Am I Evil?

The Beginning

(6 Years Ago...)

     Mason laid there in absolute silence. He heard the noises from upstairs. There was screaming, yelling, and mumbled crying. He was scared. He thought about his mother and his father; why they could never get along, why they always fought, and why no one could be happy. His frail eight year-old body laid in his bed, blankets completely covering him as he tried to muffle their sounds out of his head. It was no use. Mason closed his eyes and rocked himself side-to-side underneath the covers, trying to think of something, anything at all, to get this moment out of his brain. Nothing worked and Mason started to breathe heavily. This happened ALL the time, but this time felt different to Mason. He knew something was wrong... well, something in addition to everything else that was wrong in his parent's relationship. He slowly stopped his rocking and listened closely. He barely heard himself breathe. Mason was terrified of moving and making the slightest noise; his mother hated finding out the Mason was awake during their "arguments." Mason heard a sharp scream and shook violently in his bed as chills slowly rolled down his spine. It was his mother, but no ordinary scream. She was terrified and instantly started crying. Mason could not understand a word of what came from her mouth, but it sounded like the words were coming from her heart. Mason decided that he better go check on his mother and see if everything was okay. Everything was not okay.
     Mason took a couple minutes to gain the courage to move from his bed. He was still terrified of the dark, but could see the hall light on from underneath his bedroom door and felt a little better. Those minutes felt like hours as Mason stealthily slithered out of bed and towards his bedroom door. The cold night air in his bedroom stung against his warm young skin as he slowly inched his way to his bedroom door. The floorboards creaked as Mason's little feet crept across them. He tried gliding like a ninja, but stopped when he clumsily slammed into his dresser and almost knocked his things on the floor. That would have been bad... or life changing if his parents had heard.
Mason made his way to his door and reached for his doorknob slowly. He felt the cold metal against his tiny hand as he twisted the knob and slowly opened his door. The door slowly crept open. Mason's mother screamed again. The only words he could make out were "HAROLD" and "DON'T." Mason had no idea what to expect when he finally reached his parent's bedroom. After hearing his mother scream those words again, he picked up his pace and climbed the cold, wooden stairs on all fours, ascending towards the turning point of his short life. He reached the top of the stairs and heard a crashing sound. His mother needed help. Mason quickly shuffled down the hallway and pushed open his parents bedroom door. Mason stood silently in the doorway.
     There his father was, standing across from his mother. His mother was staring at his father with wet, tears eyes. She was crying and had an awful runny nose. She sniffed before glancing over the doorway. She gasped and he eyes went wide as she tried to not burst into tears. "M-Mason, sweetie, g-go back to bed...please. Mommy and Daddy are just talking. I...if we're too loud, c-cover your head with the pillow. Can you please do that for Mommy?" she said as rivers formed underneath her eyes. She wanted to hug him and run away from what was yet to come, but there was no escaping... and that's exactly what he wanted them to know. Mason slowly looked at his father. It was not the fun, caring, and loving dad he always had been. This was a broken man, a sad man who needed help. He could tell at eight years old that something was wrong. That's when he noticed the gun in his dad's hand.
     That gun, .45 caliber Colt 1911. Classic, powerful, unforgettable. Mason stood there in shock as his father stood in front of him with his head hung low. His mother and her hysterical crying seemed to fade into obscurity as his father's figure, feelings, and gun came into vivid clarity. Mason, for the first time in his life, was unable to move, react, or feel. He existed; that was it. His little boy brain was trying to comprehend the situation. His body could not do such a thing as quickly as adults, so he froze.
His father raised the gun to his head. Mason tried to scream, but no words came out. His mother screamed loudly, voicing her's and Mason's thoughts he could not say, "HAROLD, PLEASE...PLEASE DON'T DO THIS. YOUR ONLY SON IS WATCHING YOU. HE NEEDS YOU. I NEED YOU. WE CAN GET YOU HELP. I PROMISE THINGS WILL GET BETTER. PLEASE TRUST ME. PLEASE STAY WITH US." Mason shed a single tear as her screams became engrained in his memory, standing in awe as the both awaited a response from his father. His father shook as he spoke as equally shaken, "I....I can't Lisa. I can't stay with you." Mason's mom interjected, crying loudly and almost inaudibly as it faded to a howl "WHY!? WHY CAN'T YOU BE HERE!?" "Because I can't take care of you... I can't even take care of myself. How am I supposed to take care of a wife and kid if I can't take care of myself, huh?!" Mason's mother quieted her crying and spoke with sincerity, "By being here! You cant take care of us if you're DEAD. PLEASE, Harold, don't do this. We need you. Mason is watching you...You've already done damage, but it can all be fixed if you put that god damn gun down!"
Mason's father took a deep and heavy breath. He paused and slowly pressed the magazine release on the handgun and slowly lowered the gun to his side. The slim metallic magazine dropped to the floor as if in slow motion. It made a soft thud against the soft carpet, another sound Mason would never forget. His mother let out a sigh and slight whimper in relief, but she did not understand guns. Mason's father spoke softly, "I understand. Please don't be angry." He raised the gun.
Before anyone could say anything more, Harold placed the gun underneath his chin, resting the cold metal against his skin. He glanced at Mason and mouthed something he could not decipher. He slowly squeezed the trigger. A loud bang, a scream from his mother, and a violent eruption of flesh, blood, bone shards, and brain matter sprayed all over the wall, window, and Mason's mother his parent's bedroom. Harold collapsed to the floor and laid lifeless. Mason winced at the gnarly scene and closed his eyes tightly, attempting to force out the images he was burdened with witnessing.
Mason heard a faint scream come through the loud ringing in his ears. He felt arms wrap around him. He was no longer on the ground. He opened his eyes and frantically looked around. His blood-soaked mother grabbed him and ran away from the scene. Tears and hysterical crying followed them where ever they ran. She made it downstairs into the kitchen and started shaking violently. Mason did the same. Before his mother was taken over by shock, she grabbed the landline phone and called 911. Mason heard her speak as the phone was nearly bouncing in her hands. "T-there's been a suicide.... my husband is dead. My son saw everything. Mason started crying as his mother bursted into tears on the phone, she set the phone on the kitchen floor and collapsed to the ground with Mason in her arms. Nothing was going to be the same. In fact, that's the night that made EVERYTHING change...especially Mason.
With a sudden jolt, Mason felt his body move. A faint voice called out as bright lights surrounded him, "Mason... Mason....Mason..." The voice faded. "Mason, if you can hear me, you're safe now. Those boys can't hurt you anymore."