The man awoke to the sun streaming through the farm house window. He was elated to be alive. He had his mother back. And she was so beautiful. With her long golden hair and pale green eyes; she was so tiny and perfect. He remembered her kind words to him when he had known her in that other place. Feeling the frustration momentarily return, he quickly pushed that thought aside not wanting anything to mar his excitement. She was his and his alone. No one would take her from him again. Whistling he made his way to the bathroom. He must make his Mother proud. He knew how much his Mother loved a clean boy, however, he also knew how much his mother hated it when he was a careless dirty boy.

Showering thoroughly he scrubbed his body going through a whole bar of soap until his skin felt hot and tight with cleanliness just as she had shown him. He must shine. It was imperative that he please her. Not like the last one. He had not been able to make anything right for her. All she had done was cry all the time. Her hot tears had reddened her face diminishing its beauty. Also it had infuriated him when all he had tried to do had made no difference to her at all. Still he had tried to make her happy. In the end she had to go to the place with the other bad Mommy. He had cried for a week over her loss. But he knew somehow it had to have been his fault. He had picked wrong or too quickly, and how he had hated hearing her screams night and day while he tried to work. Thankfully the screams had stopped now.

But what was he doing thinking of these past sins soon he would be cleansed of all his past wrongs. A new born baby, born again through his new mother and he could leave all of this darkness behind. She was going to give him so much. He thought as he lathered his hair for the second time and scrubbed his scalp rigorously. He smiled into the waters spray as it rinsed the soap from his eyes. He would make her favorite breakfast and bring it to her in bed just like she liked. Yes a single red rose cut from the bush that grew at the side of the house would finish the tray. Red roses where her favorite he thought, as he bent down to turn the facets off. Reaching for a towel he rubbed himself dry. Liking the shiny redness of his muscular skin he admired his smooth hairless body. He just knew it as he swiped his hand over the surface of the fogged mirror and gave himself a big grin, showing his big white teeth that, yes everything would be perfect this time.

He left the bathroom, but not before he swiped every surface clean and hung the towel he has used up to dry. He made his way into the master bedroom, and walked over to the folding closet door pulling it open. Riffling through the hangers of row upon row of expertly pleated pants and ironed button down shirts, he decided he would wear his best clothes; after all it was a special occasion. Pulling out his charcoal slacks and a crisp white dress shirt he pulled then on quickly. Not wanting to waste a single second he could be spending with her, he left the room and hurried down the hall. He fairly skipped down the old stairs that creaked at the last one just like it had always done, and he walked over it just as he had always been taught, so as not to make noisy sounds that others may find annoying.

Sometime later he finished all the fussy details of the flawlessly arranged breakfast tray. It held one poached egg cooked to perfection. Just cooked enough on the inside to have the golden yoke pour out when you cut into it, but still firm on the whites. He had two pieces of hand churned butter slathered toast and one cup of piping hot earl grey tea in a delicate china cup. With a side dish of jam bought from Mrs. Malone's fruit stand that was sold two miles down the road. The widow was his closest neighbor and he tried his best to help her in any way he could.

Now of days her old rheumatic hands kept her from doing the farm chores she loved, but that is why she had him, besides she still could make the best damn blue ribbon rhubarb jam this side of Grand Falls. At the present he had five jars in the pantry all payments for drives into town to pay her bills or for carrying her groceries into the house after a shopping trip. Why just the other day when he had dropped her off from her doctor's appointment she had lamented ─ starting her usual litany. Why didn't he settle down with a nice girl, and have some kids of his own. Everyone knew he was good with kids. She had heard how he helped at the children's ward at the hospital. He would be good with some of his own. Little did she know he would love that. If only he could stop doing things wrong; he could then try to meet the right woman, but no one he had yet to meet could hold a candle to the perfection that was his mother.

Speaking of mothers, he should check on his. Walking over he turned on the little twelve inch TV in his kitchen. Reaching behind the set, he flipped a switch on the wall hidden behind a calendar that held the image of a tall slender blonde bombshell that bought and sold houses. He flipped to the much grainier image that he was looking for and was immediately rewarded with the sight of his mother walking around her room. She was so adorable with her sleep tussled hair. She swayed ever so slightly. He reminded himself to caution her about the effects of the drugs he had given her. He didn't want her to fall and hurt herself. He watched her for a moment, but deciding that the real thing was much better than a facsimile; he carefully grabbed the tray and made his way out the screened kitchen door, and down the back porch. 

He walked across the yard past the old barn and into the fields whilst he whistled a merry tune. He didn't have to worry about how it would look to others that he was carrying a tray full of breakfast through his farm field, because he had picked this field to sow for a purpose. This was the field furthest from the main road. He chose it not because it had the best levels of nitrogen or PH balance for maximum crop health, nor the fact that it was surrounded by big oaks that his Great Grandfather had planted. In fact, it would surprise his neighbors to know that he didn't particularly enjoy farming. Oh, he knew how to, just like all the men in his family before him, but he just didn't like to get dirty. His mother didn't like a dirty boy.

All the other acres of land he had he had rented out to his fellow farmers for a small percentage of their sold crop. But this one was his special place. He was the only one that sowed and reaped this field. He chuckled to himself at the double entendre. As he reached his destination, he took a quick look around him just for safety sake before he laid the tray down and pulled on a large pin ring that activated the trap door of his most private of places. His artistic talent had not only given him enough money to buy all his surveillance equipment and the tools of his trade, but it also had made him handy enough to make a fake bed of duplicate plants in plastic polymer. That to the naked eye especially from a distance matched exactly its real counterparts─ row for row.

Ducking his head he made his way into the main room. This place had once been a large tornado shelter. He thanked his father again for being the careful man he had been for making such preparations to protect his family. He felt a second's twinge of sorrow at the knowledge that he could just barely remember the man who had been his father. Thank goodness he had had his mother to tell him all the things that were expected of a real man.

He walked past the main room that was a twelve by six entrance room, rowed with shelves holding his tools and glass jars of linseed oil and turpentine; past his canvas stretchers and their blank canvases that were prepared in advance of their need. They beckoned to him to come and fill their surfaces with color, and to bring them to life with his brush. But now wasn't the time for that. There would be plenty of time for that later. His eyes flicked over to the sophisticated surveillance equipment and computer monitor that he had set up under the stairs. 

Seeing that his mother was now sitting on the edge of the white four poster bed, well away from the door, he took a deep breath and turned the knob. He pushed the door open softly, and closed it firmly behind him. Still keeping her in his gaze he switched the tray to balance it on his large palm and fished in his pocket with his free hand for the keys to the deadbolt. Drawing it out of his pocket and with one trembling hand, he opened the dead bolt at the top of the plain solid wood door. Upon turning around, he had to take a deep breath as he felt a flush of excitement race through his body at the sight of his mother in all her glory. 

She truly was the most beautiful thing one could behold. He would relish the short time they had together. 

Thanks for reading. Please vote, comment, share, or add this book to your library. If you like it please suggest it to a friend, but be forewarned this book will get gory. So for those of you who love edge of your seat creep factor.  You're welcome.

Cheers my lovelies.

Deborah