Chapter Text
Tragedy always strikes at the most inopportune time and place; and for the Broflovski family, this will be the worst tragedy they ever have and ever will encounter.
On a calm Saturday morning at 11:00am, Gerald Broflovski opens his eyes slightly, as he looks at the sunlight illuminating from the window next to him. After rubbing the crust from his eyes, and letting out a nice hearty yawn, he turns to his beloved wife Sheila, dressed in a long sleeved pink nightgown, sleeping soundly next to him. Her mouth is hanging open and there’s dry, dark brown mucus under her nostril, but Gerald thinks nothing of it and just wipes it away with his thumb.
“Good morning my red velvet cupcake,” Gerald coyly whispers, chuckling at the nickname he’s been using on her for weeks now.
He then leans over and gives her a gentle kiss on the cheek…however, something is amiss, making his grin disappear. Sheila is unusually cold and stiff, which is impossible because it’s springtime right now; and even a mountain town like South Park warms up quite a bit around this time.
“Sheila? Honey, you okay?” Gerald starts to shake his wife awake only for her to not move a muscle. He then looks down and sees mysterious bruises on Sheila’s neck and chest. Once again, this makes no sense because even though they have squabbles like any married couple, he’d never lay a hand on her.
Alarmed, Gerald literally rips the sheets and comforter off his wife’s body, and once again, not a single flinch or sound comes from her. There’s more bruises on Sheila’s legs and feet.
“Sheila! Sheila! You’ve gotta wake up! Please open your eyes!” Gerald pleads as he shakes her again while simultaneously trying with all his might to sit her upright, to no avail. He pauses his struggle, gets out of bed, and walks to Sheila’s side. He then grabs her right hand and tries to feel her pulse. When he can’t feel it in her wrist, he presses his index and middle fingers on her neck, hoping to feel something. Sadly there’s nothing.
“AHHHHH! FUCK! FUCK! NOOOOO! NO DAMMIT NO! SHEILAAA! SHEILA HANG ON! PLEASE, PLEASE HANG ON!” Gerald climbs on top of her and starts rapidly doing chest compressions and giving her mouth to mouth, unaware that these efforts are futile.
All this commotion catches the attention of Kyle and Ike, who both rush in the room. “Dad? What’s going on?!” Kyle asks.
Gerald rapidly turns his head towards his boys, his eyes bloodshot and tears streaming down his face. “KYLE! I NEED YOUR HELP! Your mom, she’s…she’s…” The distressed dad can feel himself choking on his words, but he needs to get it together so he can try and revive his wife, again in denial that it’s too late. “JUST GET OVER HERE NOW!” Kyle makes a mad dash to the bed. Ike begins to follow, but Gerald snaps at him, “NO IKE, STAY OVER THERE!”
Ike instantly obeys and stands in the doorway, holding onto the doorframe for dear life. Whatever’s going on, he doesn’t like it one bit; but despite that, he doesn’t want to look away.
Meanwhile, Kyle stares at both his parents. “Dad, please talk to me, what’s wrong with mom?”
Gerald stops the chest compressions and wipes his brow before turning to his son. “Kyle, listen to me, do you know how to check someone’s pulse in their wrist?”
This question makes Kyle sweat. Part of him doesn’t want to believe that his mother is gone, but another part of him is worried that just might be the case because she hasn’t moved or opened her eyes this whole time. “Uhhh, y-yeah I think so?” He finally squeaks.
“Okay good,” Gerald sighs in relief. He takes the limp hand of his stiff spouse and gives it to his son. “CPR didn’t work, so I’m gonna try giving your mommy mouth to mouth; so you have to tell me if you feel anything, anything at all.” He bends down to eye level with his son, more tears welling in his eyes. “You be, hic, you be a brave strong boy for Daddy, okay?”
Very seldom does Kyle see his father express this kind of strong emotion; so anytime he does, the empathy in his heart multiplies ten-fold, ergo he now has to obey his dad’s command. He gives a shaky nod and presses two of his fingers on his mom’s very cold wrist, praying for the tiniest beat.
This unsuccessful attempt to try and revive Sheila goes on for quite some time; Gerald and Kyle are getting exhausted, with the latter releasing his mom’s arm, letting it hang off the side of the bed. In a last ditch effort, Gerald shakily tries to pry Sheila’s eyes open, but can’t because they feel like they’re superglued shut.
