Discoveries | TMR | Three

4:5

"Ma? What're you doing in the dark?"

Adeline's mind is abruptly pulled from its reverie the instant Maggie calls out for her mother. It's not just the sound of the call that captures her focus, but the question that follows and the subtle tremor in Maggie's voice. Nick's gaze remains fixed on her, yet she brushes off his lingering stare as she strides toward the front of the small gathering, spotting Betty standing by the kitchen's swinging doors, her back turned to them.

Betty remains unresponsive, frozen in place, swaying slightly as if lost in her own world, seemingly unaware of their presence. Adeline takes in the older woman's disheveled state; her shoulder-length ginger hair is tousled, her clothes are wrinkled, and in the dim light, Adeline can almost make out small splatters of blood on the back of her shirt.

"Maggie-," she whispers, attempting to draw the girl closer, gently reaching out to grasp her arm.

But Maggie shakes her off. "Ma!" she exclaims, quickening her steps to bridge the distance between herself and her mother, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

A distorted groan halts Maggie in her tracks, sending a shiver through her as the sound reverberates off the walls. The fading sunlight casts elongated shadows, filtering through the blinds and illuminating her mother, revealing her features in stark clarity as she slowly begins to turn. Maggie's heart races as she catches sight of Betty's face, the gaping wound where a chunk of flesh has been torn away, the jagged teeth marks etched into the injury, and the dried blood that trickles down her neck and stains her blouse. Her eyes, once warm, are now bloodshot, the irises transformed into a blinding white that sparkles ominously in the dimming light.

An eerie stillness envelops the room. No one dares to move. Their breaths are held, feet frozen in place as they gaze at the woman who once nurtured them, now reduced to a Crank - a harbinger of chaos and despair.

"Ma?"

Adeline hears the fragile whisper of Maggie's voice slicing through the silence, but there's no time for shared sorrow. In an instant, as soon as the blonde girl softly calls her mother's name, Betty's unseeing eyes snap to her, and she lunges forward.

Maggie squeals as her own mother pounces on her and envelopes her shoulder within the confides of her teeth; biting with the force of a vice being eagerly twisted shut, gnawing at her like a rabid dog, drawing a stream of blood as though she is pouring a glass of wine. Amidst the chaos, Maggie's cries and frantic struggles jolt Adeline from her stupor. She screams the girl's name, racing toward them, gripping the handle of her pickaxe tightly before plunging it into Betty's skull.

The growls and snarls of Betty fade away, leaving only the piercing cries of Maggie echoing in the silence. As Adeline wrenches the pickaxe from Betty's skull, the now-lifeless form slumps, and Maggie clings to her mother with desperate intensity. Tears cascade down her cheeks, and with her arms wrapped protectively around Betty, they both crumple to the floor. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her shoulder, Maggie's legs give way beneath her.

They tilt to the side, her back pressing against the cold ground as she leans over her mother's still body. Her left arm remains anchored above her leg, supporting the weight of Betty, while her right hand tenderly brushes the blood-matted hair away from her mother's face.

Thick pellets of tears form in her eyes, rolling down to the corners before creating a rainfall of heartache that bounces against Betty's lifeless body, mixing and melting, giving assorted specks on her skin a pink hue as it dilutes their mixed blood.

Her eyes are open, but the blinding white hue is far too much for Maggie to bear, and she shakily closes them so she does not have to witness the full extent of the damage inflicted by whatever Crank did this to her mother. Blood from her shoulder trickles down her arm, staining Betty's once-immaculate blouse a deep red, each droplet bursting into tiny, sharp stars upon contact with the fabric.