I told the girls about her hospital experience. Ashley decided to go find that nurse and see what she could learn. I gave her a bit of my secret hidden bra money and told her to be safe. Mariah decided to stay and help me put up the trundle bed for Ashley. No way was she going home to cry tonight. Friends were the best medicine. And together we felt like we could conquer the world.

As Mariah and I settled in front of the tv wth the latest season of Pretty Little Liars and a sleeve of Ritz crackers I felt antsy. At this point I couldn't care less who A was. My real life drama beat Hollywood storylines by about a million. Maybe I could sell my story, buy a ranch and raise llama. Or goats. The long haired silky ones. That seemed like a calm relaxing life.

Somewhere around the moma drama in Alison's basement on Pretty Little Liars, I felt a sharp burning pain return in my foot. I tried putting it up. And jiggling it around. Nothing worked. It was like a team of tracker jackers were trapped between the bandages and decided to sting their way out. Mariah got tired of the jiggling and forced another pain pill down my throat.

The stinging pain lessened in minutes and the world got a soft blur. My body felt like someone had lovingly packed in soft swaying cotton. Mariah dozed next to me on the couch. The tall man stood in the center of the room staring at her. A strong angry buzzing crawled in my skin and I wanted to tell him to go away. Suddenly it didn't feel like he was friendly at all.

He walked over to Mariah, his hands a blur of motion. I tried swatting at him but my arms and legs felt like carried the weight of someone on "My 600 Pound Life".  Mariah didn't wake as he lifted her gracefully and easily off the couch. I began to wonder if it was a dream. How could she not wake, struggle, scream? 

He took her from the room. And I tried fighting through the sludge in my brain.  I felt the floor spin as I swung my legs off the couch.  The basement door opened and I heard Mariah whimper. I willed myself to stand and went to the kitchen. The phone cord was cut and I thought about how angry my mom would be about having to get someone to replace it.

The thought of caring whether my mom was angry while Mariah was in the basement with an angry flailing tree man tickled me. I began laughing and it came over me like a wave. I couldn't stop. I laughed until I had to bend over. When I stopped I sensed stillness and silence. I went to the garage to get a tool.

My mothers car was parked where it always was. Her briefcase sat on the floor beside the drivers door. I shook my head to make some sense of it. Had she gotten a ride? I walked around the car looking for something that would make sense, like a flat tire. The trunk was slightly open. Someone had spilled something and it ran down the back of the car bright and thick.

I put my hand down in the stickiness. It was cool and sticky. I opened the trunk and saw my mother. Crooked and bent as if made into a square. Her eyes opaque. Her lips a smokey grey pulled back into an oval shaped O as if about to call. Not a scream. Her face was slack. No wrinkles. No frown lines. I stared intently wondering if I'd ever seen it before, her face without fear, anger, worry.

I waited for the tears, the anger, the fear. And yet it was dull and I felt so far away from it. I closed the trunk until it clicked. And went to the outside door. It was locked. I looked to the side shelf to find something to break the tiny window to yell through and saw the large claw hammer. As I picked it up I remembered Mariah. Below me, with the tree man. Perhaps being folded into a gift of her own. I turned and headed back towards the stairs.

I wanted to stop at the top, just get a drink of water, sit, and think about what was happening but that isn't how it works is it?  When you stop, you die. I know this. And someone has to be the hero in a story.   Just like Emily in Pretty Little Liars. Not perfect, but trying to do the right thing.

I looked at my foot dressing, which I had forgotten about. It was soaked in blood. Mine, my mothers, I couldn't be sure. But it didn't hurt and for that I was grateful. I put the claw hammer in my left hand and held to the bannister with my right. Stopping the sway from the medicine.

The basement coolness rose to meet me a musty damp that I had feared since childhood. And I saw the irony of it now, in this moment as I faved my fears of past and present. I felt a wave of anger, and welcomed it.  Not many people get to face their fears in real life, it has to be easier than constantly battling them in your head and heart.

I named my them. Those the tree man had hurt and killed. One by one in my head over and over. As I reached the last step I saw him. Faceless head nuzzled in Mariah's chest. Bone and bits of blood and tissue exposed, her head hanging limp. Dead. I stifled a scream. But my lip so hard I felt the blood begin to trickle down my chin. I gripped the claw tighter and crept closer. Towards the sounds of slurping snd sucking.

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This chapter is dedicated to @Black_Sh33p for giving me the best dang feelings ever with her lovely self!!

Sorry to end on a cliffhanger!! Short on time and long on things to do. Have a great day everyone