Teaching Willow: Session Four

Teaching

Willow

Session Four

A serial novel

By

Paige James

Amazon Edition

Copyright 2014, Paige James

Cover photo by Forewer

www.shutterstock.com

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This book is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.  The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

FROM THE HEART

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Teaching Willow

Session Four Description

After everything we’ve been through, after all that has happened, it’s finally time for us to come clean.  Both of us.  

There’s so much I want to tell him, and so much I want to know. But there’s still one thing that could ruin it all, one thing that could change the game completely. 

How can I put this weight on him?  But then again, how can I not?  He deserves to know.

ONE- WILLOW

“Can I get you some coffee?” Ebon’s mother asks politely, looking over her shoulder as she walks toward the living room.

I smile.  “Thank you, but I don’t want to be a bother. I really just came to speak to Ebon.  Is he here?”

“Yes, yes,” she assures me.  “He’s just stepped into the shower.  You’ve got plenty of time for coffee and a nice chat with me.”

She smiles, a toothy gesture that makes me the tiniest bit uncomfortable.  It has an unidentifiable quality to it that somehow reminds me of a shark grinning.  But still, this is Ebon’s mother…and she’s here…I should probably just be polite and wait for him.

“That would be great then.   Thank you.”

She nods toward the couch and I take a seat while she putters around in the kitchen, opening and closing several cabinets, obviously in search of the cups, before I hear the clink of ceramic hitting granite when she sets them on the counter.  In the quiet, as I assume she’s pouring our coffee, I note that I don’t hear the water running.   Maybe Ebon will make an appearance soon and I can get this over with.  Prolonging the showdown feels an awful lot like torture at this point.

When Ebon’s mother appears in the kitchen doorway, carrying two steaming mugs, I smile again, rising to take one and then resuming my seat. She sits at the other end of the couch, closer to me than the end, with barely an entire cushion between us, and she angles her body toward mine.  She smiles again and, again, it makes me uneasy.

“I hope cream and sugar is okay,” she says, tipping her head to indicate my beverage.  Although it’s a bit odd to ask that
after the fact,
it’s not totally unacceptable.

“It’s fine,” I say, taking a sip to prove my point.  It has an odd flavor, like it has a dash of something carbonated in it.  I wonder if maybe the cream she used is turning bad, but it’s nothing so awful that I can’t choke it down to be polite.

“So, tell me all about how you two met.” 

It’s a normal enough question.  It’s only the anxious, almost ecstatic way she seems to be anticipating my answer that strikes me as a tad bizarre.

I laugh nervously and try to be as casual and vague as possible.  “We met through my sister, actually.  At a party.”

“Ahhh,” she says, nodding.  “And you are also his student, isn’t that right?”

My cheeks burn with my flush.  I nod, taking another sip of coffee rather than commenting.

She proceeds with her questions as we sip our drinks.  Nothing too out of the ordinary, I suppose.  For a nosey mother, that is.  I find some of her queries a bit invasive, but I skirt around them as best I can.

When the clock on the wall ticks the half hour mark, I glance toward Ebon’s bedroom, wondering what’s taking him so long.  I have to squint to focus on the dark space beyond the doorway.

“Do you think Ebon will be out soon?” I ask, my lids feeling heavy all of a sudden.

I drag my eyes back to Ebon’s mother, my focus sluggish.  Her lips are still curved in that peculiar way she has.  “I know about what happened,” she confesses, her smile widening.  “I can appreciate a girl who will go to any lengths for her man.  Noah may not understand it, but I sure do.  You’re my kinda woman, Willow, which makes what I have to do a damn shame.”

Although there is a touch of strange remorse in her expression, it’s her eyes that give me pause.  There’s a coldness in them now, like someone has taken off a pleasant mask and now sits before me, openly antagonistic.

“Pardon me?”  I ask, confused as much by her subtle shift in demeanor as her puzzling words.  My mind struggles to wrap around it.  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Of course you know what I mean,” she replies sharply, her brows drawing into a frown of irritation.  “I know what you’ve been playing at. I know Noah was fired because you tricked him.  I’ve been watching you, little miss.  I might be pissed off enough to cut that pretty face of yours if I didn’t need you.”

Mild alarm registers in my brain.  Some part of me knows that I’m in trouble, but it’s as though the threat is far, far away.

“Wh-who is Noah?”

“You’d know him as Ebon.  He did that, changed his name, thinking we’d never be able to find him, but you know as well as I that you can’t escape family.  A woman will go to great lengths to get what she wants, to help her man.”

