The Hidden Gemstone

Chapter: 13

Cody's POV:

There wasn't a trace of Eamon Barre anywhere on the internet.

I had spent the whole night awake, looking for something, anything, on him but according to the internet, there was no one named Eamon Barre in the French army in 1569. I had even called Jordan and, despite the late hour, he'd picked up. He didn't know anything about Eamon Barre though. "I got a lot, but nothin' on him. Sorry, dude," he'd said.

I hadn't stopped looking though. Even now, as the late hours of the night turned to early morning and then to noon, I was surrounded by the scattered printouts of everything I had found on the French army in the decades before and after 1569. Finally, I sighed and threw my head back, giving up.

If anyone could find a single trace of him, it wasn't me. I stood up from the bed and, not bothering to clear up the mess I had made, made my way to the bathroom. I took a shower and changed into a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans. After that, I went downstairs. Before walking out of the front door, I glanced inside the living room.

Only to find it completely messed up.

Empty cans and bottles were scattered around, and the coffee table was filled with half-eaten boxes of food. Dried stains of beer and Mexican filled the carpet and couches. The TV was on, and in front of it on the couch behind the coffee table, sat my mother. She was dressed in a stained robe and trousers, her blond hair pulled back in a messy bun. There were dark circles under her eyes which were fixed on the TV screen with a can of beer in her hand, halfway to her mouth.

I glanced behind her and saw the kitchen shelves lined with dirty dishes, burned pasta dripping from the flipped pot and staining the stove. My eyes traveled back to Mom, who still didn't seem to give a damn about her surroundings.

"What the hell, Mom?" I stormed over to her and she finally looked up, acknowledging me.

"Oh, Cody," she said slowly, rubbing her tired eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't... um..." she blinked hard before focusing her narrowed eyes on me. "What time is it?"

"For you to start taking care of yourself," I snapped before shaking my head and walking forward. I took the half-empty can of beer from her hand before walking into the kitchen and throwing it in the bin.

"Hey, I was drinking that!" I ignored her and continued to pick up the empty cans and bottles from the floor and threw them into the bin. "Cody, would you stop and tell me what's wrong?"

At that I turned to her, the incredulity in my eyes evident. "Have you seen yourself, Mom? You're a mess. You haven't been going to work, you've been drinking more than you can, and you're asking me what's wrong?"

"Relax, Cody. It's just one night, you don't even know-"

"It's not just one night! Every time I come home, you're either drinking or sleeping. You haven't paid the bills. Do you even know where Dad is?"

"He needs to work overtime, Cody, I think you need to-"

"Does he?" I asked. "He hasn't been home in a week, Mom. Have you even called him to ask him where he is?" I paused, breathing heavily, waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, I continued, "I'm tired of working your shifts just because you're too drunk to go to work yourself. I'm tired of watching you make a mess of yourself that you only bother to clear up when Noah or Liam's coming home. I'm the kid, Mom. You're supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around."

"You're eighteen, Cody, do you-"

"Yeah, now I am!" I stared at her, looking for remorse anywhere on her face but even the drowsiness had twisted into a cold, unreadable expression. "What about the past three years? You never cared about me because you weren't sober enough. Ever." Her expression remained the same, without so much as a twitch in the eye. "I can't do this anymore. I'm done."