Untitled/Thanksgiving
Part 6
As soon as I hung up the phone, I laughed, reaching into my jacket pocket for my lucky lighter and my half- empty pack of Marlboro's. Hell, I just want to put the fear of God into her, that's all. Nothing major. I mean, if she starts acting up and all I might have to follow through on my threats, but I sincerely hope that I won't have to. Burying people just isn't my style anyway.
Inhaling the toxic nicotine, I sigh as I regretfully put the cigarette out after only one puff. I've been working on quitting, after all, but the cigs just keep calling my name.
Fuck it. Time to go.
I walk over to my newly acquired SUV, a brand-new Toyota 4-Runner that I freed from it's owner only a couple months before. Too bad I had to kill the woman to do it, but that's the way it goes.
Now, back to the task at hand. My thoughts keep straying back to that Medical Examiner as I swerved around the few vehicles that were out on the roads this early, just to get stuck behind a slow-moving Oldsmobile. Slow people piss me off. Who cares if there's black ice on the road? MOVE IT!!!
-Calm down, damn it,- I tell myself as I make my way to my hotel room. -Calm the fuck down. You're no good to yourself if you get put back in the funny farm before you have the chance to get her.-
"I know, I know," I mumble, arguing with myself as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do. "Sometimes I get a little out of control. I'll try to contain myself better...but I'm sure as hell going to take some Valium before I crash." Self-argument over, I pull into the hotel parking lot and walk into my room.
She's waiting for me. She always is.
"Hello mother," I greet her, as I sit down in one of those cheesy hotel chairs. "How was your day?"
She doesn't reply, not out loud, of course. She hasn't talked out loud for awhile, but that doesn't bother me as I can hear her voice in my brain.
-My day was good, son. And your own?-
"Perfect, mother. I think I've found my soul mate. Her names Jordan. Jordan Cavanaugh."
-Cavanaugh. An Irish name.- I can hear the clear disdain in her voice, something that I was able to pick up on at an early age. I glared at her.
"So what if she's Irish? What's wrong with that?"
-They're not PURE, son. Their race is all filth. It always has been. Get someone better, someone befitting your bloodline. A southern debutante, perhaps. One would be make a perfect wife for you, would be subservient as a good wife should be.-
"You weren't," I reply sullenly, turning on the T.V. "You never were."
-That's because your father was an idiot, boy,- My mother's voice hissed.-If he had his way, you and I would've been out on the street with nothing but the clothes on our backs, with him living the good life with my family's money. Now way in Hell was that going to happen...and you know why he was like that?-
"Because he was Irish?"
-Because he was Irish! That's right! And this woman, this 'Cavanaugh'...she's going to end up the same way. Always hitting the bars, stumbling to one after the other looking for nothing but the next pint of Guinness.-
"Well..."
-Well what?-
"I did some checking, and her father DOES own a bar-"
-See? What did I tell you? Forget her.-
"No!" I glare at her angrily. "I'm tired of listening to you, mother. I'm going to sleep now, and so aren't you." With that, I picked up her skull, put it in a bowling bag I had just for that purpose, and promptly flopped down on the bed and closed my eyes.
-Sweet dreams, my boy,- My mother whispered as I slid into oblivion...