𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟏 | 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥

"Conditions are conditions," Lucifer remarked primly.

"B-but, I have children! Who will take care of them?" Clark whimpered. The memory of his kids made his face twisted into a painful grimace.

"Your beautiful, pious wife will be able to do it with God's help, surely." As my father laughed blasphemously, I felt a slight resentment against him.

I didn't judge him because he was an atheist but because of his behavior. Nothing in the world gave him the right to make fun of people for their religion. I believed that God exists, even after the things I saw and experienced. Somewhere deep in my soul, I held to the hope that my father and I had a chance to be redeemed. Although Lucifer had a completely different opinion for heaven and hell.

Something flashed under the light of the lamp.

"You want to...," Clark couldn't even finish the whole sentence. Sweat sparkled on his forehead, running down his face. I could imagine the torment he was going through because I've had experienced it too. As a five-year-old.

At that time, I didn't know what our family was involved in because of my father. I had no idea what one innocent game could do. I was stupid and liked to do things I shouldn't be doing. And this habit stayed with me to this day.

My father strictly forbade me to step into his study. He kept reminding me that, and of course, it aroused even bigger interest in me. Once, I didn't listen to his warning. I was startled to hear him down the stairs, getting closer and closer to where I was hiding. I panicked, so I crawled into the closet. My father's voice intensified; he was shouting at someone. I was very surprised to see a stranger through the cracks of the closet with a weapon swinging behind his belt. The stranger locked us in the room and started going through my father's stuff. I was afraid he would open the closet and tell him that I violate his restriction. My child's self never thought to be afraid of a guy with a gun. I didn't worry, I didn't think he could hurt me. I was more concerned because of my father and the punishment he might give me. My anxiety caused a hiccough, which brought to me unwanted attention. The intruder grabbed me and wrapped his arm around my neck with a triumphant smirk. To this day, I haven't forgotten that facial expression. Sometimes it comes back and haunts me in nightmares.

My father, meanwhile, kicked out the door, and when he saw me in the stranger's hands, he turned pale. The thief threatened to kill me if he didn't give him what he wanted. Only my father's helpless face revealed the seriousness of the situation. When a stranger asked my father to lay down his weapon, I saw he was hesitating. Was he willing to let me die just to protect the reason for this man's presence?

I still don't know what was so important to my father that it didn't force him to give up. Was it worthless scraps of paper? Money? Weapons?

When I saw my father struggling with himself, I did the only thing a scared child would do – I stepped on my prisoner's toes and hide. This distracted him, and Lucifer had plenty of time to make the bullet fly through the intruder's head.

It was the first murder I saw. I was even there when my father buried the dead body in the woods near our house. Years later, the place became the burial ground of those who dared to cross the threshold of our home and stand up to Lucifer O'Donnell with unclean intentions.

A lot has changed since then. My father became protective, and my mother filed for divorce. But still, she couldn't protect me from anything that was happening in a father's house while I was in his custody. I had to swear not to tell her about how he taught me to use a weapon or how I was learning to fight.

Sometimes I regret choosing the option to be cowardly silent. Maybe I would never see him again, but at least I could live a normal life.

"...To kill you off?" Lucifer added with a smirk. A gun, tight in his hand, was aimed at the frightened pawn. That's how my father called the people who worked for him.

Clark swallowed dryly. Lucifer burst to laugh.

"Are you kidding me?" He asked between laughs. "Shoot you? Here, in my own house? Do you see any silencer on this gun? Do you want all the neighbors to hear?" My father lowered his weapon and threw it on the table next to him. The MK 2 slid across the brown wood until it landed in a briefcase on a chair, which closed itself with a sharp sound. "It would be silly to shoot you." Clark looked relieved. However, as a father's remark, the battle was not over. My father inhaled deeply to make a theatrical verdict. I realized that this is where the life of a messenger ends. "I prefer silent killing." Lucifer grabbed the frightened Clark by the throat and inserted in a needle with a strange whitish, almost translucent liquid. His helpless body fell to the ground. I suppressed a scream inside me.

Father carefully put the used needle in a plastic evidence bag and left it on the table. Then he crossed poor Clark as if he was a sack of potatoes, walking into the kitchen, satisfied by the evil sin he did.

Still disgusted by what I saw, I returned to where I was supposed to be all the time – to my room.