Caleb Danvers sighed as his sleek, silver Mustang GT 2006 pulled up to his home late that night. His surprisingly sunny day had been spent sadly indoors convincing rescue crews, news crews, police officers, Sarah and even himself that he was not crazy. Chase Collins had disappeared into the fire, that much he knew for certain, but nobody else seemed inclined to believe him when he warned that the warlock would be back again. After the firemen discovered nothing in the burnt wreckage of the old Putnam Barn he knew that somehow Collins had escaped. But what he believed and what other people believed turned out to be decidedly different.
Sarah, she wanted to believe him, but he could just tell by the look in her eyes that she was uncertain of what to believe. Collins had rendered her unconscious and she had been oblivious for the duration of the fight, so she had not seen what had transpired. She was of no help to him when it came time to tell her side of the story
"I'm just saying that it sounds a little peculiar to me, Caleb." Sarah's concerned voice echoed in his mind, and he shook his head wearily to clear the cobwebs of old wounds from off his shoulders. He was so tired that all he wanted to do was sleep, but something felt amiss.
Caleb frowned up at the darkened windows of his oversized, eyesore of a home. His mother wasn't waiting up for him tonight? Normally, his mother kept the place lit up like a Christmas tree, truly the eyesore then with all those brightly illuminated windows, but now the place looked dark and gloomy. Yes, it looked just plain wrong without the numerous glow of a dozen, or more so, lamps tossing light down to spangle the pond in the front yard with thousands of twinkling stars.
Idly he wondered if his mother had gone off to bed already and sighed once again. He was a bad son, a thoughtless, careless, forgetful son, or so she would tell him time and time again. She would harp about how he really should have called ahead, let her know that he coming home so late. Not that ten o'clock in the evening was late for her though. Usually she slept the day away and spent her nights drinking and smoking till dawn. Now that he was so close, he debated calling her on his cell phone so that she wouldn't be afraid when he came in but ultimately he decided against it. It would be far better for him to not to awaken her, if he was lucky he could even sneak up to his bed without having his presence detected. After everything that had happened in these past few days he decided to try, and parked the car as soundlessly as possible.
He crept up to the house and noiselessly popped the front door lock by utilizing his power for keyless entry so he would have the musical jingling of keys and the scrape of metal on metal giving him away. So far so good, his mother's shrill voice was silent. Navigating through darkened hallways he sensed something, and knew, knew that something was different tonight. No, something was wrong. His mother was not passed out on the living room couch or in her chair, or even lying sprawled out upon the floor. Even more suspicious, her ashtray was pristine, not a single cigarette butt marring its crystal surface.
Mother was home, her car keys were hanging off the little ivory tusk of the Central African Warthog so she was definitely here. Thankfully he didn't have to go tearing off into town only to find her stumbling about in a bar. Strangely, every time she went she always left a light on for him. Upon further inspection of the room he deduced that not one single crystal glass was missing from the shelf, and she usually plowed through those. One separate glass for each brand of liquor she consumed. Each carefully crafted crystal glass was sitting in its designated spot sparkling away under the fall of artificial light.She had not been drinking tonight? But his mother drank every night.
There was also a strange, unfamiliar scent in the air, floral and feminine, like roses, no, perfume? His mother never wore perfume anymore. Every night for nearly the past ten years his mother's routine had been the same, drink, smoke cigarettes, and drink some more. This had held true for her ever since...
Caleb stood frozen, unable to move, feet rooting themselves into the floor.
"Mother?" he cried, suddenly bolting into motion, racing through room after room like a panicked rat lost in the maze. A lost and desperate rat sadly seeking a cheese that was nowhere in sight.