Hurricane

The blood. 

Jesus, the blood was everywhere. That's what was so traumatic. I could taste my own father's blood on my tongue and on my lips. My mother wouldn't stop screaming, and Mikey shot the gun towards her, missing her. I remember I jumped back, she ran away, screaming for me to run and call the police. I didn't move, I had looked at my father's dead body and my knees had gone wobbly.

"What did you do?" I asked Mikey softly.

"Don't move! I'm going to get your mom." He slammed the door shut, running towards the dining room, where my mother had gone.

I stepped down the last step and went towards my dad's body. He was sprawled, the pool of blood was thick, I hadn't ever seen so much before. I swallowed thickly, looking at the giant hole in the side of his head; his eye was gone, most of the right side of his face was gone. I knelt beside him, placing my hand on his forehead, tears had started to sprout, "I'm so sorry, dad." Was the only thing I could say.

"Ladonna! Ladonna! Help! Get help!" My mother's voice snapped me back into reality.

I stood up and walked slowly towards the living room. Mikey had successfully tied my mother up, and our cleaning lady, Felicia. He sat them on the couch, taping my mother's mouth up. Mikey looked at me, pushing his glasses up.

"Look at you. You got blood on your knees." Mikey placed a long strip of silver duct tape on my mom's mouth.

"Mikey, what's wrong with you?" My voice had come out as whisper.

"I had to do it, Rooney." He tossed the duct tape roll on the floor, "He's out of the way, now we can be together."

I shook my head, "You killed him. He's dead, you'll go to prison." I cried.

"We're running away. I thought this through, you have to have faith in me." He rushed over to me and grabbed my wrist, "My brother can help us. You just need to go pack, and clean your face, hurry."

He let go of my wrist, swatting my butt to make me go. But, I couldn't. I couldn't move, my feet were glued to the ground. My head had spun and I swore I was dreaming.  I pinched myself several times as he back away and grabbed the shot gun again.

"Don't!" I had yelled; he pointed the shotgun at my mother and Felicia's heads, "Please, don't. Not my mom, not Felicia."

Mikey nodded, putting the shotgun down, "I'll wait. Hurry up."

Regret is something that we've all felt. This type of regret, I still feel, whenever I am alone. I could have ran out the front door and called the police, or I could have gone to the kitchen and called them, but I never did. Often times, I wonder if I had, would my mother and Felicia still be alive or would Mikey have killed them had I run out? But, they're alive now, and I like to think I saved them, just so the guilt will go away.

I don't really remember what I had packed, but it was a lot of clothes. I went to my bathroom, then to the sink and saw my father's blood on my face. I began to cry as I washed it off, repeating I'm Sorry over and over again. 

Once I was done, I had taken my backpack, my saved up money, and then went back downstairs. My father's body was still there, and I wondered what would happen next.

"You need to change your jeans." Mikey startled me.

I swallowed thickly, "Yeah...where are my mom and Felicia?"

"I put them in the dining room. I locked up the door."

I could hear muffled cries, and mentally thanked God they weren't dead. I had opened my packed bag, grabbed some jeans and changed quickly. I had little droplets of blood in my grey t-shirt, and Mikey noticed; "Wear my sweatshirt." He had mumbled.

I had his sweatshirt on; it once held comfort, but then, all I felt was regret and sickness. We walked to his house, and I had to stop a few times to vomit, and I nearly lost it when I found a piece of my father's skull in my hair. Mikey had to grip my arms to calm me down; I tried to act calm, but I really wasn't, I was freaking out internally.

When we got to his house, it was eerily quiet, and I wondered then, had he killed his family? Had he killed his wonderful mother and father, and their weary guest? My questions were answered when we entered the living room; he had tied them up. Each one in a chair, bound and duct taped, with his father trying to wiggle free.

"I can be Blubbering Mikey now." He told me, "But, it has to be quick."

"What do you mean?" I asked, my whole body shook.

"Our guest, Hanna, used to babysit me when I was 8 until I was 12. She," He stopped, tossing the shotgun into the coffee table with a massive thud, "she used to touch me."

My mouth hung open as he looked down at me, tears were forming again. I felt physically sick again. I didn't feel any sympathy towards that woman, but, even then, no one deserves to die the way Mikey chose for her.

"She used to make me touch her!" He stood in front of them now, "They caught her, Rooney," he turned to me, "They caught her making me put my hand between her legs, and you know what they did?"

I shook my head, "You don't have to tell me Mikey."

"I have to!" He snapped, "It isn't a big deal anymore. I should've told you a long time ago, so you could understand why I only fuck girls I dispise. Girls who wear those disgusting dresses and pounds of Mac makeup on their face. Girls who look like Hanna."

My breathing had become heavy and I didn't know how to respond. My thought was that this woman had screwed Mikey up; she had turned him into this dark monster that was waiting to emerge. I was partly to blame, too, but, I never thought I was.

"What did they do, Mikey?" I finally asked.

He gave a hollow laugh, "They didn't do shit! They didn't call the police, they didn't even fire her! They never even talked to me about it!" He grabbed the shotgun again, "Why?!" He yelled at them.

I remember this all vividly, now. I cry about this faint memory, because his mother cried like she was really dying. He had ripped the tape from her mouth, and all she kept repeating was, "I'm sorry! I didn't think you'd remember!"

"She kept on until Gerard caught her!" He yelled over his mother's cries, "He called the police, and you know what the police did?" He looked at me with tears, "They laughed at me and called me a pussy. No one cared, except Gerard. He helped me."

I went over to him, "I care too, Mikey, I'm sorry she hurt you." 

His jaw tightened, "She said it'd feel good, but it didn't," he sobbed, "I need to kill her. I need to get rid of this disgusting feeling!"

He cocked the shot gun, everyone had shut their eyes, I hugged him, "No, Mikey, no."

"I have to, Rooney." He pushed me away roughly and walked over to Hanna. He ripped the tape from her mouth. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her, "I only took the tape off to shove the nozzle down your throat."

Without another word, the shotgun went off and more blood was shed. His mother screamed, I scattered away, and the shotgun went off again, but it wasn't his mother, it was his father. He cocked the shotgun again, emptying it and adding a new shell, "Please Mikey" was the last thing I heard before the shotgun went off again. 

The screaming stopped.