Who Murdered The Night?|✔️

Chapter Nineteen

"That's your food, you'd better eat it this time." A thin faced officer passed a tray of food to the man in cell fifty eight.

The man eyed the spaghetti in distaste and shook his head. He thought of how he used to eat good food to satisfaction in his house. Now he was here, hungry and angry at the type of food he was given.

He placed his head in his palms and groaned. His stomach protested at the lack of supply to it. He wasn't going to eat here, he'd rather starve, he made up his mind.

Soon, someone would get him out of here - his mother.

He was sure she didn't know of his plight. If she did, she would have come, pulling all strings for his release. He had not heard from her in months, but he was sure she was safe. Safe from his hell of a father. There were no troubles for her.

He had killed him. He remembered stabbing his father with a knife. He remembered him slumping to the floor. He had gone to jail but his mother's influence got him out.

He wondered again why such woman as his mother ended up with a monster like his father. The monster he had become. He blamed his father and cursed him.

His father always got angry at the slightest provocation and beat them up.

He felt he had had enough one day when he heard his parents arguing as usual. He tiptoed to the kitchen where they were and eavesdropped on their conversation. He heard his mother pleading for him to leave her alone.

He peeped the door that was left slightly ajar and found his father yanking on his mother's hair. That enraged him. He had had enough. He barged in and grabbed a knife.

His mother begged him to drop the knife but he refused. He told her to stay out of it and faced his dad, knife waving mid air. "Why are you so scared of him, mum? This man here is nothing but a piece of junk. He is not worth you, mum." He said. His father slapped him across the face for speaking so insolently.

He, in a fit of rage, drove the knife into his stomach repeatedly until he gave up the ghost.

He refused to drop the knife and hide as his mother suggested. He could not let her take the blame for him. The police came later to meet the bloody knife still in his hand. He followed them quietly amidst his mother's heart wrenching wail.

The deed had been done and he was thrown in jail. He was just sixteen. He believed his father made him like that. A monster, dangerous and evil.

Three days later and he was free. His mother had used her influence as a superior judge's child to get him out.

Through his teenage and youthful years, he had slept with so many women and violated many rules. It started to give him so much pleasure. He loved to see blood.

He had killed his father. He had killed Night, even though no one knows that yet. "Kendall would never tell." He thought. He had killed his daughter. What else what left of him?

Who would help him now? No one. He didn't like to be helped, not even by his mother.

His stomach grumbled again, reminding him how famished he was. He broke his resolution and lifted the tray. He placed it on his laps and brought some to his mouth.

Was he going to continue like this? He thought. Was he going to keep eating in jail. He couldn't let it happen, he would rather die.

He raised the fork. He was not willing to wait for his mother. He was going to stab himself. He looked around and found no one in sight. Without hesitation, he raised his cloth and stabbed himself. He yelped at the pain and forced the fork out.

Was this how his father felt? Was this how Night felt? Was this how Gloria felt? He realized he was much of a monster than he thought.

He drove the fork into his stomach again, twisting it this time. 'The world would be better with less men like him,' he thought.

He fell on the floor, groaning in pain. He shouldn't have done it. Was this going to be his end? He watched his life slowly fade away. He wished he could undo his mistakes. Tears rolled down his eyes.

His eyes rolled to the back and he stopped breathing.

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