Skeletons in the Closet

Chapter 5

When I came to once again, my mom sat at my bedside, a chair pulled within a few feet of me. She was staring at me intently, almost willing me awake. I got the feeling that she had been sitting like that for quite a while. She was the only one in the room with me and I hoped that she hadn't done something regrettable to the doctor for spilling the beans to me about my run-in with The Butcher.

The Butcher. In that moment, the gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. It felt as though life had decided to sit down on my chest, driving the air from my lungs with unseen force. I was the target of a serial killer. Just thinking that sentence sent icy chills down my spine.

In that moment, I noticed mom staring at me. She forced a bit of a relieved grin and began stroking my hair. It felt wonderful, a soothing feeling that I hadn't experienced in what felt like ages. I hoped against hope that I could just experience this and not delve further into the bombshell that was dropped on me before my latest lapse into the abyss.

I let her continue for a few minutes, but we both knew what was coming and I couldn't let it hang in the air any longer.

"Mom," I managed with a strength to my voice that hadn't felt possible since I landed in the hospital. "The Butcher of Bathurst? This...I mean, it can't...? Please tell me I just took a bad spill, that I can't remember and that everything will be fine when I get out of here."

Even as I said it, I knew it wasn't true, but that didn't stop me from hoping against hope. I wasn't even hoping for myself. I didn't want my mom, who had already lost my father years earlier and had essentially been alone all these years, to have to face the reality that her only child had been the target of a monster like this.

Fighting back her sobs, she swiped at the tears as they trickled from her eyes, almost annoyed to be crying. She took the back of her hand, wiping underneath her nose and gathered herself before beginning.

"A neighbor heard a commotion in your apartment," she began, voice barely above a whisper. "When he came over to check on you, there was no one there but you were on the floor, unconscious and bleeding." She paused for what seemed like an eternity. "I don't know what I would have done with myself if they hadn't found you. If you'd...you'd..." she trailed off, seemingly staring off into space but I could tell she was staring down the grief that could have been.

"Whoever he is, he struck you on the head. Hard and with something heavy so that you wouldn't be able to alert anyone. Somehow, you got lucky and fell into a cabinet. You broke dishes and glasses on your way down. The neighbor said he heard a deafening commotion and rushed over." She breathed deeply, needing a second before continuing. "The bastard must've taken the fire escape when he heard the neighbor coming. That son of a bitch, I...oh, Della..."

She broke off into sobs once again, the grief just too much to hold back. In that moment, I felt a strength surge through me. I couldn't do much physically if I tried, but I could at least show mom that it would all be okay. I reached for her hand, holding it in mine. I tried to will her to understand that I was okay, that I was here and breathing and that I was going to come out of this whole again.

But in that moment, I couldn't help but feel a wave of emotions flood over me: fear, anger, severe violation. They all battled one another for supremacy, but all of them merely meshed to leave me feeling as though I had a suit of titanium on, weighed down completely.

I wasn't some helpless little girl; I took care of myself and I made certain not to put myself into dangerous situations. But how did this man get into my apartment? How was he able to lurk around in my personal space without my noticing? And how was he able to sneak up on me to deliver the knockout blow?