The Places Alec Forgot

Chapter Ten

I never got to ask Mother what I needed to ask her. I didn't realize this until the day had come to a close and Mother's light was already off in her bedroom. At that point, I had no other choice but to wait. Getting her upset again is not something that she deserves. I don't want to tear this family apart.

The next day, I find Mother sitting out in the living room. She has a book in her hands, but her fingers are obscuring the title. The cover is purple and black and blue, like space but smoother, less dusty.

"Hi, Mama," I say, walking out to her. I have a light jacket and my shoes on. I pat my pocket to make sure that I have my phone; there it is, and I know it's on this time.

Mother looks up, closing the book on her finger. "Hi, Alec. Going somewhere?" She's skeptical, but what can I say about that?

"A walk," I reply, quickly adding, "Just up on the path outside the house. Just to the river."

She nods. "Do you have your phone? Is it on?"

I show her the item in question, show her that it's on. "I won't be too long, Mama. I'll be back in a few hours, maybe two, tops. I promise." I'm not lying to her this time. After last night, I don't ever want to lie to her again.

I hope that fire never comes back.

"Alright. Don't go any further than the river. Is that clear?" She isn't angry with her words, surprisingly. She isn't really firm, either.

It's just another rule in the house. Don't go too far, and don't stay out too late. The specifications of her rules are blurry at best.

"Yes, Mama."

"I love you," she says, gesturing for me to come close. I do, and she kisses my cheek.

"I love you," I reply, and I pull back, leaving the house.

The jacket I put on is thin, nothing more than a windbreaker, in truth, and I'm lucky that it isn't too warm for it. July tends to be an odd time in Blue River, just a little colder than the state average predicts.

I wonder if that's because something bad happened here, a long time ago, and just like Mother said, it holds on tight and leaves a chill.

I think our history classes would have said something about that, though. There's nothing. We talked about miners, once. They came from the east, and they were searching for precious metals. I doubt they found anything. According to my teachers, the miners left quickly - within the year quickly.

That's nothing bad, though. That isn't a devastating horror. I could count the deaths on one hand of those that died within the months they were in Blue River.

There are no buildings even left over from the miners. They left nothing behind. There was one building at the time, way back when they came and settled down for those few months, but it's gone now. Torn down. Not safe for the public, I assume.

I never liked history anyways.

I walk up to the path that leads beside our house. It's up a small hill, one thick with trees and underbrush. Our house is tucked into one of the few pockets of forest in Blue River; the few woods we have are dense and thick and dark, but I've never associated them to be dangerous. I've been taking this same walk for years.

It isn't very far uphill before the ground flattens out again. There are very shallow divots in the ground to the left and of the center of the path. Old waggons came through here; that's what Michael told me once, when I walked him down here. I doubt that.

It's mid afternoon, but the ground still feels wet from the morning dew. Maybe it rained when I wasn't paying any attention.

I get about forty feet from home when I finally decide to pull out my phone. The background mocks me. It's a picture of Michael. He took it a few weeks ago, stealing my phone to take several stupid images of himself. He stuck one as the lock screen, and I left it there. He's sweet, for however much of a moron he can be sometimes.