aftermath

Vanessa, driven by a primal instinct of vengeance, lunged at Alex, her anger and grief a potent force. She crashed into him, knocking him off balance, her momentum sending the gun flying from his hand. She scrambled to pick it up, her movements frantic and desperate.

"You killed them," she whispered, her voice a strangled cry. "You killed my Mum and Dad."

She raised the gun, her hand shaking, her finger trembling on the trigger. But as she pulled the trigger, there was only a click, a hollow sound that echoed the emptiness in her heart. The gun was empty.

Alex, seemingly unfazed, just stood there, watching her, his eyes cold and calculating. His silence, his lack of remorse, fueled Vanessa's rage even further.

In a moment of sheer desperation, she grabbed a knife from the dining table, its sharp edge gleaming under the flickering lights. She lunged at Alex, driving the knife deep into his chest. He screamed, a raw, agonizing cry that echoed through the house.

"That's for my Mum," she said, her voice cold, her eyes blazing with fury. She raised the knife again, poised to strike another blow, her intention clear, her heart consumed by an all-consuming need for revenge.

But then, the wail of sirens pierced the air, a stark reminder that the world outside was still spinning, oblivious to the horrors that had unfolded within our walls. The gate had been left open all along.

The sirens grew louder, closer. Alex, kneeling on the floor, clutching his chest, his blood staining the tiles a dark, crimson hue, looked up at Vanessa, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and pain.

Vanessa, shocked by the sudden intrusion, her own rage momentarily eclipsed by the reality of her actions, stood there frozen, the knife still clutched in her hand.

The police arrived that night, their presence a grim reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded within our walls. I wasn't there to witness the aftermath, neither did Vanessa said anything about the chaos and confusion that inevitably followed. But the news spread like wildfire, a chilling tale whispered through the streets, a story that would forever stain our family name.

The next day, I returned to the house, the scene that greeted me a stark contrast to the vibrant energy that had once pulsed through its halls. A heavy silence hung in the air, thick with grief and a sense of profound loss.

The house was filled with police officers, their presence a constant reminder of the tragedy that had befallen us. The air, heavy with the stench of blood and the lingering scent of fear, felt suffocating, as if the very walls were weeping for the lives that had been lost.

Vanessa was gone. She had been taken away, her fate uncertain, her future a tangled web of legal proceedings and a lifetime of questions. The house, once a symbol of family and love, now stood as a monument to grief, a haunting reminder of the darkness that can lurk beneath the surface of our lives.

I stood in the parlor, surrounded by the ghosts of laughter and memories, my heart heavy with sorrow. I looked at the bloodstains on the floor, the shattered remains of the dining table, and I couldn't help but wonder: how could this happen? How could a night of supposed celebration end in such unimaginable tragedy?

"Soyara was already crying," "Why do you have to talk about that again? And what does it have to do with David?" Her words, laced with a mixture of pain and anger, echoed the turmoil that swirled within her.

"This is torture," she said, her voice breaking, her eyes filled with tears. "I can't stand hearing anymore of this."

I felt a pang of sympathy for her, for the burden she carried, the memories she was desperately trying to bury. Leila knew that the events of that night, the loss of Thier parents, the arrest of Vanessa, had shattered her world, leaving her adrift in a sea of grief and confusion.

David's mother, sitting at a corner, was lost in her own silent anguish. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face pale, her body trembling with grief. She was a woman consumed by sorrow, a mother who had lost everything, a mother who had been robbed of her future, a mother who had been left to face the unimaginable in the wake of the tragedy. David was her only son, so how she felt was normal. She deserves it Leila thought.

"You want to know what David has to do with it, then you will listen," Leila said, her voice firm, her gaze unwavering. "I know you're hurting, Soyara, but you need to hear this."

"You are a cold, crazy bitch, Leila," Soyara spat, her voice trembling, her tears threatening to spill over. "You may continue." But the defiance in her voice was a thin veneer, masking the deep pain and fear that consumed her.

"I have things to do," Investigator Evans said, her voice clipped, her tone impatient. "So we have to make it fast."

"That morning," Leila continued, her voice low, her gaze unwavering, "I got there with David. The night it happened, when we heard the gunshots, it was David who called the police to report it. Though we didn't know where it came from, we just knew something was wrong."

"Meanwhile, your boyfriend, David, knows all along where and who those gunshots were coming from," Leila said, her words sharp, piercing through the layers of denial that Soyara was desperately trying to maintain.

"He took me home that day, which was unusual," Leila continued. "I can always go home by myself. But he said I would need someone to turn to. I didn't get his statement then, I just nodded."

"On getting home, police were everywhere, neighbors and some relatives. I was told you and Grandma were on your way."

I could still remember the shock and surprise that washed over her that day. "Did a thief break in?" I asked one of the police officers, the youngest of them. "No," the officer replied, focusing on his task. "The residents here were shot last night. You should go to your momma. It's not something you should see."

"I live here," Leila said, her voice laced with confusion. "This is my house"