"Oh, he was. Tall, strong, those bright blue eyes that could see right through you, the brightest smile. Our son had that same smile, those same eyes."
He still does. They're right there, watching you with a love you don't deserve,I think, but I manage to bite the words back.
"What's a nice girl like you doing here, traipsing around with that thing?"
The casual cruelty of her sudden question steals my breath to the point all I can do is gape at her. That thing. She just called her son—her beautiful, gentle son—that thing.
I dig my nails into my palms hard enough to leave marks, but I keep my voice even. Pleasant, even. Because losing my shit won't help Wraith, and he needs me to be strong right now.
"He brought me to meet you. He said you like having visitors," I manage to lie.
"Did he now?" She gives Wraith a suspicious look that's more disgusted than fearful. "It doesn't talk."
"There are other ways to talk than speaking.He,"I say carefully, emphasizing that Wraith is not an it, "writes notes, and he signs. Would you like to try sometime?"
The revulsion that crosses her face tells me everything. She doesn't see him as her son who adapted to his disability. She really does see him as inhuman.
"No."
Just no. Flat and final.
"He's very kind," I try. "He brought you these beautiful flowers and?—"
"Probably stole them. Monsters don't buy flowers. They just take whatever the hell they want."
I watch Wraith retreat to the wall, making himself smaller, less threatening. Less real. My heart breaks as he tries to disappear while still being present for this woman who thinks of him as nothing but a nightmare come to life.
The teddy bear in my hands feels pathetic now, but I hold it out anyway. Maybe if I can make her happy, even for a moment, it'll mean something to him.
"Oh, I almost forgot," I say, choking down the urge to say so much more to her. If only for Wraith's sake. "I brought you something too. Thought you might like a friend."
The transformation is instant and unsettling. Years fall from her face as she reaches for the bear with childlike delight.
"For me?"
"Of course. Every room needs a teddy bear."
She cradles the plush toy against her chest, and for a moment, she seems almost normal. Almost like a mother who might remember she has a son who loves her.
"I had one just like this when I was little. Papa won it for me at the county fair. Threw three perfect pitches in a row." She gives me a sly look. "Grant could have done that, and more. He was so strong. Could've done anything if he hadn't..."
"Tell me about him," I say, because keeping her calm seems like the safest option.
And she does. Story after story about her first husband. Their wedding, his deployment, the day he left for the last time. She talks about him like he's still alive somewhere, just temporarily away.
And through it all, she mentions "our son" in passing. Like he's just a footnote in her love story with her deceased husband instead of the devoted son standing right there, listening with his back turned to us, still picking at the flowers in the vase, making them perfect.
It makes me want to cry.
"Grant would have protected us," Claire says suddenly, her voice dropping as her fingers tighten on the teddy bear. "He wouldn't have let it happen. Wouldn't have let that... thatmonsterhurt our baby."
The temperature in the room plummets.
Wraith's shoulders and muscled back go rigid through his shirt.
"What do you mean?" I ask slowly, even though every instinct screams at me to leave it alone.
Claire's eyes dart to Wraith, then away quickly. “It killed him. Killed my beautiful boy and wore his face like a mask. But it couldn't get it quite right. Just the part you can see—my son's eyes. It keeps the rest of it hidden so you can't tell it comes straight from the very bowels of hell.”
