Poisoned

by JJ Liniger

  Through the window, I watched the men drag Nicholas past my mother. I couldn’t hear his words, but imagined it to be the same as what he had displayed inside. My mother stared at him expressionless, her face remained the same like it was a normal recurring event. She only flinched when Nicholas lunged at her. The same man who used the forceps removed a syringe from his pocket, stuck the needle in the side of Nicholas’s neck. Instantly, he lost consciousness.

  What the heck had I witnessed?

  CHAPTER 9

  MEMORY LANE

  According to Nicholas, my mother knew it all. While that was an exaggeration, I couldn’t think of a better person to answer my questions. Everything, from the people hating me to the freak show that had taken place in front of me, swam inside my mind. Something was seriously wrong in Becton.

  I placed a twenty next to my spilled glass and bolted from the table. Opening the door, the Texas wind greeted me like a slap in the face. I grimaced and blinked against the gritty wind.

  “Mom!” I yelled, waving my arm in the air to capture her attention. She narrowed her eyes and frowned like she didn’t know who spoke.

  “Mother?”

  “Oh Trevy… Your face,” she whispered.

  Was the bruising so bad my mom didn’t recognize me?

  It seemed hard to believe, but the other alternative was that she forgot I came home. Didn’t she wonder where I had gone when she woke up this morning, and I wasn’t at the Town Hall?

  “It’s okay. I’m fine.” I shrugged off her concern.

  Alex disappeared this morning. Maybe he met with Mother and explained what had happened. Perhaps Nicholas was right, and he had been taken as revenge for giving me a beating. I hoped not.

  She sighed and frowned. “Bless you, dear. I wondered what would happen if you ever came back.”

  “You thought this might happen?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Should I not have come?”

  My shoulders slumped forward, and I felt the strain as my breath caged within my lungs. I’d been told to get lost in one way or another by everyone, and I wasn’t sure I could handle her answer.

  “Maybe, but regardless, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you,” she said.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  We stepped closer to each other, meeting in a hug. A mother’s love could cover a multitude of sins. Lord knew I needed it. Even more, I needed my mom. Over the years, we had grown distant. Now I realized, everything she had said to me was a lie, but still believed we wanted each other and of our family’s importance.

  She leaned back and smiled. “Matt, come walk with me.”

  That’s dad’s name.

  “What!?” I asked. This was getting more bizarre by the moment. My brain couldn’t handle additional weirdness.

  She took my hand, ignoring my question. I walked beside her.

  “They’ve Taken another one,” she said.

  I nodded, knowing it had been Nicholas, but didn’t understand what she was talking about.

  “We’ll place another flag at the mall.”

  I thought for a moment. Hundreds of flags, maybe a thousand flew in the center of Twin Oaks. It could be Texans being excessive. Instead, the banners represented a form of a tally.

  “One flag for each person… umm, Taken?” I asked.

  She nodded. “It’s been six months. Thought the worst was behind us.”

  “Maybe it is,” I offered. I needed to keep her talking. I felt revelation creeping closer, and I desperately wanted answers. But, should I believe anything she said when she thought she strolled along the broken asphalt with my father?

  “I don’t think things’ll ever be right again. Too much damage.”

  “Damage to what?”

  She laughed and shoved my shoulder. “Like you don’t know.” Mom sighed and leaned forward, like the action made her tired.

  I saw the curve of her back and shoulders while walking. Seeing her this way made my own body ache, or maybe it was the bruising on my ribs. Either way, it wasn’t going to take long for this walk to become painful for us. I also didn’t like it that she thought I was someone else. It was strange and creepy.

  “Mom.”

  She stopped walking and turned to face me, using her hand to block the sun’s rays.

  “Trevor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh…”

  Never had one simple word said so much.

  “What’s damaged?”

  She paused for a moment and I thought she might not answer me. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and let her continue to think she was talking to my dad.

  “The ground,” she said.

