Renhala (47 page)

Chapter 59

Released

Since I currently have no cell phone, I must wait to call Gunthreon back until I get home. Jenna fills me in on her
whole
conversation with him and mentions that he would like to give me back the key, for there is no word on how to destroy it, and after seeing a shaman, there is nothing harmful about it.

Next, I call Conner, asking him if he
’d like to come over and...maybe bring dinner with him. He agrees as I sigh, happy that I don’t have to leave the house to get food.

I feed my four babies multiple treats as they all play together, nicely, on my apartment floor. Even Kioto has taken a liking to the pups, letting them crawl over her and nip at her ears.

All bags and shoes get thrown on the floor as I sit on my couch. The corner of my eye picks up something new sitting on my coffee table. It’s Mortimer’s urn, sitting quietly next to my mom’s box. Beside that is the key. Ladimer must have dropped it off for Gunthreon.

I pick up the box, feeling and smelling the smooth wood. I shake it again, and it feels as though it’s empty—no noise and no weight. I place it back on my table.

Conner arrives with takeout Italian. The meatballs and garlic olive oil smell divine, but I cannot seem to concentrate on eating as I stare at the box, almost feeling my mom’s presence.

Jenna steals a peek inside a food container and sticks her finger in, catching a quick dab before I throw a towel at her head, knocking her over.

Conner stares at the urn on my table. I know he knows what it is, but he doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. His eyes wander to the box beside it. “Still can’t open it?” 

“Nope.”

As we eat at my coffee table, the strangest sensation crawls along my skin. I look up to both Jenna and Conner, who, presumably feel the same thing. Then the phone rings, loudly. I stand up, and as I reach the phone, I look at the caller ID, which reads “Cellular Call.” The number flashing on the screen is my smartphone’s. I’m suddenly afraid to answer the phone, so I decide to put it on speaker as I grip the phone with ungodly strength. I push the button. “Hello?”

“Hello?”

Oh my god.
“Mom?” My heart skips a beat.

“Kailey?”

That is when the phone disconnects, and her box starts glowing, ominously, triggered by the sound of her voice, and as it glows, a small keyhole appears in the wood. I walk to the box and, slowly, place the key in the keyhole. The box opens, and I reach in, withdrawing the treasure inside. It’s a highly-detailed, photograph-looking sketch of my mom, my father, and a child of about four years, the spitting image of my mom. My mom is covering her eyes, Devoten his mouth, and the child its ears.

“How could there be a picture of me in—”

“Kailey, it’s not you,” stutters Conner, his heart beating as loudly as my own.

It is then I notice a monogrammed “S” on the child’s p
ocket, and a blue wooden horse in his lap. I mumble a simple, “Who?” as my thoughts travel back to the day of my mom’s death and her final words—
her words of a brother.

The phone falls from my hand and knocks over Mortimer’s ashes, spilling them over Conner’s hand, Je
nna, and the box and key. I hear a dial tone as I hold the phone, and the last thing I see is Conner’s face contorting in agony as I fall into the darkness that has become so familiar.

Sudo-abominor awakes
with a vengeance.

‘Bout the author
, Amy Joy Lutchen:

Born in Chicago, Illinois, a few days prior to watching her first movie, at a drive-in theater. Yes, drive-in theater. And yes, her mother believed she was possessed by the devil after said first movie.

G
rew up in the Chicagoland area and graduated from the University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana, where she simply became a number, but decided it was a good number.

Loves cooking (mostly candy-cooking), gardening (putting holes in the ground for perennials, DONE!), designing and constructing jewelry (everything from silversmithing to lampworking), and living with her wonderful husband, two children, black Labrador, and frog—and maybe even the chipmunk family that likes to destroy her aforementioned perennials.

Also hopes that you enjoy her writings, and won’t criticize her for her aversion of eating things in multiples of three.

Blogspot:
http://www.renhala.com

Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/karmiccandy