The room is spinning behind Ebon’s mother’s head, and I’m so tired and so dizzy I can barely remain upright.

“I’m not…I don’t think I’m feeling very well,” I explain, attempting to rise from the sofa.  When my legs balk at the weight of my body, Ebon’s mother stands to help me.

“Maybe you should lie down.”

Something inside me is screaming for me to run, but my legs are so tired and the voice seems to be coming at me through a long tunnel that’s too intimidating for me to delve into in my exhausted state. 

I feel helpless as Ebon’s mother leads me to his bedroom.  Several times, my knees buckle and she keeps me upright.  When I reach the foot of the mattress, she turns me to face her and then pushes me back. Hard.

I fall flat onto Ebon’s bed, bouncing lifelessly, like a rag doll. I turn my head to watch his mother as she comes around to my left, grabbing my wrist and dragging me up the bed.  A dull pain registers in my still-healing shoulder, but my tongue is so thick I can’t eke out an objection to her rough handling.

The real struggle comes when I see her flick on the bedside lamp, illuminating a syringe and three vials on the wooden surface of the nightstand.  Two are clear and taller than the one short, brown vial.  I watch, lethargically horrified, as she unwraps the syringe and draws up something from one of the clear vials.  When she starts toward me with it, I feel the urge to scramble away, to run, but the impulse is vague, not nearly enough to innervate my uncooperative muscles. 

“No,” I manage to force out past the limp piece of flesh my tongue has become.  I feel pressure behind one eye before the tickle of a warm tear makes a track down my temple and into my hair. It’s the last thing I see before a sharky grin and the prick of a needle usher me into oblivion.

TWO- EBON

It’s hard not to panic when, in some ways, I have every reason to panic.  But I know panic won’t do me any good.  And, more importantly, it won’t do Willow any good. I have to be smart about this.

I haven’t been able to reach her for hours.  I started calling as soon as I got into the cab.  She didn’t answer the number that I have for her, so I started calling what I thought was Sage’s number.  She won’t answer that one either.  At least I hope it’s that she
won’t
answer rather than that she
can’t.
I even tried what I thought was the old number that I had for Sage, the
real
Sage, but there’s no answer at that one either.  My guess is that I’m remembering it incorrectly.  I can’t confirm that because I replaced it with the new number I thought was hers.  A generic voice mail message comes on when I dial it. I’ve left several messages, so if she’s getting them then she’s ignoring me, even though I’ve let her know that her sister is in danger.  That or the danger to Willow is
why
she’s ignoring me. I get the feeling there’s no love lost between Sage and Willow.

I’m afraid to call the police. I’m afraid the authorities might force my mother’s hand and she’ll do something reckless, something that could permanently harm or even end Willow’s life.  So that’s the one avenue I haven’t taken.

I’ve been comforting myself with logic.  Whatever my mother is up to, she’s doing it because she needs my help.  Destroying her only leverage would be counterproductive, so I’m calming myself with that rationale.  Calming myself and biding my time.

Maybe nothing’s wrong. Maybe my mother and I crossed paths in the air. Maybe she’s weeping over her dead husband in Las Vegas as I fly across the country.  Maybe.  But if not, if she’s done something to Willow, however slight, she’s about to feel the holy-hell wrath of her son raining down upon her head.  And while that might not have scared her twelve years ago, she damn well better fear me now.  I’ve got nothing to lose this time.  My father is dead, my career is over and I’ve already been essentially imprisoned once.  The only thing she can take from me is Willow and she better have a good plan for being able to accomplish that with my fingers wrapped around her fucking throat.

My leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since I left Vegas.  The lady that sat next to me on the plane glanced down at it several times, but when she met my eyes, she smiled politely and held her tongue.  It’s entirely possible that I have the look of desperation about me, a look that warns people not to push me today. Not. Today.

I press down on the gas pedal a little harder, my left leg still jittering as I take the exit ramp at breakneck speed.  I’m on my way to Willow’s.  She shouldn’t have left for school yet (if she even planned to go), so there’s no reason she shouldn’t be there. 

Unless something is wrong.  And if that’s the case, it’s just a matter of letting my mother find me, which I know she will.  She can’t very well work her devilish wiles on me if she can’t find me.

