"The boy must have been starving himself," Doris mumbled as she observed the contents of her son's refrigerator and freezer. To the mother's eye, the contents of the refrigerator told her everything she needed to know about her son. Where the butter should have been, there was a small bottle of blue pills which she expertly knew to be Advil pills, no doubt, for migraines. There was a 24 pack of Starbuck's coffee, thus insinuating his consistent sleepless nights, pondering over who knows what. What worried her most was the lack of a box of leftover pizza or even a carton of Chinese food. She had always chastised her son about his awful eating habits. But at least she hadn't had to worry about him eating nothing at all. The only other things she saw was a carton of milk that was obviously rotten, due to the yellow curd that was forming at the top, and a box of cereal that had been left untouched. She continued on her perusal of the apartment complex and discovered a heinous mess in the dining room, a bed with sheets that looked as if the sleeper enclosed in them had fought restlessly against them throughout long fitful nights, and a bathroom whose medicine cabinet lay wide open, revealing the various medications that Vaughn had been taking to get over his obviously ill state.
By the time Doris had returned to the kitchen, she was dreading looking at her son. Would he come in, unshaven, sleep-deprived, over-worked, and jaded just as her husband had looked so often when he came back from his work? She hoped to God not. Soon, she was bustling away over the stove top, a tiny woman who emanated so much energy, just like a tiny teapot shrilling from the boiling water from within. Within minutes, the kitchen smelled wonderfully of pasta, herbs, and sauces, and all prior worries about her son disappeared as she decided that food was the solution to everything.
Meanwhile, the two agents had driven up to Vaughn's apartment, and stood looking up at the brightly lit windows, both dreading the confrontation, and each one trying to quell his own fears. "Well, I had to face her sooner or later," Michael said defeatedly, his headache gradually worsening, as if an anaconda was wrapping itself tighter and tighter around his head. Agent Ron was too nervous to reply and simply nodded as Vaughn made his way unsteadily up the stairs. He stood before the door, composed his face, straightened his suit, and opened the unlocked door. Agent Ron followed suit, looking positively ill himself.
The warm, glowing atmosphere that Doris had ushered into the room just through her presence, immediately was dampened at the moment she turned around to be accosted by the face of a very ill man who she recognized as a shadow of her former son, and the face of a ghost. She gaped at both of them and allowed the metal spatula in her hand to clatter to the floor. The silence that ensued was finally broken by Vaughn who rushed to her and hugged her as he would have done normally. The shock written on Doris's face had surprised Vaughn greatly, and had hindered him from carrying out his rehearsed act of normalcy. Doris hugged her son back, held him at arm's length and studied him carefully. "Michael Vaughn, you tell me right now what you have been doing to yourself," she said sternly. "Whatever do you mean?" Vaughn asked, taking on her intonation of voice. "I don't have time for games boy. Either you tell me know, or I'll...or I'll...I'll have to swat you several times with this spatula until I knock some sense into that thick head of yours." This time, Vaughn laughed a true laugh, which suddenly turned into a deep hacking cough. As he struggled for breath, he was suddenly being led under the arms into a chair at the kitchen table. As he regained his composure, he found himself under the scrutiny of his mother who seemed to be seething with rage, and also, surprisingly under the sternly wrathful gaze of his partner. "I'm not going to ask you to explain yourself to me just yet. You need some tea, some food, and rest. But do try to be civil and introduce me to your friend here Michael," Doris said in a steely voice. As Michael opened his mouth to speak, Agent Ron raised a hand up to silence him, and turned somewhat reluctantly to the expectant woman before him. "Hello Mrs. Vaughn. I am Eric Ron, Michael's partner at work. I was newly recruited just today, and Michael was so kind as to offer me a room here, seeing as I don't have a place of my own just yet." William looked into the clear blue eyes of his former love. He indulged himself with the view of her golden head, now made even more beautiful with strands of silky aged white hair. She still smelled as she had always smelled, of food and expensive wine. "Pleased to meet you, Agent Ron..." Doris said, her voice faltering a little as she studied his face. Ron found himself feeling very uncomfortable under her observation and tried to keep himself steady. After her curiosity had been fulfilled, she said to him, "Agent Ron, you gave me quite a scare when you walked in here with my son. It's just you look like someone I once knew. You'll have to forgive me. I thought I was looking at a ghost."
