Part 2They Called Me Slow Until I Died To Name The Killer

My eyes snapped open, a flicker of hope igniting in my chest.

Mom, was she worried about me?

The very next second, her cold voice returned:

“Doctor, please make absolutely certain that you retrieve the events of that day.”

“If it means getting the truth, you don’t need to worry about her body.”

Dad chimed in:

“That’s right, money is no object. We’ll pay extra if you guarantee you can catch the killer who murdered Soph!”

A sharp, stabbing pain twisted in my heart, and tears spilled out, uncontrollable.

After hearing their words, Dean’s gaze darkened, a flash of pity crossing his eyes.

The retrieval continued. The silver probe pierced my forehead and entered my skull.

The drilling pain was excruciating; my entire body convulsed. I bit down hard on my teeth.

I could feel warm blood trickling out, seeping into my ears, matting my hair.

The first memory appeared on the main screen.

The image shook violently, like a scene viewed through tears.

A gray sky, black funeral streamers, and Soph’s portrait displayed in the center of the wake.

I was kneeling on the floor. The room was full of people, everyone dressed in black.

Mom was draped over Soph’s casket, her sobs tearing through the air.

Dad stood beside her, his eyes swollen, his body shaking uncontrollably.

Suddenly, Mom spun around and rushed towards me, clutching my shoulders until her fingers dug deep into my flesh:

“Lucy, tell me! What happened that day?”

“You saw it, didn’t you? Tell Mommy, who killed your sister…”

Her fingernails nearly punctured my skin. Her voice was sharp and grating:

“Say it! Just tell us!”

I looked up, tears streaming down my face.

“I’m sorry… I really can’t remember…”

Mom’s voice spiked:

“How can you not remember?! Your sister died right in front of you!”

She suddenly grabbed my hair and slammed my head down onto the floor.

“Thud!”

My forehead hit the tile hard.

“Bow to your sister! Apologize to her!”

Another blow.

“We’ve been so good to you, how can you do this to your sister?!”

“Thud!”

A spot of bright red blood stained the tile.

“How could you forget? How could you forget!”

In the image, my forehead was a bloody mess, my eyes wide, the pupils reflecting my sister’s funeral photo.

Blood flowed down my temples, mixing with tears, dripping onto the floor.

I didn’t struggle. I just let Mom force my head down, bowing it to the ground, over and over.

Everyone in the room watched. No one stepped in to stop her.

I knelt at my sister’s wake for an entire day and night.

The day after Soph’s burial, Mom tossed a large, bundled sack at my feet.

“Lucy,” she pointed toward the door, “Get out!”

“When you remember what happened that day, then you can come back.”

“If you never remember, never come home.”

“I don’t have a daughter like you.”

I froze, staring numbly at the sack, then looking up at Mom.

“Mom…”

“Don’t call me Mom!” she screamed,

“I don’t have a daughter like you!”

Dad walked over, silently grabbed my arm, and dragged me toward the exit.

I finally registered what was happening and cried out, latching onto Mom’s leg:

“Mom, I’m sorry… I’ll try to remember…”

“Please don’t send me away… Mom…”

“I’m scared…”

Dad pried my fingers off her leg, one by one.

He was so strong; my fingers ached with the force.

The front door opened.

I was shoved outside.

The sack landed at my feet.

“Slam—”

The heavy door shut in my face.

I knelt on the ground, pounding hard on the wood:

“Mom… Dad…”

“I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…”

There was no response from inside.

After a very long time, exhausted from crying, I picked up the sack.

Dragging my bleeding forehead, I stumbled down the stairs, one step at a time.

As I walked out of the apartment building, I looked back at the fourth-floor window.

The curtains were tightly drawn.

The screen went dark.

The auditorium was utterly silent.

Suddenly, Dad’s furious voice exploded:

“What is this?! This is not what we came here to see!!”

Mom shrieked as well:

“We need the truth about Soph’s murder!! What happened in that alley?!”

“Continue! Keep going deeper!”

A murmur of discussion arose in the audience.

Dean looked at the screen, then at me, lying pale and still on the stand, his lips moving wordlessly.

The doctor sighed, his voice echoing over the microphone:

“First layer of memory extraction complete. As the memory deepens, the pain the patient experiences will continually escalate.”

“The nervous system is undergoing extreme stress, which may lead to extraction interruption or…”

His sentence was cut short by Dad:

“Continue. Any price is acceptable as long as the killer is caught.”

Mom covered her face, weeping:

“We just want the truth!”