Mother Dearest(8)

Tom moved into the room and set the box down on the bed, determinedto find out where Mother had gone off to and confront her about whatwas in the box. He had to do it before he lost his nerve. He turned to the other side of the room and saw that all of Mother’sthings that she took out of the house with her were comfortablyperched on the dresser that lined the far wall. She hadn’t left,which meant she was probably only downstairs—even though he hadn’tseen her go—and all he had to do was go and find her. Tom took another look at the box, sitting on the bed, idle,unmoving—the source of his dread, oozing out of its dusty, rottingconfines and into his very soul. The leech fed away at the gnawingdread and caution that tingled in the air and mingled with his mind.That cursed box, the one that held the secrets—Mother’s secrets. It was then that he saw it. Light. The closet door was cracked open, barely open, the dim yellow lightthat was on the other side of the door soaked through the tinyopening and out into the room. The closet was of good size, a fullwalk-in, and had a light bulb that hung above on the ceiling. Mothernever had it on unless she was inside. Why would she be in the closet? He wondered. Tom beganfor the closet, and immediately felt something inside of him tuggingaway, telling him to stay away from the closet. It was hard to placeexactly what it was, but he felt it was probably the same fear he hadgotten from the box—that he was going to find out something aboutMother that he didn’t like, not one bit. He came up to it, the dim yellow light sliced a hole in the frame,illuminating the white trim around it, accentuating it against thedull gray of the overcast glare that drifted through the windows.

Inside he felt the hesitation. He reached for the knob. …open…He began to slowly pull. …the…Heregoes nothing. …door!And carefully pulled it open, hearing the horrible screech of rustedhinges much in need of an oiling, answered by the creek of an olddoor on the screeching hinges. He was about to open his mouth to ask Mother a question when he feltthe leech bite into his back and the dread settle in and the cautiongive way to paralyzing numbness. The first things he noticed were water bottles, half full, and abucket with several cleaning supplies items inside of it. Next tothat was a pile of zip-ties, settled on top of a plastic bag. Therewere a few small slips of plastic, torn and scattered that lookedlike they had at one time held snack crackers or something like that.A knife rested on a small rag next to the pile. Ohman…oh man oh man oh man oh man. The main event of the confining chamber, under the light was a canopyof brown-leather hair, and two almond colored eyes pleading with him.Blood was caked in the eyebrow, and a small wound to the forehead ofthe face was its source. Duct tape was over her mouth, but it wasunmistakably her. He tried to speak but he couldn’t. Her eyes grew wide, they pooled with tears, and then iced over withfear. He tried to figure out why she was scared of him, but neverarrived to a conclusion.

A white explosion erupted at the back of his skull and he felt theair rush out of him, as well as gravity pull him down as all forcewent out of his legs. The last thing he saw was two feet—Trisha’s feet—tied to achair, bloody circles where zip-ties had cut into her skin beforebeing replaced. Then, black. SHE REALLY meant it. He knew that she did. —I’m going to go out to lunch with your Mom. —Why do that?—Because she doesn’t really know me and I don’t really knowher. We have a common interest, but we don’t really know eachother. I think it might be nice if we did get acquainted. Trisha looked across at the fields of corn that were swaying in thebreeze, the briefest of smiles flowed across her face as she looked. —I think your Mother isn’t the person we think she is. She looked at him; deep almond orbs stared through him. The smilewasn’t on her mouth, but it was still in her eyes as it usuallywas. —I’d like to know who she really is. A smile, not forgotten, drifted with him in the blackness as he triedto swim away, swim back into the light.

LIGHT BLINDED him. His eyes clamped back shut, trying to keep out thelight that was glaring into the room and melting his vision. He couldfeel warmth from it and he knew that it was the sun shining down onhim. He was below the sun, the sun was shining on him, trying to warnhim, warn him to run—run away from the dark. Darkness tugged at him, trying to pull him back into unconsciousness,whispering, tempting, and begging him back into its arms where it wassafe—safe from everything. He felt a cushion of air beneath him, the edges caressing him,holding him up gently. For a moment he thought he was floating, buthe quickly realized it was the couch. The light pulled him forward and he tried to swim out of the black. “It’llbe all right.” A cool tongue ran over his forehead. The tongue of a dragon, samplinghim before beginning its meal, just wanting to taste its prey—Tompulled back from it and felt the stabbing in the back of his headecho though his entire skull. His vision stirred, then quickly cleared, bringing everything into HDfocus. The living room blinds were glaring down at him; the sunshattered the barrier and leaked through the cracked slats. Mother was holding a damp cloth to his head. Her face was etched withconcern. He wasn’t sure why, but something when he looked at herstruck him as wrong, but he couldn’t place his finger on it rightaway. “Thomas, calm down. It’s just me.” He gazed at her, puzzled.

