Winter Prey

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

A tense atmosphere filled the kitchen, in contradiction to the warmth strewing from the heating vents. Out of respect for her mother, Kymbria dredged up the effort to override the frustration in her voice, although the resultant stress increased the strain. Strain that resulted in damned PTSD tension.

"I'm not calling you a liar, Mom," Kymbria said. "I'd never do that."

"Well, it sounds like that's what you're getting ready to say."

Kymbria sucked in a calming breath. Control. "You're twisting my words. I just want to know how you and I are involved in this windigo situation."

"And I'm saying we're not," Niona reiterated in a flat voice. "We're leaving. You've got a daughter back in Duluth who needs you. Needs both of us."

Kymbria lowered the heat under the pan of milk and turned toward where Niona sat at the table. Her mother's crossed arms and defiant face belied her protestations. "I'm well aware that my daughter needs me. But she's with her aunt, who loves her and whom she loves right back. Don't you care that all those people have died over the years? That more will die unless this creature is stopped?"

"It's not our place."

"Mom - "

"Drop it, daughter. I'm not going to talk about it any longer."

Kymbria gritted her teeth. Her frustration and anger swelled, although she couldn't decide if they were normal PTSD symptoms or something else. Not that PTSD symptoms were normal. They were irrational at best, turning her into a bundle of nerves with a close-to-the-surface temper. Maybe she misunderstood her mother's concerns.

Interesting. She glanced toward the door Caleb had exited. She was starting to compose herself with less effort when he was close....

She'd been struggling to overcome her shortcomings - the ones in her own mind - by rationalizing and understanding them. Acknowledge the symptoms, identify them, override them, as she had counseled soldiers. It took time, a more sustained effort with some than others, depending on the depths of their trauma. Longer still with the soldiers who gritted their teeth and forwent the medications.

Her patients faced the buried horrors, talked them out, eased at them from different angles. Accepted that they would never be free of the memories, but they could control them with practiced techniques. Could enjoy a life without unexpected flashbacks threatening both them and their loved ones.

As she knew she had to do, for her own peace of mind. For Risa's future.

Her mind. A wonderful thing a mind, yet prone to falters from the buried subconscious. She could do this. She couldn't let a supernatural monster interfere with her recovery. She had a daughter depending on her.

It's easy to talk to Caleb. Maybe I should tell him....

Her mother's jitteriness, denials and evasiveness made it apparent she'd get nowhere with her. Where was Caleb? How the hell long did it take to look at the vehicles and determine whether or not they could move them. Damn it....

She fought the tension, the sour stomach. If this kept up, she'd be slinking back to that inept psychiatrist, asking for a referral. Or reaching for the meds with no resistance. Sliding into the zombie state and the hell with the rest of the world. In fact, she'd counted out the number of pills in each prescription while in the bedroom.

But no way would she give up yet. Not with Risa depending on her.

Risa. Only she and Niona knew for sure how Risa had come to be a part of their lives, such an integral, loved part. She hadn't been able to give Rick children. The summer Tina died had assured that. Yet when he'd asked her over and over to marry him, Rick had protested again and again that it didn't matter. That she was enough, their love enough for both of them.