The fall (pt 2 To The asylum)

Chapter 7

He was merely five when it happened. 

It was a cold winter night, mid December, and the little boy was playing with his toys in the kitchen while his mother paced around everywhere. She was whispering excitedly to herself, completely ignoring the toddler watching her silently. He wasn't surprised by his mother's actions, this was more of a daily thing. She was always fidgety, wild-eyed, not to mention a bit creepy. But the little boy didn't care. He loved his mummy anyways. 

The little boy continued to play with his little cars, bashing them into each other over and over, giggling, crashing them until one of their wheels fell off. 

His giggling was cut short by the sound of a car pulling into the garage. His mother stopped pacing, a wicked smile growing on her face, and he watched as she strode behind the toddler, pulling a large butcher knife from the kitchen drawer and hiding it under her dress. 

Once again, the little boy wasn't surprised. He just kept playing with his cars. 

There was a knock on the door, and the boys mother answered it, greeting his father. The older man sighed, walking in and throwing a few papers on the table before facing his wife. 

"Everything is settled." He said in a monotone voice, looking at his wife with a sort of disgust. "This is most of the divorce paperwork they gave me. The court case is next week." 

The boys mother swallowed thickly. "Alright." 

"And." The father continued, glancing at his son just a few feet away. "We will decide who gets him at court." 

The mother's expression hardened, eyes glossy. "He's my son." 

"He's mine too." 

The mother glared daggers at her husband, before whipping out the knife and holding it over his head. 

"What the hell are you doing!" He shouted, eyes widening in shock, stumbling backwards a bit. 

"What does it look like, Arnold?" She cackled, eyes twinkling wildly. "After all we have been through, you have the nerve to leave me? After we had a fucking kid?" She gestured wildly in the little boys direction, who was watching intently. He didn't quite understand what was going on just yet. "How could you?" 

"You know damn well why I'm leaving." The father snarled back at her, still staring with fearful eyes at the knife. "You're insane!" 

She howled, laughing evilly, stepping closer and closer to her husband until his back hit the wall. "Maybe I am." 

"Put the knife down." The father had said, holding his hands up in defence as she had inched closer, and closer, and closer... 

"Goodbye, Arnold." She cackled again, positioning the knife. 

The little boy could do nothing but watch as his mother shoved the knife through his fathers chest violently, and his eyes widened in panic. His father choked, blood spurting out from his lips, helpless as his wife yanked the knife out and stabbed him again and again and again, not stopping until the walls around them were splattered with blood and her own dress was soaked, her fingers scabbed from gripping the knifes handle with such force. When she finished, she sighed contently, letting her husbands mutilated body slide down onto the floor. 

She then pressed a kiss to his crimson forehead, smiling that wicked smile, before walking over to her wailing son, reaching up and cupping his face with her bloody hands. She wiped the tears away, smearing his cheeks with gore, and raised the knife. "Shhh, baby, Mumma's gonna take away the pain..." 

Just as she was about to bring the knife down on her son, sirens wailed from outside. The mothers expressing became panicked, and she looked around frantically before dropping the knife and running out of the room. The knife splattered a few more specks of blood on the little boys shirt, and he cried even harder when he heard the back door slam. 

When the police arrived at the scene, they found thirty-two year old Arnold Carlisle's body, stabbed fifty-seven times in the chest. His wife, Amanda Carlisle, was nowhere to be found. The only other living soul in the house was the couples son Edgar, whom they found in the kitchen, crying and hugging his little toy cars to his chest.