In a very drastic case of whiplash, Gerald sharply turns his head back at Ike and points at him. “IKE, GRAB MY CELL PHONE FROM THE DRESSER! HURRY!
Frightened, the toddler scampers towards the aforementioned dresser next to the bed. He rips the phone from the charger and hands it to his panicking father. After grabbing the cell phone, Gerald hops off the bed and dials 911 while frantically pacing around the room.
“911, what’s your emergency?” A female operator blares.
“Please send an ambulance, I think my wife died!” Gerald shouts.
As soon as the word “died” hits his eardrums, Ike gasps and dashes right to the side of the bed where Kyle is and frantically tugs on the sleeve of Sheila’s nightgown. “Mommy! Mommy nooooo!” Curious, he slightly rolls up her sleeve and gasps again at the bruises on her arm. “Do something Kyle!” Ike sobs.
“There’s nothing I can do Ike! Dad’s been trying, I’ve been trying…” Kyle pauses; a pain in his chest and stomach begin to appear. Once it truly dawns on him, he’s almost at a loss for words, only able to choke out, “We just can’t.”
Meanwhile Gerald still speaks to the 911 operator, “I live at 1002 Avenue de los Mexicanos, South Park, Colorado 80440…I have two sons, Kyle and Ike…they’re ten and three respectively…yes…” Gerald puts a hand on his chest and breathes a sigh of relief, “Okay, thank you so much.”
After hanging up and putting his phone in his pocket, Gerald solemnly looks at his sons. “The police and ambulance are on their way, we should go downstairs.”
Ike clutches onto Sheila’s arm for dear life, his tears leaving small stains on her sleeve. “Noooo! I’m staying here with Mommy! You can’t stop me!”
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Gerald approaches the grieving baby with open arms, “Ike come on.” He grabs his waist and tries to pry him off.
“I want Mommy!”
“Mommy needs to be taken away now!”
“Mommy can’t go!”
“She has to! Please Ike, don’t make this harder than it already is!”
“Can’t I go with her?!”
“No Ike, you can’t!”
If this were literally any other circumstance, say, Ike wanting a new toy or a snack, then Kyle would step in and help out. However, seeing both his brother and father grieve this hard has completely shattered his heart; and there’s no way in hell he can bear to pull Ike away from the woman he loves. Therefore, Kyle just stands there in silence, anxiously biting the nail on his thumb. After about 30 more seconds of struggling, Ike’s grip loosens and Gerald holds his son in his arms. The child wails and screeches as his father carries him out of the room, gently patting him on the back. Neither of them notice that Kyle is still in the room, staring wide eyed at the bruised husk that he used to call his mother. How did this happen? Why did she have to go this way? She was literally fine 14 hours ago, but somewhere in the dead of night, God decided to take her away. No goodbye, no explanation. Does God want him to suffer? Is this all a mistake?
“Kyle, get down here now!” Gerald blares, snapping Kyle out of his thoughts. Well, whatever the reason, it’s too late to question any further and he’ll never get the answer to it. Before he leaves her side forever, the heartbroken boy picks her arm up and rubs her hand against his cheek; using it as a makeshift handkerchief to dab away his tears. He then presses his lips on her hand and lets them linger for a few seconds, hoping to never forget how her skin feels. After giving her a final kiss and resting her arm across her chest, he tenderly whispers “Goodbye Mama” and leaves.
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Flashing lights and sirens from a single ambulance van and several police cars echo right outside the olive green Broflovski house. Additionally, many neighbors surround the area, most making indiscernible chitchat underneath the noise and lights. This is both a perk and a drawback to living in such a small town; it’s a perk in that, despite many instances that suggest the contrary, South Park is still a community that looks out for each other. However, the drawback to this is people tend to be too nosy towards matters that should be private. This specific case is a weird middle ground where the Broflovskis could use some guidance, but Sheila being wheeled away from her family forever doesn’t need to be a big spectacle either. As the crowd grows bigger and bigger, Stan, Kenny, and Butters start to gather with their families, each edging in front of the crowd to get the best view.
“What’s going on?” Stan asks.
“I think something really bad,” Butters shivers. Kenny says nothing but gives a worried look.
