Fairytale
by
Latashia Figueroa
The street noise below my office window was a distraction to the child. The air the blew in was warm but provided some relief, so I would not close it. I looked at the adorable five-year-old as she sipped from the juice box I had given her. There was nothing odd about the child. District attorney Donald Maki said I wouldn't like this one when he handed me the case file. I had to evaluate this child, the youngest patient I ever had, for possible mental illness.
Her hair was a beautiful brown, naturally highlighted by the sun. It resembled mine. I wanted to stroke her hair, to touch her cherub face. As I observed her, my mind wandered to my own child. What would Lacey have looked like had she survived her birth five years ago?
I studied the little girl quietly sitting across the table. Olivia Masters was found in her home three days before standing over the bloodied bodies of her parents. They had been stabbed multiple times in their bedroom. It was difficult to listen to the child. Olivia's voice was sweet. An almost angelic face that stared back at me with wide-eyed innocence seemed to hide nothing. Yet, I had those crime scene pictures. Blood became the backsplash on the Master's bright green bedroom walls.
Mrs. Elaine Masters' body was slumped halfway off the bed, upper body lying face down on the beige carpet that was stained crimson beneath her auburn hair, her legs still on top of the bed. It looked as if she had been trying to get away. Eric Masters' body was sprawled on the floor less than a foot away from the bedroom door. He had been stabbed the most. Perhaps because it took Olivia longer to bring him down. He wore no shirt; the stab wounds covered his entire back, and his left eye was gouged out.
The blade had made three-inch-long, sickle like gashes all over the couple's bodies. The report stated, Mr. Masters' wounds totaled ninety-six. Mrs. Masters, eighty-two. The weapon was never found.