What Has Mother Done?

by Barbara Petty

  Infuriated by this arrogance, and without thinking that she was putting herself within Mattie’s reach, Thea stepped in and started to attack, raining punches on her opponent’s face and arms.

  Mattie staggered back, a look of astonishment on her face. A small cut had opened near her mouth, and she wiped at it with the back of her hand. She said something unintelligible, almost a growl.

  Thea could hear Mother’s growing ever-more-hysterical screams, sending more adrenaline surging through her. She reached for a stack of hefty books from a nearby shelf and began heaving them at Mattie, aiming for her head.

  Mattie ducked and blocked and swatted the books away. But one of them, a thick old schoolbook, caught her on the side of the head, knocking her hat and glasses off as the book’s sharp corner cut into her temple. A trickle of blood appeared, and her eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment.

  Thea caught her breath, looking around to see what else she could throw at Mattie. She was reaching out for a cracked china pitcher, when Mattie came after her in a flying tackle. They both went down, with the bigger woman’s massive weight on top of Thea, crushing her. Mattie’s hands went for her throat, tightening, choking.

  Mattie’s fingers were like the jaws of a rabid animal, digging into flesh, crushing her airway. Thea felt herself starting to weaken, to fade away. Dying...dying. Can’t save Mother... But the red haze filled her vision again, and it was as if she had peered into her own grave and said: Not yet! Twisting and torqueing her body, she forced Mattie to let go of her neck just a bit. But it was enough. She coughed, then found a spurt of strength to wrench her right hand free from under Mattie’s oppressive mass.

  Gasping for air, Thea reached up with her hand, making her fingers into a claw. With all the strength she could muster, she dug them deep into Mattie’s left eye socket. Mattie wrenched her hands from Thea’s throat, and tried to pull Thea’s hand away, Thea sunk her teeth into first one forearm and then the other, until she tasted blood—Mattie’s blood. She was rewarded with howls of pain. She pushed her fingernails deeper into the eyeball until she felt the sclera burst.

  Mattie shrieked and fell back, her body rolling off so Thea could shove herself out from underneath her. She’d pulled away her bloodied hand from Mattie’s eye and spat out the blood in her mouth. The other woman was writhing in anguish, her hands clutching at her injured eye, with her weight on Thea’s coat, holding her back. Thea shrugged out of her coat and dove at Mattie’s chest, determined to grab the key to the trunk. Her mother’s cries were already growing weaker.

  Mattie tried to push her away with one hand, but blood was pouring from her ruined eye and she was weakening. Thea flailed at her with her right hand and with her left ripped at the front of Mattie’s blouse. She could see the key sticking up from the bra and grabbed for it—her fingers slipping on its sweat-covered surface. She stuck her fingernails into the filigreed bow of the key and managed to jerk it out from between Mattie’s breasts.

  She pushed herself to her feet, swaying from her exertions. Holding the key clutched in her fist, she started to back toward the trunk, keeping her eyes on Mattie.

  Mattie rolled onto her side and grabbed at Thea’s coat, scrunching it up and using it to stanch her bleeding eye. “Blind! I’m blind!” she screamed, twisting her body in a spasm of pain.

  Thea reached the trunk and stabbed the key into the lock. It creaked open and she tugged at the lid. Inside, Mother was curled up in a fetal position, her face damp with tears, and a strong smell of urine rising from her body.

  But she was still; a grimace of agony was frozen on her face.

  “No!” Thea screamed. “No! No!” She was too late. Mother was dead.

  She hadn’t saved her. Beryl was dead, and now Mother was, too.

  Her instinct was to climb into the trunk, wrap herself around her mother’s body and pull the lid down on top of them. There was no point in going on. Her life was over. Everyone in her family was dead, she might as well be, too.

  She bent down, reached out for her mother’s body, and felt rather than heard a gasp.

  Hope burst through her. Was Mother alive?

  Another gasp and then a moan escaped from Mother’s mouth.

  Hallelujah! Tears of gratitude filled Thea’s eyes.

