Mirror, Mirror (Book 2)

Chapter 11: The Ghost Girl

After passing Gargouille Lane, the pilgrimage to Camp Esterville is almost near, as Mr. Hamwood presses his left boot up against the gas pedal and steered on the open road. The sound of talking instantly died down when the passengers can smell the foul odor of sewer water and car exhaust pumping inside the broken air conditioner.

Watching the streets fly past her, Amelia presses her finger and creates a perfect horizontal line on the glass. Even though Amelia has been to the woods, she wondered what it was like living in an actual camp; what do people do in camp? Do they play games, and eat whatever crap is on the bushes?

Meanwhile, Oliver thought back to his mother, who was probably at work, organizing bookshelves. He can remember his mother's lovely smile when she talks to customers. Her blond hair would have been tied back in a messy ponytail, her brown eyes would sparkle as she talks about her favorite authors with her co-workers. 

Thinking about his mother made Oliver regret his decision on going to the field trip; he wished that he threw the paper away the minute he looked at it. 

But his mom wanted him to have fun; she made Oliver promise to call her and send her pictures of the trip. However, he feels guilty for not recruiting his mother; he wonders if Caitlin was at home filled with anger and bitterness.

"Hey Amelia," began Oliver. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yes, wearing black clothes will not make you look like Johnny Depp." 

The boy gives her a meaningful look.

"That's not what I meant, Amelia," he grumbled. 

"Okay," the vampire turns to him. "What do you want to say?"

Clearing his throat, Oliver asked if he had made a mistake of forcing his mother to sign the permission slip. 

"Of course not," Amelia frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I feel bad about leaving her alone," Oliver admitted. "She has no idea where Dad is, she doesn't have any friends, and I bet you three thousand dollars that she'll cry in her bedroom again."

Sorrowful, Amelia slips her fingers into his hand and gives him a dazzling smile. However, the boy didn't squeeze her hand or met her eyes.

"I think Mom is trapped," explained Oliver. "She keeps telling me that she's fine, but I know she isn't."

"Really?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he responded. "I think Mom is trapped in that house, I should have brung her along with us." 

"Hey," Amelia insisted. "Look at me."

When Oliver didn't, she strokes his right cheek with her index finger and said, "your mum doesn't want you to be worried about her; she just wants you to have a great time."

But Oliver shakes his head in skepticism.

"Amelia, we rarely spend time together," he explains bitterly. "Why does she want me to have a good time when all I do is shut her out?"

"Olly," Amelia sighed. "You don't shut her out: I have seen you taking care of her when you were only a toddler."

Although he was two years old, Oliver spends most of his time looking after his mother: helping her wash the dishes, cook, give her kisses, and pack lunches for himself and his mother. 

But by the time he returned home from school, Oliver goes to the bathroom to find his mother cutting herself over the bathroom sink. 

Tears filled her brown eyes as her pallid face stared down at the knife, which she held in her left hand. Desperate, Caitlin lingers the sharp kitchen knife over her slit arm, weeping immensely until she caught Oliver's traumatized face on the reflection of the glass.