The Phantom of Scranton Hill

30

That night, Justine had managed to drag his soundless body up a flight of stairs and to his bed, tucking him in successfully before planting a goodnight kiss on his forehead. She bid him a silent farewell, lingering at his door, and left, letting the cool, night air consume her as she entered the outside.

The night was dark, and it had to have been around midnight. Chills swept up the streets and breezes rustled the trees. It was nearly silent with the exception of the pestering wind. It was mid October, autumn. It was always cool during that time in Scranton. The entire East Coast was; snow was just around the corner.

Once again, she had to take the bus. Justine stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and began walking to the nearest station. Every now and again, she would turn her head to look over her shoulder, making sure that no one was on her trail.

She waited for about fifteen minutes on the bench, shivering, until the bus finally arrived. It was the last trip of the night, the bus driver yawning as she saw the familiar face. Justine smiled and hopped into the unoccupied vehicle.

"I'd like to go home, please," Justine told the lady, her puffy, curled hair grayer than the last time Justine saw her.

"Now, young lady, where were you this late at night," Mrs. Johnson questioned, though she was more than happy to see her favorite little girl.

"Oh, I was just visiting a friend," Justine shared, some truth in her statement.

"Mhm." Mrs. Johnson seemed suspicious of the so-called 'friend' and chuckled to herself, assuming that it was a boy. She wasn't wrong. And Justine took a seat in the back, making herself comfortable for the ride home.

Justine would have fallen asleep if the driver hadn't been humming along to the radio which blasted the latest pop culture hits. Justine always preferred her mother's music, songs from the eighties and nineties. She thought that there was more meaning behind them, whereas today, the lyrics were centered around the same trait: promiscuity. Justine anxiously waited for the ride to end. She felt as though she was being taken to her execution.

Good things happen to good people, she told herself, thanking and tipping Mrs. Johnson for her services, hoping that such an act would not go unseen by the gods and the wrath of her mother could be avoided. Or at least postponed to a later date. But she didn't even have to walk through the door for it to start.

Justine approached the porch slowly, accidentally triggering the motion lights that hung on each side of the tall, gray door. The curtain on the inside remained closed, shielding the interior of the house through the glass window, but she still heard the lock click as the knob twisted, revealing an extremely disappointed woman standing in its place.

Her mother had her hands placed firmly on her hips, a stern glow of fire in her eyes and an unmistakable frown rested upon her face. Justine felt the murderous emotions radiate off of the woman as she stood on the deck before her. She would have ran back to Dax in a heartbeat, but it was too late to turn back now. She was in too deep.

She was more than angry, furious, and of course, she wouldn't let Justine in unless she told her where she was. Even if her daughter froze in the frigid night air that stung her skin.

"You wouldn't believe me," Justine pleaded, looking down at the floor to try and gain some pity points.

Her mother sighed, grabbing her wrist and leading her to the couch. Once they sat opposite the other, her mother made a suggestion. "Why don't we have a talk." Skeptically, Justine nodded, nice and slow. "You haven't been the same since Daxius died, and I understand that. But as your mother, I can't let that change you."