When I finally reach Willow and Sage’s apartment, I sigh in irritation.  Willow’s recently-repaired car is gone, as is Sage’s.  I know it’s a waste of time to go to the door and pound it so hard the window beside it rattles.  Yet, that’s exactly what I do anyway.  And, as I suspected, it’s to no avail.

I stomp back down to my car, my anxiety level rising with every step I take. I had really hoped I’d find her and that would be it.  Crisis averted.  I rationalize that if Willow had been abducted or somehow coerced, surely she wouldn’t be in her car.  That makes no sense. 

I’m able to let out a sigh of relief, albeit a small one, as I start my car and steer it home.  It’s when I get there and see Willow’s car parked along the road that my apprehension returns tenfold.

I don’t even bother with my bag; I leap out of the car and run up the walk.  I stare at the front door.  Dread spreads through me like malignant vines, wrapping around my every thought and nerve.  Something tells me the door is unlocked. That same “something” tells me I’m not going to like what I find behind it.

My hand is shaking as I reach for the knob, adrenaline flooding my bloodstream.  The time for running from my past is over.  I flew to Vegas to face my father.  My mother is the last loose end to tie up. I have to end this.  Today. Today is the day that I take care of my problems and move on.  For real.

The knob turns easily.  As I suspected, it’s unlocked.  I know that I locked it before I left, which just confirms what my gut was already telling me.  My mother is here.  And she’s got Willow.

Calmly, I push open the door and stop, watching.  Waiting.  Listening.  I hear nothing but the gush of blood as it rushes behind my ear drums.

For at least thirty seconds, I stand in the doorway.  When I finally step over the threshold, it’s to see my mother sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at me.  She’s waiting, too.

Her smile is as hideous as any snake’s and her bite, I know, is just as venomous.  I turn to face her, not moving any farther into the room.  “Mom.”

She nods, her eyes never leaving mine.  “Noah.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“That’s your name.”

“No, it’s not.  Noah is dead.  He died ten years ago when I got out of Juvie.”

“That was smart. You thought you’d fixed all your problems, didn’t you?  Changing your name, moving away…”

“Evidently I did not.”  My mother laughs, a satisfied sound that grates on my nerves.  “However, I won’t be so naïve this time.”

That dims her confidence somewhat.  She needs to know that dealing with me will be much different than dealing with a scared kid who she managed to corner.  I’m really not Noah anymore. I’m Ebon.  And Ebon fights back.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we.”

Without taking my eyes off hers, I reach out to grip the edge of the door and slam it shut.  I see her react.  She tries to hide it.  Controls it quite well.  But still I see the twitch.   It’s almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“Where is she?”

“She’s safe.”  A pause.  A smile.  “For the moment.”

Behind my mask, my temper starts to boil.  “What do you want?”

“Your father is in a jam. He needs your help.”  When I make no response, she continues.  “I’m here to see that you give it.”

“Is that right?”  She doesn’t reply.  “And just what did you have in mind?”

“Well,” she begins, just as conversational as I am.  “It seems that a hooker who tricked him into sleeping with her has decided that she’s not a hooker anymore and that she, uh, how did she put it?  ‘Objected,’ but he wouldn’t listen.”

I nod, scratching my chin in a gesture that belies the tension in my muscles. I’m ready to strike the instant I find out where Willow is and what kind of shape she’s in.  “This sounds vaguely familiar.  Go on.”

“You’re the one with the record.  I figure if you come forward and confess to what that drug-deluded bitch said happened to her, we can make this all go away.”

“We?  We can make this all go away.”

“That’s right.”

“Go away for
Dad,”
I clarify.

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

“Actually,  you didn’t specify, but history has taught me how to read between the lines when it comes to you.”

“Good,” she says, settling into her perceived powers of persuasion.  “So you’ll come without me having to hurt anybody?”

“By ‘anybody’ you mean, Willow, correct?  Just so I know what I’m dealing with.”

“You would be correct,” she answers snidely.

“Well, I’d need to see her first.  You surely can’t expect me to just take your word for it.”

“Why not?  We’ve been through this before. You know the drill.”

“Yes, we have. Still, I want to see her.”

“What’s the matter,
Noah? 
Don’t you trust me?”

I smile, a fairly genuine one at that.  “Not as far as I could pick up your trashy ass and throw it onto the train tracks.”

My mother narrows her eyes on me, as though she’s beginning to suspect that my easy acquiescence is a ploy.  I hold her stare.  In the end, I’m betting on her arrogance and drug-rotted mind to give me the edge that I need.

