Chapter 2 - The Standoff
The skillet struck my husband with a sickening thud.
He stumbled forward, his forehead crashing against the thick glass of the oven door.
Blood instantly poured down the side of his face.
My mother raised the pan again, her eyes wide and completely devoid of sanity.
She screamed that we were interfering with God's work.
I dropped my phone on the floor, leaving the 911 dispatcher shouting through the speaker.
I tackled my own mother from behind.
We crashed onto the hard kitchen tiles.
The heavy iron skillet skittered across the floor, sliding far out of her reach.
She fought back with a terrifying, inhuman strength.
Her nails dug deep into my arms, tearing my skin as she kicked and thrashed.
I pinned her wrists down, using my entire body weight to hold her back.
My husband shook his head, fighting through the extreme dizziness and the blood in his eyes.
He grabbed the oven handle and pulled the heavy door down.
A wave of blistering, suffocating heat rushed out into the kitchen.
I heard a sound that will haunt my nightmares until the day I die.
It was a weak, hoarse whimper from my precious baby.
My husband reached his bare hands into the scorching heat without a second thought.
He grabbed the metal roasting pan and pulled it out.
Our tiny, fragile newborn was wrapped in a thick wool blanket, completely soaked in sweat.
The baby's delicate skin was blistered and bright red.
My husband cradled our child against his chest, tears streaming down his bloody face.
He ran straight to the sink and turned on the cool water.
My mother stopped fighting me and suddenly went perfectly still.
She smiled a twisted, eerie smile while staring at the ceiling.
She whispered that the purification was already complete.
I looked over at the stove and saw that she had turned the main gas valve all the way up without igniting it.
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The heavy, toxic smell of raw gas was rapidly filling the enclosed kitchen.
My mother pulled a silver cigarette lighter from her pocket and flicked the spark wheel.
