautiously peek out. I slowly crawl from my hiding place with thunder and lightning still raging. Without warning, he seizes my hair with brutal force. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t scream. The pen is my only weapon that slipped from my grasp as he dragged me across the floor. With brutal strength, he slammed me into the wall. The impact is devastating, and the pain explodes through my back, and I hear something crack. I’m paralyzed, unable to move. He approaches, steel vase in hand, and raises it high. Through my blurred vision, I catch a glimpse of his face but can’t make out his features. The vase comes down again and again until darkness claims me.

I wake up to find my boyfriend sleeping soundly beside me. I’m drenched in sweat despite the air conditioner running. Relief floods through me because I realized that it was just a dream, though it felt terrifyingly real. I’m alive and well, with no sign of the nightmare’s violence. There’s no storm; instead, sunlight filters through the closed curtains on this clear day. No mysterious attacker, no broken bones.

As I get up and stretch, ready to start my day, I hear my parents arguing downstairs. Dad’s finally home after a two-week absence, claiming he was away on business. His failure to call Mom during this time has made her suspicious. I quietly creep closer to listen. Mom’s voice rises with familiar accusations. The same ones she’s hurled a thousand times before while Dad responds with his well-worn explanations. It’s their endless cycle. Thankfully, our isolated location means no neighbors can hear these embarrassing confrontations.

“Where have you been?!” Mom demands, her voice full of rage. Dad remains silent, acting as if he’s deaf.

“You’re gone for half a month,” she continues, her voice trembling.

“What’s your reason now?” The shake in her voice betrays her struggle to hold back tears, but Dad keeps ignoring her. Instead of answering, he walks to the kitchen to make coffee. Mom follows him, still furious, but he treats her as if she’s invisible.

“Why don’t you answer my question?” she pleads.

“Fix yourself, Judie. You’re drunk again,” he finally responds after catching the scent of liquor on her breath.

“I’m like this because of you. I’ve been waiting for you to come back,” she says, eyes blazing with rage. The tension grows heavier with each moment of his silence.

“Even though I know you’re with her,” she adds through tears. Instead of offering comfort, Dad looks at her with disgust, fueling her anger further.

“What?! You’re with your mistress again!” she screams.

“Why don’t you answer?” She grabs his collar, causing him to drop his coffee cup.

The cup shatters on the floor. Mom staggers backwards in shock as Dad’s hand strikes her face with enough force to knock her down. She collapses, sobbing uncontrollably, crushed by his cruelty since discovering his infidelity.

“If you don’t stop asking me, I will fucking leave you!” he said, fixing his collar before walking to the balcony as if nothing had happened, while Mom was still crying on the floor. She touched her face where Dad had slapped her.

The cup shattered into pieces, just like Mom’s trust when she found out that Dad was cheating on her with his co-worker and business partner, the same woman Mom had once treated as a friend.

I closed my door and sat on my bed. They didn’t notice me watching them fight. I lay down again, trying to compose myself from the bad dream and the constant arguments, since Mom found out about Belinda, which were giving me a headache. Mom lost herself after the discovery. She became suspicious, paranoid and always on edge because Belinda wasn’t just Dad’s business partner; she was his mistress. The cruel irony? Belinda was the one who had arranged my parents’ marriage, and now she was the reason it was falling apart. At first, Dad and Belinda were afraid of Mom finding out. But when she finally did, instead of backing off, Belinda refused to stay away. Mom begged, confronted, and pleaded, but they didn’t care. They continued their affair, shamelessly, as if Mom’s pain didn’t matter. As if nothing else mattered as long as they were happy.

I could still hear them fighting as I lay down on my bed beside Echo, trying to fall back asleep. I hadn’t slept well last night because of my dream, and now my head was aching. But no matter how much I buried my ears under the pillow, their screams still pierced through, making my headache even worse.

Frustrated, I sat up, grabbed my cigarette and lighter from the small table beside the bed, and lit the cigarette.

“Good morning,” Echo greeted with a smile. He had just woken up, still naked, and kissed my cheek. I didn’t react and I didn’t even look at him.

“What’s the matter, babe?” he asked. I didn’t answer.

Echo has been my boyfriend for almost a year now. He has always been there for me, especially in my worst moments, because he genuinely listens. And I love him for that.

He’s a quiet man, always dressed in black and obsessed with it, even. But behind that dark exterior, he’s deeply religious. Unlike other men, he doesn’t drink, smoke, or fool around. Some might call his life boring, but to me, he’s the one who brings me closer to God. Every time he sings Give Thanks by Don Moen, I feel something shift inside me. That song, his voice, reminds me to hold on to faith, even in the chaos.

His voice is usually pleasant to my ears, but not now, not when I’m stressed and tense from the fight I just witnessed.

I take another drag from my cigarette, hoping to ease the tension in my head. The smoke swirls around me, but it does little to help. Then, a knock on my door interrupts my thoughts.

It’s Mom.

