What I needed was a place to stay. Dorthy, my mother, was the first person I thought of to reach out to. With no phone, I’d have to make an impromptu visit to their house. She’d surely listen to me; she’d even witnessed Rae’s psychotic behavior for herself on more than one occasion. There was no way she’d let me take the fall for something that was obviously not my fault.
My parents lived in the city limits, in one of the nicest neighborhoods money could buy in southwest Virginia. Grady Grasso, my father, owned his own insurance company, one that I had always been groomed to take over. Unfortunately, I couldn’t until I went back to college and completed my studies. Flunking out was frowned upon by my parents, yet they allowed me to live my life as I saw fit. At least I was better off than my sisterAmber, who used abortions like birth control since she couldn’t keep her legs closed to pay for her habits.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a gated community, so there weren’t security guards monitoring visitors like some of the other neighborhoods around town. My father didn’t like the feeling of being watched, so they were also probably the only house around that hadn’t installed a state-of-the-art security system. I knew better, though. Having never worked a day in her life, my mother still took regular outings out of the house. Trips that my father took advantage of to do some out-of-office overtime with whatever secretary he was fucking that week.
The driveway was a bit longer than the average one typically found in a higher-class subdivision, and the houses were spread further apart, too, offering those who lived in the area the illusion of privacy. Not wanting to take any chances, I used my garage door opener to park my car in their barely used four-car garage. Dorthy preferred to call a driver whenever she left the house, since she didn’t own a car. Grady drove his daily Subaru, instead of the vintage ‘68 Dodge Charger he kept in pristine condition parked in the garage. So there was always space for someone else to park.
Nothing in the garage was out of place, seeing as it was never used for actual work. No tools hung on the walls, no oil stains marred the perfect concrete. Even though the garage was technically detached from the three-thousand-square-foot home, a paved walkway with an awning above it connected the two spaces.Wiping the grease from my fingers off on my shirt, I tossed the wrapper from my fast food breakfast in the trash can before locking the garage behind me.
The house was immaculate, both inside and outside. Perfectly manicured flower beds spread across the front yard, creating the illusion of a bright, cheerful space. Mature trees were sprawled across the property, branches trimmed back and up high enough to never cause an issue if anyone ever decided to take a walk to enjoy the gardens. None of the occupants ever came outside to enjoy them, though.
All the windows were drawn open, curtains pulled back to let in as much natural light as possible, making the three-story white brick home appear inviting and warm. I didn’t care that it wasn’t. My parents pretended to be other people to the public, their neighbors, and friends. I grew up with them. I knew how cold and uninviting the house was, despite the harsh truth that it would always be home in my mind. Family didn’t have to be fake around family.
I opened the unlocked door,cursing that Amber had probably forgotten to lock it at whatever hour she crawled home last night. My mouth soured at the thought of my sister and how, even though she was almost a decade older than me, she still insisted on living at home as nothing more than a leech on our parents and whatever my half of my inheritance would be when they passed away.
Simple math, the more they spent on her now, the less I would get when they passed away. I suppose being a drug addict that whored around to feed her addiction did make it harder to secure a job. At least I would always be better than her in those aspects. Compared to her and the dozen or so babies she’d murdered, I was a model citizen.
Inside the massive foyer lay a spotless marble floor. In the center of the space, right under a vaulted ceiling with a dome skylight, sat a polished white round table. The blue vase that was centered on it perfectly held an elaborate arrangement of flowers, which easily cost more than my first car. Every piece in the house was hand-made by some artist that was no doubt long since dead. Everything was cream and white, modern, with no warmth or color. A minimal amount of artwork hung from the walls, all abstract and devoid of any emotion. Opalescent colored carpet ran the length of the grand staircase off to the right side of the entryway up to the second floor.
To access the third floor, you had to take another set of stairs at the end of the second level. Rooms on the third floor were rarely ever used unless guests were staying overnight. I wouldn’t find my mother upstairs; I could hear the television playing from down the hall, probably in the formal living room. Not bothering to check to make sure my shoes weren’t muddy after the side trip I made to toss my cell phone in the river, I made my way down the hall to where I heard what must have been the newsplaying.
