PROLOG
Angela Moss had deep intricate knowledge about Tyrellβs former ex, also her trust. With slender and thin fingers, a click was heard as she opened the door to Joannaβs apartment. A quivering wind caressed her pale and oval face.
Blue eyes as the heavens above landed on the entrance, where white flowers sprung from their green vases. A mirror hung above it, its round shape as a mouth. Angela put off her shoes beside the others that were lined up.Whiterose was right, Angela thought. Her information is valid. The silence was the only response.
Now itβs left whatever the child is here. Her footsteps were quiet against the beige wooden floor. Tyrell, who by now was on the run, was a liability. Something Fsociety couldnβt ignore. She had to keep Darlene and Elliot safe. Angelaβs heart rate spiked up. Hands sweaty and sticky to touch.
Delicately, she walked toward the babyβs room. There will be no coming back once itβs done. He will be free with the angels. Always. That was what she attempted to reassure herself. Angela checked her phone, it showed 16:08 PM. More than enough time, considered.
The door opened to reveal a childrenβs bedroom. Multiple cars laid spread across the floor, some teddy bears leaned toward the dark azure walls. The windows were covered with white curtains. Her fists clenched.
The baby slept in its crib, adorned with silk. Without using more reflection to contemplate what she was doing βββ she acted. Digits pulled the thin blanket over the childβs features. The toddler didnβt react immediately. A wail escaped its small lips and he fought aimlessly toward her strength.
It drowned out for longer than expected. She pushed down the guilt that riddled her bones. The muffled screams echoed inside her mind. Angela pressured harder. The movements from the infant slowed from each passing moment. The twitches and aftershocks vibrated through her arms.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Angela breathed heavily through her nose. Her body shook from the small sobs that coiled out of her thin and small frame. The purse that she wore, in blackness as her heart, she gripped tightly. βYouβre in heaven now,β Angela chocked out. βEveryone is there with you.β
She turned on her heels and hurried out the door, leaving the keys in the door. Sorrowfully Angela continued her day. Her smile did not reach her eyes when her boss asked her for coffee. Nor did she appreciate any humor. It twisted like a knife deep into her psyche, and Mr. Robot kept forcing her to be more violent.
Iβm sorry, she would tell him. I canβt right now.
Mr. Robot would then slam her harshly against the wall until she saw stars and demand more. Larger than she was capable to give. He made her promise to not tell anyone of the murder. Not even Elliot himself.
Through her whimper, she promised and promised.
