[complete!]
"𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔."
𝐌ace Wilcox had a heart full of revenge. For almost her whole life. Because when the person she loved most was killed, her life was turned upside down. She was turned into a killer.
Sh...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
august 12, 1999.
"Mami," an eight-year-old Mace dragged out. "Please?"
"Macie," scolded her mother. "After dinner, okay? Ice cream after dinner. Promise."
Macie thought about it, finger tapping on her chin in fake thought.
"Okay," she agreed. "Pinky swear."
Macie stuck out her littlest finger, and her mother did the same. They linked, and shook.
"Come," said mami. "Let's go home."
— —
"Is it good?" asked mami.
"Mhmm," nodded Macie, mouth full. "You make good sauce," she said, once she had finally swallowed. "The best."
"I'm glad."
They were smiling. Happy. They loved each other very much. When Macie grew up, she wanted to be just like her mother. Strong. Confident. A good cook. A good mom.
Macie's father had left them as soon as he found that his girlfriend was pregnant. Obviously, he wasn't really for that yet. But Macie's mother, Carolina — she took on the responsibility. And she did it perfectly.
This was their last moment of bliss.
There was a bang at the door, and both heads turned to face it. Macie was confused, wondering who would be knocking so hard.
But Carolina knew exactly who it was. And why. She wore a face of wide-eyed fear.
"Who —" began Macie.
"Shh," said her mother immediately. "Hide."
"Wha —"
"Now!" yelled mami. She knew she shouldn't have done that. He heard her.
A shadowy figure kicked open the door with a loud noise, making Macie jump. Her mother stood there, by the kitchen table, facing the door the person had come through.
Carolina did not look afraid. She stood tall, and stared the shadow in its misty eyes. Deathly eyes, that glowed with determination.
Macie wished she was just like her mother in that moment.
She hid around the hallway, and peeled around the corner of the door. She was shaking. What was happening? Who was that shadow?
Why did they have a gun?
The person walked closer to mami. Macie saw long, dark hair. The piercing eyes. A metal arm reflected the light coming from the moon outside. The figure wore a mask on the bottom half of his face, and what he was wearing looked as if it was meant for being restrained — like one of those straightjackets in the old movies.
Every step was heavy and straightforward. Macie didn't see it, but her mother's hand was shaking as it reached under the table, still looking the figure in its eyes.
Macie watched as the figure raised its gun where it stood in the doorway. She watched, shaking, as he put his finger on the trigger. Her mother pulled her own weapon out from under the table, as quick as she could —
But it was already too late. There was a gunshot. Her mother dropped to the ground, and Macie screamed. She scrambled up, barely able to stand, and ran to her mother.
Macie put her hand on her mother's bleeding wound and looked at the blood, sobbing harder. Carolina's weak, red stained hand reached up to caress Macie's face, and a tear rolled down her mother's cheek.
"Don't let anyone hurt you, Macie," she whispered. And then her hand fell off Macie's face, and she let go of a breath.
And never breathed it back in again.
Macie leaned over her mother's body.
"Mami," she sobbed. "Mami."
She held her mother's hand.
Someone spoke a different language behind her. She heard steps coming toward her, and a cold hand on her arm. She looked up to see the cold eyes of the man who had killed her mother. He pulled her up with his strength and dragged her away.
"Mami!" screamed Macie. "Mami, you promised!" She was dragged out of the house. She pulled back toward her mother's limp body, so determined to get out of the killer's grasp. "You promised me ice cream, mami!"
Macie was crying when the man dragged her through the streets in the night. Sobbing loudly when he threw her in the back of a truck, said something in a different language, and while the truck drove away. She sniffled quietly as the killer stared right through her and watched. Watched her pain. Her suffering. Her sadness.
She cried more when they got to their destination. She cried when she was taken by two men in black suits to a dark room with nothing but a bed and a table. She cried when she was told to sleep.
She had horrible nightmares. Ones of gunshot noises and her mother's face, all running through her head as she tried to get sleep. She got none. She didn't even get the chance to convince herself it was all a bad dream.
Macie was pulled out of bed in the morning by one of the two men in black suits.
"Get up," he commanded.
Macie, afraid, did as he said.
"Where am I?" Macie asked.
The man did not answer — only grabbed her by the arm and took her through hallways. They were all a dark shade of gray. All looked the same.
Macie was taken to a large — almost intimidating office. At the single desk sat an older man wearing glasses and a suit. He smelled of expensive cologne. Maybe a little alcohol.
"The Wilcox girl," smirked the man. "At last. Her mother is disposed of?"
"Yes, sir," said the man.
"Good. You know," said the older man, looking down towards Macie, "we were going to let her live. But she became quite the hassle, always evading my widows and taking you away from me. I had to get some outside help."
"Wh — why did you want me?" said Macie, trying to make it seem like she wasn't afraid.
"You're special, Miss Wilcox. You have the potential to do great things. I can help you with that."
"You killed my mother. I'm not helping you with anything."
