Trigger Warning: violence against children, child death
This is the fifteenth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, and Part XIV before continuing.
This couldn’t be happening.
Without thinking, I reached for him, hoping against hope to wake him up.
It was obvious he was dead, but my brain refused to accept that information. How could the boy who had shown me his toys and washed dishes with me just last night be dead?
I took him by the shoulders and shook him.
I slapped his cheeks.
Nothing.
The only thing that accomplished was forcing a half-congealed glob of blood to ooze its way out of his stomach.
That was when I noticed the gashes that had made him so bloody. They were all over his body, but there were so many crisscrossing his stomach they had created a gaping hole.
I instinctively threw myself back, scrambling away from him on my hands and feet, as though putting physical distance between myself and the carnage would accomplish anything.
That was when I heard Kevin shout his son’s name and come running as he saw us.
He stopped just inches away from his son’s body, one hand over his mouth as he took in the awful scene and his eyes started to fill with tears.
Sam joined him what could only have been a few seconds later, but felt like an eternity.
When he heard his wife approaching, Kevin whirled, grabbed her, and tried to lead her away, but he was too late. Over his shoulder she saw the mutilated body of her little boy and she screamed.
I think I’ll be hearing that scream for the rest of my days.
I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t feel right for me to witness the worst moment of their lives, much less try to comfort them – as if there was any comfort for them. But it also didn’t feel right to run, though I desperately wanted to get as far away from that mess as I could.
Before I could decide what to do, Sam looked up at me, and I saw all her horror and grief harden into rage. Her eyes narrowed and she pointed a finger at me as she screamed, “What did you do? What did you do to my boy?”
I was stunned. How could she think I would do that after everything they had done for me?
But then I looked down and realized I was covered in the poor boy’s blood. I must have gotten it on me when I tried to wake him.
Before I could try to explain, an ambulance pulled up, followed by a cop car. The cop lost no time handcuffing me and throwing me in the back of his car.
And that’s how I got here, Officer.
To be continued…