In all my life, I have found waiting is the most painful thing us humans have to do. We have to wait to grow, wait to fall in love, and wait for the inevitible black veil that is harshly thrown on us at unsuspecting times. For me, this was that time.
Four hours had passed since the police arrived at the house. They took things away in small plastic bags and took photographs of every inch of the house aside from me myself. But as the detectives spoke, I got a peak in the room. I walked beside my mother and saw her eyes were open. Her eyes were red and pale yet her skin was cold. There was a look in her face that was horrifying to me. Then I realized she was not alive.
I didn't want to believe it when Nick came out of the room with bloody hands, even when the detectives told me. I froze with tears sudden in my eyes. My fists clenched and my heart pounding.
"How?" Was all I could manage to say to the detective.
"We believe it was stabbing. But not with a knife...something in the house..."
The detectives watched me as if I were the most fascinating they had ever scene. Dissecting my every move-questioning me as if I were the culprit. I answered as Nick told me to but I began doubting him. Why was it such a crime to have them know he was here?
Just as I went to tell them he was in the barn, something caught my eye. There was a bookshelf outside my mother's room on the right side of the door that always seemed out of place to me. She never read books but never wanted me to touch the shelves and now I knew why.
I excused the detectives by eight that night when now I was the only one left in the house. Making my way to the shelf, I pulled at the cord that was slightly out from one of the books and it revealed a small camera.
Did my mother record her own murder?