Mezzanine

| 7 |

All of the lights in the house were out when I finally arrived home. Dark clouds streamed over the crescent moon overhead, making it flicker like a winking eye. I headed up to the front door and tried it, but it was locked.

I checked my pockets, but I couldn't find my key anywhere. "Crap." It must have fallen out somewhere between playing beer pong and running away from an insane cult.

I pushed aside the clay flower pot with the dead chrysanthemum in it, breathing a sigh of relief when the spare key was still there, covered in dried mud. I tried it in the lock and pushed the door, but it wouldn't open.

"Shit," I hissed under my breath. The deadbolt was done from the inside. My mom must have been back. She probably hadn't realized I wasn't home when she locked it. I could knock, but then I'd wake her up and she'd know I'd been out.

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hold in as much heat as I could and keep my teeth from chattering. It couldn't have been more than forty degrees out. Carter still had my jacket, and without his body heat keeping me warm, I was freezing.

I glanced up and down the dark road. There were hardly any streetlights here at the far edge of town, and all the lights were out in the nearest house. I'd never seen anyone there. For all I knew, it was just as abandoned as the ones around the factory on Ninth Street.

The other side of the street opened directly to the woods. Branches bent and moaned with the wind, and in the darkness, my eyes played tricks on me, showing me monsters shifting between the trees. The scene from the basement of the factory wouldn't leave my mind. I could still feel the silver metal ring burning into my skin as the leader of that ritual grabbed me.

A shudder rushed through me. I should have just stayed at Carter's tonight. At least his house was warm, and his parents wouldn't care if I slept over. They loved me, for whatever reason.

I shook my head, ridding myself of the idea. I couldn't stay there. I needed to check on my mom.

Maybe the back door was open.

The side gate was also locked, but it was easy enough to climb over the fence. I lowered myself to the ground on the other side and headed through the yard, kicking the dead autumn leaves off the path as I went.

A single lamp glowed dim and yellow from the screened-in back porch, drawing me like a moth to flame. Rust flaked away from the old hinges with a crunch as I pushed the door open.

A few cigarettes rested in the ashtray on the coffee table at the center of the porch. A thin trail of smoke leaked out of one of them, dispersing into the air like a phantom. An open bottle of wine sat beside a single empty glass.

My mom was on the porch swing, her eyes closed and her head back against the wooden backrest in an uncomfortable position. Her glasses rested precariously on the bridge of her nose, and a heavy wool blanket was draped over her, slipping down her thin body to her legs. She shivered in her sleep, her hands clasping and releasing like she was trying to hold something.

I went over and pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulders. Then, I sat down next to her. The wooden swing rocked at the added weight, and she stirred awake.

"Jay?" Her eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the dim light. "I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep."

"You were waiting up for me?"

"I didn't know where you were," she said. "You didn't text."

"Sorry," I said. "My phone died." I looked at my hands, tensing and releasing my fingers into fists.

She usually didn't get back until the middle of the night. I'd figured she wouldn't even notice I was gone.

"I thought I'd wait up until you got home." Her hand brushed over my arm, and I turned to her. Her pale blue eyes glistened like they were wet with tears. "I was worried."