  “The what?”

  “The soil, water, dirt, the earth. All of it.”

  I shook my head. “How? From what?” Crimson spread over her cheeks and she looked down at the ground. “What is it?” I asked again.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Mom…” I looked into her eyes and sighed in frustration. Not again. What could it be that she’d refuse to tell me?

  “It’s too embarrassing,” she said.

  She had a right to privacy, and I needed to respect it. But, I didn’t have to like it. I huffed. “Fine.”

  We walked along in silence, passing houses with boarded windows to a wide-open cotton field. In the distance, the wind pick up soil and twirled it around into a funnel. Was it true what she said about the ground? At the bar, dirt had been kicked in my face multiple times, and the wind passed it through the air. Nicholas had been taken away screaming about an infection. Had he given it to me?

  It could’ve been created by her confused brain. If it wasn’t, then what? Something was wrong and, as much as I hated to admit it, I was involved somehow. Too much evidence suggested otherwise.

  My mother sneezed and placed her hand on my shoulder. The wind still tossed around the dirt and her allergies would give her hell tonight if I didn’t get her home.

  “Come on, Mom. Let’s head back.”

  She nodded and took a tissue from her skirt pocket to wipe her nose. I took her other hand and placed it in the crook of my elbow to help her move easily. We squinted as we walked toward the late afternoon sun shining in our eyes.

  “Do you like being here?” I asked.

  “It’s my home.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question.”

  “I know,” she answered. “It’s sad seeing it falling apart and feeling so helpless.”

  Her old hazel eyes scanned the abandoned field and boarded-up buildings. We increased our pace, wanting to get past the destruction and back to Game Zone. Though the restaurant had taken a slight beating, it also was the most loved place I’d seen with the paint still fresh and people gathered inside.

  “What can do?” I asked. “I want to help.”

  “Bless you, dear, but you can’t.”

  I frowned, shaking my head. “What if I gave you the money, or whatever, without them knowing it came from me?”

  Her tired head rested against my shoulder. “Maybe, but I’m not sure what to do. If you're serious, then there’s something you should see.”

  “All right.”

  “Hey!” an angry voice yelled.

  I raised my hand to shield the sun from my eyes and groaned. Seriously, somebody else? The list of people who hated me were multiplying like rabbits.

  “Calm down, Alex. I’m fine,” Mother replied.

  It took knowing someone very well to recognize him by his voice and silhouette. It took greater familiarity to know what his concerns were. She kept walking, and I stayed with her.

  “Y'all can’t disappear on me,” Alex said.

  “You aren’t responsible for me,” Mom countered. We came close enough for her to place her hand on his irritated face.

  “When I take you somewhere, then yes, I am!” His eyes left hers to glare at me. “What were you thinking walkin’ off with her?”

  “She’s my mom! I d
on’t need your permission. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Besides, you weren’t around.”

  “I went inside to thank Chris for the tip. It’s hard on people, but the only way to keep it contained is for us to report on each other,” Alex said.

  It? The poison? I shook my head with a frown so deep it hurt my cracked lip. I winced.

  “Don’t speak so openly!” she scolded.

  “He already knows! You told him! Didn’t you?” His loud voice indicated his surprise. I couldn’t tell if that meant he was angry or pleased at his assumption. Did he want my mother to tell me?

  “No, I did not,” she declared, placing her hands on her hips. She stood the most upright I had seen her since arriving. “I’d never betray Matthew’s confidence. You should know that!” she exclaimed.

  Her anger surprised me. Why would Dad be insulted for me to find out? I wanted to know what they were talking about and thought if they continued to fight one of them might spill the beans. But, I also wanted them to quit yelling at each other.

  The pain on their faces told me neither liked the confrontation. Alex backed down first and released a sigh, his shoulders slumping toward her.

  “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” He gave her a hug while shooting me a pointed look. He saw through my bluffing and knew I was clueless.

