Thirteen: Clare Owens

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I was eating cereal at the kitchen counter, when I heard mom cuss in the other room.

I had never heard my mother say anything worse than stupid, let alone what she had said just now. Something bad was happening.

I could hear the footsteps getting louder as mom sprinted down the stairs, grabbing her purse and keys along the way.

"Clare, baby, we have to go. Now."

I didn't hesitate in following her out the door to her car.

"Come on!" Mom practically screamed when I took too long to put on my shoes. I knew better than to ask what was wrong. My mother then proceeded to back out of the driveway like a madwoman.

"Here," she said, handing me her phone. "Use the GPS and get us to Elm Street."

I typed faster than I ever had before, until the automated voice responded. "Route is being calculated."

I wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but I knew that whatever it was, Vinicus Cauldwell had better watch his back.
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The building was surrounded by police, but mom didn't seem to care as she skidded into a turn for the fourth time that day.

After parking in one of the only sections of road not blocked by caution tape or police cars, mom and I made our way over to the door.

I looked at my mother. I had never seen her like this. Of course she was always confident, ready to take on whatever the new day had to bring. But this was a different kind of confidence. She was fierce. Unstoppable.

"Stop," a man said. A gloved hand blocked us from our only entrance into the building. "Lady, you cant go in there. This is a crime scene."

My mother slowly turned to look the mustached cop in the eye.

"My son is in there." Her voice was scarily quiet; you could barely hear it over the sirens. "And so help me god, if you think you can stop me from getting to him, you've got another thing coming." She pushed the man's hand out of the way, and proceeded to march into the building.

"Hey!" The man yelled, and tried to grab her arm. But it was no use. My mother was on a mission.

After barring the door from the inside, mom sprinted toward the elevator.

The waiting was the hardest part. I had thought a ten story elevator ride was long, but this was just ridiculous. Mom stared angrily at the doors, waiting to jump out the second they opened. Meanwhile, I was about to cry.

God, please let Max be okay. A little voice whispered in my head. But another little voice told me to stop.

Oh God I love him so much PLEASE don't let him die. What if he's dead? Don't be dead please. He could be dead right now and you can't even get there because you're on a stupid elevator that's traveling at a snail's pace. WOULD YOU JUST STOP THINKING?

And finally, we were there.

The elevator doors opened on what appeared to be a huge living room, with black walls, and black furniture. My eyes scanned the room for any sign of movement, until they landed on the two figures in the corner. A boy in a red suit, and a man wearing all black. But apparently, my mother had seen them first.

"You," she whispered. And then she screamed. "YOU!" Mom was charging toward Vinicus with all of her might, every bone in her body willing to hurt him. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?"

Vinicus' eyes widened in fear, as he took a step back toward the broken window.

"Mom, stop!" Max yelled, stepping in between my mother and the villain. "I'm fine! It wasn't even him!"

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