Chapter 27

"Mom?"

Richie waited with one hand on the doorknob, tensed as if ready to bolt. The house remained silent, growing dark in the deepening evening twilight. A frigid wind blew in the doorway, a dead leaf alighting on the carpet.

Richie slammed the door behind him and picked up the leaf. He crumpled it in his fist as he called out for his mother again. He checked the garage and found it empty.

He smirked. The joke was on Laura Bendon as far as he was concerned. His mother had not been home earlier that afternoon, and she still wasn't home. Yet his smirk faded when he thought about what his mother was likely doing at that moment.

Richie tried to put it out of his mind. Instead, he found himself drawn to the doorway of his mother's bedroom. His eyes swept the room slowly.

He hated this power. Truly hated it. He could not look at someone else's possessions now without wondering what they might tell him if he held them. Even the fleeting glimpses he got when he was not in the right place could hint at some tantalizing knowledge.

Nyssa had known about his ability, and had deemed it both powerful and dangerous.

Knowing the past was indeed dangerous. A personal recollection could be filtered and toned down to acceptability. He could fool himself into thinking that things had happened exactly as he believed he remembered them, and comfort himself in the thought that they were not as bad as they really were.

And yet it was what he had thought he had wanted for so long. It was truth. And even in the wake of the misery such knowledge engendered, he craved more.

Richie wandered into the room. He focused on the first thing that had caught his eye, the hairbrush sitting on the dresser.

He picked it up. Immediately, his surroundings shifted to morning twilight. His mother was fixing her hair, still clad in only her underwear. He jumped when he heard his own voice making a snide remark at the door.

Looking at his own doppelganger was disconcerting. Even more so was hearing his cutting words towards his mother. Soon the scene played itself out and shifted again. Now it was night. The lamp was on, but at its lowest setting. His mother was not in the chair. He heard a moan behind him and turned at the sound.

Sandra was sprawled out naked on the bed. She was writhing and panting, her legs spread. Her hand worked the handle of the brush in and out of her cunt.

"Y-yes ... yes..." Sandra breathed. "I-I'm a good girl ... uhhn ... yes, I'm a good little girl!... uhhhh!"

Just as Sandra moaned in orgasm, Richie let out a yelp and threw the brush to the floor. Reality winked back into place.

He opened the closet door. Several skimpy outfits hung there. He held the doorknob at arm's length as if afraid of contamination.

Finally he reached a hand forward and touched one, something that looked like a French maid's outfit. He caught a ghostly glimpse of his mother slipping off her normal clothes and revealing this sexy outfit underneath, and then of someone groping her breast.

He touched another one, a bikini. She was beside a pool in broad daylight. The place looked posh. Men and women with tall drinks ringed the background. She slipped her bottom down her legs as a hand reached between her thighs.

He snatched his hand back and slammed the closet door shut.

Richie fell heavily against the dresser. He frowned at himself in the mirror. "Fuckhead," he grumbled at his image. "Hope yer gettin' off on it."

He idly opened the top drawer, glanced inside, then slammed it shut. He did the same to the second, but stopped himself at the last moment before it could close all the way.

He pulled it back open. There were several typewritten sheets stapled together with the words "Haven Cleaning and Maid Service" at the top of the first page.

Richie took it in hand, his eyes scanning down the page. It appeared to be a schedule of sorts from several weeks ago. One entry read: Monday 10AM, 367 Messeir Court, general cleaning only. Another one for the same day read 12 noon, 6589 S. Gondin Road, delicate dusting and strip-tease (wear French maid outfit). Still another read: 2PM, 788 S. Hayden Drive, general cleaning and typical fuck-the-maid fantasy.

Richie felt disgusted at what he was reading, but something made him turn the page and glance down the next set of entries. It made his stomach churn. Some appointments dropped the pretense of a maid service entirely and described what sex act his mother was expected to perform.

He reached the third page, and when his fingers touched the paper, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

He was not expecting it, and he jumped back a foot as his eyes came to rest on the chair. It was now occupied by his mother. She was fully dressed and staring at the very same document that Richie held. Hers was open to the exact same page. Her eyes appeared unfocused, as if she were only pretending to see what was written before her. A single fingertip lay near an entry at the bottom of the page.

"Maybe."

