Legacy In Fire (Book 1)

Ruby Red (Chap-7)

112 Cedilla Drive,

York Avenue,

IF YOU WANT YOUR MOTHER.

BE HERE.

That was the continuous mantra that stalked me, and was in every corner and crevice of my mind. It haunted and perturbed me to the point where I had need to afflict something, someone. I wanted to burn, something, anything...even me.

*****

I sat and reposed in the familiar; the idyll (or at least the closest to one I've ever partook in); my living room. My mother was in the kitchen, grubbing, making one her signature meals: mac and cheese (she couldn't cook to save her life). I was lying in the couch with a book in my hands, my stomach quarrelling, cursing my mom very vulgarly if I might add.

I got up from my couch and strode to the kitchen. My mom was around the stove, her back turned to me, stirring resolutely (maybe she was aiming for a trophy? I don't know).

"Mom," I whined, "why aren't you finished yet?" I tapped the countertop vociferously to get her attention.

Her back stayed turned to me.

"Mom!" I squalled, "I'm hungry!"

She did not turn around.

I sauntered to her, my shoulders slumped, and my face, one drawn annoyed. I reached out for her and grasped her hand; she was uncharacteristically warm.

She turned around and I was taken aback, completely galvanized. I looked around me, and I was inexplicably at the other side of the room.

My mom's appearance differed, not greatly, but it did. Her hair was the same; platinum blond and it casted a sempiternal glow that limned her face stunningly. Her pallor had an exceptional luster. She was as beautiful as the light that scintillated off a razor blade's edge; beautiful, deadly and unnervingly alluring.

She was staring at me, intently, with eyes, not the homey brown that I was accustomed to, that I loved, but with flames and pain and hurt. Eyes of ruby, red and angry, yet I saw the familiar peace and sanctity in them, hidden, yes, but I saw it.

Ruby, red. Ruby...like my mother's name.

*****

Max shook me gently awake, his face still held the reluctance in bringing me here, but it also wore determination, an unwavering protection of me that I haven't seen before.

"We're here." He said. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

I rolled my eyes at him as I walked through the door he held open.

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

It was night, and we were in some parking lot delimited by many a dwarf trees. It wasn't really dark, and a cool breeze was ever noticeable in the area.

"Go to the address I presume." He said, "It's a short ways down the road."

The walk to the domicile was nerve-racking. My mind was on overdrive. My mom could be in there. She could be hurt. She could be just fine. This could be a practical joke. But this couldn't be a practical joke.

Also, the less sane, and more novel nefarious thoughts like: I could twist them like pretzels, until they bled all of their insides out, I could skin them and then throw them in lemon juice and the persistent burn, burn, burn that racked my nerves.