REFERENCES TO SEVERE INJURY AND GORE
Memories like drops of rain heralding a storm had begun falling. Just as in a storm, first a few....the security alarm and the lifeless draconic sentinels. Then more, and more, until a flood of drops and a flood of memories comes upon you ready to wash away the infirm and unprepared.
Inimicus leaned clutching his head at the door to his parents room. The portraits of his grandfather Uwe and his wife Emilia starring across the room hanging over the fireplace, lifeless but ever vigilant of now the empty house where once there was life. The sheets in the room, they hadnt been touched, the police had not needed to invesitigate, there was no mystery save what had happened to Inimicus.
The gardener, and the other servants, had been quick to protect him it seemed without even knowing what had happened...he came back to germany quickly once and found that the police assumed he had suffered a mental breakdown and had fled to tibet to meditate. The sheets, where he remembered curling up with his parents as a child, were still stained wtih their lifeblood...months old the dark stain seemed to taunt him, reminding him of what he had done and failed to do.
Inimicus shook his head, tears were stinging his eyes and he knew tonight many more would fall. He turned away from the lifeless room with a sigh and moved down the hall, his room was the last one and many more memories awaited him in the rooms to follow.
He stopped at the next door clutching his stomach in pain, not physical, but emotional made physical. His sister's room...his darling Phoebe. She was so beautiful, kind, generous...if women could inherit a name she had earned it. Not only was she the eldest...but the kindest and greatest of the children. As a child Inimicus had always been jealous of his sister's seeming perfection...but he also loved her for how she was kind to him. She was the jewel of the Malus family, much of Germany had known her and loved her as his parents....of the family Inimicus had been the black sheep...but the eldest male child.
She had been engaged...2 months....2 months and she would have married Marc...2 months and he would have had an older brother and she would have been gone. If the thieves had just waited 2 months the line could have continued if not directly, at least indirectly....but it couldnt now. His beautiful sister was dead when he should have been the one to die. He couldnt carry on the family past himself...he was dead...his body was dead, and it would never be alive again.
Tears started falling down his white face, but sobs wouldnt come...he couldnt start now. If he started now...he wouldnt be able to continue living at the next room. He moved down the hall clutching his stomach against the pain of held back sobs.
His brother's room....his younger brother. Fun loving, kind, loved, clever...his younger brother was such a great kid. He hadnt even graduated to Gymnasium yet...one more year and he would have....one more year and he would have been in Secondary School. The dark stain on the bed and trail on the carpet....they hadnt killed him well.
The smallest and youngest and he had to endure life for a few dreadful moments unable to scream because of the cut on this throat...the lines ended with one last hand print as he had tried to pull himself one more inch, one more inch forward in life that he had to hope would make the difference.
Inimicus couldn't take it anymore...the carefully crafted facade of a calm exterior crumbled. He had let doubts through his facade...but never his true feelings, never his memories. He fell down the wall his back scrapping against the corner to his brother's room as he fell onto the carpeted floor. Sobs racked his body and tears flooded down his eyes, the memories in this house were too much to bear. He knew he needed to do this, to get it out, but he felt as if he could die again from the pain.
Why had he been left alive, out of everyone in the family he was the worst. His parents gave money, time, and resources to help anyone in need...people could come up to them and ask for money and not be turned away. His sister chaired several charities, gave her own money and hours upon hours of time to help everyone from the poor, to the sick, to the criminal. His brother helped the people in town with work that needed to be done without asking for anything in return.
Inimicus however...he drank...smoke...and tried to have his way with as many women in town as possible. He had been haughty, sure of himself, proud of who he was. He had helped the townspeople but he expected to be able to ask for favors...he hadnt done it out of altruism. He was known for getting drunk and starting fights, hurting people in the process...he was known to break the hearts of women he seduced...he had not been a good person.
That night he had been out drinking…again. He had drunk his wait in beer it seemed and hit on all the women in the tavern. He waved his rudeness in everyones face and was proud of it. He had gotten home and forgotten to turn on the security alarm after he deactivated it…one simple button…one simple button to press inside and all would have been alright.
However he forgot to in his drunken self inflated haze…crawling to his bed he had let death into the house for everyone but the one who called it near.
Why had the thieves done this, anyone could simply ask for money and get it...why did they need to steal, there was no reason. They had gone room to room killing everyone in the house, his father than mother as they slept. Then his sister as she dreamed of her soon to be husband. Then his brother...whom they left horribly alive...why hadnt they been able to kill him and spare him carrying this Atlas like burden.
He broke down into sobs putting his head in his lap...a door could have been opened and he would not have heard it....just like that night long ago.
" Mother...father...Phoebe...Jubal...I'm...I'm so sorry...please....please for...forgive me...."
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