Robert was visibly affected. He walked to the window and stood looking out, his hands shaking.
“How did our son get involved with a person like that? How did we not realize?”
That was the question that tormented me the most. Where had we gone wrong as parents? What signs had we let pass?
“We do not have time for this now,” I said, trying to stay focused. “We need to act. I am going to call the police.”
But before I could pick up the phone, we heard the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock of the front door.
David was arriving.
Robert and I exchanged terrified looks. In a quick movement, I closed all the files on the laptop and pulled out the USB, throwing it inside my purse. Robert straightened the chair he had knocked over.
“Act normal,” I whispered to him. “He cannot suspect anything.”
David entered the living room with a smile on his face. He was wearing that blue dress shirt I had ironed for him myself last week. He seemed so normal. So common.
How could someone with that appearance hide such monstrosity?
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I came to get my laptop. Could they fix it?”
My voice almost failed, but I forced myself to smile.
“Yes, son. It turned out perfect. Jason did a great job.”
David grabbed the laptop and opened it, checking the new screen.
“That is great. How much was it? I will pay you back.”
“It is not necessary, son. It was cheap.”
He insisted, but I refused. Meanwhile, I observed his every movement, every expression. I looked for signs of nervousness, of guilt, of anything that gave away what I now knew.
But I found nothing.
He was completely calm.
“Are you guys going to have dinner?” asked David, putting the laptop in his backpack. “I was thinking of ordering a pizza, having a family dinner. It has been a while since we did that.”
I felt my stomach turn. A family dinner. Another opportunity for him to put poison in our food.
“Not today, son,” replied Robert with a voice more controlled than I expected. “Your mother and I are going out to have dinner. It has been a while since we had a moment just for us. You know how it is.”
I saw a slight contraction on David’s face. Frustration. Anger. It happened so fast I almost thought I had imagined it.
“Oh, what a shame. But it is okay. I understand. Enjoy yourselves, you two.”
Then he came closer and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I needed all my willpower not to pull away. That same affectionate gesture that had always melted my heart now caused me repulsion.
“Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. Call me for anything.”
We waited in silence until we heard his car leaving the driveway and driving away down the street. Only then did Robert collapse in the chair, putting his face in his hands.
“I cannot believe it. Seeing him here, acting normal as if he were not planning to kill us… Barb, I want to throw up.”
I hugged my husband, feeling his back shake.
“I know, honey. I know. But now we need to act fast. He can come back at any moment.”
I grabbed my cell phone and called the authorities. I briefly explained the situation, and they directed me to go to the nearest precinct to file a report.
On the way, we stopped first at a hospital. We explained the situation to an emergency doctor, who immediately took blood samples from Robert and from me too, just in case. The toxicology tests would take a few days. But the doctor instructed us to avoid any food or drink David could have access to.
“You need to go to a safe place,” the doctor warned. “If what you are saying is true, and there is evidence of that, you are in real danger.”
From there, we went to the prosecutor’s office, where prosecutor Marcus Saints received us, a man of about 45 years with a serious expression. We told the whole story from the beginning. We showed the files Jason had copied, the conversations, the spreadsheets, everything.
The prosecutor examined everything with attention, taking notes.
“This is extremely serious. I am going to need to secure this USB drive as evidence and start an immediate investigation.”
“And what about this Victoria?” I asked. “She apparently already killed her own parents. Is there a way to investigate that too?”
The prosecutor made more notes.
“I am going to get in touch with the Florida authorities and request information about that case. If we manage to prove a connection, we can reopen the investigation.”
We spent the next three hours at the station giving detailed statements, signing documents, answering questions. The prosecutor was thorough, wanting to know every detail since when we had started noticing changes in David’s behavior.
“You cannot go back home tonight,” said the prosecutor finally. “I am going to request police protection. But for now, I suggest you stay at a hotel. Use cash, not a card, so you do not leave traces, and do not tell anyone where you are, not even relatives.”
We left the station, and it was almost midnight. We went to a simple hotel downtown, far from our neighborhood. We checked in using different names, like the prosecutor had suggested.
In the hotel room, Robert and I sat on the bed, exhausted physically and emotionally. Neither of us could completely process the reality of the situation.
“How are we going to sleep?” asked Robert. “How am I going to close my eyes knowing that our son wants to kill us?”
I had no answer. I lay down beside him, and we stayed in silence, each one lost in our own tormented thoughts.
My mind would not stop reliving moments from David’s childhood. His first day of school. His graduation. The day he got his first job. When he was ten years old and broke his arm riding a bicycle. I remembered how he cried in my lap at the hospital.
I had sworn to myself that I would always protect him from any harm.
Now it was from him that we needed protection.
My cell phone vibrated. It was a message from David.
Mom, where are you guys? I stopped by the house and there is no one. I am worried.
I showed the message to Robert.
“What do I answer him?”
“Tell him we went to a romantic hotel. Early wedding anniversary or something like that.”
