Chapter 18: Mom - Forever 21

Fifteen minutes later, she flies down the stairs with a fresh coat of makeup and a heavy smell of Aqua Net. Her hair is teased, her lips are crimson, and her too short skirt is paired with a ridiculously skimpy crop top. Save for looking like a middle-aged hooker, she's not half bad.

Yanking her car keys from the coffee table, she dashes to the door, not even looking back when she yells, "I'm meeting Tom for drinks. Don't wait up!" The front door slams and I'm alone again.

I could get used to this.

Before I jinx it, I feel like I should cross my fingers and kiss rosary beads, even though I'm not Catholic. Maybe she was too wasted last night to remember our fight. It's a huge relief, but I'm pretty sure I just used up the last chunk of luck I had left.

I turn the lock behind her, knowing full well I'd better savor every drop of peace she just gave me tonight. Surprisingly, my heart beats with a little less hate for her.

I flop onto the sofa, thinking about the house again, thoughts about luck becoming less important. Anything I find out will be fascinating, especially after what Brad mentioned earlier. He did seem reluctant to answer my questions even though I'm pretty sure he thinks the stories are mostly rumors. He was obviously bothered by something.

It's not very late but I head to my room, ignoring the forgotten pile of washed, unfolded clothes in a mound on my bedroom floor. I'm too tired to deal with any more chores tonight and still have a geography quiz I need to study for. I take the folder from my backpack, accidentally catching my watch on one of the side pockets. My wrist is still bruised from Mom's iron grip so I gently pull the buckle back, loosening the strap to set it on the dresser.

Pulling back the covers, I climb in, trying to fold my pillow to make it more comfortable for studying. I lie back, scooting down to settle in, but can't concentrate on my notes. I've had a headache since I got home. I didn't notice it as much when I was busy.

The good thing is, Mom pretty much has a pharmacy in her medicine cabinet. I'm sure I'll find something. I hate taking pills but I'm going to make an exception tonight. I need to sleep and shut off my brain. If I take something now I can study for another thirty minutes, which gives me plenty of time to review my notes, and then hopefully drift off into a wonderful, dreamless sleep.

Her room reeks of smoke and Aqua Net. Turning on the overhead light, something sitting on her nightstand catches my eye. It looks like a picture. As I get a little closer I immediately realize what it is and pick it up. My stomach drops and I let go, watching the photo fall to the floor. It's an old, black and white picture of the Emory house.

A thousand thoughts begin swirling around in my head. What the hell is it doing in my mother's room? Did she put it there? Are we related to the Emory family? I cautiously reach down and pick it up, gingerly, like it's going to explode in my hands, and study it for several minutes. The house looks different, somewhat new, even though it's in black and white. But it's definitely the same house.

I turn it over and see the handwritten words: Emory, 1910.

My heart is beating so fast I need to sit down or throw up, I'm not sure which. A feeling of dread hits my body and I run back to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Still holding the picture, I pull the blankets over myself and sink back down. As if doing so will make everything better.

And, it does.

Sort of.

I have no idea what to do next and have so many questions I can barely think straight. How did it get there? Where did it come from? Why would she have it? What's the connection?

It makes no sense.

Finally, after several minutes, my heart slows down, allowing me to relax even with the headache I forgot to take something for. I have no idea when, or if, Mom will be home tonight to even ask her about the picture. I'm not sure I'll be able to stay awake long enough to wait for her. But I'll try. I need to know.

**

I'm so startled by a loud, buzzing sound that I nearly fall off the bed and out of an amazing dream. Blinking my eyes to clear the sleep-fog, I realize it's the alarm clock and slam my palm down on the snooze button. No telling how long it's been going off; I usually catch it beforehand. I've trained myself to wake up on my own and only have it set for insurance. I just hope Mom didn't hear it. She sleeps like a post-traumatic stress victim, bolting up at the slightest sound. Even dead drunk, she's more alert than anyone sober.

I dreamed I was at the Emory house as it is in the photograph. This time the inside was totally different-not empty or abandoned like it is now. There was also a guy, someone young like me with the most mesmerizing emerald green eyes. They were almost transparent, like the color had a will of its own. They captivated me and I'm pretty sure I couldn't have stopped looking at them if I tried. Other than the shape of his face, his eyes were all I could see, and every second that goes by I have a yearning in my gut to go back. It's like an invisible rope is physically pulling on my heartstrings and on every bone and muscle and cell in my body, and I have to go.

Now.

I grab the first piece of clothing I see on the floor and give my hair a quick brush. Jerking my watch off the dresser, I suddenly feel another intense pull. Only this time, it's way stronger, like whatever's causing this is getting impatient.

What the hell?

I can't leave fast enough and even skip checking myself in the mirror. The house needs me and I don't have a choice but to do what it wants.