it. It sounded like something he had just admitted to himself.
I had to close my eyes to concentrate. If I opened them, there were weird dancing
things
in front of me. Not lights, but sort of muted color, shadowy spots that flicked and flittered.
He had clicked off the radio and I felt him pacing across the ground over me. I sensed he was reaching critical mass. He needed another nudge.
Pulling the walkie close to my mouth and clicking the button felt like it took a year. Things swirled and whirled and I drummed my heels again so the pain would keep me from passing out. “What do you mean?”
He popped the walkie to life, but waited a long time to talk. Or was time going tilty?
“This year Mom started in on David about the gay thing. ‘Why don't you date? You never have a girlfriend. You've never gone on a single date. I think you're queer. That's it. I've got a sissy boy on my hands. My whole life was ruined by a little pervert.’
“David would call asking me what to do. I admit, I was sick of the calls. Couldn't I have a life of my own without David pulling me back into that horror show all the time? I'd tell him to let her blow off steam, to just stay out of her way. Quit making yourself such a target, I told him.
“But he said she followed him around the house, screaming like a maniac, nagging and sniping at him. She was pissed because his grades were bad. She'd spew at him about being gay, not having dates, and ruining her life. Over and over.
“And that's where you came in,” Kyle said.
Something was wrong with me. Really bad wrong. My legs were twitching and Kyle was fading in and out, syncing with the lights behind my eyes that dimmed then glared. The pounding in my head kept the backbeat. No matter how Zen I tried to go, my breath was coming fast, shallow but rapid. On TV hospital dramas, that's never good news.
“Hey, what's with you?”
“Sorry.” I sounded like a sick frog. I tried to slide my tongue over my lips. Like a nail file over rocks. “How did I get in the picture?”
“If David got a date with someone—not just any someone, but someone Mom would approve of—she would back off. How could she come down on him if he dangled a pretty girl in front of her?”
I heard expelled air in the radio. It hurt my ears and made my head roar. “I told him just what he had to look for, the type. She had to be like Mom. She had to be…it had to be someone that was so much like her that she had to think David finally stepped up. She would give him her approval if he picked her clone for a date. God, I was such a moron.”
It took me a minute. Because my synapses were dying or because no one wants to see their ugly side?
“That's why he picked me,” I whispered. My eyes burned but there were no tears there.
“I'm her. I'm your mother.”
BEN
Ben's first impression of the woman at the door was that she might have been pretty once. Before disappointment hardened her face into angles and points.
She backed away, gesturing them in, and then preceded them into a large room, leaving Scott to close the door. Seating herself in the middle of the couch, she didn't ask the men to sit.
Ben knew a power play when presented with one and sat in a leather club chair and pointed Scott toward another. Mrs. Kirby crossed her legs.
“David's case is closed. It was ruled a suicide.”
“I understand that, Mrs. Kirby. Detective Michaels and I are sorry for your loss and don't intrude on your time lightly. But, there's been a kidnapping, and we need some information from you and we'd like to talk to your son Kyle.”
“Kyle.” She waved dismissively. “Who knows where he is? He's been in and out. Mostly out. I can't keep track. We mourn differently. He does everything alone.”
Ben stared down at his notebook. How had the investigating officer characterized her? A piece of work?
“Mrs. Kirby, did David know Cass McBride?”
She laughed. Or barked. Ben wasn't quite sure what it was.
“For
I had to close my eyes to concentrate. If I opened them, there were weird dancing
things
in front of me. Not lights, but sort of muted color, shadowy spots that flicked and flittered.
He had clicked off the radio and I felt him pacing across the ground over me. I sensed he was reaching critical mass. He needed another nudge.
Pulling the walkie close to my mouth and clicking the button felt like it took a year. Things swirled and whirled and I drummed my heels again so the pain would keep me from passing out. “What do you mean?”
He popped the walkie to life, but waited a long time to talk. Or was time going tilty?
“This year Mom started in on David about the gay thing. ‘Why don't you date? You never have a girlfriend. You've never gone on a single date. I think you're queer. That's it. I've got a sissy boy on my hands. My whole life was ruined by a little pervert.’
“David would call asking me what to do. I admit, I was sick of the calls. Couldn't I have a life of my own without David pulling me back into that horror show all the time? I'd tell him to let her blow off steam, to just stay out of her way. Quit making yourself such a target, I told him.
“But he said she followed him around the house, screaming like a maniac, nagging and sniping at him. She was pissed because his grades were bad. She'd spew at him about being gay, not having dates, and ruining her life. Over and over.
“And that's where you came in,” Kyle said.
Something was wrong with me. Really bad wrong. My legs were twitching and Kyle was fading in and out, syncing with the lights behind my eyes that dimmed then glared. The pounding in my head kept the backbeat. No matter how Zen I tried to go, my breath was coming fast, shallow but rapid. On TV hospital dramas, that's never good news.
“Hey, what's with you?”
“Sorry.” I sounded like a sick frog. I tried to slide my tongue over my lips. Like a nail file over rocks. “How did I get in the picture?”
“If David got a date with someone—not just any someone, but someone Mom would approve of—she would back off. How could she come down on him if he dangled a pretty girl in front of her?”
I heard expelled air in the radio. It hurt my ears and made my head roar. “I told him just what he had to look for, the type. She had to be like Mom. She had to be…it had to be someone that was so much like her that she had to think David finally stepped up. She would give him her approval if he picked her clone for a date. God, I was such a moron.”
It took me a minute. Because my synapses were dying or because no one wants to see their ugly side?
“That's why he picked me,” I whispered. My eyes burned but there were no tears there.
“I'm her. I'm your mother.”
BEN
Ben's first impression of the woman at the door was that she might have been pretty once. Before disappointment hardened her face into angles and points.
She backed away, gesturing them in, and then preceded them into a large room, leaving Scott to close the door. Seating herself in the middle of the couch, she didn't ask the men to sit.
Ben knew a power play when presented with one and sat in a leather club chair and pointed Scott toward another. Mrs. Kirby crossed her legs.
“David's case is closed. It was ruled a suicide.”
“I understand that, Mrs. Kirby. Detective Michaels and I are sorry for your loss and don't intrude on your time lightly. But, there's been a kidnapping, and we need some information from you and we'd like to talk to your son Kyle.”
“Kyle.” She waved dismissively. “Who knows where he is? He's been in and out. Mostly out. I can't keep track. We mourn differently. He does everything alone.”
Ben stared down at his notebook. How had the investigating officer characterized her? A piece of work?
“Mrs. Kirby, did David know Cass McBride?”
She laughed. Or barked. Ben wasn't quite sure what it was.
“For
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