The next few weeks went by in a blur, the days and nights blending into a haze of despair. Though I was aware of my own existence, it felt as though I was merely drifting through a fog, lost in a state of self-hatred and madness. Each passing moment was consumed by regret, a gnawing bitterness that I couldn't shake. I loathed myself for lingering after class to talk to Martha, instead of heading straight home. The memory of that seemingly innocent decision haunted me. Even as I berated myself, a small voice of reason whispered that I couldn't have known what was to come. My rational side argued that even if I had left immediately, the tragedy might have already been set in motion. This internal conflict only deepened my anguish, trapping me in a vicious cycle of blame and doubt.

Now, I found myself holed up in a dingy motel room, the faded wallpaper and threadbare carpet a reflection of my own deteriorating state. I was moping, barely eating, and sinking deeper into a pit of desolation. My parents, who had been away on business for the past year, sent me money sporadically, but that was the extent of their involvement. Their absence was a hollow echo in my life, a void where parental love and support should have been. Even when they were physically present, their emotional distance had been palpable, their affections reserved for their careers rather than their child. In the oppressive silence of the motel room, I often found myself drifting into memories of happier times. One such memory stood out vividly—a rare family trip from a few years ago.

"Damon, I caught one!" Amy's voice rang out, filled with excitement and triumph. She turned towards me, holding up a massive bass that writhed and struggled against her grip. Despite her petite frame, standing at just five foot four, she held firm, her determination shining through. It was an impressive sight. I'm so proud of you. I walked onto the weathered wooden dock, the boards creaking under my weight. Reaching out, I grasped the fish with both hands, feeling its slick scales and powerful muscles. "Let me put this in the cooler." I told her, my voice calm and reassuring. Amy nodded, bending down to gently lower her fishing rod, her movements careful and deliberate.

With a practiced motion, I snapped the fish off the hook, its mouth opening and closing in a futile attempt to escape. I quickly placed it in the cooler, the lid closing with a satisfying thud. Amy stood back up, placing her hands on her hips, a proud smile spreading across her face. "How about that!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with joy. Her laughter was infectious, and I chuckled along with her. "Good work, Amy. We might have this for dinner." I praised her, my tone warm and encouraging. She beamed at me, and for a moment, everything felt right. I glanced back at Dad, who was busy tending to the truck. His shoulders were slumped, his face etched with exhaustion, as if he had just finished a long, grueling shift. "Sure." he replied, his voice flat and devoid of enthusiasm. We kept to ourselves after that moment in time.

I sat down on the cold, stiff motel bed, its springs creaking under my weight. Tears sprang from my eyes, hot and insistent, carving tracks down my cheeks. Why am I still crying? It's been a couple of weeks. Suddenly, my ringtone pierced the silence, coming from somewhere inside my suitcase. Who's calling at this time? I didn't even want to answer it, the very thought of talking to someone feeling like an unbearable effort. But then, out of nowhere, a sharp nerve ached in my side. I winced, unable to ignore the sudden jolt of pain. What if it's a sign?

Slowly, I walked over to the suitcase, my feet dragging across the worn carpet. I stood there for a moment, staring at the battered piece of luggage as if it held all the answers to my sorrow. With a deep breath, I opened it and found my phone, its screen glowing insistently. I wiped away my tears, trying to steady myself as I answered the call. "Who is it?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly. The deep, familiar voice that had first informed me of my sister's fate came through the line. "Hello, this is sort of a weird call." A weird call? My heart pounded in my chest as I asked, "What do you mean by weird?" He sighed, a heavy, weary sound. "We arrested the main suspect in your sister's case... and we asked him who he wanted to inform of his arrest, and he knew your number, and said 'Damon'. Normally this wouldn't be accepted, but I feel for you, son." The main suspect in the case?!

I tightened my fist, the knuckles turning white with the force of my grip. "The main suspect?" I demanded, my voice a low growl. He responded, "His name is Arnold, and keep this off the record, this is from my personal phone." He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, then continued, "He's part of this cult thing. We got massive evidence, he's likely going to be found guilty." A breath of relief escaped my chest, a sudden release of the tension that had been coiling inside me. But then I remembered the bigger picture. "Was it only him?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of hope and dread.

