Hellraisers by Alexander Gordon Smith Page A

and ruffled the dog’s fur, that big, wet tongue slobbering over his face.
    â€œYeah, yeah,” Marlow said, holding Donovan’s massive paw. “I know, I missed you too, boy. Where’s Mom?”
    There were noises in the kitchen, the clink of a glass.
    â€œMom?”
    â€œMarly?” His mom’s face appeared around the corner, smiling, and he walked over and wrapped her in his arms, feeling like he couldn’t hug her too hard or he might break her. She was a bag of bones wrapped in a velour jumpsuit, her hair unbrushed, her skin too loose on her face. A badly made doll. But she hugged him back as hard as her skinny arms would let her, her glass slopping booze over his T-shirt. When he finally let go she smiled at him again.
    â€œI was worried, sweetheart. You weren’t answering your phone. Where you been?”
    â€œNowhere,” he said, patting the dog as it limped in behind him. “Just out with Charlie. I crashed at his place. And I lost my phone.”
    â€œYou’re lying to me,” she said, walking across the tiny kitchen. There were bottles on the counter and it took her a couple of attempts before she found one that wasn’t empty, topping up her glass. His mom’s drunk wasn’t the kind that you could really notice—she never fell over, never started shouting and screaming, never really even slurred her words. But it was there, quiet, patient, like a parasite that controlled its host without them knowing.
    â€œNo, Mom, I—”
    â€œCharlie stopped by, yesterday evening,” she said, leaning on the counter and taking a sip. She swallowed, grimacing. “Said he was looking for you.”
    â€œYeah, um,” Marlow tried to find an excuse inside the storm of his head. “Well, we had this school thing, we were supposed to be working on together, research and stuff, and—”
    â€œAnd I got a call, from your principal.”
    Oh crap.
    â€œMom, it’s not my fault.”
    â€œI don’t want to hear it, Marlow,” she said. “You promised me.”
    â€œHe had it in for me, I could have been the model student and he still would have kicked me out.”
    â€œSo you didn’t scratch a … a nasty picture onto his car?”
    Marlow chewed his knuckle, shuffling uncomfortably. The dog whined, his tail hanging between his legs, his eyes big and wet and sad. Marlow tickled his ear, more to cover his shame than anything else.
    â€œIt was a rocket ship,” he muttered, too low for her to hear.
    â€œMarlow, you’re nearly sixteen. Why do you insist on acting like a child? This was your last chance. Your last chance. What about that was hard to understand?”
    She took a sip of her drink and smudged a tear away, her tiny body shuddering.
    â€œI don’t know what to do, Marly,” she said. “I don’t know what to do. I wish Danny was here, I wish your brother was here. He’d know.”
    It was like a slap to the face, and Marlow couldn’t help but turn to the photo on the wall. Danny grinned at him through his shades, his skin thick with dust, his teeth the brightest thing in the kitchen.
    â€œMom, please, it will be okay, I promise,” he said, his throat swelling—not asthma this time but tears, ready to explode out of him. He clamped down, feeling the sting in his eyes. “I promise.”
    â€œYou promise?” she said, tipping back the glass and emptying it in one swallow. “Promises and lies, Marlow. I can’t stand it. You sound just like him. ”
    She didn’t have to say who. She was talking about his dad, a man he’d never even met but whose every shortfall he seemed to share. The accusation turned his tears to anger.
    â€œI told you, it’s not my fault.”
    â€œYeah,” his mom said, fixing him with just about the coldest look he could imagine. “That was his line too. Right before he ran away.”
    He