  With infinite tenderness, she lifted her mother’s body out of the trunk, amazed at how light she felt. Thank God for adrenaline. It seemed to have turned her into Wonder Woman.

  Mother appeared to be gaining consciousness, but she still hadn’t spoken. Did she even know what was happening to her? That she had nearly died?

  Mattie’s cries were sounding more and more maniacal. Thea turned, and realized Mattie had found the matches Thea had stuffed into her coat pocket on the way upstairs.

  “Mine!” Mattie bellowed, striking a match. “Mine!”

  “No,” Thea said, her voice quavering with relief, “mine.” She leaned her head toward her mother and kissed her on the forehead. Holding her close, she put her down and began to stagger toward the stairs.

  Mattie tossed the match onto a pile of newspapers. A wraith of smoke rose from them before they burst into flame. Mattie let out with one of her awful strangled chuckles, and lit another match and tossed it. Then lit another one. Then another.

  Small fires were breaking out all around Thea as she darted and weaved their way toward the stairs, Mattie’s laughter following her.

  She glanced back just before she plunged through the door to the staircase. Mattie was squatting in the middle of a ring of fire, continuing to play with the matches, chortling, her one good eye squinted against the smoke.

  Thea half-carried her mother down the flight of attic stairs, but when they reached the bottom her arms were shaking. “Mommy,” she said, reverting to the childhood name, “you have to walk by yourself now. Think you can do it?”

  Mother soundlessly nodded, her eyes already starting to go blank again.

  Up above, Thea could hear the fire crackling and Mattie lumbering around, crashing into things.

  “Quick, Mommy.” She pulled her mother along the hallway to the landing and on down the central staircase. She started toward the front door and remembered the cat. Veering off toward the kitchen, Thea found the feline was still in the pantry, but now on full alert. The smell of smoke was starting to fill the house. Thea bent down and picked the cat up. It squirmed and sunk its claws into her, but Thea held on. Then the cat seemed to sense that it was being rescued and retracted its talons.

  Mother made a face at the cat, but said nothing. Thea steered her through the kitchen, where she spotted a set of keys on the counter. Grabbing them, she led Mother through the mud room to the door to the garage. She pressed the opener switch and the garage door groaned and rattled as it rolled up. She put Mother in the backseat of the car and the cat in front, and got into the driver’s seat. Turning the key in the ignition, she started it up, then had to lever the seat forward and up to allow for the difference in hers and Mattie’s heights. She put it in reverse, willing herself to look out the rear window—and not back at the door. Or the freezer.

  Only after she had backed down the long driveway almost to the road, did she allow herself to look at the house. Red and orange tongues of fire were darting and flickering from the windows on the second and third stories. Black curtains of smoke drifted up to the sky. A crashing noise, followed by a cry, and from one of the attic dormer windows a dark form came flying. Flames licking at its limbs and back, it seemed to hover in the air for a moment and then, in a graceless arc, fell to the earth below.

  CHAPTER 50

  At the end of the long driveway, Thea panicked. The pain in her head was starting to throb again, her throat ached, and the adrenaline-charged strength she’d found now seemed to be ebbing away. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Surely somebody had seen the fire and called 911—hadn’t they? Rescue would be here any minute.

  She lifted her head and looked up and down the n
arrow country road. Nothing. But wait. A faint light shone through some distant trees. Could it be a house?

  Backing out, she headed toward the light. As she drew nearer, she could see a one-story, square house. Made of light-colored brick, it appeared grayish in the darkness. Two large evergreens stood off to one side and some bare bushes huddled near the front stoop. On either side of it were windows with closed curtains that were lit by a warm glow. Could there be people inside?

  Thea braked as she approached the driveway. “Mommy,” she said, her voice raspy. Was that from the smoke or exhaustion—or Mattie’s attempt to strangle her? She could barely raise her eyes to look at her mother in the rearview mirror, let alone turn her neck to look over her shoulder. “We’re going to pay a visit to this house, okay?”

  Mother’s face was in shadow and her voice plaintive. “Wanna go home.”

  Home! The word evoked a visceral reaction in Thea, and for a second she thought that maybe she should just drive them straight to George’s house. Call the police from there.

