Page 102 of Hidden Echoes

I can even call this a mother. She is nothing to him.

The needle pierces the sagging skin of her arm with ease, slipping through old puncture marks. The plunger descends, amber liquid pushing into her bloodstream. Her eyelids flutter, her mouth parting in a sigh as the heroin wraps around her mind like a lover.

But I don't stop.

I reach for another vial, drawing a larger dose this time. The syringe fills again, the needle sinking into her vein before she even registers the first high. Her body stiffens.

Her eyes snap open.

Her breathing hitches.

And I’m just getting started.

My hands move with focused curiosity, picking up vials and syringes like pieces of a puzzle. A little heroin, a dash of fentanyl—I wonder how they’ll mix. Oh, morphine! That seems important.

Careful measurements? Well, close enough.

The third injection slides into her arm like liquid fire. The false euphoria on her face begins to crack. Her fingers twitch, her lips trembling as her nervous system struggles to process the poison flooding through her veins.

Her breaths come in shallow, wet gasps.

The plunger descends.

Her smile falters.

For an instant, there is ecstasy—her body shudders as the final reward washes over her, muscles trembling in pleasure before ruin. But I know it won’t last.

And I’m right.

Her eyes widen, a shadow of panic crossing her face before her brain can even register what’s happening. Her chest heaves, her heart pounding erratically, hammering against her ribs like a caged animal desperate to escape.

Her fingers curl. Her muscles tense, pulling so tight it looks like she might tear herself apart from the inside out.

Sweat beads on her skin, but she’s already growing cold.

Her face turns purple.

Her lips tremble, forming silent words that will never be spoken. When the vomit rises, she tries to cough, but all that escapes is a wet, gurgling noise. The thick, yellowish bile dribbles down her chin, mixing with strings of saliva, dripping onto her lap. Her body jerks, spasms racking her frame as if an electric current is tearing through her nerves.

Then—

Her heart skips.

I feel it. The precise moment her body begins to fail her, the second her chest rises one last time, desperate, like a drowning victim fighting for air. Her glazed eyes roll back, her nails digging into her own flesh deep enough to break skin, to bleed.

Her mouth stretches wide, a silent scream.

And then—

She collapses.

The body slumps, limbs twitching with the last desperate sparks of life. But I wait. I watch. I want to feel every single moment as the last of her struggles drain away. The small spasms slow, her diaphragm seizing, until finally, there is nothing but silence.

I stare at her.

Let the adrenaline settle.

Let the blood still pumping through my veins keep me warm.

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