Xion Island Zero: Chapter 26

I am filled with hatred. But not for Carrie. Not in the way you’d expect. She’s a pathetic waste of space.

The house smells like supermarket fabric softener and something warm. She made banana bread. It’s cooling on the side. It’s a domestic and typically nice scene. I hate that sentiment. Why couldn’t she be edgy? The kitchen curtains are patterned with pears—she’s that woman, and I shudder. Even the fabric wants me to kill her.

I let myself in through the back door after snapping the latch with a knife stolen from the hotel kitchen. They keep their blades sharp. Maybe I’ll leave a good review. It took me twenty seconds.

She jumps when she sees me in the kitchen and calls the girls to her side. Belinda’s wearing unicorn pyjamas. I try not to vomit. The kettle’s still humming, and a mug on the table says Best Mum Ever. They scream as I smash it against the wall. She has two teenage daughters, my sisters, though the word sticks in my throat like rotten meat. I force them all back through to the living room, and they slump on the sofa where they’d been watching something blue-lit and noisy before I arrived.

Carrie opens her mouth to plead with me. And I see her hope for survival. Her hands shake. She’s already chosen her plea. It’s predictable and useless. ‘Don’t hurt my children,’ she says.

‘You don’t want me to hurt myself?’

She’s confused and a bit stupid. What a gene pool. I wait for the penny to drop, but she needs help.

‘I am your son.’

She chews on that for a second, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

This is boring. I move things on and show her the knife.

She doesn’t scream again, but her breathing sounds like a freight train. She’s trying to be brave for the brats, I’ll give her that.

‘Back room,’ I tell her. ‘Take them with you and sit on the sofa. Nice and quiet, or I’ll start removing digits. I use the insipid, nice word, because I think she’ll appreciate it. Them first.’ I nod at the girls. They’re both crying, and one, Lorraine, has a trail of snot that she wipes on her sleeve.

They move without even trying to escape. Belinda is the youngest. She wails and says something unintelligible to my mother, but a glance from me shuts it down. Kids are like dogs. They smell danger and are utterly controllable.

The back room is a second living area, part dining room, part office. I imagine my sisters doing homework with a plate of cookies within easy reach between them. It’s cluttered with framed photos on the wall. I learn about the strangers who are my family, and feel anger rising inside me. And then, as my eyes fall to the mantlepiece, I see a baby picture in a cheap plastic frame along with many others. They are mainly my sisters, but some show Alan and Carrie, happy together, in love. He divorced her for his new mistress. The lady called Freedom. Leopards and spots and all that. My sisters and I at least have one thing in common: he abandoned them, too.

Next to a dog and a cat—there I am. Me, a tiny little faded Polaroid of Laurence Taylor. It throws me, and I stare at it for a while.

She tries to speak. The thick bint has finally caught up. ‘I didn’t want to give you up. They made me.’

‘Shut up. You don’t get to talk. You don’t even get to breathe loud, so pack that in as well.’

She presses her lips together, and one of the girls whimpers. I can feel their fear. It’s like steam in the air. It makes my skin tingle, but emotionally, I shut down. I won’t feel anything, not even the rage. Feelings are for people like them. I’m upgraded. This will be calm. Scientific butchering. I turn the photo of baby Laurence face down and pace the room, keeping my eyes away from it.

‘I don’t think about you. You abandoned me. I loathe you so thoroughly that you ceased to exist. You understand? You mean nothing to me. So little that I almost decided to let you live. You and your snotty progeny.’

I stop and crouch beside her, tilting her face to mine.

‘But the problem is, Mother, I can’t do that. Because you see, your dirty Taylor, blood is in me. And that means theirs is, too. So here we are. You must see that I have no choice. I can act with impunity and cut down your rot.’

She starts crying, and I wipe a tear away with my thumb. I lick it. My mother is inside me as I was once inside her. ‘Salty, but regret always is.’

I sit in a chair across from them, the knife in my hand. But it doesn’t scare them as much as my calm. I don’t twitch. I’m still, because I’ve already made peace with my actions.

‘You whine that you wanted to keep me. Isn’t that what all teenage sluts say?’

Carrie sits between her daughters and pulls them to her to shield them from the words. I tap my temple. ‘I bet you cried at the door? Did they force you to sign me away? Well, congratulations on keeping your next batch, dear. And look how well they turned out. They’re soft, spineless morons with too much screen time and a diet of junk. I’ve done my research. I know you. So, I’m saving that one,’ I point at Belinda, ‘from a lifetime of obesity and bullying.’

My mother’s shoulders shake. I watch her cry for longer than I should. Then I lean forward and whisper, ‘Where is he?’

She knows who I mean.

‘I know he’s coming back for Iris’ funeral. That’s why I’m here. You’re just collateral on the way.’

Did I give her hope? Shame on me. She shakes her head. ‘He didn’t know about you.’

‘And that’s your next mistake. Lying to me is only going to make the end more painful. I wouldn’t if I were you. He knew. And he still denounced me. You gave me up. He rejected me. There’s a difference. He’s worse.’

I stand, and the girls sob again. Lorraine whispers, ‘Mum?’

‘I tried to let this go. All my life, I played at being a normal person. But closure’s important, you have to see that.’

An hour later, I wipe the knife on the hem of her daughter’s Frozen blanket. The cartoon eyes stare up at me, wide and glistening with saccharine Disney innocence.

When I leave, the sun is setting. The light is pink and orange, with purple shadows blanketing the mountains. I decide there’s nothing in the world like an English Lakes sunset. I stand on the doorstep, in the open, and take a second to breathe the air. Gorgeous. Zipping my jacket, I adjust the collar.

The police will know me any time now, so there’s no point hiding. I’m almost done.

I flip her black rubbish bin open and drop the Frozen blanket on top of a fish finger box that should have been in the orange recycling bin. I’m American, and even I know that.  Small things make a decent human being, and it’s confirmation that I’ve done the right thing.

Let them trace me. It’s time to move forward.

I jangle her car keys in my hand as I walk down the path, whistling Let it Go.

I write under the pen name Katherine Black and I have 18 books published. All on Kindle Unlimited. I’d love it if you’d try one.

Here is my Amazon page with links to all of my books.

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