With Eyes Wide Open And Mouths Sewn Shut

FIVE

For the second time today, I'm frozen in place. I'm like a deer in headlights. I know I need to move but I can't. All I can do is stare. at the pale, bloodied figure staring at me through the mirror.

Up close, I can see her teeth are the color of a bruised banana. The frayed string around her mouth still hangs from where she sliced through it earlier. Her eyes—or lack thereof—are more gruesome up close. The hollow sockets aren't black like I pictured them earlier. Instead, they have a pinkish, almost skinlike tint to the darkness. The blood weeping from her eyes makes her seem like she is crying. Her matted raven hair sticks to her face in patches of blood.

"Who are you?" I whisper in a trembling voice, finally getting the nerve to speak.

I take deep breaths and try to remember that this is someone who needs help.

I jump when the radio in my car begins tuning to random stations. A disembodied voice cuts through the waves of static and garbled words.

"Maaaaarrrrrrrrry."

I swallow hard. With my sights never leaving hers, I fumble for the door handle with my left hand. My shaky fingers wrap around the mechanism and I shove the door open, busting out into the cool night air.

I plan to run straight inside and dial the police again, but I barely make it two steps before I chance a curious glance back at the car. It stops me cold. No one is there. The back seat is empty.

Hesitantly, I take a step toward the car and peer into the window. There's no evidence that anyone was ever there. No blood smears on the fabric. No indent in the seat cushion. Nothing.

If she'd escaped, I would've heard a car door open and receding footsteps.

"What the hell?" I mumble.

My thoughts instantly switch to rationalizing everything. I was worked up from my earlier experience. The call from the officer got my mind racing again. Who doesn't see a face in their rearview mirror at night?

I walk around the back of the car just to make sure the woman isn't crouched low, hiding on the other side of the vehicle. No one is there. I survey the surrounding area. The neighborhood is empty too. Street lamps light the sidewalks and yards. Parked cars sit in driveways. I hear dogs barking in the distance. Otherwise, it's a quiet night. Everyone must have headed inside early when they saw the storm clouds rolling in.

Satisfied that a terrifying, injured woman didn't hitch a ride home with me, I turn off my engine and gather my bags from the passenger seat. Raindrops pelt my black leather jacket as I shut the car door. A quick glance down shows my boots are caked in mud.

I slip them off before I step inside, not wanting to track in the evidence of my crazy afternoon all over my wood floors.

"Ms. LaRue?" a deep voice calls from the living room.

I step into the room to find Mom where I left her. She's watching a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show on the television. Beside her, sits a man I've seen a couple of times before when Shea needed a day off. He's organizing her evening medicine.

"Hey, Carlisle. Thanks for filling in on such short notice."

Carlisle is young—somewhere around twenty-one. Hardly old enough to drink. He's fresh out of school and always eager to please. He has short blond hair and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. His ice-blue eyes always capture my attention when I see him. Maybe in another world where I didn't have to worry about a mother who was slowly forgetting how to live, I would be interested in him. But for now, my interests rely on Mom and work. I don't have time for other things.

I was given the option to put her in a long-term facility, but I couldn't do that to her. Placing her in a new environment where she knew nothing didn't sit right with me. I wanted her to be around things she was familiar with. I hoped being around things she knew would help her recall some things. But I don't think it made a difference. She still forgets things fast. Things I never thought she'd be able to forget.

I think about that decision every day.

Carlisle's voice rips me from my thoughts. "It's no problem. Sucks about Shea's sister though."

"You have no idea," I mutter as I place my keys in the wooden bowl on my marble countertop separating the kitchen from the living room.

"I just finished getting all of Deborah's medicines ready for tonight. If you want, I can stay a few extra minutes so you have a chance to settle in."

I smile, appreciation flooding my veins. "I would really appreciate that. Would twenty minutes be too much to ask for? It's been one of those days."

"Not at all," Carlisle says returning my smile.

...

Warm water feels heavenly on my bare skin. I scrub the dirt off my legs and clean the faint scratches on my cheeks. The shallow cuts sting.

If only I could wash today's events from my mind. They race through my mind, like a video stuck in a loop. I see the bathroom bathed in blood. The creepy song playing on the radio. The woman.

My mind gets stuck on her the most. Her image has been seared into my brain like a cattle brand.

I turn off the water and step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel.

Where could she have gone? She looked severely injured and couldn't have made it far.

After towel drying my hair, I slip into a set of pajamas. A quick glance in the mirror shows I still look rough around the edges—with dark circles under my eyes and scratches along my cheeks—but at least I look presentable.

I plan to research a lot tonight after Mom's asleep. Knowledge is an addictive drug. One I crave desperately when it comes to mysterious cases like this one. It's been a while since I felt this level of interest and determination to dive into a case.

And mark my words. I will get to the bottom of it.