  She hugged him back. Her signature smile said she understood and also forgave.

  “You are both being ridiculous!” I shook my head. “Don’t you think I have a right to know?”

  “No,” Alex answered, “and I’ll tell you why. Because your dad is right, there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. If you really want to help, take your mother and leave this town!”

  Mom and I gasped in unison. He wasn’t only pushing me away, but her as well. Her hand, grasping onto my elbow, shook, and she blinked rapidly as tears sprang to her hazel eyes.

  Had she ever cried over the state of her beloved city or the motionless body of her frail husband? Alex’s harsh words were more than her fragile soul could handle. Still clutching my arm, her knees buckled from under her, taking me to the ground with her.

  “Mom!” I yelled, as Alex yelled, “Carole!” in unison.

  Sobs rocked through her body as her fingertips filtered through the dry earth. Brown dirt covered her hands and chest as she curled into her frail body. According to the stages of grief, my mother had been swimming around in denial for so long that she skipped over anger and bargaining, landing squarely on depression. Her hand balled into a fist against the earth that had brought so much pain to her and others.

  “I’m so sorry.” Alex knelt by her side and placed his hand on her rounded back.

  I stood in horror and anguish not knowing what to do. Although I was somehow involved, it felt like this moment was about them. The stress they had been dealing with usually gave them strength, but crumbled in this moment. Once it passed, I felt confident they’d rise as stronger people. But, how long would that take?

  It felt like an eternity passed as my mother cried. Slowly, her sobs turned to hiccups, then sneezes.

  “Carole, you’ve gotta get up. You’re gonna be sick,” Alex said.

  She nodded.

  I reached out to help them stand. A quiet and short walk lead us to the parking lot.

  “I’ll take her home,” I told Alex.

  “All right.” He frowned and his mouth remained open like he had more to say. If it was an apology, the first one had already been accepted. If it was information for me, I hoped he’d tell me later.

  I believed Alex meant it when he said I should take her and go, but clearly he didn’t expect my mother to fall apart at the request. Even if it wasn’t what she wanted, was it the right thing to do?

  CHAPTER 10

  A GOOD BOOK

  During the drive from Game Zone to the Town Hall, I avoided the major potholes to make the ride smooth. Mother’s symptoms progressively worsened. She sneezed and coughed more times than I thought humanly possible. Between fits, she rested her head against the window. Growing up, she often couldn’t leave her bed due to allergies. I wanted to take her directly to Dr. Worrell, but she said everything was in her room.

  Parking as close to the door as the broken walkway allowed, I quickly helped her inside. My erratic breathing matched hers, for no good reason other than the panic I felt over my body.

  “Do you have your inhalers?” I asked.

  She nodded and held onto my shoulder like the movement made her dizzy.

  “Careful, Mom!” I put my arm around her waist to help her walk past the peeling wallpaper to the insane place she called home.

  The antiseptic smell remained as pungent as the first time I entered the room. Dad’s equipment continued to hum and beep. On the other side of Mom’s bed, she opened the top of a three-drawer filing cabinet.

  “Trevor, get me water from the fridge,” she whispered. The hand resting on her chest rose and fell rapidly.

  I grabbed a bottle, opened it and gave it to her. Three pills rested in her quivering palm as she lifted them to her mouth and swallowed. Next came her inhalers. If needed, a breathing treatment would come next.

  Once medicated, she blinked heavily. Her eyes appeared glazed and tired as though she had the flu.

  “Get some rest, Mom.”

  She took a long, labored breath. I guided my mother to her bed and removed her shoes. Within minutes, she eased into sleep, though her symptoms didn’t improve. Mother continued to cough, sneeze, and wheeze with each breath she took. I’d call an ambulance if she got worse.

  After taking a much-needed deep breath to relax my nerves, I looked around the room, committing its details to my memory. I read the pill bottles inside the filing cabinet next to Mother’s bed. Mostly prescription allergy medication and over-the-counter pain pills. In the lower drawer was her breathing machine. I pulled it out and attached the cord like I had many times before, to be ready if needed.

