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"The Killer's Gift"

Finding out my son was a serial killer was probably the hardest thing I've ever hear as a mother. I knew Thomas had been secretive, but seeing on the news before receiving a phone call that my son had died trying to kill his latest victim was soul crushing. I somehow had to deal with the loss of a child while at the same time I wanted to yell at him to no end for what he did. Emotionally, I didn't know what to feel, grief or disgust.
The later reported the way he killed his victims was using household objects and turning them into weapons. I remembered he used to build amazing things using junk he found around the house. He was always so creative. I remember one day he had trouble getting something apart. Since we wouldn't let him use tools, as he wasn't old enough, he'd use things around his room to form a screwdriver in order to fix things. He was always resourceful.
Not too long after his death, we were told we could go through and take what we wanted from his home before giving the rest away. I walked around his abandoned home, the dark green wallpaper giving me an off feeling about this place. I had never been invited over to see what his home really looked like. I looked around his home slowly, looking at everything I knew he'd seen every day of his tortured life.
I knew green was always his favorite color. He said it was the only color that made him feel safe. Which is why Christmas was always his favorite holiday, the tree and the green wrapping paper I always used. Being surrounded by all of his belongings like this brought back so many memories, the good and the bad.
As I was reminiscing, I was told by the officer that I needed to grab things and leave, it was getting late. I grabbed something off his coffee table, one that had a screw on top that still needed screwed in. It was a scalp massager. It was one you'd put on top of your head, and the thin metal beams draped down and massaged your scalp, helping you feel more relaxed. 
Looking at the scalp massager, I knew I needed to grab it. Not only was this possibly the last thing he ever made, judging by the loose screw, it was something he never got the opportunity to finish. So I took it upon myself to finish it.
When I got home I grabbed a Philips head screwdriver and screwed the screw at the top in. As I did that, the small beams came out just slightly, responding to the tightness. I help it in my hands in admiration. My son would be so happy that his final creation was finished. With a smile on my face and a tear forming in my eyes, I put it on top of my head. Feeling the beams come down around the top of my head made it tingle. Suddenly, something sharp came from the handle at the top and pierced right through the top of my head. I could feel the pressure of it pushing down on my skull. I tried to take it off but it wouldn't budge. I gripped the handle on the top and pulled as hard as I could. The blade broke my skull and stabbed my brain, killing me instantly.
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