In Hell: When Love Kills A Small Town Mystery

Chapter 27

His hair was tied with the same pink and white cloth just like Mother. The cloth was too small for him, and tying it so tightly always gave him a terrific headache, but he never minded. He was softly humming as he dusted the collection of glass unicorns in the curio cabinet. Every speck of dust was removed, and the little unicorn in his hand shimmered and shined. He replaced it in exactly the same spot his mother had left it the last time she cleaned her room.

He moved to the white vanity that sat against the wall. Everything was as she always kept it. He smiled. Without thinking, he began humming her favorite tune. It was a hymn. An old one. But weren't the old ones the best? She was always saying things like that. Unscrewing the top from one of the many jars, he dabbed concealer on his face.

The mask we put on to show the world must be perfect. Without spot or blemish.

It was his mother's voice floating in his head. Smiling at his reflection, he hummed the second verse. Leland picked up the photograph he kept on the small table by his mother's bed. His finger traced the outline of her hair.

Leland kissed it – longingly, like a lover.

How wonderful to be able to place his lips on her face and not worry that he would mar her makeup. He placed one of his mother's many wigs on his head. It fit nicely. Snug enough to give him a headache. But only a slight one. His mother had purchased several when her hair began to fall out. He kept them lined up on Styrofoam heads on a shelf that he'd put up himself. His mother had been so proud of that shelf.

He picked a tube of her lipstick that matched the dress he picked out perfectly. He smiled at the image reflected in the mirror. The reflection smiled back. She came to life when he did this. But only in the mirror.

"Oh, Beloved."

Leland looked out into the far distance. His eyes focused beyond the walls of the room. They were blank, and his face glowed mysteriously. Suddenly, a pained look traced over his pale features. He could no longer stay the tears. They came cascading down his cheeks, melting the mascara and turning the mask into a ruined mess. He grabbed a towel and began to rub. Before the last remnants of his mother's mirage faded before his eyes, he knelt down on his knees. His face was inches away from the reflective glass. Perfect, he thought.

He opened the top drawer and pulled out the album. God, he wished he knew her then. He flipped to the photo of his mother. She was in her early twenties, and Leland could only smile. She stood in a crowd of employees on the front row. How proud she looked standing beside Miss Dixie Ashlon. The beautiful Maddie was on Dixie's right. Everyone was so young, their fresh smiling faces looking into the camera. They were on the factory floor, and all around them were the props of industry – machinery, pieces of furniture in various stages of completion – managed chaos that symbolized prosperity.

Leland knew she was happy then. He wanted to cry, but he did not. His phone rang. He looked at it curiously. Who would be calling? He only kept the thing in case his mother's car broke down.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was soft, soothing, and the tenseness in Leland's shoulders started to abate. But only for an instant.

"What? But I can't," said Leland. "I won't."

"You will," said the voice on the other end. "And if you don't, then all of the world will know just what you did you your mother's body before you called 911."

"But you promised, you said ..."

"I lied. They will crucify you if they find out what Mother's precious little boy did to her. They will do much worse when I describe how you murdered Clifford Prater."