Page 33 of Catching Camila

“Did she call you?” Mama stepped closer, eying Camila dangerously. “Did my lying sister call you?”

“No.” Camila shook her head slowly. “Ben did. Her son.”

Mama slammed her spatula on the counter as a string of Spanish curse words flew out of her mouth. She picked up a plate and smashed it on the counter. Shards of ceramic sprayed out, slicing through the air near Camila's face. Mama reached for a dirty glass and raised it to throw.

Camila grabbed for Mama's arm. “Stop!” she screamed. Mama’s eyes darted around like a toddler's with ADD. Camila shook Mama’s arm. “Look at me!”

Mama stopped, her brow furrowing. “Camila, don’t raise—”

“Mama! Don’t interrupt. You are manic, okay? Out of control. You need to get back on your meds. I don’t get paid for another week and a half. Do you have any money? I can go to the store and ask the pharmacist for some sample packs or something.” Camila pressed her hands to her cheeks. God, how had it come to this?

Mama shook her head, anger leaving her face, a wild smile replacing it. “I don’t need that poison. I feel wonderful. I was out all night, saw some old friends. We went dancing.” Mama threw her arms out and did a twirl, her skirt swirling in an orange bloom around her.

Camila shook her head. “You are not alright. It might feel alright now, but this always ends badly. You remember when the cops came last time?” Camila's windpipe felt like someone was squeezing it. “You want them to take you away?”

This wasn’t some bluff. Last time Mama was manic she’d been caught shoplifting and the cops had come to their home. Luckily, the store didn’t press charges.

Mama shook her head rapidly. “That won’t happen.”

Camila dropped her mother’s arm, feeling very tired. “They will. They'll arrest you if you don’t stop.” She turned and shuffled back to her bedroom.

“Mi amor,” Mama called after her. “Breakfast?”

Camila didn’t look back. “I’m not hungry.”

* * *

Thursday 10:45 a.m.

Camila blewin the door at Lizzy’s fifteen minutes early for her shift. She’d be early every day from now on, no matter what Mama did. Now more than ever she needed to keep this job.

Fer trailed in behind her. “So, what happened to you last night? I sent you, like, a billion texts and blew up your Twitter. You going Amish on me? Shunning all technology to make your own aprons or some shit?” Fer poked her in the ribs. She was trying to make Camila smile, but she couldn't force a smile today if she used pliers.

“My battery died.” It was a pathetic lie and they both knew it. She'd never lied to her best friend before, but Fer would never approve of a strange guy sleeping in her trailer.

Fer studied Camila’s face, narrowing her eyes. “Huh. Well, I wanted to know what you thought about dead guy numero tres. Everybody said Harson was a creeper, but I still can’t believe he’s dead. My mom’s having a conniption fit. She slept with her .45 under her pillow last night. I told her she was gonna blow a nice hole in her brain stem before the killer could even get near her, but she didn’t—”

“Wait, what? What dead guy?”

Camila’s head was spinning. Harson? The weird parking lot security guard at their old high school. Mr. Harson drove around the school in his rusty Ford Escort giving kids tickets and chasing down skippers. Now he was dead?

“Didn’t you hear? What the hell were you doing last night?” Fer crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes.

“I…uh, went to bed.” A cold sweat had broken out across her back. Three murders. What was happening?

Fer tossed a strand of purple hair out of her eyes. “It was all over the news. They’re calling it an “animal attack”, but come on. They found Harson under his bed.” Fer leaned in close and whispered. “Said his throat was ripped out.”

Camila pressed her hands to her ears. “I don’t wanna know,” she said, shaking her head. “But maybe it was an animal.”

“No way. What kind of animal is that big? The cops are just trying to cover it up. First that homeless dude, then the gas station attendant, and now Harson. If you ask me, it’s meth heads. My brother knows a few of them, and they're psycho as hell.” Fer ran her hands under the tap and splashed some water on her neck. “No walking home alone like you did last night unless you want to be famous.”

“Yeah.” Camila's mind was off with Mama who was prone to wander and do impulsive things. And John alone in the forest. Sure, he was big, but what chance did he stand against a bear, or, worse, a serial killer meth head? Her hands trembled as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. Work. She needed to focus on work.

By mid-morning a hazy scrim of clouds hung over the sun. Camila told Fer she was emptying the garbage and headed out to the dumpster. A glance into the shadows told her John wasn't around. Cold prickles ran up her arms as she turned and walked through the dark alley. Couldn’t serial killer meth heads lurk in alleys, too?

She was turning to go back inside when a figure came striding up to Camila, overloaded with half a dozen mismatched canvas shopping bags.

“Mama!” Camila said, her heart pounding.

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