  But her rational mind took over. She was in no shape to drive. She had no idea where they were. She could end up driving miles and miles out of the way. There wasn’t that much gas in Mattie’s tank. No, they had to get help. Right now, while she could still speak coherently.

  Thea maneuvered carefully into the short, graveled driveway and pulled up near a walk leading to the front door. She parked and, moving stiffly, got Mother out of the backseat. The cat was either fast asleep again or completely ignoring them.

  The chilly night air reminded Thea that neither she nor her mother had coats on, and she guessed they both looked pretty bedraggled. She had lost her own hat in the fight with Mattie, but Mother was still wearing the silly red pillbox. She tugged the hat off Mother’s head and tossed aside the feather boa. Mother shivered, but said nothing. When Thea slammed the car door shut, she was relieved to see a porch light come on.

  With her arms wrapped around her mother’s frail body, she led her up the short walk to the front porch.

  As they reached the bottom step, the door opened and a stocky middle-aged man peered out. “Help ya?” he said, his eyes narrowed at them.

  “Sir,” Thea said, her voice cracking, even as she was doing her best not to sound hysterical. “There’s a fire—”

  “A fire?” he broke in abruptly, stepping out onto the porch and peering in the direction they’d come from.

  Thea was struck by the impression that he’d known exactly where to look.

  “Faye!” He shouted back into the house. “Call 911! Mattie’s done it again! The Guttmans’s house is on fire!”

  There was an answering shout from inside, but Thea couldn’t make out the words.

  The man’s gaze fell on the vehicle parked in his driveway. “I see you’ve got Mattie’s car,” he said. “She send you here for help?”

  Thea hesitated. What to say?

  “I’m cold,” Mother announced in an impatient, loud voice. “Let us in!”

  A chastened look came across the man’s face. “Where are my manners?” he said. Walking down the steps, he reached a hand out to Mother to help her climb. “You’d better come on in.” His nose wrinkled up at the urine smell coming off Mother, but he recovered and gave her a compassionate smile. To Thea he said, “What’s happened to Mattie? We haven’t seen her for a while, and we don’t know anything about her mother.”

  As they walked in the door, Thea could hear a brisk female voice giving out a rural address. Then a woman walked toward them, holding a cordless phone to her ear. “What’s that?” she asked. Then she looked to Thea. “Any injuries?”

  “Two,” Thea said, barely able to get the word out. “Two bodies. Mattie...” She hesitated, “And…her mother.”

  “Oh, no!” The woman’s face went white. “I can’t believe it! Both of them?”

  Thea lowered her gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

  The woman spoke sharply into the mouthpiece, then covered it with her hand. She cocked her head and looked closer at Thea. “What about you?” she said. “You’re pretty banged up from the looks of you.”

  Thea gave her the barest of nods. It hurt too much to move her head any more.

  “We got some injuries here, too,” the woman announced into the phone, gave out their address, and then hung up.

  “I’m Faye, by the way,” the woman said, her eyes softening and her voice matching them. “What’s your name, dear?”

  “Thea. My mother’s name is Daphne,” Thea muttered.

  “I guess I’m surprised that Mattie’s mother was still alive,” Faye said. “I thought maybe she’d died.”

  Thea felt her knees start to give out. “Oh, my gosh,” Faye said, grabbing Thea around the waist. “You’d better sit down.”

  Faye led Thea to a chintz-covered sofa and eased her down on to it. “There, dear,” she said. “The paramedics will be here soon. Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

  Thea started to shake her head, then thought better of it. “My mother,” she said. “Please take care of my mother.”

  Faye smiled. “Oh, she’s in good hands. Walter’s taken her into the kitchen. He’s gonna fix her some tea...”

  Thea moaned as the horrible image of Mattie’s “tea party” popped into her mind. “No, no,” she managed to get out, “Mattie kidnapped my mother…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Oh, no!” There was a gasp and then Faye’s face twisted up in anguish. “It’s all my fault! I shoulda done something! I knew I shoulda done something!”

  Thea could do little more than raise her eyebrows as a question at this point.