I don’t want to open it, but the persistent knocking starts to irritate me. With a sigh, I hurriedly stub out my cigarette, crack the door open just enough to see her, and ask without even looking at her.

“What do you want?”

“What’s your plan, Helena?” she asked. I didn’t answer.

After fighting with Dad, now she’s here knocking on my door, looking for another reason to get mad at me. I can feel her frustration, but I don’t have the energy for this.

She tries to push the door open, but I stand my ground, blocking her from coming inside. I don’t want her to see Echo. Behind me, Echo quickly puts on his clothes, just in case she manages to barge in.

“Your room smells like cigarette smoke!” she shouted.

She could smell it from outside, but I didn’t care. She kept pushing against the door, but I held my ground, refusing to let her in.

“Open the door!” she yelled, shoving harder.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice flat.

“Are you not going to school?!” she snapped.

“No,” I answered, hoping she would just leave me alone.

“Why?” she demanded, her voice laced with irritation.

Then she spat out the words, “You want to be an out-of-school cunt?”

I rolled my eyes. “Leave me alone,” I said, still blocking the door.

“Let me in!” she screamed, pushing with more force.

I pushed back, and the door slammed into her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly as she touched the spot where it hit her. “I didn’t mean to—”

But before I could finish, she slapped me hard. The sting burned across my cheek, as sharp and sudden as a spiked volleyball.

“You’re just like your dad! You don’t know how to respect me!” she spat, pointing a furious finger at me before turning and storming away.

I slammed the door shut and sank onto the bed beside Echo. Tears welled up in my eyes, and before I could stop them, they started falling. Echo pulled me into his arms, gently rubbing my back, and whispering soft reassurances. I didn’t want to go to school. I just wanted to stay home with him. The school felt pointless and boring.

Echo visited me whenever Mom and Dad were out for work. He was the only thing that made me feel okay. I had lost all interest in school ever since my nanny, Silva …died. My nanny had loved me like her own daughter. She cared for me in ways no one else did, always making sure I felt safe and cherished. But when I was sixteen, she fell ill. And then, just like that, she was gone.

Since then, everything changed.

Now, at twenty-two, I’m still in university, but I no longer care about studying. Life feels dull. The school lost its meaning the moment I lost her. She was my second mother. The one who stayed when my real mother walked away. Mom abandoned me after discovering Dad’s affair, and with that, she didn’t just lose love for him. She also lost love for me. And maybe, even for herself.

“Stop crying,” Echo said, gently tapping my back. But I couldn’t stop. The tears kept coming, and I was falling apart.

I was having a breakdown because of Mom. She and Dad were always busy and never had time for me. They were constantly out of town, leaving me alone, and when they were home, it was nothing but fighting. Our house was never peaceful. It felt more like a battleground. I told myself it wasn’t a home anymore. It was just a house.

Echo hugged me tighter as the tears kept flowing. He kissed my forehead, and then, in a whisper, he spoke to me like an angel, reminding me that I could end all my suffering if I wanted to.

I wiped my eyes and asked him, “What should I do?”

He smiled at me, his eyes warm with understanding. “Surrender them to the Lord.”

I looked at him, making sure he meant what he said. He smiled again and repeated, “Surrender them to the Lord, babe.”

The words he spoke echoed in my mind, like a trance that drew me in. I stood up and walked to the mirror, hoping to find myself, but the reflection staring back at me was a stranger.

She wasn’t happy, sad, or lost. She was just… gone. Her eyes were hollow and distant. I knew who she was now: cold. Cold as ice, hard like stone. And somehow, I felt like I was staring at her too.

Echo’s voice broke through the silence, singing “Give Thanks” softly in my ear. His voice was like an angel’s, and the song, like a drug, began to fill me with energy. I wiped away my tears, grabbed the old telephone cord from the landline, and silently made my way downstairs, the song still echoing in my head.

I heard Dad talking to Belinda on the phone, whispering so Mom wouldn’t hear. He was still wearing his office suit, sipping his coffee, completely oblivious to my presence.

I stood behind him, frozen for a moment, watching him talk to her as if I didn’t exist. A cold emptiness settled in my chest.

But I wasn’t the same girl anymore.

The Christian song kept playing in my head, giving me strength, and fueling something in me that I couldn’t ignore. I felt empowered, like I was on a mission. One that was meant to be. I felt something new inside me, something alive, fearless.

“His words echoed in my mind, a hypnotic drone. I rose and faced the mirror, searching for myself, but the reflection was a stranger. The girl staring back was neither happy, sad, nor lost, simply absent. Her teary eyes were hollow. I knew her now: cold. Cold as ice, hard as stone. And somehow, I saw myself in her. Echo’s voice broke the silence, singing “Give Thanks” softly in my ear. His voice, angelic, and the song, like a jolt of energy, invigorated me. I wiped my tears, grabbed the telephone cord from the landline, and silently descended the stairs, the song echoing in my head.

