AN: Hello! Thanks to everyone who's still reading this. Also, special thanks to andy for reviewing. Thanks andy!
The kitchen was silent. The apartment was silent. Completely silent.
With her eyes closed, she fumbled with the cloth on the table, wrapping it around the object in the middle. Her hand brushed against it. She let out a noise that was half a gasp, half a sob at the cold, slimy feeling. When the material was all used she ran her hands over the object one last time to be sure it was completely covered, and then opened her eyes.
It was surprising how much had not changed. There was the same half peeling wallpaper on the walls, and the same cabinets were still opened. The same remnants of the same poker game were still spread over the same table around the lace wrapped object in the center. The same leaky faucet was dripping water into the same chipped sink next to the same dirty dishes.
Yet, everything had changed. Because something was different. There was a statue sitting across from her, staring at center of the kitchen table. She gazed at it for a moment. It was remarkable, really.
She was studying the stone cards that were in the statue's hand when the bile rose in her throat. Hand over her mouth, she hurried over to the sink as the past few minutes finally hit her. When it had passed she rinsed out her mouth, and waited for her blurry vision to clear.
So this is what it had come to.
She picked up the object, grimacing as she felt part of it give under her touch under the lacy fabric, and carried it back into the bedroom. There she placed it back in the bags and box it had come in, resealed the box and shoved it under the far side of the bed. She didn't want to see it again.
She walked back out, and stood in the living room for a second, surrounded by his trash that covered the floor. There was a lot to do, she knew, but she couldn't even begin to know where to start. Her gaze wandered aimlessly, avoiding the statue in the kitchen. The silence was becoming deafening.
The thought crossed her mind: Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. She dismissed it with a toss of her head and began to collect the crushed beer cans from couch.
Of course it wasn't a good idea. It was the only idea that would have worked, though. She had known it. Her husband had known it. Her son had known it.
It was her son who had made her the offer. He had looked her, right in the eye, and handed her a box. She took it, looked at him, and she understood.
From his story, she could guess what was in the box, what it would do. She could tell from the label of on the box, both by the words written, and how the label seemed to change under her gaze. She understood what it meant.
He had wanted to do it, himself. He was willing to do this one more thing for her. His eyes, oh his eyes, had seen more than the eyes of someone with only twelve years should.
In a lot of ways, nothing about him had changed. He had laughed the same way, had hugged her the same way, to anyone else, he appeared to be the same boy.
She knew better, though. A lot of the things about him were the same, but so much was not. He knew now, and it made all the difference. It was in the way he moved, and in the way he talked. It showed in the way he looked at things.
She knew that, like her, he now saw things; really saw them for what they were. She could see it every time he looked at her. He had always looked like him, but never before more than when he had looked at her then, with those eyes, and passed judgment on the man in the kitchen.
Her arms full of beer cans, she walked to the trash and dumped them in. She had refused, of course. There were a lot of things her son was that she couldn't help. There were a lot of things that he was becoming, that he needed to become, that she couldn't help either. There were things though, things that he wasn't yet, that she could make sure he never was.
She had taken it upon herself instead. It had to be done, and she had done it instead of him. Maybe she was a coward for doing it like this, but she couldn't think of another way that gave such…successful…results. The trash rustled as she formed a new path through the room. Things would be better now, she was sure. Her son could take care of himself, and now so could she. They could even skip the boarding schools this year. He could go to a nearby school again when he came home. If he came home…
A rustling sounded in the corner. She whipped around and froze, her eyes trained on the spot. Maybe the object was attracting other things to it. Maybe its use had sent out some signal to other things in the area. She reached out and found a baseball bat someone must have left behind and winced as she held it high.
"I'm ready for you," she called out, "whatever you are."
A squeak, followed by the appearance of a small tail made her let out her breath and set the bat down. It was a rat, nothing worse. She wasn't surprised that one had found its way into the mess that had accumulated in the last month.
She placed her hand on an aching part of her back as she moved toward the closet, where the traps were kept. After being restored from…well she still wasn't quite sure what she had been for the past month. Not dead, she knew, but she was certain she hadn't been really alive either. Still, she wished that in sending her back here someone had thought to heal the bruises that dotted her back.
She set the traps and stopped her cleaning. She was willing to bet the debris hid other things she didn't want to find. Instead she looked around at the walls in discontent. She had really grown to hate this apartment. One of the first things she was going to do was find a new one, away from the trash and the rats.
She crossed the room and pulled the curtain away from a window to let the sun in for the first time in years. Her name badge glinted from its spot on the shoulder of her work uniform. She found a smile for it. Today was the last day she would ever wear it. She was going to get a new apartment, a new job, a new…everything.
Except a new family. Never a new family. Her son had said she deserved this second chance. He had said she deserved it. Maybe she did. She was going to take it, anyway. Last month she had not died. This morning she had been given new life.
She could still hear her son's words in her head, the look on his face, and the look in his eyes. Her eyes found the statue again. This new life had come with a high price. She would make sure it was worth it.
She walked back to the bedroom, and carefully retrieved the box from under the bed. Holding at not quite arm's length, she proceeded through the apartment and out the door.
Closing the door behind her, she had another view of the statue. She drew the door firmly shut. Maybe she would call an art dealer and see what they would be willing to pay for an amateur's work.
Taking the box down the stairs she began to compile a list of things she needed to do. She needed to find a new apartment. She needed to quit her job. She needed to find an art dealer. She needed to find a good school nearby, hopefully somewhere that allowed a couple dozen marks on a record, just in case. She should also check if her acceptance at the university was still valid after all these years, and see what classes she could take in the fall.
In the basement of the building, she opened a door. Inside the small room, the furnace burned behind a grate.
She also needed to get rid of the box.
She opened the grate, and slid the box in among the flames. She watched as the label curled, browned at the edges, and fell off. She turned away and walked out of the room. She didn't have the time. There weren't enough hours in the day for her to get everything she needed done.
As she was headed back up, she remembered yet another thing she needed to do later that day. She couldn't forget to call the police.
After all, her husband was missing.
AN: One chapter left, and maybe a (somewhat) funny (very) short story that is loosely related. I might post it. If you want to read it, let me know. I'll take silence as a loud "No."
Anyway, let me know what you thought!