A KILLER'S DIARY

02||

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"MOM!"

A high-pitched voice rang out, breaking the quiet and sterile air of the house and making me flinch. In an instant, a little redhead came barreling toward me, his fiery hair bouncing with every step. But there was no joy or warmth in his face, just a flatness that felt... wrong.

He stopped just short of colliding with me, his sea-green eyes meeting mine with a look of polite indifference. There was none of the spark I'd expect from a child reunited with his mother. Instead, he studied me, as though I were a stranger—a curiosity he had no real attachment to.

"Mom." He repeated the word, almost as though he were practicing it, as if it meant something less than it should. The realization chilled me to the bone.

I blinked, trying to process him. He looked to be about seven years old, his features a startling blend of my own and Malachi's—the same red hair as, the same wild curls as Malachi, his serious face a miniature version of both of us. It was surreal, like looking at a piece of myself I had forgotten, or never known to begin with.

Malachi stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, a subtle smirk begging to be smacked off his face as he watched my stunned reaction. "Surprise," he mouthed, as if this were all some elaborate joke. I glanced between the boy and him, waiting for some explanation, but all I received was a small shrug, his eyes filled with a mirth that only deepened my confusion.

Surprise.

The boy—my son, apparently—didn't move, didn't lean in for a hug, didn't ask a single question. He simply continued to watch me, his gaze almost clinical. The silence stretched, the weight of it pressing down on my chest.

"Hi, Cody" I finally managed, masking the feeling of awkwardness within me.

Wait. Cody. How did i even know his name. Was it the mom instinct buried deep within me or a reflex, kind of like bleaking or breathing.

"Cody," he repeated, the flatness of his tone almost hid the slight surprise in his voice, surprised that his mother knew his name...?

I expressed no desire to ruffle his hair as i probably should've, i simply returned his cold and indifferent gaze before turning to Malachi, struggling to keep my voice steady. "You didn't think to... maybe prepare me for this?"

Malachi shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I thought it would be better for you to see for yourself. Besides," he added with a wry grin, "where's the fun in spoiling the surprise?"

I bit back a retort, focusing on the little boy standing before me. He still hadn't moved, still hadn't spoken beyond the bare minimum. There was a heaviness in his gaze, something far too old for his age. The discomfort in his expression was so subtle that I might have missed it if I wasn't paying close attention.

"Hey, Cody." I forced another smile, a vile attempt to mask my discomfort. "So, did you miss me?"

He blinked, then gave a tiny, dispassionate shrug. "I guess." He didn't elaborate, didn't say anything else. It was like he was talking to someone he'd met in passing rather than his mother.

Before I could process his reaction, he turned to Malachi and asked, "Can we show her Mr. Littleton now?"

Malachi's face softened a fraction, and he nodded. "If you'd like."

"Who's Mr. Littleton?" I asked, glancing between the two of them. Cody didn't answer, just turned and began to walk down the hallway without a backward glance.

Malachi leaned down, whispering in my ear. "His stuffed rabbit. Cody thinks it's magical." There was an odd glint in his eyes, a mix of affection and something... else. Something darker.

As we followed Cody down the corridor, I felt the chill of this place settling deep in my bones. I wasn't just a stranger to my own child—I was an outsider in my own life. Every step down the darkened hallway felt like crossing deeper into a mystery I wasn't sure I wanted to unravel.

When we entered the playroom, Cody was already rummaging through a pile of toys, his movements methodical, almost mechanical, like he was going through the motions. At last, he pulled out a raggedy stuffed rabbit with matted fur and held it up, glancing back at me with an expression that seemed more like obligation than excitement.

"Here," he said flatly, extending the rabbit toward me. I took it, studying its worn features, the faded button eyes, the small tear in its ear.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Littleton," I said, forcing a cheeriness I didn't feel. Cody gave me a polite, practiced smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Malachi's hand rested on my shoulder, his grip firm, almost as if he were grounding me. "You're going to have to give it time," he murmured, his voice low. "Cody... he's had to learn how to be on his own."

I met Malachi's gaze, my stomach twisting. How long had it been like this? How long had Cody been left in this strange, emotional limbo?

"Alright, Cody," Malachi said, his tone shifting as he turned his attention to the boy. "Mom needs her rest."

The boy's face shifted, disappointment flickering across his features, but just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same distant, guarded expression. "Okay," he mumbled, dropping his gaze as he backed away without another word.

As Cody retreated, I watched him, a strange ache settling deep within me. The gap between us felt insurmountable, a chasm that had formed long before I'd even woken up. And I couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, I was the one who'd failed him.

Malachi's voice broke into my thoughts. "You're doing fine, Lin. It'll come back, with time."

But his words felt hollow. I didn't feel like a mother—I felt like a stranger in a life I didn't recognize, surrounded by people who claimed to know me but who were as foreign to me as the shadows lurking in the corners of this eerie, empty house.

He pushed my wheelchair forward, and I found myself staring into the room. A single window was covered by red curtains, drawn perfectly without a wrinkle. The room was eerily spotless. In the center stood an enormous bed, big enough for ten people, with crisp, perfectly tucked blankets the same deep red as the curtains. Not a speck of dust could be seen on the polished floor, and the bedposts, carved with intricate designs, gleamed as if they’d just been cleaned. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, and everything felt unnervingly perfect, like the room was frozen in time, waiting for something—or someone—to disturb its unnatural order.

"I figured you wouldn't be comfortable sleeping in the same bed as me," Malachi whispered in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. A chill ran down my spine, and I couldn't tell if it was from his words or the eerie stillness of the room around us.

With no warning, he picked me up from the wheelchair and started walking toward the bed. My heart raced, and I clutched my clothes tighter, panic swelling inside me. "What are you doing?" I managed to ask, my voice barely steady. I must’ve looked terrified because I saw the flicker of disdain in his eyes, like I’d insulted him without saying a word.

"I'm not gonna do anything to you, Lin," he said, gently laying me down on the bed. His voice softened, almost hurt. "I could never."

He pushed the wheelchair closer to the bed, making sure it was within easy reach, like he was trying to show he meant no harm. Then he turned and walked toward the door.

Click.

The distinct sound of the lock resonated around the room, making my heart skip a beat. I crawled to the wheelchair, managing to sit in it with more effort than I’d like to admit. The cold metal pressed against me as I rolled toward the door.

I twisted the handle, expecting resistance. Locked.

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