Wicked Chase

❖ Chapter Six

[dedicated to Bayan, who makes me feel hella good about my writing]
[special mention to magnificentia who made the fabulous cover in the multimedia section. it's so eerie and perfect!] 

CHAPTER SIX

Tuesdays were the days that I slept in and relaxed a little so when there was a constant wrapping noise against the door in a manner that I only knew one person who did that, early in the morning around eight, I sat up straight, feeling tired, alerted and confused. My mother was supposed to be here on Thursday or Friday. What on earth was she doing here two days earlier?

Rubbing my eyes groggily, trying to erase any traces of the good night sleep I had, I got up from the bed and dragged my bare feet across the wooden floor and to the door. I was not a fan of being woken up early in the morning and even though I was a heavy sleeper, my mother's knocking was something that certainly could wake me up.

I opened the door of my apartment and an immediate gasp escaped my lips once I took a look at who lay before my eyes. "Mum?" I croaked. The woman that stood before me was not my mother. My mother's face never looked this tired. My mother did not look this tensed. My mother did not looked so weary-eyed, her brown eyes tired and exhausted. My mother could never afford to not looked poised and elegant in public. Yet, there was the woman I had grown up with for the past nineteen years and she looked nothing like how I was used to seeing my mother out in the public eye.

"Oh Genevieve," she smiled, her eyes lighting up once she saw me. "It's been so long since I've seen you!" Her whole demeanour brightened at once and I felt a rush of emotions underneath my skin.

"Mum, we Skype at least once in two weeks-"

I wasn't allowed to speak another word because my mother gathered me into her arms protectively and hugged me so tight and firmly that I thought I was going to stop breathing. "I might die if you hug me this hard," I said throatily and my mother laughed airily, but I could hint a dark tone in her laugh. I had grown up with this beautiful woman who I was blessed to have as my mother and I knew when something wasn't right. The conversation that I had with her two days ago, on Sunday, suddenly passed my mind and I was more than eager to get her settled into my apartment so she could tell me what all the fuss was about and why it was that she had to deliver this news personally.

"Sorry," my mother replied as she loosened her grip around me but didn't dare let go. "I just miss my baby girl." After a few more moments of reassurance that I wasn't running anywhere, she released me from her hold and smiled at me and while it was sincere it was also tight which only made me all the more anxious. What had gotten her this riled up?

There was only one time this happened but it was years ago - so long ago that I couldn't even remember the reason behind her worry and panic frenzy. Something told me that this situation only differed slightly than the sticky situation in the past that I could barely remember. All I did remember was my mother clutching me tightly against her chest and crying, repeatedly telling me, "it's not real, baby girl. I'll keep you safe. They will not take you away from me." I vaguely remembered a painting as well, but the image of the painting was not vivid or fresh in my mind. I was, after all, just an eight year old girl when this happened and I couldn't possibly remember something that happened more than eleven years ago when it wasn't that important - except, I hadn't known until now that it was really important.

I opened the door and let her in. Giving me a trembling smile, she walked in and placed her hand luggage on floor, right next to the sofa, slowly taking off her trench coat and placing it on the sofa before making herself comfortable on it. She smiled at me once she was all set in while I merely stood by the door of my apartment which was now closed, looking at my mother, trying to decipher what in the name of hell was going on.