Richie was not even sure he had heard it. It was whispered so softly from Sandra's barely moving lips that he thought he might have imagined it.

"Might work."

Richie blinked. "Huh? What might work?"

But the Sandra of the past did not hear him. Her lips curled into a slow, sultry smile. "A full day's work for me," she said in a husky voice. She flipped the document to the first page and returned it to the drawer. She faded back into nonexistence as the drawer was closed.

Richie frowned. He looked down at the page again. His gaze alighted on an entry near the bottom.

Thursdays thru October, 1PM, 1045 Ollander Terrace, caretaking, then little school girl routine to greet owner upon return.

Richie had to stare at it for a minute before it clicked. Wait, isn't that the address of the place we're...

The floor rumbled with the sound of the garage door going up.

Richie cursed as he flipped the pages back, fumbling it in his haste and partially tearing the first page from the staple. He dropped the pages into the drawer and slammed it shut. He raced out of the room and into his own, then threw himself onto the bed.

Be cool, Richie thought. Just like Jason said. Don't let on something's going down later.

Each of them had conceived of a plan to get out of the house when word came that Melissa was moving against Heather. Richie's was the least inventive. He was simply going to barrel out of the house, jump on his bike, and pedal away before his mother could stop him. He would worry about the repercussions later.

He leaned over the side of his bed and reached for a sports magazine just as he heard the door from the garage open. It nearly slipped from his fingers in his surprise when the door shut a second later with a mighty slam that shook the house.

"Aw shit," Richie muttered, tossing the magazine down with a sigh.

Richie had already swung his legs over the side of the bed when Sandra stomped up the stairs to his room, so he was already seated and facing the door when she appeared.

Sandra gave Richie a hard look. She folded her arms and leaned against the door frame "All right, you sneaky little bastard. Where the FUCK were you today?"

Richie's hands gripped the edge of the mattress. "Where the fuck do you think I was?"

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't school. And don't smart-mouth me."

"Oh yeah? Says who?"

"Says your dumbass principal, that's who."

"And what the fuck would you know about it, huh? You were out all day."

Sandra reached into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

Richie's eyes flicked from her mother to the phone and back again. There was a moment of anxiety and doubt in his eyes, but he quickly replaced it with anger. Anger was better. It was what he understood, and it was what his mother would expect. "Yeah, and since when do we rate high 'nough to get a cell phone," he said in as snide a voice as he could muster.

"My boss gave me this, so I can keep in touch with the main office during the day."

Richie glared at her. He remembered all the "appointments" he had seen on her schedule, and for a moment it helped fuel his anger. But then the memory of what he had seen in the den welled up from the dark recesses of his mind no matter how hard he tried to banish it.

Stop it, Richie chided himself. She's not even fighting it ... She's completely given in ... You can be mad at her ... BE MAD AT HER!

Yet the sharp retort he thought to make died on his lips as a terrible thought came to him.

What if his own mother had set them up? What if she had arranged for them to meet at that house so she could feed information about them to the Darkness? What if she were helping it plan for the Harbingers' defeat?

But that couldn't be right. Wouldn't Melissa have moved against them at the meeting place if that were the case? Or was the Darkness itself waiting to take them out when they were done with Melissa?

His hands clenched into fists, and he averted his eyes.

"What?" Sandra demanded.

Richie bit his lip and shook his head. "Nothin'," he muttered. He looked at her, his gaze icy. "Okay, fine, yeah, I skipped school. Not like I haven't done it before."

"In grammar school, Richie, not high school. You don't fuck around with something like this!"

Richie just shrugged.

"It doesn't matter to you, does it? Not a damn fucking bit."

"Guess not."

"Maybe it will mean something to you if I ground you for a month?"

Richie snorted and smirked. "Yeah, okay, Mom. Grounded. A month. Got it."

Sandra stared at her son. Richie narrowed his gaze. Something was happening with her Aura. It looked agitated, as if it were angry. Some of the fury drained from Sandra's eyes, and they appeared uncertain.

He's hiding something.

Sandra swallowed as the voice of the Darkness reverberated in her head. She felt her pussy throb faintly, her thighs quivering as if in anticipation of her next command.

Not his ability. I know about it now. But he's learned something. Something important.

