My feet ached. I sank down to my knees, exhausted. My life was over. I couldn’t do this. It didn’t matter whether mother was alive or dead. I was screwed either way. A sense of peace filled me at that moment, as the need to be concerned about anything further away than the next five minutes disappeared. I found that I had the strength to step up from the floor and walk to the bathroom. I didn’t check on mother.
I closed the bathroom door behind me and locked it just in case. I reached my hand to touch the back of my diaper. That was a mistake. Shit had smeared up my back, probably from when I had been knocked to the ground after I had fired the shotgun. I washed my hand clean with ice-cold water from the sink.