Berceuse for The Suffering (Complete)

30. {Welcome Home}

He wasn't shocked to have found the house void of luminance. Latifa was careful when it came to house bills. She even refused to keep the porch light open arguing to Antonio that there was no point in keeping it on for an entire night. "It would only increase the electricity bill," she once said.

They were the only house on their side of town that kept their porch light off. Latina had a point, a good one. Antonio never understood why his neighbors insisted on keeping their porch lights on. Though some made reasonable arguments like having teenage kids who'd come home late at night or one of the most common which was, "It keeps the animals away."

He shook his head. Antonio's arrival up the driveway was marked by a palpable laboriousness, a hesitancy to disembark from his vehicle. When he finally did exit, he winced visibly, his body contorted with obvious discomfort. Martin did a number on him. He was lucky to have survived. Though a part of him felt remorse for what he had done to the man, he couldn't let what he wanted to happen to transpire. No one was allowed to hurt his son. Not even when he had done something heinous against them. Selfish belief, yes. But the family was everything to him. No one could convince him otherwise.

Another burst of pain that coursed through his body jolted him. He wince once more.

He had been concealing his agony to spare Billy from worry, though even speaking was an arduous feat, he spoke. Such was the degree of his pain that he dared not contemplate the source, lest it threaten to overwhelm him entirely.

As if on cue, Billy descended from the car, his gaze immediately drawn to his father's forlorn expression. "Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, the concern in his voice palpable.

Attempting to dismiss his son's anxieties, Antonio uttered a solitary directive - "Just get inside now. Find your mom and tell her to pack her bags - only hers. We already have our own." - before limping determinedly towards the front door.

With a slow, measured gait, Billy ascended the front porch, his footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. As he drew closer, a frown etched itself onto his features - the door was ajar.

Since it was dark, he had failed to notice it earlier, but now it stood out like a beacon, a harbinger of foreboding. Turning to his father, he voiced, "The door is open." But Antonio merely furrowed his brow in consternation. He was in a hurry earlier, but he couldn't recall leaving the door in such a state, and it wasn't the sort of thing that could be chalked up to an errant breeze or an animal's curiosity. The door was sturdy, imposing even, and it would take more than a casual nudge to dislodge it.

Worried, Antonio surged past his son, thrusting him aside with a peremptory air. "I'll go in," he muttered, his tone brooking no argument. "You stay put."

Billy was puzzled by his father's command, but the weariness in his father's voice gave him pause. Reluctantly, he acquiesced, sinking back into the driver's seat with a lingering sense of unease.

With a sense of trepidation, Antonio tentatively pushed open the front door, his movements deliberate and cautious.

Once inside, he was enveloped by the dark shadows of the room, their oppressive weight bearing down on him. In his desperation for illumination, he groped for the light switch just beside the entryway, his fingers finding purchase with a satisfying click.

The sudden brightness that flooded the room revealed a macabre sight that made Antonio gasp in horror - blood, copious amounts of it, staining the floor. His healeapedapt to his throat, and he took a cautious step forward, his eyes widening in disbelief as he took in the grisly scene before him. His wife, bound and bloodied, was perched precariously on a chair, her legs the source of the ghastly pool that now surrounded her.