Nothing stays the same
I snuck in the back door, and clicked it shut. Then slowly, I tiptoed around the corner, and up the stairs.
The light was on, which struck me as odd. It was ten at night and my mom wasn’t exactly a night owl, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. My baby sister Lily was probably up crying again, but there was no sound.
I listened for a moment to make sure noone was awake before I turned the corner.
My jaw dropped, and tears welled up in my eyes. There, lying on the living room floor was my mother.
Blood pooled around her. The stab wound was evident in her lower abdomen, and her stomach was completely still.
Her eyes were wide open, and her arm was draped to the side.
I raced over, and threw my arms around her chest, screaming in agony.
The shock wasn’t long before my fists curled, and shook as I grasped her blouse. The flowered, blue top was now blood red.
Tears fell rapidly from my eyes now, running down my cheeks as I felt her pulse
that just made the me cry more.
“No mommy” the words seeped through my short gasps for air.
I rested my head on her chest, and pushed on the wound, trying desperately to stop the blood that had already, almost, completely covered the entire carpet.
I was horrified, and confused at the same time, for a moment I just held her. Then I kissed her flushed, lifeless forehead, and sniffled as I made my way to the kitchen phone to call 911.
I stopped in my tracks at the scene, when a glint of silver in the dim kitchen light caught my attention.
Out of the corner of my blurry, red eye, I recognized a bloody knife on the kitchen floor.
It looked oddly familiar, then it struck me.
The shape of the pocket knife, the camo handle, I knelt down to get a better look.
“No not possible, he would never! No I can’t think this way.”
I picked it up, and wiped away the blood. The name engraved into the handle read
“Charlie Andrews.” This was my 19 year old brothers knife, and it was drenched in my mother’s blood.
That’s when I realized Lily! Where was Lily, my baby sister hadn’t made a sound, not even a whimper, I hadn’t heard or saw her since I left.
I stood to look for her, but just as I took the first step a police officer barged in, breaking down the front door.
Before I could say anything they piled in and I was handcuffed.
“What are you doing?”
I struggled and squirmed, but all I got was the same speech every criminal gets.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to a lawyer, if you can not afford a lawyer one will be appointed to you.”
Only one thing was different, I wasn’t guilty of anything but sneaking out that one, tragic night.
I yelled and screamed “my sister, I don’t know where she is, she could be hurt.” In my head I thought much worse, but they didn’t even hear the words I spoke aloud.
In their minds all I was, was the girl covered in blood, who held the knife, next to the dead woman. And that’s all they needed, or at least wanted to know.