Dorthy wasn’t one for reality TV or extra drama from fictional television shows. She thrived off the real drama she could create when she went to the country club instead. My mother, ever the weaver of verbal webs to ensnare her victims. I didn’t have to look hard for her, seeing as she was seated exactly where I guessed she would be, in her favorite chair next to the television. Straight-laced, elegant, with a permanent look on her face that always appeared as if she’d eaten something sour, Dorthy was a force to be reckoned with in the household.
The living room was still decorated the same way it had been since I had grown up in its walls. Sleek and elegant. My mother always had exquisite taste. A plush sofa that was rarely ever used sat across from the fireplace, encased in white brick that matched the exterior of the house. Hanging above the mantle that was devoid of any knick-knacks or personal items was a 55-inch-flat-screen smart TV,rarely turned off. When she was home, it provided her with the only companionship she yearned for.
A cigarette sat poised in her hand, one usually always was, tendrils of smoke wafting into the air. Her tan skin was beautiful once, if the years of smoking and tanning hadn’t turned it into something that resembled leather. Every four weeks, like clockwork, she updated her hair, nails, botox injections, the works. Most would have called my mother beautiful if they had only counted outside appearances. Inside, she was colder than the Arctic Tundra.
“Craig, dear, is everything alright?” She didn’t bother standing from her chair; she probably wouldn’t until her ashtray needed to be dumped.
“Yes, Mom, everything is fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” I took a seat on the coach opposite her, trying my best to ignore the irksome racket coming from the television. It grated on my nerves when she never turned it off; the constant stream of background commotion made me feel like I was twitching, the voices blurring together with my inner thoughts, fighting to drown each other out.
“We hadn’t heard from you since the incident atherhouse was on the news. Your father was beginning to worry that the tramp had done something to you before she tried to end her own life.” Dorthy never used Raelynn's name, not wanting to give the speck of dirt on her shoes a name unworthy of her time. I already knew what the news was reporting; it was the same story I gave the responding officers who showed up at her house.
“Local woman survives two suicide attempts in one night.”
Raelynn's story wasn’t prominent on any news outlet; it was just a small blurb thrown in for local stories. A filler to occupy thirty seconds of on-air time before a commercial break. Insignificant, just like she was.
“I’ve been busy, Mom, her and her gossip-loving sister have been trying to make my life harder than it already has been.” My mother barely spared me a glance as I spoke, her eyes ever fixatedon the television, the volume too loud for me to process a single clear thought.
“Tell me, Craig, was it just luck that you happened to be the one to find her, or do we need to let our lawyers know they may be needed?”
Her voice sent a chill down my spine as she spoke, ever the condescending matriarch. She was right—she usually was—and I hated it. Hated that nothing was ever good enough for my mother.
“She wanted to die! She’s fucking psychotic mom, her and her whore of a sister. Why else would she cut herself and write her self-pity morbid bullshit?”
Dorthy took a long drag from her cigarette, the cherry on the end burning brightly before she slowly blew the smoke back into the room between her red painted lips.
“Did you even consider your father and me before you decided to take matters into your own hands? Or were you just thinking of yourself, like you usually are?” She spoke calmly, even though I knew she was trying to get under my skin. It’s what she did best after all.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be around her. She had no right to try and break up with me. I was just trying to help her with what she really wanted, Mom.”
“I’m not denying that you were doing the world a favor, but she didn’t contribute anything to this town. It’s your lack of planningthat’s concerned me. What are you going to do if anyone starts digging into your story?” She put her cigarette out in the ashtray and pulled another one from what was probably her second pack of the day.
“Rae is currently being held for a mandatory stay in a psych ward. I don’t think anyone is going to believe anything she says. The only person she’s close with is her sister, who whores around too much to be taken seriously.” I was tired of arguing that point. Didn’t anyone else understand just how messed up in the head the sisters were?
“The fact of the matter, Craig, is that your father and I can’t afford to be tied up in this mess, no matter how much she may have deserved it.” She rose from her seat, still not bothering to turn off the television, and turned to face me.
I could feel my fists clenching against my thighs, breathing was becoming difficult, the longer the TV droned on, the harder I found it to draw a complete breath, my lungs held victim of the incessant noise.