Richie had seen Auras do this just before Jason said he heard something from them. A chill crept down his spine at the thought that the thing he had seen in his earlier vision was in his mother's head.

"Grounded for a month," Sandra said in a hollow voice. "And don't think you can sneak off when I'm not here! I'll find a way to enforce it!"

Richie tried not to react to the threat. Instead, he just nodded and remained silent.

Watch him.

Sandra took a deep breath. Her pussy ran hot and liquid, pulsing mildly with pleasure that radiated up from her body and into her mind. Her nipples hardened and tingled.

Be my good little girl.

Sandra's fingers curled. Her pussy throbbed softly. She let out a small moan through her nose.

Richie heard it. His stomach clenched.

Don't let him out of your sight.

Sandra unfolded her arms as her orgasm faded. "Come on downstairs with me, Richie."

Richie made a face. "Huh? What for?"

"You're going to help me make dinner."

"You don't need me for that."

"Don't tell me what I need or don't need. Then ... then maybe after dinner we can watch something on TV together..."

Richie looked at her strangely. "Are you fucking serious?"

"That's enough. No more talking back to me."

"But I don't wanna watch TV, everything on these days is crap. I just wanna..."

"I don't care what you want!" Sandra shouted. "You always whine like a little brat about me staying home and spending time with you, and now when I give it to you, you find something else to whine about. You're really pathetic, you know that? Now, come on."

Richie fumed. Every bit of him exuded anger and hatred. All but his eyes. They held only hurt. Her hard words clashed violently with the sympathy he had mustered after seeing the horrible vision of the Rite. He had no idea what to feel or think.

He pushed himself off the bed and stomped over to his mother, giving her another glare. Sandra returned it with a blazing anger of her own before turning away.

It was only when she was halfway down the stairs, her face out of sight of Richie, that she allowed herself a single tear.

Jason's hand trembled so much that the plate rattled against the table as he set it down. He glanced anxiously at his mother as she bustled in from the kitchen. The heady aroma of her cooking rolled through the air in her wake.

"Don't take too much longer, dear, dinner will be ready soon," Audrey said, barely glancing at her son as she dropped a set of trivets on the table before turning back towards the kitchen. "And make sure to evenly space those."

"Yes, Mom," Jason said in a hollow voice, though his mother had already disappeared, the swinging door the only evidence of her passing.

He tried to steady himself. He looked nervously at the clock above the mantle in the living room. It was nearly six. Any minute now he would hear the sound of the garage door opening. Then it was going to be war.

A war of stealth, that is.

Jason set out the rest of the plates and started on the silverware. He had the toughest job of all the Harbingers. He had to get out of the house without his father interfering. His father held a more commanding position in whatever hierarchy the Darkness had conceived in Haven. Like Principal Bendon, he was not a slave to the Darkness, but he was doing everything he could to help it.

Or so Jason thought. Since it was clear that Principal Bendon was helping Melissa, it was reasonable to assume that his father would do the same.

Audrey emerged from the kitchen again, taking her own look at the clock. "He better not be late again," she muttered softly. She sighed before turning to Jason.

Jason looked away and forced himself to focus on his task. He was already mentally sweating bullets that his hack into Haven General Hospital's computer network had been discovered. It had not been as clean a break-in as he had wished. He worried that not only had he been detected, but that his father already knew and was now racing home to ream his son for it.

"Is something the matter, Jason?"

Jason's head jerked. The remaining cutlery in his hands slipped and clattered loudly to the table. He gave his mother a sheepish look. " Sorry ... Um, nothing, Mom."

"Are you sure? You've been awfully quiet since..."

The phone rang.

Audrey slapped her arms against her sides. "That better not be..." she muttered angrily as she barreled back into the kitchen. The ringing was silenced moments later.

Jason's heart pounded. He looked at the clock again. Get home, dammit, he thought vehemently. And at least let me know if I screwed up.

Even if he were in the clear, success was still by no means assured. Once the signal came, he had to get back into the hospital network and insert a medical emergency alert into the files of one of his father's patients. It would trigger their automated pager system and force his father to head back to the hospital.

That was the theory. The hospital system was a puzzling mixture of subnets that each had their own quirks and hence their own security roadblocks. And there was one with a firewall so bulletproof that all his efforts to breach it would be like using a peashooter against the Great Wall of China.

