DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Unappreciated Gifts • Jay Harris

There was no thought, no plan. In fact, the idea itself wasn't something Mikala had ever considered. The way her mother struggled, though, it was oddly satisfying.

It took focused effort to calm her heart's rhythm, but it was slowing. Her mind, overcome with raw emotion, was now filled with confusion.

"You—" Rodney tried to speak. The quiver in his chin gave away his fear as he took yet another step back, barely avoiding the Christmas tree.

Mikala didn't respond. She simply rose to her feet with the gift in her hand, the trigger that set everything into motion. The redness in her eyes was a deep, dramatic contrast to her pale skin, and the darkness, the seething rage, well, it wasn't gone. Still, suppressing her emotions had become commonplace.

Rodney leaned against a nearby wall with unblinking eyes, knocking silver garland to the floor without reacting. He tugged at his snow themed camouflage jacket like a baby hoping to grab something to keep it safe.

No sign of remorse could be heard in her voice. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Don't— I mean— Mikala, I can't—"

Wrapping paper crunched under her feet as she stepped forward, only making it one step before Rodney raised his arm with a commanding groan.

"Don't be a pussy. I said I'm not going to hurt you," said Mikala. The way she flailed her arms and ignored the spittle shooting from her mouth gave away the truth.

"You killed her. Why? Why did you do that?"

"I don't know. I just did, Rodney." She dropped her attention to her mother's body. Gratification seeped into her veins as she looked into those open eyes. No more mocking stares or demanding looks were going to come. She was finally free.

"At least now I can be myself," she said, scanning the body again. Even in death, her petite, fit frame was an open mockery. The ribbon, still wrapped tightly around her neck, was the only reprieve from Mikala's frustrations. "She can't tell me what to do anymore. I'll make my own decisions."

"She's your mom," Rodney said, his voice no more than a whisper.

Mikala's long black ponytail flowed through the air with the force of a whip. "You saw it! Don't you dare say that to me."

"She loved you," Rodney said, clearly trying to find his courage. "It was a stupid present. You didn't need to kill her."

"Don't give me that crap."

He stepped away from the wall, moving to the other side of the coffee table. Three mugs of hot chocolate rested on holiday themed cup holders with marshmallows still melting inside. "You could go to jail for this, Mikala."

It hit her like a train running over a coin. He was right. She dropped the gift on the floor as her hands shook, contemplating what to do. With eyes darting from side to side she took in her surroundings. A pristinely decorated home with perfect holiday cheer suddenly evaporated in her mind, only to be replaced with dreary concrete walls and bared doors. She couldn't go to jail. She just couldn't.

"What do I do?" she asked, showing her first sign of dread. A minor indication, but at least it was something. "I don't know what to do."

"Babe, I don't think there's anything you can do. This can't stay hidden. You have to turn yourself in."

The room suddenly molded into a shield of tears. So many things happening at once, and her emotions were out of whack. Her mother deserved this fate. There was no doubting that. The gift at her feet was irrefutable evidence, but fear about the consequences overcame her.