As I sat there watching "Family Matters" in the living room by myself, I peeped my father reaching for his gun on the top shelf in the front coat closet. He then hurried down to the basement. When he was out of sight, I immediately ran upstairs to the phone in my mom's bedroom. Then I thought quickly. 'Who should I call? The police? No! I got in trouble for that from my mother before. My grandmother? Yes!' (This was a decision that got me blamed by family members for my mother's death for a few years to come). While I waited for grandma to pick up the phone, I heard a loud commotion in the basement. Then I heard a shot and then silence. My grandmother repeated, "Hello? Hello?" In a daze I said very plainly, "Daddy just killed mommy". My grandmother screamed, "What?! What's going on there Nicole?! What's going on?!..." At that moment, my father started to dial from the kitchen downstairs. When he realized I was on the phone he yelled at me to come off the phone and in his words, ..."I'm trying to call the cops. Something happened to your mother!"
I hung up the phone slowly, hearing the drifting screams coming from my grandmother. I floated downstairs to meet my brother and sister's placid faces at the foot of the stairs. I told them to go up to my bedroom and they did quickly. Then I don't know why but something told me to go towards my father in the kitchen. I heard him telling a tale to the police as he usually did. On the way to the kitchen I stopped at the basement door because the walls leading down were all covered in thick bloody hand prints. When I reached my father, I saw his hands practicly smothered in bright red blood. The yellow rotary phone on the wall was now red. When he saw me, he covered the receiver for a second and said, "Go and see what happened to your mother. Something happened to your mother!" I swear everything was occurring in slow motion. I did move slowly in order not to set my father off. I had to act like nothing just happened. He didn't just beat and shoot my mother to death. She wasn't lying in the basement bleeding out. I glided over to the basement door again but something told me not to go downstairs. I had a strong feeling that as I walked down the stairs, my father would shoot me in the back. So as he continued with his call, I went straight to the coat closet and grabbed my siblings coats and shoes.
I then walked upstairs to my bedroom where they were just milling around. We didn't really interact verbally besides me telling my 8 year old sister to put her coat on and telling her to go over to our cousins house two houses away. My intention was to have at least one of us escape this hell and our father's wrath. Like mice, we inched down the carpeted steps. Then I opened up the front door as slowly as possible because it had the habit of screaching with every move. At this point, I didn't know where my father was. It was a mystery.