"Dammit, Hank, you promised!" Audrey's anguished voice suddenly rang out from the kitchen.

Jason looked up.

"Just once I would like to have..." his mother called out again, until she caught herself and lowered her voice. Then Jason could hear only muffled noises, but it was very clear that his mother was upset.

Jason flinched when he heard the phone slammed back onto the receiver just as a timer on the stove went off. He picked up the trivets but fiddled with them in his hands anxiously until his mother emerged holding a steaming pot of potatoes.

Audrey stepped heavily to the table and cast an angry glance first at the table and then at Jason. "Will you stop fidgeting like that and put the trivets down?!"

"Huh? Oh, sorry..." He quickly tossed one down on the table. Audrey set the pot down with a loud thud and whirled back towards the kitchen. "Mom, wait! Is something wrong?"

Audrey stopped at the door and glared at him. "Your father will not be home for dinner," she said stiffly. "He says he's had something come up at the hospital and has to stay for another few hours."

Jason could sense the hurt in her voice, but he was more concerned with the development itself. "Did he say why?"

Audrey grew annoyed. "What difference does that make, Jason? The fact is, he won't be home for dinner even after he pr..." She caught herself again. Her jaw tightened. "Just ... just sit down. Dinner is ready anyway."

She disappeared back into the kitchen. Soon the air was filled with frustrated bangs and clatters as well as the smell of a cooked roast.

Jason sank heavily into his chair. He should be relieved. This took the burden from him. He didn't have to keep his father away from the house. He was in the clear. He could just slip out and with luck get back before...

No, it was too easy again! Just like when they had supposedly discovered Melissa's plans in the first place. Just like when they happened to get a nice meeting place.

Was this another setup? Was he going to arrive at the location for the Rite and have to deal with both Melissa and his father? Was Henry Conner going to help the Darkness even at the cost of going against his own son?

Jason let out a long sigh. There was nothing he could do about it now. They had to go with the plans they had and deal with anything as it came up.

He was going to be glad when it was over.

Penny Sovert rose from the table. "Melinda, it's your turn to help with the dishes tonight."

Heather stood as well. "Actually, um ... I want to do it tonight."

"But it's her turn, Heather."

"I know, but I ... I want to talk to you about something." She gave her father a sidelong glance before returning her gaze to her mother. "In private."

There was a coolness to Penny's gaze as she looked at her daughter. Both Heather and Melinda had noticed that their mother was on edge not long after they had arrived home that afternoon. They had assumed she was upset with them for being so late, but she had not said a word about it.

"Don't let me interrupt in that case," said David with a small smile as he rose. "I have some email to catch up on anyway, so I'll let you girls talk."

Penny sighed as she watched David walk away. "Very well. Melinda, go to your room," she said in a snappish voice as she collected the silverware. She plunked them on a plate with a clatter and took it into the kitchen.

Melinda came alongside Heather. "I don't think it's going to work," she said anxiously. "She's really mad about something."

"I have to get it to work, Melinda," Heather said as she collected the remaining dishes. "Now get out of here before Mom really does get mad at us."

Melinda made a face and fled. Heather took a deep breath before carrying the dirty dishes into the kitchen.

"If you're going to ask for your phone and internet back, Heather, the answer is no," Penny said as soon as Heather stepped into the room. She spoke without turning from the sink, which she was already filling with water. "I heard you two whispering to each other out there. Don't think you can pull anything like that on me."

Heather put the dirty dishes in the sink and stood beside her mother. "It's nothing like that, really."

Penny's jaw clenched. Her eyes remained downcast. "So does this have anything to do with what you've been doing lately?"

Heather felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach. "What are you talking about?"

She had tried to act surprised, but it had come out sounding defensive instead. Penny cast a sharp gaze at her daughter. "I've been hearing a lot of things about you, Heather. And your friends. And what you might be doing together."

Heather's carefully rehearsed script lay in tatters the moment she looked into her mother's eyes and felt nothing but contempt rise up inside her. When she spoke again, her voice was pure acid. "Really? Would that be rumors you've heard yourself, or is someone whispering in your ear? The same someone that happened to tell you to come home early in the first place when Jason..."

Penny slammed the spigot closed, causing a loud knock in the pipe under the sink. "That's quite enough."