text: Clark wished that it was water that leaked into every fiber of his favorite coat. He forced his mind to quite possibly think that the last three hours didn’t happen. Maybe he just missed the weather forecast for the night, and they predicted rainfall. He surely missed the warnings to bring an umbrella. Unfortunately, this was not the case. He transferred his coat into his opposite hand, and he slowly reached his hand up to his face. He shut his eyes, hoping that when they opened the liquid making its way through the wrinkles of his fingers would be rain. Clark drew in a deep breathe before he opened his eyes.He studied his hands intently before letting out a hearty laugh. He looked like he just finished up a finger painting project! “I wonder if the red man group is hiring.” Clark immediately shook his head, shocked at how distasteful and dry those words sounded leaving his mouth. They’d be there any minute now, surely. No one hears that much screaming and ignores it. It’s quite a shame that he didn’t have a choice. He loved his daughter, and he was sure of that. Clark’s heart shattered when she fell ill. It was entirely different than any other illness he’d seen in his 12 years of practicing medicine. She refused to eat. She refused to pray. She refused to get up to use the restroom. She began to hurt herself. Her wrists were cut and bruised; her face fell pale and sunken. She scowled every time she saw her father. It hurt him so much to see her like that. All he wanted to do was help her, yet her disease seemed to be one he could neither identify nor cure. It pained him to see her become increasingly aggressive. On some days, Clark forgot that the person in the attic was even his daughter. Oh, but it was quite a shame that his wife fell ill of the same illness just weeks before. Clark begged and begged for her to allow him to treat her. His wife refused as well. Although he missed her everyday, he was thankful she passed peacefully in bed. The night his daughter attacked him, well, tonight as it was, he brought her food. He desperately tried all of her favorite foods, yet she refused. If she even took a bite, she ended up spitting it right back in her father’s face. She said nothing. Her tired body could only manage grunts and screams. It somehow seemed as if she took a vow of silence to spite her father. She reminded him so much of her mother. Clark left the tray of chicken and mashed potatoes on the floor next to his daughter’s bed. He stopped at the top of the stairs with his back turned to her, thinking about his late wife. This illness had torn his family apart and yet he wasn't even remotely close to a diagnosis. Not a moment later did he feel something plunge into his back. His daughter sprung from the bed somehow even with how frail her body became. He had no other choice. He took the Swiss army knife from his pocket and sent it into her side, throwing her weak body to the floor. She sent out a yelp as her body flopped to the floor like a rag doll. Clark grabbed the knife as tears of sadness and rage began to well in his eyes. He looked down at his daughter, who gasped and cried in pain. Clark saw the pain and sadness plaguing her eyes. He watched intently as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She looked empty, only a shell of the beautiful, bright girl she once was. “My sweet, sweet girl. If only you could’ve let me help you,” He spoke tenderly, with a look of love in his eyes. His daughter scoffed at him, but she said nothing. “Say hello to your mother for me. I miss her so much. You guys are so alike, you know. You remind me so much of her.” Clark stroked his daughters cheek and she winced at his touch. He brought the knife to her throat. She sputtered as he picked up her body, with love in his eyes and blood on his hands, and placed her back on the bed. He laid next to her for a bit, the warmness of the blood surrounding him like a comforting blanket. He held his daughter’s hand, much like he did with her mother when she took her last breathe. Clark heaved himself off the bed, his sadness tagging along with him. He examined the bed, and kicked one of the handcuffs that laid on the floor. “My sweet daughter. This incurable illness did tolls on your body, but it surely never drained your fight. Just a bit feistier than your mother.” He smiled, as he glanced over the now lifeless body of his daughter with love in his eyes. He shifted his glance over, just a bit, at the edge of the bed. “And you, my dear,” He walked up closely to the other half of the bed. His wife’s decaying corpse lay in the dress she wore the day they declared their undying love for each other. He traced his hand along her sunken face. “Take care of her, in all the ways I never could.” Clark smiled. At least his family was happy again. Sure, he was unable to help them, but doctors aren’t successful with all of their patients. It was on the front page the next day. “Unlicensed mad man murders family!” It read in blocky font. “An ex doctor who lost his license to malpractice, Clark \[redacted\], murdered his daughter last night. As police officers inspected the scene, they found the bodies of Sara \[redacted\], 18, and Kimberly \[redacted\]. 42. Sara died from blood loss due to the severity of her stab wounds. Police stated that Kimberly died 3 weeks ago. Both women were found in the attic, along with multiple notebooks describing the observations Clark made about their illness. Autopsy reports found that the women were only victims of Clark’s delusions, as no other diseases were identified. Mr. \[redacted\] has yet to be apprehended and is considered highly dangerous.” Clark spit on the ground. “Clearly you wouldn’t know they were ill. That is why you are the reporters, and I’m the doctor.” He let out a soft laugh before tossing the newspaper and his coat out of the car window. It’s quite a shame he had to get rid of his favorite coat. Alas, he knew no amount of baking soda in the world could get those stains out.