Page 6 of Corrupting Ivy

Charity, Max, and I were on our way home from Mexico when Ma called in hysterics. Something terrible had happened, and she’d only tell me in person. So, of course, I changed my plans and came here for something that was probably nothing.

WhydidI come running home to a mother I hated?

“Are you going to give me a hug first?”

I hated being touched—by her especially. “No.” I growled. “You have thirty seconds to explain, Ma.”

She hunched her shoulders, looking behind me and to the sides, making sure there wasn’t anyone around. You could never be too cautious, even when you're in the middle of nowhere, and you think no one is watching. “Someone is trying to kill me, and this time, I have proof.” She waved me towards the door. “Come inside; it’s not safe out here.”

I ran my hand through my hair, took a deep breath, then released it. Picking up my bag from the ground, I stepped inside my old childhood home, which harbored deep dark secrets.

The stench was an awful one that I compared to the sweet smell of death or something putrid rotting under the floorboards.

“She did it. I know she did. I need a glass of water. Do you want something to drink—sink.”

Great. Now I know for sure she is off her medication. Her need to rhyme certain words or the ability to fly from one topic to the other within the same sentence was a red flag of just how bad it had become.

“No.”

The living room had the same old blue fabric couch, sitting against the wood-paneled wall. A mismatched brown recliner with fabric was so worn, the brown cushion that was once white peaked through. It sat across from the tube TV playing the news, as always. I could never touch the TV.

Back in the day, Ma would have the news playing constantly in the background so she could find the person who was out looking for her. She used to say they would speak to her sometimes.

Ma fumbled with a glass in the kitchen, filling it to the brim only to take a sip, dump it out, and fill it back up again—repeating the process three times.

The news anchor spoke about something found in Cavil Forest, a place I used to frequent as a kid and knew like the back of my hand… a place where I buried my past but didn’t forget.

“This is why I needed you to come back,” she said, holding out a dirty glass of water for me. I glanced at the rust-colored water but didn’t take it. “They found them. Found them all. Twenty-seven.”

“What are you talking about?”

I glanced back to the TV with static lines inhibiting the color.

The tall blonde woman held a microphone up to her mouth, a suitable distance away from her perky tits, while backing up and pointing at the yellow caution tape wrapped around the entrance of the forest.

“The bodies, Spence. Here, drink this. They’ll stay away if you do.”

I shook my head.

To anyone else, her ramblings would frighten or worry them. But I learned a long time ago that fear was a weapon to harness, and once I understood this, I gave no one the opportunity to use it against me. Now it was my job to instill fear in others, and I did it well.

“What bodies, Ma?”

“Twenty-seven. They were there, and now they aren’t.”

This was why I preferred people to tell me things that were important and leave out the useless bits.

I turned away from her and let the TV do the talking.

“FBI officials say they are dealing with at least twenty-seven deceased individuals, all buried throughout the forest.”

Throughout the forest?

“Ma?” I spun back to her.

“Drink this,” she said, trying to force the rusty water on me again.

“When did they find them?” I pushed the disgusting glass out of my face, ready to throw it against the wall.

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