  What about the stuff hooked up to my father? No change in his condition. The equipment secured to him continued to hum, beep, and drip. I didn’t dare unplug anything, but felt like I should know what it did. Stepping closer to the machines, I confirmed the beeping noise was his heart rate. Close to his head, a ventilator registered each breath. Between the two of them, it was like sharing a room with R2-D2 and Darth Vader.

  A clear saline bag dripped slowly through the IV used to keep him from dehydrating. I hadn’t thought much about death or what it would be like. But I believed in heaven and wanted my father there. What was this coma like for him? A form of purgatory where he waited on his fate to be decided? I shook my head, knowing he wouldn’t want this.

  The headphones over his ears made me smile. Wherever he was, he’d be happy because he had his music. I followed the cord to a CD player resting on the floor. The fast moving disk spun, preventing me from being able to tell what he listened to. I guess it didn’t matter.

  Everything around him served a purpose except for the nightstand next to the bed. What was inside? I pulled on the first drawer. It didn’t move. Tugging again, I pried it open. Inside were several pens and a deck of cards which had fallen out of their holder and had scattered.

  Reaching inside, I straightened the cards, and slid them into the holder. Maybe I should keep them out. I had no idea how long I’d be here while Mother slept. Her breathing still sounded uneasy but as long as she was comfortable, I’d let her rest.

  With the cards out of the way, I saw a leather-bound book. The two clasps on top kept the journal closed. My father was a meticulous person with an unquenchable desire to journal the happenings in his life. He said it helped him organize his thoughts, and he enjoyed seeing how different situations all came together.

  I lifted the book from the drawer, wanting to know its contents and set it in my lap. Would it be an invasion of his privacy to read it? Yes. Should I care? I looked at the frail man I’d admired all my life. Pearls of wisdom would be tucked between the pages of this book, but what I wanted mo
st was answers. Surely he knew what had happened to his beloved town.

  Slowly, I lifted the clasps and threaded the leather through the buckles. Emotion caused my hand to shake.

  On the first page I found my mother’s elegant script: Blessings to my loving husband. May you continue to be the best mayor, friend, and person Becton has to offer. I know you’ll give them your all. I love you. Yours Truly, Carole.

  They’d do anything for each other. The intimacy of her words made me pause. I felt like I had interrupted a private moment between them. There were things children weren’t supposed to know about when it came to their parents. I sat in the recliner I had attempted to sleep in and stared at the book.

  Conflicted, but persistent, I turned the page. The date was the week after my Masters degree graduation. Dad wrote: Trevor continues his journey in NYC and, while I miss him, I’m thankful he won’t be seeing the damage I’ve caused to this great place. What I wouldn’t give to fix it. People are hurting and others are fleeing, scared they might become next. Why can’t the doctors find a solution to the problem, or better yet, identify it? But they are just as stumped as the rest of us.

  For anyone who knew my father they’d understand exactly why he blamed himself. He felt responsible for everything whether it was his fault or not. I flipped through the pages and noticed he didn’t journal daily, only when he had thoughts to work through. He often said seeing things on a page helped give him clarity. Sometimes days, weeks or months would go by between entries.

  Two weeks later: I went to church today to ask God for wisdom. It didn’t help. But I saw Samuel there today. Reverend Brown has done a wonderful job raising him. I couldn’t think of a better role model. No one knows where the boy came from, but was left on the steps of the church. His black hair and crooked smile reminds me of Trevor when he was that age. Carole thought the same thing.

  It was nice to know my parents thought about me while I was away. I did, too, when eating a meal Mom enjoyed making or when I was in school and needed help with my accounting class. Dad was better with numbers than I was. I didn’t call as often once I wasn’t in school any longer. I wished I had stayed connected, and that I had insisted on coming home.