Chapter 5 - The Dark Room
Pain exploded through my nervous system like a thousand shattered glass shards.
My vision went entirely black as my body collapsed onto the wet asphalt.
When I finally regained consciousness, the smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke assaulted my senses.
I was sitting in a rusted metal chair, my wrists tightly bound behind my back with heavy zip ties.
A single, swinging lightbulb illuminated the center of a damp, windowless basement room.
Across from me sat my mother, elegantly crossing her legs as she sipped from a foam coffee cup.
"You always were too stubborn for your own good, Mark," she sighed, adjusting her cardigan.
"Where is my son?" I demanded, fighting violently against the plastic restraints cutting into my wrists.
My mother smiled, a cold, reptilian curving of her lips that made my stomach turn.
"Your son is currently on a private charter flight heading to a very wealthy, childless couple in Europe," she stated calmly.
"They paid me two million dollars for a healthy, untraceable American newborn."
I stared at her, utterly horrified by the monster sitting a few feet away from me.
"You are insane," I choked out, tears of rage burning my eyes.
"Clara is going to wake up, the police have the video from your room, and you will rot in prison."
My mother let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed off the concrete walls.
"Clara’s intravenous drip at the hospital has already been adjusted by my associate," she revealed.
"She will simply slip away peacefully in her sleep before the sun comes up."
"And as for the video, the men who brought you here have already burned your house to the ground."
A heavy metal door creaked open behind her, and the man who had tased me stepped into the light.
He handed my mother a sleek black tablet showing a live feed of my burning house.
"It is time to tie up the final loose end, ma'am," the massive man grunted, pulling a suppressed pistol from his jacket.
May you like
My mother stood up, brushed a piece of lint off her skirt, and turned her back to me.
"Make it look like a tragic suicide fueled by grief," she ordered him without a single ounce of hesitation.