I overheard Dad whispering to Belinda on the phone, careful not to be heard by Mom. He was still in his office suit, sipping coffee, completely oblivious to my presence. I stood behind him, frozen for a moment, watching him speak to her as if I didn’t exist. A cold emptiness settled in my chest. But I wasn’t the same girl anymore.

The Christian song pulsed through me, giving me strength, fueling something I couldn’t ignore. I felt empowered, as if on a divine mission. I felt reborn, alive and fearless. The song continued, and I, cord in hand, strangled him. He tried to grab me, but I struck him twice with the coffee cup, shattering it against his head. The hot coffee flushed his face crimson, but I didn’t falter. I strangled him until he was still. He was dead. I surrendered his soul to the Lord, knowing he would finally be at peace, free from pain and suffering. I closed my eyes and prayed, thanking God for guiding me in this righteous act. I felt blessed, chosen as His instrument, a helper to ease the suffering of others. A surge of new energy filled me. I felt transformed, alive and fearless. The Christian song swelled in my heart. Eyes closed, arms outstretched, I sang praises to God for the success of my first mission, my father’s lifeless body cradled in my lap.”

“Helena,” My mom called me in shock.

“What did you do?” Mom asked, her voice a horrified whisper as she saw Dad lying dead on my lap, the cord still tight around his neck. She rushed to him, pushed me aside, and desperately checked for a pulse. Silence.

“What did you do, Helena?” she repeated, her voice filled with disbelief. I didn’t answer. She touched his wrist, searching for any sign of life, but there was nothing.

“You killed your father,” she sobbed, collapsing against his body. “Fernando!” she cried, her voice breaking, trying to rouse him. As if she could undo what I had done.

I watched her, her tears streaming down her face like molten rock. Even after his infidelity, even after the pain he caused her, she still loved him. And as I sat there, watching her grieve, I knew I had to end her suffering too. I moved closer, the cord still clutched in my hand, and strangled her. She clawed at the cord, her eyes wide with terror, but I held on, tightening my grip until she went still.

“Sssshhh,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “You can rest in peace now, Mama.” The “Give Thanks” song played on in my head.

“Good job, Helena,” Echo said, appearing as if from nowhere. I hadn’t even noticed him watching. “Let’s pray for their souls.”

We closed our eyes and prayed, offering my parents to God. I had ended their fighting, their suffering, given them peace. The house was quiet now, finally free of tension, arguments, and hate. I carefully moved their bodies, one by one, and seated them at the dining table, facing each other. Our long rectangular table is finally ready for a happy family meal. I gently wiped the blood from Dad’s forehead, the remnants of the coffee cup I’d shattered against his head. I stared at them for a long moment. It was the first time I’d ever seen them like this: peaceful and not fighting, just peaceful. I loved them.

“You two look so peaceful now,” I smiled at Echo, my gaze still fixed on Mom and Dad, seated silently at the dining table. My day could finally begin. I picked up the cord and swept the shards of the coffee cup from the floor. As I cleaned, hunger gnawed at me. I checked the time; it was lunchtime. I cooked a simple meal while they waited, then served the food. Rice and chicken soup with broccoli for Mom and Dad, and a plate for Echo. I sat beside him, and we prayed. After our grace, we began to eat.

“Next time you’re on a mission, we’ll do it together,” he said, enjoying his meal. I smiled and thanked him for bringing peace. Mom and Dad were happy now, together. No more fighting. The house was finally at peace, thanks to Echo.

Echo is my savior. Without him, I’d be nothing and useless, afraid, invisible. He came into my life to remind me of my worth, that I am God’s chosen, and that I need not fear because he is my guide. I’ve loved him my whole life, and I know he loves me too. He’ll never leave me now. No more hiding him in my room, no more sneaking to see him. We’re free now, in my parents’ house. We’ll live here together, officially, as a couple. Three bedrooms, two toilets, an oversized garage, a backyard, and three cars—Mom’s, Dad’s, and mine. We’ll be rich. And I know we’ll fill this house with peace and love.

“Have your chicken soup now, Daddy. I know you always wanted this.” I spoke softly, pouring the soup into his cup, though my hands trembled. “Belinda told me it’s your favorite.”

I tried to be kind, even though he wasn’t kind to me. But when he turned away from the soup, something inside me snapped.

“Why don’t you like it?” I asked, my voice tight with frustration.

He didn’t answer.

“You don’t like it?” I pressed again, the anger building inside me.

“Is it because I cooked it, not Belinda?” My voice rose, sharp with fury. Without thinking, I hurled the cup at his face.

The soup splashed across his skin, leaving a red mark where it burned. I felt no regret.

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant,” my father mumbled, but his words were lost on me.

I kept shouting at him, cursing him, letting every ounce of my rage spill out.

“Sssssh, stop, babe,” Echo said, his voice soft but firm as he tried to calm me.

“He’s still your father,” he reminded me gently, kissing me with such tenderness that, for a moment, my anger melted away.

At that moment, I felt the storm inside me quiet, and we went upstairs to my room, where we sought refuge in each other.