Suddenly Cartman and his mother Liane show up, which is rather unusual since they’re normally among the first to arrive at something like this. Cartman raises an eyebrow at the scene. “What the hell’s all this?” He then gives a smirk and nonchalantly waves his hand. “Eh, probably Kyle’s little brother playing with matches or something.”
The other three glare at Eric, with Stan punching him in the arm. “Don’t be an asshole, this looks more serious than that!”
Meanwhile, in a stark contrast to the bright and loud outside world, the living room is dark and quiet. Gerald sits on an armchair, his hands anxiously clutching the arms until his fingers are sore. Kyle and Ike are on the couch, with the latter sitting on the former’s lap. Although the tyke has no more tears left to shed, a fountain of snot leaks out of his button nose. Kyle continuously strokes his baby brother’s back, comforting him the best way he knows how.
Knock, knock. Gerald gets up from his chair and answers the front door. Two male EMTs, one with black hair and bushy eyebrows, and another with blonde hair and thin eyebrows, dressed in white shirts, black pants, and black shoes stand in the doorway.
“Gerald Broflovski?” The black-haired man asks.
“Yes?” Gerald answers in a droll, almost robotic tone.
“We’re here to pick up your wife,” The blonde man speaks as he solemnly bows his head.
With a twitch in his eye and a beckoning wave of his hand, Gerald leads the EMT’s inside. “Yes…yes come in…follow me.”
The two EMTs turn around, grab the gurney behind them, and wheel it inside. Pushing the other end of the gurney are two more EMTs; one with red hair and glasses, and another with light brown hair and a goatee. Three police officers follow the paramedics upstairs, and only one of them sneaks a glance at the boys and gives them a remorseful nod. The boys don’t react whatsoever, instead keeping their burning eyes fixated purely on the stairs.
Ten minutes later, the paramedics come into view; and lying face up on the gurney is a black body bag that has Sheila inside. Trailing behind are the officers and Gerald; one officer has his hand on a crying Gerald’s shoulder, and the other two are holding their police hats over their hearts.
Ike screams and wails in pure terror as he tries to squirm out of Kyle’s arms; to which he holds him back. “Ike, you have to calm down!” Kyle’s eyes well with tears and he squeezes his eyes shut, unable to look at his mother’s body bag any longer. “Please calm down.” He hoarsely croaks.
Outside, the crowd finally sees why the cops and ambulance are here, and understandably gasp in horror.
“Oh my God! Who is that?!” Randy gasps as he puts his hands on the side of his head.
“Can’t you tell by the size and shape? It’s Sheila!” Sharon answers, her hand on Randy’s shoulder.
“Oh dear God, no!” Linda Stotch screeches as she clutches her equally stunned husband Stephen.
The boys are frozen solid, both terrified of the situation at hand and feeling deeply worried for Kyle. In a surprising turn of events, Cartman is the most shocked of them all. With his eyes wide, face pale, and mouth agape, his eyes are focused purely on Sheila being loaded into the ambulance. He’s been sore on her for years now; and now that she’s gone, not only will he have to try and be genuinely nice to Kyle, but he’ll never get to apologize or make amends to her. The very thought of that starts to make his stomach hurt.
“Okay people, move along, there’s nothing to see here!” Officer Barbrady barks, waving both his hands in the air. Say what you want about his incompetence as a policeman, but you can’t deny that one of his hidden strengths is clearing out a crowd. So, everyone disperses, with the exception of Sergeant Harrison Yates, Detective Mitch Murphy, and an unfamiliar woman with light blonde hair and wearing a black suit with a skirt; all of whom go inside the house. Again, Cartman’s eyes are glued to the scene.
Liane wipes tears from her eyes and shakes her son’s shoulder, “Come on poopsie-kins, we have to go now,” She sniffles. Eric doesn’t move. “Eric?” Liane has no choice but to hold her son up by his armpits and try with all her might to drag him away.
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Meanwhile, the remaining Broflovskis, eyes and faces red and wet from crying, sit on the couch. Yates, Murphy, and the female detective sit across from them in kitchen chairs; and the lady holds a pen and notepad. “We’re just gonna ask you a few questions,” Yates begins, “First off, what exactly happened last night?”
