The Genetic Report That Turned My Family Into Monsters Chapter 05

The Genetic Report That Turned My Family Into Monsters Chapter 05

The smartphone lens was aimed squarely at me like a loaded gun. 

“Get the hell away from her!” Mom snapped, shoving Damian back. 

He stumbled backward, but his hand darted out, snatching the crumpled medical report off the ground. As he skimmed it, his fake influencer smile 

vanished, replaced by a sickening, opportunistic greed. 

Chat, you are not gonna believe this goldmine–” 

Before Damian could finish his sentence, the security guards swooped in. They grabbed him by the arms, roughly dragging him and his camera crew down the driveway as he frantically continued screaming to his followers. 

I was left standing entirely alone on the driveway. A suffocating, crushing wave of despair washed over me, so heavy I wished I could just drop dead right there on the concrete. 

Mom delivered another vicious backhand, her perfectly manicured nails dragging across my cheek and drawing a thin line of blood. “Playing the pathetic, helpless victim. Who exactly are you trying to fool?” she sneered. 

I slowly wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. Staring at the three monsters looming over me, I realized with chilling clarity that fighting them head–on tonight was a completely pointless endeavor. 

“Fine,” I said, my voice dropping to a dead, hollow whisper. “I’ll get the abortion.” 

That made them pause. 

Grinding my teeth together, I forced the rest of the words out: “I will do the surgery. I will sign the formal disownment papers. Just let me go, and I swear I will disappear from your lives forever.” 

Julian stared down at me. His eyes were entirely devoid of any residual warmth from the husband I once knew. “Eleanor, simply aborting this child isn’t nearly enough.” 

“He’s right.” My father adjusted his painfully expen- sive silk tie and spat viciously at my feet. “The mere 

fact that you’re still drawing breath makes us sick.” 

Utterly humiliated, my psychological defenses finally, catastrophically caved in. I didn’t utter another syllable. Moving with the stiff, mechanical gait of a reanimated corpse, I turned my back on them and 

climbed into the back of the unmarked medical transport van–the exact same vehicle that had shuttled me to my death sentence in my previous life. 

The drive to the clandestine suburban clinic was a silent, waking nightmare. 

Once inside, they strapped me down to a freezing stainless–steel operating table. The blinding glare of the surgical halogens burned my eyes. In my past life, I had thrashed against these thick leather restraints like a feral animal, screaming until my vocal cords actually shredded. 

This time, I didn’t move a single muscle. 

As the cold plunge of anesthetics flooded my IV, I merely stared upward, my eyes locked numbly onto the sterile ceiling tiles. I let the absolute darkness swallow me. I lay perfectly still and let them carve the life right out of my body. 

Hours later, the procedure was over. Stripped of everything that made me human, I completely completely ignored the nurses‘ strict medical advice and aggressively signed my own early discharge paperwork. 

They practically tossed me out the back exit. 

The clinic was tucked away in a desolate, heavily wooded industrial park on the absolute fringes of the city. There were no taxis. There were no bus stops. 

There weren’t even streetlights. I had no choice but to walk. 

Every single step felt like grinding my bare feet into shattered glass. Blinding, white–hot cramps tore 

mercilessly through my abdomen, sending dark spots dancing across my vision. 

I hadn’t even made it past the first dense tree line when I heard it: the heavy, unmistakable crunch of 

combat boots against the gravel directly behind me. 

Before I could even turn my head, a massive, calloused hand clamped violently over my mouth. 

I tried to scream, but a thick arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me entirely off my feet. I was violently hauled off the narrow dirt shoulder and dragged deep into the pitch–black woods. 

was thrown hard against the damp forest floor. Three hulking silhouettes immediately boxed me in. There 

was no question what this was. These were Julian’s hired thugs, sent to finish the extermination job the surgical clinic had merely started. 

I desperately planted my palms in the dirt, trying to push myself up, but my arms buckled like wet paper. I had just undergone major surgery. My body was actively bleeding, completely drained of whatever meager strength I had left to fight with. 

One of the men lunged down, grabbing my ankle to drag me further into the suffocating shadows. I closed my eyes. The exhaustion was too absolute. I simply gave up. 

Suddenly, a blinding, high–lumen beam from a tactical flashlight violently pierced the darkness of the woods. 

“Police! Step away from her right now!” 

A figure charged through the thick brush with lethal, commanding intensity. 

It was Officer Laurel Vickers.