Chapter 7
649words
Just then, the door slammed open, jolting me fully back to reality.
The room seemed to freeze as York shoved my mother through the door, his grin dripping with malicious satisfaction. I caught a glimpse of the ring on his finger—identical to the one Susanna wore. A bitter laugh escaped me. So, they were a pair now. Susanna was marrying York.
"Susanna, here's the last one from their family. I've brought her here," York said, pride laced in every word. His eyes gleamed with twisted pleasure.
Seven years ago, my gruesome death broke my mother, driving her into the grip of Alzheimer's. I had been watching her slip in and out of clarity over the years, torn apart by guilt and sorrow. Sometimes, she did not even remember my name; other times, she cried for me like I had just died.
Susanna's gaze flicked toward them, her expression curling into disgust. However, was it for my mother, or for York?
Susanna hissed, her voice sharp and venomous, "Hey, you hag, where's Matthew? Speak up, or your husband and your other son will pay the price."
I wanted to scream at her, to make her stop before she hurt mom even more. My mother had never recovered from my death. Dad could not even whisper my name around her without breaking her heart.
Yet, hearing my name now, something broke inside her. She snapped, clawing at her hair in a frenzy as she started screaming, "Matthew! My son! My son!"
Susanna recoiled, muttering under her breath, "Lunatic."
York, his face lit with that sick grin, steadied Susanna while looking like he was reveling in the chaos unfolding before him. He scanned the room, taking in the broken sight of my father and the blood from my brother's mutilated hand. Coupled with the wails echoing through the air, his eyes shone with approval.
"Well done, Susanna," York gloated, his voice dripping with malice. "Your dad's in this state all because of Matthew, and now, he's in hiding. His family should suffer for this."
I blinked, confusion washing over me. In what state? I thought her father had recovered. Word had spread years ago that York had whisked them off for treatment abroad. What was he talking about?
Susanna's expression darkened, a shadow crossing over her features as if some buried memory had surfaced. Without warning, she grabbed my mother from her wheelchair and yanked her to the ground before forcing her head next to my brother's severed fingers.
"Not talking, huh?" she snarled. Her voice was cold, devoid of any mercy. Raising the dagger, she sliced through another of Yvan's fingers, and his agonizing scream tore through the air as blood spilled again.
I tried to cover mom's eyes, to shield her from the horror, but my hands passed through her, as always. I was still helpless. Her eyes widened in terror, reflecting the blood and mutilation in front of her.
"Matthew! Please don't die! Don't leave us!" she screamed, her voice cracked and raw. It felt like my heart was being ripped in two.
Then, finally, dad snapped. His face, lined with age and agony, twisted in rage. "Susanna, that's enough! You want to know where Matthew is? Fine, I'll tell you. Just leave them alone!" His roar was desperate, filled with fury and heartbreak.
Susanna loosened her grip on mom, and York, ever casual, tossed her a tissue as if it were some trivial inconvenience. "Had you just spoken up, you could've avoided all this pain. Some people never learn," he said, voice thick with scorn.
Dad's face crumpled, his tears mixing with his forced smile. "Matthew's gone," he said, his voice breaking. "He died seven years ago. The day you left for abroad."