Finally, she tips her head to her right and says, “Spare bedroom.”

Leery of her, I walk slowly toward the short hall that leads to the second bedroom, my eyes not leaving hers until I’m nearly behind her.  When I have to let her out of my sight to check the bedroom, I hear her scuffle.

 The instant I see that Willow is not in the spare bedroom, I whirl to catch the backside of my mother as she darts into my bedroom.  I race down the hall and around the back of the sofa.

I stop dead in my tracks in the doorway of my bedroom when I see her standing at the side of the bed holding a needle to the side of Willow’s neck. Her thumb is on the plunger, ready to dose her if I make another move.

“You fucking bitch,” I sneer.

She laughs. “That’s more like it.  I’da been disappointed if you hadn’t put up a fight, Noah.  You’re a Snell and Snells don’t give up so easy.”

“I’m not a Snell. I’m a Daniels and you have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“Oh, I know
exactly
what I’ve done.  And what I’ll
do
if you don’t go turn yourself in to the local police right this minute and confess to what you done out in Vegas.  It’s as simple as that. You confess, I let the girl go.”

“How do I know she’s not dead?” I almost don’t get the words out.  The thought of Willow being dead, of her lying right there in front of me, on
my bed,
her life stolen by my selfishness…
fuck! 

I swear to myself that if we get through this, I’ll make it right for her. 

My stomach twists into such a hard knot, I feel like puking.

“Oh, she’s alive. I promise you that.”  As if to illustrate her point, she raises a knee and thumps it into Willow’s side. She makes a very low murmuring sound that constricts my chest like a steely fist.

“What did you give her?”

“Oh, I just dissolved a few roofies into a tablespoon of Pepsi and stirred it into her coffee.”

My heart lurches.  “A few?  How many did you give her?”  She doesn’t answer me at first and I see red. “How many, goddammit?”

“Not enough to kill her, but you’d better get to confessing, son.  That’s not all I gave her and if much of what’s in this syringe hits her bloodstream, she’ll be dead before you can dial the ambulance.”

I grit my teeth, making myself calm down before I do something stupid.  “Will she be dead before I can strangle you?  Will she be dead before I can bash your fucking head into that nightstand?”

My fists are clenched so tight, my fingers ache.  My arms are trembling and my legs are so taut with the need to race across the room and tear into her, they feel frozen.

“There’s only one way to find out,” she says quietly, pressing the needle in far enough to penetrate the skin.  Willow reacts, her body flinching the tiniest bit, like she’s trying to shy away from the needle.

The next fifteen seconds happen so fast yet so slowly that they’re a blur of slow motion snapshots. 

I gasp when Willow moves. 

Flash.

My mother jerks.

Flash.

The needle slips away from Willow’s skin for a heartbeat. 

Flash.

My mother scrambles to regain her delicate position.

Flash.

The purely instinctive part of my mind registers my one (and possibly my only) opportunity to make a move.  Without hesitation, I take one long step and throw myself across the end of the bed at my mother, my hand reaching out to grab hers as I crash into her.

I hear her shriek.  I smell her fetid breath.  I feel her hit the nightstand.

Noises run together in the frenzy of our struggle.  The crack of the breaking lamp, the growl of my vicious mother, the snap of her bones as I wrestle the needle from her fingers.  The cry of her agony.

She crumbles into the corner, screaming and crying, as I lever myself off her.  I’m blinded by rage.  I take the needle and turn it toward her.  I grab a handful of her hair and yank until I feel it give.  I jerk her head back and bring the point of the syringe to within a centimeter of her watering eye.

Through clenched jaw and gritted teeth, I address her. I warn her for the last time.  “I could fucking
kill you
right now!  Do you understand that?  I could jam this in your eye,” I explain, spit flying as I pull her head to one side, exposing her neck, “Or I could empty it into your vile blood.”

She’s perfectly still except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.  I lower the needle and drop my face to within an inch of hers, our noses almost touching.  “Know this,
mother,
if I ever,
ever
lay fucking eyes on you again, I will take your life. I will take your life and I won’t give you another thought for as long as I live.  You are going to prison, you bitch.  You can rot in there as far as I’m concerned,” I say, my own chest heaving as I let her hair go and pull away. I want to see her full expression for this part.  “You’ll have all day and all night for the rest of your miserable years to think about how you were here, trying to make your
son
fight your worthless husband’s battles while he was in Las Vegas dying, drawing his last breath while a hooker sucked his dick.”