  “Poor Mattie,” Faye said; her voice agitated, urgent. “She’s had a problem for a long time. I forget what the doctors called it, somethin’ mental. Maybe bipolar, but I’m not sure about that. She’s supposed to take pills, but sometimes she goes off her meds, gets really crazy. She nearly burnt down the house once before. Her dad kept her in line, though. She worshiped him. He died a few years ago and she went nuts for a time after that. But when her mother got sick with the Alzheimer’s, Mattie promised her that she’d keep taking her meds until the end.”

  She let out a deep sigh. “I knew somethin’ was wrong. Mattie used to ask me to come down to watch her mother when she went to her support group meetings. She never missed a one of those meetings. There was a man there—I think she had a little crush on him—he was so nice to her, she always said.”

  George! “My stepfather,” Thea said, her voice only a trace more than a whisper.

  “Oh,” Faye acknowledged, then went on. “A few weeks ago I called her, asked her why she hadn’t asked me to come down to watch her mother. She told me her mother had a really bad cold. So I made some chicken soup and got out our old vaporizer and took it down there, but Mattie wouldn’t let me in the house. She made me leave the stuff on the back porch. I had a feeling in my bones that something was wrong. I shoulda known she was off her meds—just from the way she talked, fast and kinda jittery. I’d seen that before.” She shook her head. “But what could I do?” Tears spilled from her eyes. “I shoulda done somethin’, but what could I do?”

  Thea tried to talk, to respond to what this kind woman had just told her, but she couldn’t get the words un-jumbled. She knew it was important information, but she couldn’t make her brain take it in. Everything was turning foggy, then just before it all faded away, she heard the sweet sound of sirens approaching...

  After that, long stretches of blackness enveloped her. But there were moments when the blackness would lift or fade to gray. And in those moments, faces—some of them familiar but most of them not—stared in at her. Their expressions were unreadable; their words meaningless babble. She would happily tune them out, going numb, back to the black, not wanting to let them know she knew they were there.

  One time she opened her eyes and saw white: a white ceiling rose above her and a white curtain surrounded her. A medicinal smell hung in the air, and from far a
way she could hear a metallic voice paging for Dr. Cook. Hospital, she thought. Safe. Don’t have to fight anymore.

  Then she noticed another smell, masculine, very faint, but nearby. Aftershave? And she sensed someone was holding her hand. She shifted her eyes and saw a man’s head bent over the hand he was holding.

  Doctor, she told herself. Taking her pulse? Praying? Was she dying?

  The face lifted and blue-gray eyes fixed on hers. His lips curved up in a slow, gentle smile. She knew that face, but not that smile. No, not a doctor…Jerry Anderson!

  He said nothing, only rose ever so hesitantly, as if he were afraid that if he moved too fast he would break the spell and, like a skittish deer, she would run away from him.

  She followed him with her eyes, feeling as if he had cast a spell over her. What was he doing?

  He leaned toward her, his aftershave tickling her nose. Then he closed his eyes and kissed her. Tender, sweet. Full on the lips.

  As his lips pulled away, a fragment of memory flitted through her mind. Something about a Sleeping Beauty. But before she could capture it, blackness embraced her again.

  The next time the blackness released her she knew it was gone—completely. Even before she opened her eyes. She remembered—everything. Mattie, the fire, Mother, and Beryl. Beryl! She was dead. Mattie had killed her.

  Thea opened her eyes, tears swimming in them. A blurry tableau of two figures stood at the side of her bed. She blinked and it morphed into Aunt Dorothy and Annie staring at her, wide-eyed.

  Annie whooped, and Aunt Dorothy let out a shuddering breath. “Thank God!”

  “Thank God is right,” Annie echoed. “We were beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up again.”

  Thea blinked away the rest of her tears. “Mmm.”

  “The doctors said you’d come back to us when you were ready. Your concussion was what they call ‘moderate’,” Annie grinned and made a “knock-knock” gesture with her hand. “Guess that’s cuz you’re so hard-headed.” Her smile dimmed. “But your body was really beat up. Especially your throat.”