Chapter 2 - The Vulture at the Gate
The morning sun rose with a mocking brightness,
casting long shadows across the living room where I had waited in silence.
I had spent the early hours using my theatrical makeup kit,
a hobby from my college theater days that I never thought would serve such a dark purpose.
I applied a dark,
bluish-purple tint to my cheekbone,
blending it with a yellowish hue at the edges to make it look like a fresh,
brutal impact.
I messed up my hair,
put on a torn blouse,
and sat on the floor near the kitchen entrance.
Marvin sat at the table,
his hands trembling as he clutched a mug of cold coffee.
He looked like a man waiting for his own execution,
not a husband who had successfully "tamed" his wife.
"Stop shaking,"
I hissed from my position on the floor.
"Look proud."
"Look like the monster she raised you to be."
The doorbell rang,
a sharp,
piercing sound that signaled the arrival of the matriarch of misery.
I heard Camryn’s voice before I saw her,
clucking with a self-satisfied authority.
"Marvin!
Let me in!"
"I hope you didn't have to be too rough,
but some spirits are just stubborn."
Marvin walked to the door,
his movements stiff and robotic.
When he opened it,
Camryn swept into the room like a vulture scenting carrion.
She was dressed in her Sunday best,
a string of pearls around her neck that looked like a row of teeth.
She didn't even glance at her son before her eyes found me,
sitting in the shadows of the hallway.
A slow,
wicked smile spread across her face.
"Oh,
look at you,"
she cooed,
stepping closer until she stood directly over me.
"The pride is gone,
isn't it?"
"I told you,
Marvin,
it’s all about the first lesson."
"Once they realize they are nothing without us,
they become quite useful."
I kept my head down,
shoulders shaking as if I were sobbing,
while in reality,
I was holding my phone in the pocket of my skirt,
the camera lens pointed through a small,
pre-cut hole in the fabric.
"Is she ready to sign the papers?"
Camryn asked,
turning to her son.
"The power of attorney over her accounts?"
"The transfer of the deed?"
Marvin looked at me,
then back at his mother,
his voice cracking.
"She...
she knows her place now,
Mom."
Camryn reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair,
forcing me to look up at her.
She leaned in,
her breath smelling of peppermint and malice.
"This is for your own good,
dear."
"A woman's mind is too flighty for money and decisions."
"Now,
get up and make us some breakfast."
"Your husband is hungry,
and I want to see how well you can serve while you're hurting."
I felt the heat rising in my chest,
the cold discipline of my training keeping my hands steady even as every instinct told me to break her wrist.
"Yes,
Mother,"
I whispered,
my voice a fragile thread.
I stood up slowly,
limping toward the kitchen,
while Camryn laughed a high,
May you like
musical sound that made my blood boil.
She had no idea that she was walking into a trap that would dismantle her life piece by piece.
