Flawed (The Butcher) by Francette Phal & Marilyn Medina

Author:Francette Phal & Marilyn Medina [Phal, Francette & Medina, Marilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Erotica, African American, United States, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Psychological Thrillers, Thrillers, Psychological
Amazon: B00PEASBGQ
Published: 2014-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Lacey

While everyone is inside celebrating Thanksgiving with their families, Dante and I are out in the cold, in the dead of the night, searching for our mother. And to the surprise of no one, we haven’t found her. It’s pointless. I know this. Dante knows this, but neither of us wants to be the one to say it. It’s going on three hours since we started scouring the streets, no particular locations in mind, just going on hunches. We visit Red’s usual hangouts, trying to talk to the people he typically hangs out with, hoping they can tell us something. Anything that’s going to lead us to our mother. We find nothing. No one is worried or cares enough to give us any information. In fact, they all seem determined to stick to their “no snitching” bullshit dogma. It’s frustrating as fuck. Every turn is a dead end. We weren’t very hopeful to begin with when we started this search. I filed a missing persons report the other day, but that was just as useless as us driving around the neighborhood chasing a ghost. Another missing person on skid row is the least of the local PD’s problems.

She may be an addict but she isn’t illiterate. She would have called me or Dante by now. I can’t shake the horrible feeling that something bad has happened to her. Red isn’t the type to stick around. I don’t think he would even bother to take her to the hospital if it ever came down to it. The image of her broken and lifeless body slumped against a Dumpster like garbage in the back of some alleyway causes my throat to close up and tears to well. I’m suddenly wishing I hadn’t left her to fend for herself with Red that night two weeks ago. The weight of the guilt is a burden I know all too well and it sits like a massive boulder on my chest, cutting off my next breath.

Maybe if I’d stayed, maybe if I’d been strong enough, brave enough to stay that night and face whatever punishment I had coming from Red, maybe, just maybe, she’d be here now. Perhaps even sober enough to rustle up a cheap imitation of Thanksgiving dinner. What were a few broken ribs, a busted face, and a fat lip compared to my mother being here with me now? Fuck… I should’ve stayed and endured the pain.

I’m not sure who says it first or even if anything is said at all. But we come to a silent agreement on hour four. Nearly ten p.m. And we’re cold, exhausted, and hungry. There aren’t many words exchanged between us in the car ride home. The car that’s hanging on by a thread. We make it home feeling frustrated. Three and a half minutes later, microwaved mac and cheese, nuked Idaho potatoes, and a lukewarm soda are what’s for dinner.

“I’ll…” Dante clearing his throat disrupts the flow of silence and I look up from my untouched mac and cheese bowl.

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