The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 19

Adrienne held the cellphone against her chest as she laid in bed. Hallucinations played with her mind. His terrified voice, asking her why. His voice, forgiving her. His voice, she could hear everywhere yet nowhere at all. It was all a sick feast of loss and agony. At some point in the night, she dreamt Lucas was home and in her arms, only to abruptly wake to see the inanimate cold device. Her weary eyes drifting to the phone's dark and vacant surface, the depths of its mocking screen more like a hollow mouth screaming for help. Absent Lucas' calls, the cellphone's terrible idleness was mockery. This feeling was mixed with the urge to hurl it against the wall, a feeling which was only mitigated by the fact that the phone was the last remaining conduit to him. To keep from falling apart into catatonia she'd tell herself it was all a matter of time till he called. And she'd pick it up, be there to tell him everything was okay. Every little thing she nagged him over before wouldn't matter any longer. If he wanted to blast his rock music into the late hours of the night, he could. Leave as many dishes in the sink, he could. Maybe even skip a homework assignment or two. The dark bargains a yearning and desperate mind can play. How things once scorned now become a bargaining chip, an offering, to mend a deep pain.

Her phone seemed to enjoy participating in her pain in other ways. Other calls, lighting up the receiver, her heart galloping only to realize Lucas wasn't among them. Concerned friends like Louise who couldn't hold back her own tears, only provided disappointment in spite of their honest condolences. It was Lucas's name she wanted to see across the screen. Nobody else. She had committed a mother's most unforgivable sin, failing her son. It tore and ripped into her chest worse than any of Cordell's fists.

A frail crack of daylight managed to slip through her bedroom shades. It felt almost caustic, intrusive. Her eyelids begged for sleep that wouldn't come. The actions she should've taken to avoid this from ever happening were like rusted nails hammering her eyelids into her forehead. See what you've done, the voice in her head clamored. Why hadn't she moved them farther away? Derryton was too close to New York, and to Cordell—why didn't she see this? She should've driven him to school. So many poor decisions. What kind of mother is this careless?

She took a sip of lukewarm water. The liquid felt like shards of glass sliding down her throat. Her cell phone lit up.

"Hi Mom," Adrienne said, clearing her throat.

"Hi love, your father and I just landed. How are you holding up?" her mother asked, her voice racked with anxiety. How could Adrienne truly reply but with a confession of desperation, misery—any alternative offering would be as much a lie as the belief that they'd ever seen Lucas again. Her mother felt the same as she did although Adrienne was in no state of mind to consider the notion. Failing to protect her daughter, and her grandson and attempting to hide the utter shame and despair in her voice proved to be something she was ill-prepared for. She broke down and began to sob.

"I'm sorry love, this is terrible."

Adrienne remained silent, unable to cry along with her mother. It wasn't from a lack of sadness. It was more a sudden dearth of emotion, an immolation of self-worth that only the most shameful come across in their lives when they neglect their most meaningful responsibility. Only the worthy deserved to cry, and for now her failure had devoured any sense of that. She somehow managed to give directions to the house then hung up. An hour or so passed and the doorbell rang. Adrienne rose slowly from the bed, slightly dizzy. She meandered aimlessly making no connection to the meaning of the doorbell until it rang out once more. She peered out of the window. The anemic midday sun scattered from the roof of a rental car. She donned her robe and met her mother's distraught expression as the front door swung open. Her father stood close by, a cigarette shaking in his hand. A once banished habit, now returned. His sad eyes languishing, absent of their usual vitality, as if they wanted to hide behind the rising cigarette smoke.