Crossroads

by Laurel Hightower

The first time Chris buried a part of herself by her son’s roadside cross, it was an accident. A cut, deep and oozing for much of the day, broken open again as she cleared fallen leaves and highway detritus from the base of the cross.

God what a fucking INCREDIBLE opening...

She hadn’t known what she’d set in motion that night, leaving her unintentional blood offering, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

She never turned around when she visited Trey—it would kill the illusion, chase away with logic the almost-certainty that he stood at her shoulder each time she visited and silence his voice forever.

Adjusting claims for a living, Chris had seen what a moment of inattention or haste could do to a human body.

She still baked every week, which was at least part of the reason for the way her jeans squeezed at her hips and thighs. She didn’t much care about that; she’d just gone and bought new jeans when she noticed. She wasn’t going to go through life uncomfortable, and the baking made her happy.

She took two trembling steps before reality fell on her like an anvil, and she recognized her ex-husband’s aftershave.

She stared out with the expectation of being disappointed, as she always was. Except she wasn’t. Because he was standing there. In the pool of castoff light from the streetlamp that stood at the front-most edge of her yard. His hands dug into the pockets of his sagging jeans, hair sliding over his eye. He was real, and solid, and he was smiling up at her. And as she stared at him, breath frozen in her lungs, refusing to blink, he raised a hand and waved, with that goofy little finger wiggle he’d perfected when he’d stopped wanting her to kiss him in front of his school, but still wanted to communicate to her that he loved her.

the shittiest horror movie was light-years ahead of a football game, any day of the week.

She watched for the rest of the night, hope dying an inch at a time but hanging on until the sun came up,

Anyway, even if she did believe in demons, she’d always thought it was a stupid trope. Who in their right mind would trade their immortal soul for any kind of earthly pleasure? It didn’t make sense. Except, of course, that these days, she could easily name something for which she’d trade her soul.

So, she folded her son’s favorite shirt, pressed a final kiss to the fabric, and began to bury it in the hole she’d dug. She tried not to feel like she was burying him again, but somehow, she did.

She’d cried bitter tears that first morning when she couldn’t find his shirt. Her world, her wants, had winnowed down to this tiny thing, this shadow of the love that had once been hers. She was desperate to get it back, to feel it again in her hands, but it wasn’t there.

She looked back when she heard the leaves rustling behind her. She smiled. Anyone else would have called it a breeze, but she knew better. She knew her own boy’s voice.

:(((

The Chris who’d died forever when they’d found him in the tree, taking him down just as she arrived.

The other benefit was that she was finally able to see, with heartbreaking clarity, that she’d never done anything to earn the disgust, disappointment, and sometimes outright hatred her mother showed her. Having her own child meant she knew there was nothing she could have done to earn it, and though it hurt, she’d let go of the idea that she and her mother would ever have a real relationship.

“I always remember, Chris.”

Ugh i love him sm :(

The hazy look of worship he wore as his gaze traveled her body made her warm in all the right places. “Woman, I will take whatever you’re willing to give, and I’ll still bring you breakfast in the morning.”

I FUCKING LOVE HIM

Dan hadn’t brought it up again, though he’d bought her slip proof knives and a safety razor. She’d just about cried when she opened the box—it was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her, but Dan did that kind of thing all the time. He noticed what was bothering her, or causing a problem in her life, and he went about fixing it without saying a word.

I AM FUCKING SOBBING

He sighed, and it sounded like crying. She patted his back and kissed his cheek, and didn’t think about the way he smelled, like something past its expiration date, or the way her lips felt greasy after touching his skin. She just held him, and she would have stayed like that until she died, if he’d let her.

If she were honest, there were times she would have liked to stay the night with Dan, to wake up in his bed, to do what he wanted on a Saturday.

She was listening for the sounds of pursuit, but all she heard as she reached the top was another long, mournful moan. It sounded closer, but still she saw no one. How could she? She never once looked up.

But now she was home, safe behind locked doors, snug, and waiting for her son. Hoping he’d have felt the effects already, that he might be feeling stronger, able to stay for longer. Maybe even warm.

She could have told him that motherhood was one long road of pain shouldered whenever it was possible, but she didn’t say things like that because she believed in smiling sacrifice. Her mother had never let her forget what Chris owed her, how it was her responsibility to make up for a lifetime of trauma and rejection. No sacrifice Lenora made was without price, all of it to be paid by her daughter. Chris didn’t feel that way—to her way of thinking, sacrifice went one way, and laying on the guilt wasn’t part of it.

“I’m so tired, Mom.”

i cant stop crying

“I wish I could take it from you, baby. I wish I could wave a wand and make it mine.” It was an old wish, repeated often ever since the very first virus Trey had come down with as a baby. As her helpless four-month-old had doubled up in pain, vomiting over and over, she had begged to take his suffering on as her own. She’d meant it, every time she’d said it, as she meant it now. “I wish you could, too,” he said, then went quiet.

Where had this love been, this unselfish faith and care, when it would have made a difference?

“Somethin’ I’ve noticed about you, babe, is you don’t have a clue how to ask for help when you need it. I get that—lotta women are like that, and maybe it’s because they’ve gotta be.” He urged her head down on his shoulder, ran his hand lightly over her uninjured thigh. “That’s okay by me. You don’t want to talk about what’s going on, that’s your business. I don’t need to know, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know. Point is, I don’t have to be in the loop to be able to help you, okay? So will you let me?” It hurt. Jesus, it hurt so much, hearing those words years after she had needed them.

“Yes. If I ever figure out a way you can help me, then yes, I will ask you.” “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll just be waiting here until you do.”

And if she had a choice in which reality to stay in, she wanted to be here, with him.

If she wanted her son to live, to escape from the hell she’d inadvertently delivered him into, she’d need to give her life for him. Maybe even her soul.

oh fuck...

Chris didn’t love her mother, and she wouldn’t miss her. A terrible thing to admit, and a truth she’d shied away from for years, until the right therapist had pointed out that the woman had done a stellar job of killing any natural love Chris might have held for her.

“No. I mean he...he looks dead. And not just still or anything, he looks like...” he swallowed, choked, and she wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish. “He looks like he did, coming out of that tree.”

You’ve seemed so good lately, even Natalie’s noticed.” His smile was short-lived, but genuine. “Love suits you, Chris.”

They weren’t married anymore, and she knew Dan would bear the heaviest burden, but Beau still loved her as a friend, as the mother of his son, the woman who had his past. She would have to think about what she could do to soften the blow, and she added it to her to-do list.

She knew that every day she delayed her trade, was another day he’d be suffering. If she knew for certain that any old suicide would do, she’d have rushed to finish before he could feel another moment of pain.

I gave up a lot for Trey—I still do, but the difference is I don’t resent it. I don’t want anything in return, don’t need his eternal gratitude. It’s a gift to be his mother, and I’ll never finish paying off that debt.”

“But after he got here? All I’ve ever wanted since then is to be where he is. So if he’s out in the sweltering heat playing baseball, then that’s the only place I want to be.”

Whatever was out there had been wrong, and he couldn’t let her follow it.

And as he’d stood over the sink, emptying the bullets from the gun he was sure she’d meant to use on herself, he’d looked up and seen it again. Something dark, something wrong, waiting under that streetlight. Waiting and watching Dan.

But she couldn’t; her ears were packed with dirt, and Chris died without hearing her son’s call.

He wished he knew who that dead thing’s mother was, so he could bring her to it, because he’d never heard such anguish before. He wasn’t likely to again, he thought, as darkness edged out his vision.