Don't Call Me 'Son' (Jeff the Killer Fanfic) [2nd Place in Jeff the Killer 2016]

Chapter 4

('Hope there are still people reading this. Lol )

The thought of his mother being here was like being in a nightmare. He always imagined himself finding her at a park, or at the police station. Or she would be walking down a busy street, and he would call her name. They would both catch each other's eye, and then her eyes would light up in pure joy. They would hug for the first time in years. Or they would simply laugh because they finally were reunited. He had many daydreams of these events occurring to make it past the day. But all these scenarios were the fantasies of a child.

Never had he imagined that he would find the her on this side of the hospital.

Never in the mortuary, you mean.

Michael now stood before a body, his eyes hollow. It was covered with a white cloth, just like in the detective shows he watched as a kid. He was informed by the detectives that he was there to identify her body, that they were not sure that it was really her. But of course, he knew that they were lying.

"Are you ready?" Detective Parker asked.

No. You're not.

Michael's eyes wandered up and down the cloth. Hesitation and fear was written all over his features. He knew he did not want to see what was underneath. He knew that it would just be the final blow against the nail that would shatter his dreams. The thought of never seeing his mother again hurt him. It hurt him more than the day when he first saw Liberty hiding in the closet. The pain was worse than when he heard Mrs. Thompson getting hit for the first time.

Then don't do it. Leave here. Have someone else do it.

Michael shivered and swallowed the bump forming in his throat. She was all he had left. And Michael was the only person left for her too. If he didn't do it, then who would?

Michael gave a nod of approval before Detective Yancey slowly pulled back the cloth, the cold air brushing the young man's coat.

Michael stared at the body, motionless. It was a female. A very pretty woman. Her black hair sat slicked back against her head, her small lips pursed and tinted with blue. There were no bruises or any marks of being tortured anywhere on her body, her skin so pale that Michael wondered if she was even alive at one point at all. But one thing haunted him the most when he looked at her...

She was so peaceful....

Just like the mural you drew.

Michael was silent for a good minute before Detective Parker placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Is this your mother?" He asked.

Biting his lip, Michael held back the silent sobs that would erupt any moment. No. He had been avoiding that question. It made it more real, made it more of an obligation to reveal the truth that that woman on the bed was his mommy. He did not want it to be real. He wanted it to stay a nightmare.

Michael shook his head and hid his eyes behind his bangs. The young man hoped that that blatant lie would make it past them. He thought that if he put a wall between them, it would work.

But no. He knew that they wouldn't.

"Michael."

Michael's flinched from the call to his name. The way he said it reminded Michael of when he was a kid, when the teachers would catch him lying to them. He did not want to cry. Not in front of these men.

Not in front of his mom....

"I can't..." Michael uttered, the words above a whisper.