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He clicked his tongue, a sign of hesitation. "Well, you see, there's around twenty members of this cult. He's been very forthcoming with this information. We think there is more.. That's all I'll say for now. We will send you the court date." With that, he hung up, leaving me standing there in stunned silence. The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. Rage surged through me, raw and uncontainable. I turned and punched the wall, the drywall giving way under the force of my blow, leaving a jagged hole. You will get more punishment than this, bastard!

"After careful consideration of all the evidence presented during the trial, the testimony of the defendant, and the arguments of counsel, this court finds the defendant, Arnold Lendshaw, guilty of first-degree murder. The evidence has established beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant committed the crime as charged. The sentencing shall be life in prison without parole. This court is adjourned." The judge delivered the verdict with a measured, authoritative tone. She then slammed her gavel, the sharp sound reverberating through the nearly empty courtroom. I stood among the sparse group on the family's side, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. A few of her friends had shown up to support, but the benches were sadly almost empty.

As Arnold stood up, the bailiffs moved in to escort him. He walked past me, and to my utter disgust, he smiled—a cold, twisted expression that made my blood boil. Unable to contain my fury, I spat out, "What are you smiling at, bastard?!" The bailiff immediately pushed Arnold forward. "Move, now." he commanded. Arnold stumbled slightly but regained his footing and continued forward, exiting the courtroom. Justice was not served, I'll serve it myself.

I drove through heavy traffic to my local Walmart, the congested streets reflecting my own sense of internal chaos. I needed to pick up some groceries, a mundane task that felt monumental given my current state. As I navigated the throngs of vehicles, a foul odor suddenly assaulted my senses. What is that smell? I wondered, wrinkling my nose in disgust. A quick sniff confirmed my worst suspicion. It's me? The realization hit hard. I hadn't been showering recently, and it was starting to show. My hygiene had fallen by the wayside along with everything else. My hair was a tangled mess, and I hadn't shaved in weeks. Looking in the rearview mirror, I barely recognized the disheveled figure staring back at me.

At least I hadn't turned to drugs or alcohol, small mercies in the midst of my downward spiral. However, I had missed many classes. Fortunately, Professor Jacobs had been understanding. He told me he'd give me a B, acknowledging my past performance as an exceptional student. I knew I should feel grateful, but any semblance of positive emotion seemed to have been obliterated, leaving only a hollow numbness in its place. I turned into the Walmart parking lot, scanning for an available space. I chose a spot at the far end, away from other cars, and parked. Sitting there for a moment, I took a deep breath, trying to muster the energy to face the world outside my car.

I strode through the automatic doors and walked into the store, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on the polished floors. Grabbing a shopping cart, I made my way into the store, heading left towards the food section. I needed a lot of things: milk, Doritos, water, cookies, and then... I stopped myself from thinking about the next item. That was... Amy's favorite food. The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt a lump form in my throat.

Pushing my cart down one of the aisles, I tried to focus on the items I needed. As I reached for a box of cereal, tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I didn't even realize I was crying until I accidentally bumped into someone. "Sorry." I mumbled, looking down. The man I had bumped into was much taller and bulkier than me, with a bald head and tattoos covering his arms. He glared down at me, his expression one of irritation. "Yeah, you better be sorry." he snapped. What? His aggression caught me off guard, and I felt a surge of defensiveness. I straightened up, meeting his gaze. "What's your problem, dude?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. He leaned in closer, his presence intimidating. "You're the problem," he growled.

All the emotions of the past three weeks boiled over. Why are people like this? Why couldn't he have been the one to die? The anger and frustration surged through me, overwhelming any rational thought. Without thinking, I swung my fist and punched him square in the nose. He staggered back, falling onto his spine. That definitely hurt. He tried to recover, but I lunged forward and stomped on him. "I'm the problem, huh? Well solve it then!" I yelled, my voice raw with emotion. As I stood over him, breathing heavily, I felt a presence creep up behind me. Reacting instinctively, I swung a right jolt hook at the unknown assailant. To my surprise, he caught my punch effortlessly. "Wow, calm down, son." he said calmly. I looked up, ready to confront whoever had dared to interfere, only to see a blonde man standing there, leaning on crutches. He appeared older, perhaps in his early forties, and yet he had managed to catch my punch with ease. "How did you catch my punch?!" I blurted out, incredulous. The man chuckled softly. "I've been in a few scraps in my time. You seemed like you needed a moment to cool down."