“Nothing!” Gerald snaps at first, but realizes he needs to calm down, “I mean, nothing unusual. The four of us just had dinner, watched Encanto on Disney+, then I washed up while Sheila tucked our boys into bed…” The recollection was sadly interrupted by Ike softly sobbing, to which Kyle pats him on the back while shushing him.
“As I was saying, eventually the two of us went to bed. Well, we stayed up for a little while and watched one episode of Jeopardy and the news. My sweetheart was out cold…” The distressed dad stops again, not because he was interrupted, but because he has intrusive thoughts that she might’ve died right then and there instead of just falling asleep really fast.
“Uh-huh,” Yates mutters, an air of suspicion in his voice.
Murphy raises an eyebrow at Yates before turning to the family. “Did your wife have any illness or medical problems to speak of?”
“Well, she had a pretty severe case of C. Diff a while back, but that’s been cured.”
“Oof, yeah I remember that,” Yates winces, not helping the situation any.
After jotting down some notes, the female detective taps her chin with the pen. “Perhaps something a little more clinical? Like, say, high blood pressure or Diabetes?”
Offended, Gerald frowns. “Excuse me, ma’am, but not only would I be the first to know if anything ‘clinical’ was wrong with my wife, but that’s a big leap just because she’s on the heavier side!”
She puts her hands up defensively, “My apologies Sir, I’m just trying to rule out all possibilities, especially since it seems like she literally went poof.”
Amidst this conversation, Kyle glances at Yates and notices him staring at his father with narrow eyes and scrunched eyebrows. This naturally pisses him off. “What?! What’re you thinking?!” He speaks up, much to the confusion of everyone in the room.
“I’m thinking…” Yates gets up from his chair and starts pacing in front of the couch with his hands behind his back. “You say there’s nothing medically wrong with your wife. Since you were the one who found her, that clearly means you were the only one around when she died. Plus, there's all those bruises…”
Yates’ spiel was interrupted by Murphy, who stands up and puts his hand out, “Now hang on Sir…”
“Shut up!” Yates snaps at his partner before turning back to Gerald. “As I was saying, how do we know YOU’RE not the one who did it?!” He points accusingly.
The world stops turning right then and there. Absolutely no one in the room could believe what they just heard. Even Murphy, who’s used to Yates’ rather extreme viewpoints and methods, is at a loss; so much so that he slumps back down in his chair and hides his face in his hands. Meanwhile, the Broflovskis, understandably, are having none of this. Ike scowls and vibrates in anger, Kyle grits his teeth while whispering “you motherfucker” under his breath, and Gerald,initially blank-faced, stands up and faces Yates.
“You motherfucker!” He screams, swinging his fist and socking the redhead officer right in the jaw, making him yelp in pain. “Where the hell do you get your nerve insinuating that I killed my wife?!! I love her with every fiber of my being!” Keeping his eyes on Yates, he gestures his hand towards his boys. “Do you really think I’d leave my boys without a mother?! You know, for a cop, you must be pretty damn stupid to even think of that, let alone say it out loud!” After giving Yates a shove with both hands, Gerald plops in the middle of the couch, hyperventilating while squeezing the sides of his head. The boys, surprised but empathetic towards their father’s outburst, decide to comfort him. Ike crawls onto Gerald’s lap and lies across it like a kitten, and Kyle leans his head against his dad’s side and gently strokes his thigh.
Yates’ expression turns from accusatory to stunned as he sits down and rubs his jaw. While that happens, the detective finishes up her notes and places the pen and notepad in her pocket. “Well Mr. Broflovski, I think we have the information we need so far.” She pauses and stands up, prompting the other adults to do the same. “Our next course of action is to conduct an autopsy, which shouldn’t take more than a week; and then you can discuss funeral arrangements.” She then reaches into her front chest pocket and pulls out a small business card. “If you or your sons need someone to talk to, or if you’d like me to connect you to other resources, feel free to give me a call or shoot me an email.”
After retrieving the card and putting it in his own pocket, Gerald softly bids a thank you and anxiously shakes the hand of both the lady detective and Murphy. When Yates puts his own hand out, Gerald instantly pulls away, still angry at him. Once the three officers leave, the family stares at each other; instantly knowing full stop that they need each other now more than ever.