* * *
M: Charming. My only son finds out I’m dying. Won’t come and see me. And then tells me to stay in New York.
* * *
Me: This town is NOT big enough for two members of the Davis family. Stay where you are. I’ll come see you next weekend.
* * *
M: What if I’m dead by then?
Me: YOU WILL NOT BE DEAD BY NEXT WEEKEND!
* * *
M: How could you possibly know that? You haven’t even been to see me.
* * *
I groan, rubbing my eyes way too hard.
* * *
Me: The nurse said you have some time. Just give me a second to figure my shit out and I’ll come.
* * *
M: Too late. I’m already here.
* * *
She’s lying. She has to be. There’s no way she could have found out that I was back in the country and already transferred herself to another hospital. Only…a second passes and then a photo pings up on the screen: the view from a window, overlooking a half empty parking lot. In the distance, I see a lit-up sign on a bar. A bar I recognize all too well. It’s the huge sign bolted over the door to Cosgroves—the bar Wren owns. Which means that…I do some triangulation, landing on a very unsettling conclusion.
She is at the hospital in Mountain Lakes.
What the hell is happening right now?
I do not want to do this but texting her is getting me nowhere. I brace, every muscle in my body locking up as I hold the phone to my ear. She answers on the fifth ring.
“Y’know, I should have just given you a dose of your own medicine and not picked up. See how you like it for once,” she purrs.
“Speaking of medicine, how the fuck are you gonna do your treatment here, Meredith?”
“Oh, please, darling. I have everything I need in this cute little hospital.”
“Bullshit. Even their X-ray machine is nine million years old. You’re not getting treated there. I know you.”
“All right. Fine. I brought my own medical team with me. Sue me. They’re letting us use space at this facility. That good enough for you?”
Urgh. The woman has an answer for everything. Always. “Just. Please. Dear God in Heaven. Just go back to New York, Mother—”
“You know how much I hate you calling me that, darling. Please, let’s just stick with Meredith. And there’s absolutely no need to bring God into this. I’ll be seeing Him a little sooner than I’d originally planned, and I’d like to know that my son hadn’t been using His name in vain a mere matter of months before I have my final sit down with Him.”
“There’s absolutely no reason for you to be here right now—”
“I had Freddy drop a package off at your house earlier. He left it on the doorstep. I’d be grateful if you could bring it inside. Don’t open it until I’m dead, though, okay?”
A huge swell of pressure builds in my chest; I feel like I’m about to blow any second. “Meredith—”
“I’m going to get some sleep now, darling. The drive was awful, and I get so tired these days. It’s really quite thoughtless of you to call me at this time in the morning.”
“You messaged me!”
“Good night. I’m sure I’ll see you soon. If I don’t, I suppose I’ll just have to come up to that school of yours and track you down instead. I’m sure neither of us want that.”
I’d argue with her, but the line has gone dead.
Everything is so painfully quiet all of a sudden that I feel like I’m on a space station. The house is practically hermetically sealed and soundproofed. The low, atmospheric hum of the air filtration unit is the only thing that disturbs the silence. I want to shout and scream, to tear the thick silence in two, but the walls of Riot House were perfectly designed to swallow and deaden noise, so my rage wouldn’t carry. Believe me. I’ve tried.
Meredith is in town.
Here, in Mountain Lakes.
No way I’m going to be able to get back to sleep with that knowledge kicking around inside my head. I get up, groggy as fuck and unsteady on my feet, and I weave toward the en-suite bathroom. I turn the tap on, scooping the flow of water into my hands. It’s icy cold when it hits my face. The shock of it sets my lungs ablaze. Gasping, I throw my head back, unhappy to find myself face-to-face with the all-too-familiar demon in the mirror above the sink. He scowls back at me, top lip curled up in disgust, teeth bared and angry. This demon and I have had some very bitter conversations between the glass of this mirror. I scrub my hands over my head, wetting the short strands of hair I’ve neglected to shear away from my scalp, and the demon does the same, like it was his idea in the first place.
“Fuck you,” I tell him. I’d feel far more satisfied if the bastard didn’t mouth the words right back at me.
Down the stairs I go, padding silently through the sleeping house. The front door swings inward when I open it, and there, sitting on the doorstep, is the package Meredith mentioned: A box. Black. The size of a shoe box, only fancier. On the front of it, in neat silver scrollwork is my name: Pax.
I stand very still with my arms folded across my chest, glaring at it.
Dawn’s fast approaching. The sky has lightened from velvet black to a deep, bruised blue, and the birds have already started in on their chaotic morning chorus. I work my jaw, eyes narrowed at the box, trying to decide if I should just fucking leave it sitting there on the step. Angrily, I snatch it up and head back inside, cursing between my teeth. As soon as the door swings closed, the birdsong cuts off dead.
I was already angry from the phone call, but now I’m rage personified. Rather than open the box, I yank open a series of drawers in my room, rummaging around inside until I find what I’m looking for: a light t-shirt to throw on over a clean wife beater. A clean pair of jeans. Underwear.
I shower, fuming under my breath. The water washes away the cold sweat from my sleep, but it does nothing to stem the anger that’s brewing like a storm cloud over my head.
A gift.
A fucking gift?
Seriously?
Who the fuck does she think she is? The woman left that box there—Black? So apt, Meredith. Ten out of ten on the theatrics—for me to find. And then she tells me not to open it until she’s gone? Because, yes, she is dying, and didn’t even think to fucking tell me. I had to find out from some dumbass nurse who let it slip over the fucking phone? While I was in another country?
Fucking insanity. All of this is fucking insanity.
This box is a death gift. One last parting fuck you from beyond the grave. Why couldn’t she have had a lawyer deliver it after she was gone like everyone else? Why did she have to have it delivered now, where I’d have no choice but to find it and wind up feeling something?
“FUCK!” I smash my fist against the slate tiled wall of the shower, fizzing with rage. The water swirling about at my feet turns pink, and then red, my knuckles stinging brightly where I’ve split the skin, but neither the pain nor the loss of blood matter. I’ve been bleeding out, one way or another, my entire fucking life. What’s another cut? What’s another drop?