Tales of Horror

LOVE

Lucia did not love her child.

She did not love him when she first felt his movements in her belly, she did not love him when the doctors placed him in her arms for the first time, she didn't even love him when she kissed him good night or cut the crusts off of his lunch.

Love, thought Lucia, must be something learned from mothers; she certainly had not learned it from hers.

She cared for him, in the way she knew all good mothers should, except she did not love him. She named him Brennan. He mostly looked like her. Green eyes, light brown hair, a smile that lifted one corner of his mouth higher than the other. He was a good natured baby, and when it was time to go to kindergarten, he made friends and learned the alphabet faster than most.

"You must be proud," his teacher would say to Lucia. "He's such a sharp boy."

Lucia will smile lightly. "Yes." she would say. "Very proud."

Then she would take Brennan home and make him a snack, and he would watch cartoons while she cleaned the kitchen or sat in her room, reading a book. In the evenings she would give him a bath, and put him to bed.

But sometimes, Brennan would ask questions, usually about his father.

"He doesn't exist." Lucia would say as she poured warm water over his head.

"So he's dead?" Brennan would ask. Lucia would be silent for a moment before answering.

"Yes."

After school on Fridays, Lucia would bring Brennan over to her mother's house for the night. She would help him out of the car, and watch as her mother's front door swung open and Brennan happily disappeared inside. Then Lucia's mother would hesitate in the doorway, and she and Lucia would face each other with nothing but a lawn between them. Then Lucia would get back in her car, and go home.

She went home, and opened a rare bottle of wine, which she kept on top of her fridge, letting it gather dust until she was ready for it.

She poured herself a glass, and clicked on the TV, less out of interest and more because she thought this was likely what people did when they had free time.

It was the news, and a picture of a man's mug shot was in the top right-hand corner of the screen while a generically attractive young woman spoke.

Lucia did not need to listen to know what the woman was saying.

Lucia knew a body, or a skeleton, rather, had been found, rolled over the bank off of interstate twenty-nine. She knew they had been able to identify the body, likely through dental records. She knew they were asking anyone, if they knew any information, to call this number at the bottom of the screen.

Across town, Lucia's mother was watching the same broadcast. She, too, did not need to watch to know the details, her long held suspicions forming into concrete facts before her eyes.

In her kitchen, Lucia clicked off the TV, and sipped her wine. Then she began cleaning up her living room and thought maybe she would also do a load of laundry. Best to get the chores done before she picked Brennan up the following morning.

That night, Lucia stood in front of her mirror, her hair wet around her face and shoulders, steam still rising from her shower.

Such a pretty face, Lucia thought to herself. Such a pretty, pretty face. What luck she had, born with the blessings of long legs and a narrow waist, large eyes and glossy lips. How fortunate for her that men wanted her, begged for her. How lucky, how blessed, was she.

In the morning she rose, brushed her teeth and her hair, dressed herself in a dress she had not warn in many years, and waited until it was time to pick up Brennan. She locked the door behind her, but left the key on top of the door jam.

She could see the flashing lights in front of her mothers home long before she reached the driveway. She parked her car behind two white and blue police cruisers, and stepped out, leaving her keys in the cup holder. Her mother and four police officers stood on the stoop, and they all turned to look at her. One of the officers spoke something to her mother, then three of them advanced towards her. Two of them rested their hands on their holsters.

Lucia could see Brennan, his face pressed up against the glass in her mother's living room. He waved at her, but she did not wave back.

"Lucia Barns?" one of the officers asked. Lucia nodded, and another office held up a photo.

"Do you know this man?" the officer asked. Lucia's mouth twisted.

"He doesn't exist." she said.

Lucia looked over their shoulders, at her mother. They stared at each other, each knowing a secret about the other. Except, Lucia supposed, they were no longer secrets. They did not need to lie anymore.

Lucia could see the indifference in her mother's eyes, and the accusation. The truth.

Lucia turned her gaze to the window, where Brennan sat watching. He did not look scared. He looked like a little boy, who would one day be a man.

"What do you mean, ma'am?" one of the officers asked. Lucia did not take her eyes off of Brennan.

"I'm a pretty girl, aren't I?" she murmured. The officers shifted uneasily, and she looked at the picture one of them still held. "He liked this dress a whole lot." she said, running one hand down her side. "He liked it so much, he let me keep it on the whole time." Now she raised her gaze to the officers.

"He doesn't exist anymore. I erased him," her gaze flickered to Brennan. "All but one little piece of him."

Lucia did not feel it as an officer pulled her hands behind her back, and she didn't hear them as they read her her rights. Another officer opened a cruiser's door, and she stepped in without a fight. Brennan watched her head disappear into the car, a smile on her face.

He wished he could have seen her smile more often.