This centers on a deranged woman's path to becoming a complete nihilistic and feral serial killer. Emma Woodburn was put in the asylum for eleven years after killing her own husband and ten-year old son, along with the aging mother of a detective.
...
The reality that her mother was forced against her own will to be put in the mental hospital stabbed Mrs. Summers in the heart and spoke suicide words to her ears. She was the only black woman of the family with a PhD in Law, the only sane one of the family and the only black woman with a demented past in the family.
A day never went by without having to listen to the loud wails, obscene curses, foul-mouth and abusive language that came out of the lips of Austin and Brianna. Timothy, to point out, was by far the wisest of the Summers. When each numerous waves of battle coerced on the dinner table, the living room, the swimming pool, the backyard, school, the hospitals, the mall, the movies, in their Jeep, in the bathroom, in the bedroom, the closet, camping and even in the shower, the young Summer muttered only two words; "Not my fault." Then kept his trap shut.
All he did was stare at the two air-headed, teenage siblings go the extra mile further and further. And as these moments of torture progressed, the more the hatred for this family grew deep inside his chest. Timothy did hate this family and ever since the age of four, he had gazed up into the shooting stars to wish he had never been born. At the age of six, he wished so hard he had never been a Summers. It hadn't been suicidal, but the kid wondered what it just felt like to have a sharp-edge knife stab him in the chest, and see his own red blood gushing out like the sprinklers in school.
He had once stood behind the bathroom door, not to spy at his mother's nakedness(which was so disgusting for his young brain to capture) but to watch Mrs. Summers hold the knife in her grip and slowly slash her upper wrists after a shower. At school, when nobody, and actually nobody, was there to stop him, Timothy begun with the blade he swiftly sneaked out of Mrs. Summers' dressing room and in the exact similar motion, slash the upper wrist of his arms.
Only two bodies and voices were on his shoulders, but this was different. He actually felt like both the voices were backing him up. Of course, he had just been a wimpy, mommas boy with a passion for soccer, R-rated horror virtual reality games, internet browsing and peeping at the next-door neighbor's exotic, Japanese wife anytime she was taking a dip in her five-star swimming pool, but having no clear conscious.
Timothy was like a bullet being fired from a 9mm. A kid who loved to act and just do things. Very much unlike Mr. Summers and Austin, who being the only other males of the family, agreed on only one thing without engaging in a battle of foul-mouth insults. First was peeping at the exotic Japanese neighbor taking a dip in the pool and last came soccer and R-rated, horror virtual-reality games.
Mrs. Summers and Brianna agreed on only one thing without a battle of foul-mouth insults and sometimes foreign language of abuse. Peeping at the next door neighbor's irresistible Jewish son weight-lifting at the backyard and taking regular sessions at Uncle Sam and Aunt Kitty's gym just to gaze at the wonderful biceps and beautiful eight packs that were excreting dripping sweat on the mat. Whoever knew Mr. & Mrs. Summers both had unspeakable sins to speak of ?, thought Timothy.
The pervs his parents and siblings were, Timothy lived a long, youthful life staring into their eyes as they forced a peaceful, co-existing conversation. Their bodies were present, but their minds were played in rewind to the motion picture of those sweaty, beautiful biceps and muscles as well as those long legs dripping wet and bodacious curves as she ascended from the pool. The sex was good alright, but the major problem was that it wasn't sex anymore, it turned to the watching 70's Golden Age of Porn with both hands in each panties-kind of sex.
Their marriage had turned dry as the autumn leaves, dull as the pale skin of a sick patient suffering from Malaria, and boring as the library itself.
Sex therapy, on a further note, was full of laughs. It began good and ended badly, with the doctor getting zero analysis, zero result and zero solution to the thing that stopped Mr. & Mrs. Summers from going back to their normal life in bed.
"Why do you sometimes think it's a bad thing to have sex with your husband, Mrs. Summers?", the therapist would say.
"It's just not there anymore, doctor," Mrs. Summers would normally reply in a less shallow manner.
"What's not there anymore?"
"The love," was one of Mrs. Summers' other awkward answers, "The love. We just don't feel it like we used to in the beginning."
Then on Mr. Summers part of the fictitious story,
"Why do you sometimes think it's taboo to penetrate your wife at night, Mr. Summers?", the wise therapist inquires.
"I believe, well it might not be a hundred percent true, but I actually believe it's a case of meningtitis," he says plainly, "Maybe, in my mind, I'm actually afraid that I'm all out of sex-juice and so that fire is just gone."
"Or I presume it's simply a loss of excitement. You lack interest in your wife now and you want more pleasures from outside."
"I'm..I love my wife, doctor," Mr. Summers would fight back stubborngly.
"I know. But in order to stabilize your desires for her, then I'm suggesting you both take the next step. And I mean, being open in your marriage for once. Add a little adventure and see if you really still have that love for her."
"No. I don't think you quite understand, doctor," Mrs. Summers voiced out, " I've been having some psychological meltdowns when I'm alone. I've been cutting myself, and I think my son's been watching me. Well, I feel him watching me sometimes. You see, doctor, I believe the reason I'm not excited about sex anymore is because it might have something to do with my strange disorder lately."
Mrs. Summers, unfortunately, found out letting the cat out of the bag concerning her dementia was wasted. All the therapist would do, par her job, was prescribe pills and more pills. Their marriage was a one-way ticket to Hell and there was nothing, not even a spiritual medium or witch doctor, could do to stabalize it.
Mr. Summers finally silenced the verbal battle between Austin and Brianna but then he received the phone call that changed everything.
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