The Prisoner Project

FOURTEEN

Soon after, the laughs died down to sobs.

Her mixed emotions struck me on the wrong chord because all the while, I was looking into the dead eyes of our brother.

Something about what Diana had done felt awfully disturbing to me. She had done something more heinous than Hugh had ever done, she had reached over a metaphorical line and snagged the prize that Hugh had been lining up to win.

She had killed. She had killed a man. My brother. Her brother. Our brother.

Mother would've keeled over.

"Where's mother?" I whispered.

For some irrational reason, my brain was refusing to process the body, the blood and the gore that surrounded me. Even as I had blood on the front of my clothes and in my hair, my emotions were not able to cope with the capacity of the sin Diana had committed.

"Mother!" Diana shouted, remembering suddenly, and then pushed past me and out the room. "Mom, where are you?!" She yelled, and I could hear doors slamming, doorknobs jolting and the floor boards creaking as she searched frantically for our mother that I knew so well was dead.

"She's dead." I whispered.

The ringing within me had stopped but the sound of my heart beat was challenging the initial noise. I was rooted to the spot in all forms and I could do was breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. That's all I knew how to do in that moment.

"Mom!"

I'll kill you like I killed the thing you call a mother.

"Mom!"

The bullet blew her brains out like confetti.

"Mom!"

See you all in hell.

"Mom!"

And the faint voice of my mother slithered towards us. "Diana...?"

I spun around on hearing it. It was frail, weak, slightly familiar but still there. Hugh was lying, he didn't really kill her.

She was alive.

___

BANSHEE SLAPPED ME ON THE FACE and spat on me. He wrapped his grim hands around my neck and squeezed hard enough to kill me. He might have killed me, had I not left the interview room.

He did all this in the manner that he always did. He did all this to me simply by opening his mouth. It was a grotesque talent that only one who mastered all the sins could easily do. It was a skill for the damned.

"I'm not in your fucking mood." Banshee had said once he walked in. His stride was a lot harsher, there was a jolt in his step and his face was hard with dirty things within it. I could tell just by watching him that I needed to walk on ice whilst I spoke to him.

"That's fine." I muttered.

My nightmare had tired me out. I had barely slept last night and I didn't have enough time to check if Mirabel had replied my email or sent me the file. I was running solely on caffeine and fear. It was a battle of which was working the best.

Banshee paused, gauging my expression and then settled in his chair properly. His scowl hadn't moved and his voice was still on edge. "You're not in my mood either, are you?"

"I guess not."

He leaned closer to the glass, wanting me to see his expression. As indifferent as it truly was. "A moment of silence then, for the fuck I could've given. It just died."