To quote a line from my favorite trilogy—my mother’s resistance was beautiful. At least, that’s what her killer said. She was like an angry angel, he said, trying to get away from me. I don’t get it.
I mean, I sort of get it. The artist in me—or the one I hope to be—gets it, at least. As he described her, I had a clear picture in my mind. An angry angel. Wait, no. A hummingbird. She was an angry mommy hummingbird—only trying to protect her nest.
So, obviously, I get it. But I don’t.
Does that make sense?
Don’t worry. It doesn’t have to.
You know, I was upstairs. As mom would say, sleeping like a newborn baby. When he came, mom was either cooking, cleaning, or reading—you know, something motherly. The attacker attacked her from behind with barbed wire. Probably strangled her.
She was there when I awoke a few hours later. The killer was right—she was beautiful. She lay in the middle of the living room. Blood pooled beneath her. Blonde hair naturally fanning out around her. As I stood there, I could see scratch marks on her neck—defense wounds. It was good to know she put up a fight.
It took a while for me to look away, but when I did, I saw that the T.V. was missing from its place on the wall with the table in front of it shattered. Mom’s jewelry box was also lying beside her body, just out of her reach. It was a robbery—
“Adeline?” a voice asks, making me pause.
Taking my eyes off my drawing pad, I look around. With unfeeling blue eyes, Elijan stares out at me. “Get your stuff together; it’s time to go.”
I nod. We gather my eleven bags and get them into the detectives’ car together. With a sigh, I pull my hood over my head.
Nowhere, Vermont—here we come.
Is this another book I’ve begun?? Nooooo... IT CAN’T BE!
~xoxo, maya cyns