“You’ve been having another nightmare, just calm down. It’s thefever I’m sure.” Tom noticed that there was a blanket covering him from toe to chin,it was pulled tight around him, he could feel sweat gathered all overhis body in little groups. The cool water on his forehead wascooling, but it did nothing to calm him down, the disorientationclouded his entire mind. “What?” He managed in a slurred voice. Pain ricocheted around hisskull as he spoke and he slammed his eyelids shut again. “You were having a bad dream. Really, Thomas, this fever is doingmore than I thought it would.” What fever? He opened his eyes again and stared at Mother, and then he realizedwhat was wrong with the picture. Mother looked fine. Her brown hairwas neatly combed and kept, her eyes were clear and there were spotson her face where just the tiniest bit of makeup had been applied.She wasn’t sick. “What about you?” He asked. She cocked her head. “What about me, Thomas?” “You aren’t sick?” A light grin, “Of course not. I haven’t been sick a day in mylife. You remember, don’t you, Thomas?” For a moment he thought he was going insane, he honestly couldn’tremember. “You, on the other hand, have been terribly sick for days. If Ican’t get this fever down then you’re going to the hospital.”She wiped the……cloth across his head again, causing him to flinch, but thensubmit to it again. The cool moisture felt good against his screamingskull.

“My head hurts.” He croaked. “You took a wild tumble a few days ago, hit your head right on thattable there,” she pointed to a small coffee table in the middle ofthe living room. “I was afraid you really hurt yourself. If it was a few days ago, why did it still hurt so badly? “How long…?” “You’ve been sick about two weeks. It’s gotten worse overtime…you really don’t remember?” He tried to shrug. “It’s a little foggy. I’m having a hard timethinking.”“You’ve been dreaming.” She said. He didn’t ask what about, he was sure that he was dreaming thewhole situation in front of him. “You keep saying her name.” Mother continued. “Trisha’s gonedear, you need to realize that much, and remember that you’re notgone. You’re here. You’re with me. Stay with me, Thomas. Don’tleave.” Fog moved over his mind once again and he looked at her face, hereyes clouded with moisture. “Don’t leave me.” He settled into the cushion. “I won’t, Mother.” The ceilingdrooped down at him, scattered spots of popcorn texturing to cover upall of the screw-ups that the sheet rock had in it. He moved his handthat had fallen asleep around under the blanket, resting it on thepocket of his jeans, trying to get more feeling in it. “I had a weird dream.” He said. The cloth wiped, “I know.”

“It was about you. You were sick, and I found a box. A box with alot of newspaper clippings in it.” He turned to face her. “It hada lot about Dad in it…and some stuff about you.” She stared down at him, her eyes were searching him, as if she hadabsolutely no idea what he was talking about. He must have soundedlike a madman. “Trisha was in the closet. She was tied up and looked hungry.That’s the last thing I remember. Trisha was in the closet.” She nodded. The dragon tongue licked. His fingers brushed his pocket, and a strange thought occurred tohim, and he slipped his hand into the pocket.“It was just so weird.” He said. “I was taking the box to youto ask you some questions about it. I had no idea what it was allabout. I just wanted to ask you some questions. I saw your light on,the one in the closet, and I went up to it. I just wanted to ask yousome questions, and there she was.” “It was just a dream.” “You know the funny thing?” He began to pull his arm out of theblanket. “What’s that?” The shadow of a humoring smile played on herlips. He pulled the rest of his arm out and in his hand was a thin slip ofpaper. A picture. “This picture was in that box.” Trisha stared back at Mother from the picture. Her expression froze into unshaped clay, unsure of what form to takeon, but a flaming kiln of anger was about to determine its finalexpression.“It was a picture I had of Trisha. One of the best one’s I had.And you went and took it. Just like you took her.”

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