Chapter 2: My Mom’s Sweet Tooth

A few drinks later, I’m in the back of a cab. Looking back, I should have switched to non-alcoholic as soon as I realized I was in a bit of a situation, but that didn’t occur to me until I was only a few drinks below my limit, and at that point it wouldn’t make much difference.

As I head home, I do a bit of searching on my phone to learn about the guy I met. I should probably count myself lucky to find anything. However, there are only so many Facebook accounts from Springwater. It seems most people there don’t use the internet much. One of them has a picture which seems to be him with some friends, standing in an old parking lot somewhere in the woods.

The page is pretty sparse, but it gives me his name. Nick Blanch. He’s twenty-five, one year older than me. He hasn’t posted anything in more than a year, but he seems to be an outdoorsy type. Unfortunately, there’s nothing on the page that would help be figure out if he’s a hitman who’s here to track me down and kill me. It does say he’s single, though, which is a mark in favor of his intentions being what they seemed to be.

Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Maybe I should be taking him at face value. If he really were sent here to kill me, why would he have told me he was from Springwater? Wouldn’t he know that’d put me on guard?

He seemed to hate the place well enough. Maybe I shouldn’t let myself get too worried over him.

Eventually, my cab lets off outside my apartment building. It’s a small, cheap building full of small, cheap apartments. Not great, but what me and my mom can afford. I climb the stairs. I’m almost in good enough shape that climbing to the fifth floor isn’t annoying. Almost. Honestly, I’m lucky Nick’s arrival stopped me from going over my usual drink limit. Getting up these stairs while that drunk isn’t fun at all.

Then again, if I had done that, I would get to be way drunker right now, and that would be fun.

I open the door when I reach our apartment. It’s an upgrade from the smaller one we used to live in, before I could add a third minimum wage income to our family. Is two people even a family? I guess they are if they have to be.

This apartment has two rooms, one of which is host to a little kitchenette. The bedroom is mom’s. The couch in the living room folds out to reveal my bed. I’ve had people express surprise that I’m able to sleep on one of those fold-out couches long term and not have problems, but I’m used to it. I think my body’s learned not to have high standards.

Right now, the couch is a couch, and mom is sitting on it, watching television. “Hey,” I say.

“Aw,” she says. “Look who’s finally home.”

“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just, well, it’s only Friday night once a week, y’know?”

“I do know that,” she says. “I’ve known how weeks work since before you were born. I think I was the one who taught you about them. In any case, I’ve been entertaining myself well enough without you.”

Some people would find it strange that I still live with her. Or maybe they wouldn’t. That kind of thing has become more common in the past few years. Even if it hadn’t, though, I think I’d probably still do it. Maybe it’s pathetic, but I don’t want to be away from her. My mother carried me out of Springwater with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We’ve always had each other, and we’ve never had much else. I’d never let it on in front of someone else, but deep down I think I’d be lost without her.

That’s to say nothing about the fact that this apartment costs the same amount to rent whether it’s one or two incomes paying for it. I don’t know what any landlord needs with half my paycheck if I can get by giving up only a quarter of it.

I take a place next to her on the couch. “What are you watching? Wait, don’t tell me. Something about zombies, right?”

“You know me too well.”

My mom has always had a fascination with monsters. “Is it any good?” I ask.

“Yes. I’m enjoying it quite a bit. I can clear out, though, if you need to go to bed.”

“Go to bed?” I ask. “Why would I do that? It’s only...” I peek at my phone. “Eleven. It’s not like I have work tomorrow.”

“Can’t argue with that. It’s certainly why I’m staying up late.” She leans back. I watch the show for a few minutes, though it’s soon clear it’s something I need to have followed more in order to be able to get as much as I’d like out of it.

“Actually,” I say, “is it good enough that I should avoid seeing spoilers?”

“Honestly, it might be,” she says. “I’ve been enjoying it alright. I’m not sure if you’ll want to watch it, though. It can get pretty scary.” She pokes me in the shoulder as she says it.

“Mom,” I say, half-plaintively.

“Your choice,” she says. “I don’t mind switching to something else, though I’d like to finish this episode, if I can.”

“Sure thing,” I say. “I gotta use the bathroom anyway.” I get up. Before I leave, it occurs to me that, perhaps, I should tell her that I happened to meet someone from Springwater today. She’d want me to tell her. She might even be able to answer a question or two, give me a better handle on who he could have been.

I’d give her a panic attack by telling her, though. That’s not hyperbole. She wouldn’t be able to think straight for days. She doesn’t have work tomorrow, but she wouldn’t fully recover by Monday. She’d be functional, but it’d be hard for her.

I won’t tell her. I’ll spare her that, for now, while there’s still a good chance it’s not going to amount to anything. I can bring her up to speed later if it seems like it’s going to matter. I head to the bathroom.

The show is still going when I get back.

“Ooh, Matt, before you sit back down,” she says. “Would you mind getting me some candy?”

“Sure thing,” I answer. I go to our tiny kitchenette and open one of the cabinets. I know just where mom keeps the sweets. When I was younger, I used to take from the pile a lot more often. She never objected, though I could see a part of her was tempted to be greedier. I’ve come to realize that she gets more out of them than I do, and I let her have the bulk of them. I pull the sweets bowl down. It’s far lighter than it should be, which hints at the trouble I discover when I look inside. Empty. “Cr*p,” I say. “Looks like we’re fresh out.”

“You’re kidding,”

“Mom, you know I wouldn’t joke about your candy.” I hold the bowl up so she can see the empty inside.

“Oh, not just the bowl,” she says. “There’s a whole ‘nother bag of it.”

I look back in the cabinet. “There really doesn’t seem to be,” I say.

“See if it got pushed behind something.”

I do. “There’s nothing there.”

“Darn,” she says. “I was sure I got another one. How did I lose track?”

It is, I have to admit, a bit unusual for her to do so.

“I can go down to the vending machine to get some.”

“That would be wonderful,” she says. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

I grab my phone and head down. Back down those five stupid flights of stairs. At least it’s down, for now, but I’m going to have to go up them in a minute.

After I reach the first floor, I turn the corner into the hallway where the machine waits. Just as I do, I catch someone out of the corner of my eye, entering the building and heading toward the stairs. I don’t recognize it as any of my neighbors, but I don’t know all of them well, so I don’t pay it any more mind.

The vending machine is tall and green, with a wide array of snacks inside. Mom’s favorite candies are the fruity ones. I punch in the code for one of those. The vending machine is as slow as ever, and when the spiral thing inside finally finishes rotating, it looks for a second like it’s not going to come out. It does, though. I lean down to pull the candy out of the machine.

BANG.

A thunderous, echoing bang sounds from upstairs. A gunshot.

Mom.