In the End

Faux Pas

It has passed day two, and she hasn't heard a thing.

She hopes it means it all went well. She knows she hopes foolishly. She knows him too well; she has been with him too long. There is not a single possibility that he managed to not ruin something, somewhere along the way. If it wasn't his foolish pride, it was his calloused way of communicating. Especially in the delicate situation she put him in, she highly doubts he passed with flying colors.

She inhales through the cigarette once, twice. She has been lounging in her couch for a solid half an hour. She had meant to relax for the afternoon before her Gemini came home and caused the ruckus they always did, but here she is, thinking instead.

"Chucky, Chucky, Chucky," she mutters between drags. "How you fucked up this time, I can only wonder."

She also wonders why she even bothers to help him. It isn't as if he has given her a reason to care for him anymore. She pretends it doesn't hurt, the way he had treated her, and she likes to think she still sees the value in herself, but it is hard to believe it somedays. He had left scars inside her, wounds that sometimes still reopened and festered. She wonders, if she cannot even keep a crook like Charles around, how can she possibly hope that she is anyone good? Her posture slumps against the arm rest.

Her mother had warned her about boys like him. Her father had been a boy like him. She laughs, as she thinks that it must be true. Girls really do grow to marry a man like her father. She'd never imagined the day she'd admit her bitch of a mother had gotten something right, and that was her mistake.

Charles must be so angry right now. If she has messed up in making this decision, he will come back for her with a hunger for vengeance. And she will not be able to blame him. She will have to apologize. She groans; she hates admitting she is in the wrong. Especially when her opponent is him. But then she remembers the exposed way he behaved, as if he was missing something around him- some sort of covering, or ring. She remembers the raw, silent inconsolable void that became so apparent. And she is strengthened in her resolve once again.

"Mommy!"

It's a chorus, and it snaps her away from her thoughts, her quiet and dizzying thought process. Her vision blurs and clears as she slowly regains consciousness and looks at her two, darling children in front of her, a painful reminder of what she thought she had and the hopeful promise of a brighter future. The door slams behind them and the house is filled with song, all her ghosts flying away for the moment.

"My sweet, little darlings," she coos, crushing the butt of her cigarette into the ash tray as she rises to meet them, her arms coming around them. They wiggle in her arms; Glen has a science project that he is eager to begin, and Glenda has bruises and scratches from a fight. She is proud to tell her mother that she won said fight, and that it was for Glen's honor.

"Alicia Sparks in third block called Glen a fag, Ma, I couldn't just let her go without beating her ass!" she explains.

"Don't curse," Tiffany reprimands. "It's fucking rude."

She and her daughter share a harsh glance before Tiffany breaks first, giggling mischievously and pinching the little girl's cheeks. Glen chuckles nervously, and she turns to embrace him again and steady his trembling body.

"Glen, baby, you know I'll never be angry if you decide to do the same. Don't you let those little brats bully you like that," she murmurs into his ear before kissing the top of his head. She can feel him nodding into her armpit.

"Alright, gremlins, homework!" she declares. "We can't be the baddest bitches on the block if we don't do well in school." Glen seems satisfied to rush to the computer and begin his research, but Glenda groans and rolls her eyes, throwing her backpack on the floor in disdain of what is in there waiting for her.

An hour later, the twins are hard at work- Glen typing away furiously and Glenda scribbling with the same energy on algebra equations. Tiffany has already started dinner, but as she stirs the sauce, her mind is still spinning. She still is curious as to what exactly occurred, and what is conspiring now, as she continues stirring the wooden spoon. The sauce is boiling. She wonders if how it all boiled over where Charles is- or was. If he is even still there.

Dinner time rolls around, and there is still nothing. No call, no sudden mysterious text or strange package. She is beginning to think that possibly, things had gone the way she'd planned.

"Come, darlings," she calls to the twins in the living room. They are very invested in their video game; Glenda is winning and she is not about to let her brother forget it. Tiffany stands at the arm of the couch for a solid two minutes before deciding they've had enough and she must interrupt. She stands in front of the television, much to the dismay of her two young ones.

She waves them into the kitchen, and it doesn't take long for their disappointment to return to an appeased and eagerness when they smell the food on the table. She can't help but flare with pride at how happy they are to eat what she has prepared for them, and she takes the time to memorize every little praise they give as she serves them and they dig into it, forks clashing against the plates and against their white, sharp teeth. If nothing else, she is a damn good cook. A damn good cook indeed.

"Did you finish your homework, Glenda?" she asks.

Glenda grins and nods, still slurping food from her fork into her mouth. Her eyes glint gleefully and she motions with her elbow to where her backpack is leaning against the couch arm.

She turns to her son. "And what about you, baby-face? How's that science project coming along?"

Glen shrugs. "I found a lot," he starts. "But there's so much I want to say about electromagnetic transmitters that I don't know where to stop, and..."

Glenda chokes on her food laughing. "Please. Stop right there," she's giggling too hard to complete her sentences. Tiffany can hear Charles in the way she laughs, in the same way she throws her head back. She feels a bitter twist in her stomach, and tries to focus on Glenda's eyes, the same green as her own.

Glen just frowns. But, God, she can see Charles in him too, in his dark and silent insecurities, in his academic potential. She shakes her head, her mind dragged back to the plaguing issue.

"Alright, settle down," she says. "Glen, I'm very excited to hear about your project- when it's done."

She claps her hands. "You know what time it is. Get your teeth brushed, your hair tamed," she stops to pinch Glen's cheeks and to ruffle Glenda's mane of curly hair. With a pat of her hands on their shoulders, she sends them off to get ready for bed, dismissing their pleas to stay up for another hour or so. By eight-thirty, they are in bed, the doors closed and the lights out.

That's when she hears it, on the news. There's been a murder. Upon further observation, she discovers that it is a nurse who attended to a Karen Barclay.

"Aha, you little bitch," she sneers, triumphant, and it's a good thing the kids are in bed. "I knew there'd be a slip."

Is this his way to get Andy's attention? She wonders. After all, Andy Barclay will probably hear about this, and he will probably know at once who did it. So her suspicions were right, after all. Charles Lee Ray had gloriously mishandled the situation once again. As if it could have been any other way. He was always one to mess things up, even when they were of dire importance.

She lights a cigarette, and she knows it's her fifth of the day, and she has been trying to cut back, but she can't help herself. She's caught up in the moment. She turns up the volume slightly on the television, enough to hear better, enough to not wake the twins. But all the details of the case are not enough to tell her why, outside of Chucky attempting to lure Andy back into the ring.

She exhales, the smoke clouding her vision, and she wonders.