Chapter 3

Blake Gibson POV:

The stairwell was a blur of white walls and pounding footsteps. Each step was a prayer, a desperate plea to a God I wasn't sure existed anymore. Please, let her be okay. Please, let it be a lie.

I burst onto the rooftop access landing. The door was ajar. A cold gust of wind hit me, carrying with it the scent of rain and something metallic.

My eyes scanned the desolate rooftop. And then I saw her. My mother. Hertha.

She stood at the very edge, her back to me, silhouetted against the unforgiving city skyline. The wind whipped her thin hospital gown around her.

"Mother!" I screamed, my voice tearing through the air.

She turned slowly, her eyes, once clouded by illness, now clear and tragically serene. A faint smile touched her lips. "Blake, my darling."

I rushed towards her, my arms outstretched. "Mother, no! Don't do this! Please!"

She raised a trembling hand, stopping me. "It's okay, my love. It's truly okay now." Her voice was soft, fragile, but firm.

"It's not okay! What about me? What about us?" My tears were hot on my cheeks.

"You've sacrificed enough, my child. Too much. For too long." A single tear traced a path down her weathered cheek. "Justine... she made me see. You deserve to be free."

"No! She's a monster! Don't listen to her!" I pleaded, my heart shattering into a million pieces.

Her gaze was distant, yet filled with an unbearable tenderness as she looked at me. "Live, Blake. Live for yourself. Be happy. Don't let them win."

"Mother, please! Come back! I need you!" I was sobbing uncontrollably now, my desperate cries swallowed by the wind.

She shook her head, her smile unwavering. "My beautiful girl. My brave Blake."

And then, in a single, fluid motion, she leaned forward. Time stretched, agonizingly slow. Her body arced against the grey sky.

"NO!" My scream was ripped from my soul.

The sound of her body hitting the pavement below was a sickening thud, even from that height. It echoed in the hollowness of my chest.

I collapsed to my knees, the concrete biting into my flesh. The world spun. The air was sucked from my lungs. My mother was gone. Gone.

Below, the sirens wailed, growing louder. Distant shouts. The world was a cacophony of horror.

Justine. Dalton. Their faces flashed before my eyes-smug, cruel, indifferent.

A cold, hard resolve crystallized in my heart, replacing the searing pain. They would pay. They would all pay.

The funeral was a blur. Dalton made a perfunctory appearance, his face a mask of false sympathy. He even had the audacity to whisper to me, "Look what you've done, Blake. She couldn't handle the truth."

I didn't dignify him with a response. My grief had transformed into a chilling numbness, a quiet rage that hummed beneath my skin.

As the casket was being lowered, a sudden, jarring sound pierced the solemn silence. A car radio blast, then the blare of a cheap brass band.

Everyone turned. My blood ran cold as I saw her. Justine. Standing at the entrance of the cemetery, a hired band playing a jaunty tune behind her. She smirked, a cruel glint in her eyes.

"Oh, Blake!" she called out, her voice unnaturally loud. "I'm so sorry for your loss! Dalton said your mother loved music, so I thought I'd bring some cheer!"

A gasp rippled through the mourners.

"Get out!" I shrieked, my voice cracking. "Get out of here, you monster!"

Dalton rushed to Justine's side, putting a protective arm around her. "Blake, behave yourself! She's just trying to be thoughtful!"

"Thoughtful?" I spat, my eyes locked on Justine. "You desecrated my mother's memory!"

Justine laughed, a high-pitched, mocking sound. "Oh, cheer up, Blake. At least you're free now, right? No more sick mother to chain you down." She winked at Dalton.

Dalton chuckled, a low, ugly sound. "She's got a point, Blake. Maybe it's for the best."

My vision tunneled. This was too much. The pain, the betrayal, the utter disrespect.

Then, Justine raised a hand. "And for the grand finale!" she announced, her voice dripping with malice. She pulled a party popper from her bag and aimed it at the memorial.

A shower of glitter and confetti exploded, raining down on my mother's casket, on her framed photograph, on the wreaths of flowers. It was a grotesque, deliberate act of defilement.

A primal scream ripped from my throat. I lunged at Justine, a blur of pure, unadulterated fury. My hands found her neck, my fingers tightening.

"You bitch! You evil, twisted bitch!" I screamed, shaking her. "You will pay for this! You will pay for everything!"

Dalton tore me away, his face contorted with rage. He shoved me back, hard. I stumbled, but this time, I didn't fall.

"Don't you dare touch her!" he roared, shielding Justine with his body. "She's carrying my child!"

"And my mother is dead because of her!" I screamed back, my voice raw. "You let her do this, Dalton! You let her kill my mother!"

He raised his hand, his eyes blazing. I saw the blow coming. I braced for impact.

But it never landed.

Instead, a chillingly calm, powerful voice cut through the chaos. "I wouldn't advise that, Dalton."