A month had passed since Liam regained his memories. During that time, he had endured the abuse of both his father and mother, but it had been worth it: over this month, Liam had acted like the same scared five-year-old, silently observing everything, analyzing his parents, searching for patterns in their behavior, and thinking carefully about the best way to act.
Finally, after a month, Liam had the perfect plan to bring about his father's death, and today was the day. It was Sunday, the day his father always returned home drunk and in a terrible mood, paying the least attention to his surroundings.
It was ten o'clock at night. Liam should have been in bed, but instead, he was hidden in the kitchen, waiting for everything to unfold according to plan. Ten minutes later, the sound of heavy footsteps approached from outside. His father, completely drunk, entered the house. Liam watched him coldly from the shadows, with the lights off, observing every step, unaware that in just a few minutes he would stop breathing forever.
The door slammed open. "BOOM!" It echoed against the wall.
"WHY THE HELL IS NO ONE GREETING ME?!" his father shouted, his voice cracking with rage. "It's always the same: this useless family I got stuck with, a wife who can't even handle the house, and a child who only knows how to hide like a coward."
He staggered toward the stairs, clearly intending to punish his wife and son.
Liam watched coldly from the darkness. His father began to ascend the stairs as he always did on Sundays when drunk. Liam had noticed that, no matter his state, his father always stepped in the same spot before reaching the top. That's why Liam had placed a small tack there—something that would normally only hurt a little, but now, with his father drunk and angry, it would be far more dangerous.
"AHHHH! What the hell did I just step on?!" his father yelled in pain.
Liam watched coldly as his father lifted his foot, unable to react properly due to his drunken state. Moments later, he began to fall uncontrollably, his body tumbling down the stairs.
"Crack." A sickening snap echoed—his neck had broken horribly.
His father continued to hit the steps, his body slamming down violently. At that moment, Liam stepped out of the kitchen, revealing himself. To his surprise, his father was somehow still barely alive, eyes wide and pleading, conscious for the first time that night.
"Liam… please, call an ambulance," he begged, his voice weak.
Liam remained silent, watching him writhe in his final moments. His father, looking at his son and meeting that cold, calculated gaze, realized with horror what stood before him.
Then, hurried footsteps sounded from upstairs: his mother, terrified at the sight of her husband agonizing.
But then she saw him.
Liam, her own son, was there, watching her.
His eyes were cold, calculating, almost detached from the chaos that was destroying her world. The child who once curled up on the floor crying was now something strange and terrifying.
There were no tears, no pleas.
Only the cold calm of someone who had made decisions far beyond what a mother could understand.
She took a step back, trembling, unable to look away from those eyes she didn't recognize.
There was no love, no fear—only the shadow of something that had grown in secret, something that belonged to his father and now stared at her.
"Liam…" she whispered, her voice broken. "What have you done?"
He didn't answer. He just kept looking at her, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his lips, as if he knew nothing could stop him.
In that moment, she realized the child she knew no longer existed. Before her was someone who would never be innocent again, someone who had learned to survive with a heart of ice.
"Mom," he said softly, yet firmly. "I don't want anyone to get hurt. I just want you to be with me."
She blinked, confused. The anger she felt toward him, the guilt for everything he had endured, mingled with the fear his gaze provoked. It was as if she were looking at someone who knew exactly what he would do, even before he did it.
"I… I don't know…" she stammered.
"You don't have to know," Liam continued. "Just do what I ask. Do it for me, and everything will be fine. No one else has to suffer…" His eyes locked on hers. "…No one else has to die."
His mother backed away, trembling, and finally sank to her knees—not out of physical obedience, but under the weight of guilt and fear. In front of her stood someone who could anticipate her every move, someone who looked without judgment, yet with a terrifying power.
"I'll do as you say," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "Just… just promise me nothing will happen to me…"
Liam tilted his head slightly and smiled, barely perceptible.
"I promise," he said. "Just do it for me."
In that moment, the mother understood that he now had control—not because he had threatened her with violence, but because his gaze and icy calm had made her realize that disobedience was no longer an option.
The station phone rang, and Officer Anderson answered with his usual serious tone. A trembling but firm female voice came through the line.
"Officer… I need… I need you to come to my house," Liam's mother said, her voice broken, trying to sound scared.
Anderson took down the address. "What happened, ma'am? Is anyone hurt?" he asked, concerned.
"My husband…" she paused to hold back a sob. "…he fell down the stairs. He was drunk, and I… I couldn't stop him. It was an accident, I swear." Her words came fast, nervous, a slight tremor betraying her fear.
The officer frowned, taking the call seriously. "Understood. I'm on my way. Stay calm and do not touch anything until I arrive."
When Anderson arrived, he found the woman sitting in the living room, hands trembling, staring at the place where her husband had fallen. Her expression was one of confusion and panic.
"Ma'am, I need you to explain exactly what happened," Anderson said, pulling out his notebook and pen.
"I… I didn't do anything," she answered quickly. "He was drunk and going up the stairs. He tripped… broke his neck when he fell. There was no… no fight, no… intent to hurt him." She swallowed hard.
Anderson studied her carefully, noting the mixture of fear, guilt, and… something else, a tension that didn't fully align with a simple accident. But he chose not to press too hard—for now.
"Alright, ma'am. I'll take your information and some statements, and then we'll call an ambulance or the coroner to confirm the death," he said carefully, writing notes.
She nodded, maintaining the fragile calm she could barely hold. Inside, her mind was trapped between guilt and the fear of what had just happened.
Meanwhile, Liam lay in his bed, listening from the darkness of his room. His mother's voice reached him muffled, full of guilt and fear, unaware that he was there, hearing every word, and analyzing her reactions.
"Thank you, officer," she whispered, voice breaking. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
Anderson nodded and continued with the formal questions, while the woman remained alert, each word a silent reminder that now she had to obey and maintain appearances, while her son watched safely from his room.