Doris caught her son staring at her in curiosity, and quickly jerked her body away into the kitchen, once again the busy bustling woman who had come with the purpose of reinvigorating her son. "Well, seat yourselves. I'll be out in a moment. I've been cooking all evening, and you must all be hungry."
Vaughn studied his partner's face a little more closely while his mother was away. He couldn't place the face from anytime in the past, and yet, he did know what she meant when she had said there was something familiar about him. Suddenly, his eyes came to rest on Agent Ron's eyes. They were green. Now he knew what his mother was thinking.
He abruptly rose from his seat, steadying himself with one hand on the table as another wave of dizziness and nausea overwhelmed him. Agent Ron rose also, "You should really stay seated." Vaughn brushed his hand away nonchalantly and replied, "I'll be just a second" as he made his way into the kitchen. Looking at the back of his mother's head, Vaughn could not discern what emotions would be playing behind her eyes. That was to be remedied as Doris turned around to face her son, a fake smile plastered on her face. Vaughn could see that she was shaken; her hands were trembling slightly as she ladled an aromatic sauce over a plate of pasta. He gently took her noticeably cold hands in his, and asked sympathetically, "Are you alright?"
Doris tried to mask the reverberating shock she had had in looking deep into Agent Ron's eyes. "I'm fine Michael. It's you I'm worried about." Vaughn kissed his mother on the forehead and whispered, "He looks like Dad doesn't he?" The silence that ensued confirmed Vaughn's conjecture. "What are you trying to do Michael, kill me with shock?" his mother suddenly asked him, irritated. "I don't even remember Dad's face anymore. You threw away all the pictures we had of him. I wouldn't have known his face even if he came back from the dead." Michael argued pointedly. "Well, that man in there is the spitting image of your father, and I don't know if I can stand being in the same room with him at this point. It's just awkward Michael. I know I'm being ridiculous but I feel as if your father's ghost is sitting over there, waiting for his dinner."
"Mom, you don't have to stay. We'll manage from here," Vaughn replied kindly, only to have his hands swatted away by an indignant looking Doris. "Trying to be rid of me already are you? Tsk, tsk...do you really think me such a simpleton? After seeing you, you should consider yourself lucky that I'm not planning on forcing you back into my house again. Now hurry and help me carry these things in."
Dinner was a strenuous ordeal with Doris trying to avoid eye contact with Agent Ron, and vice versa , and both parents being extremely concerned about their son, who seemed to have no appetite at all. Vaughn was in a personal hell of his own as he fought to control his nausea as he forced down forkful after forkful of pasta, which he would have finished a long time ago. Also the tension in the air was getting to him, and despite his many efforts to ignite conversation, every discussion topic seemed to spark no interest in either his mother or Agent Ron. To say the least, everyone was relieved when it seemed that Vaughn could simply eat no more, and the dinner hour was officially, by tacit agreement, over. Before Vaughn could escape however, Doris placed red capsules on the table before him with a tall glass of water. "Sleeping pills," she replied to the query in Vaughn's expression. "And I'm going to get rid of those awful coffee drinks you have in your refrigerator." With a perfunctory nod at Vaughn and Agent Ron, she retreated back into the kitchen to tackle the dishes, calling out over her shoulder, "We're going to have to visit a doctor sometime Michael!"
Vaughn grinned sheepishly at Agent Ron and was soon leading him into the guest room. Once the door had been closed behind him, William flopped down on the bed, the stress of the day finally being released into the softness of the mattress below him. He hoped to God that Doris would not be making regular visits here, and yet, on the other hand, he wished she would. The instant he had seen her, he had fallen in love all over again. The sight of her killed him, and yet, it was the pain of love that he had not felt in years. He welcomed it with relief, finally knowing that his heart had not hardened like so many of his colleagues back at the agency. The last thoughts he had before he fell into a deep sleep was whether he had been sent, out of all people, on this mission as some cruel twisted joke.