C h a p t e r : 4

Mama's Home

Faye Foreigner

--

I had finally printed out all of the homework my teachers had emailed me in an attachment, stacking them all in the appropriate piles based on class and were stacked on the day handed out, going from Monday when I went home up until Friday.

Of course, Chemistry was the class that gave out the heaviest amount of homework. There's no sympathy for the ill, I suppose. I decided I would begin going through the sick student version of Hell with Chemistry, just to get that done and out of the way for next Monday.

My pencil etched across the worksheets, my hand curled through my messy blonde hair. I fell back asleep some time after the 'Green Smoothie of '16' thanks to Jordan, and when I woke up again it was two in the morning. I wasn't hungry, but I was as thirsty as anyone could possibly be. I had grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen and went back downstairs to try and return to sleep again without any luck on my end.

So I decided to print my homework out and get a start on it. Thankfully, it wasn't Pre-Calc homework, though I was pretty sure that somehow Mr. Hyde had snuck some in there especially for me. He always insisted I was his best student, but seeing as I was skimming the edge of an A Minus, slowly head-diving down towards a plain straight B, I couldn't agree with him on his statement. There was at least one other student who had two points more than me, proving my point to be completely true. I had him for all four years, however, ever since Geometry, Algebra II, and Intro to College Algebra.

I believe math is stupid most of the time, but I also believe in getting into my dream college, Harvard, so I either have to do something extraordinary to get them to notice me, or I must pass my PSATs. I've decided I would try for a hand at both, so at least I have experience under my belt if I end up not getting in. It'll be good for my other choices, my backups.

I nibbled on the top of my eraser, folding the top right corner of the worksheet as I squinted down at the computer-written problems. I peeled my binder open and grabbed for my notes on the assignment, running a hand trough my messy hair.

Ten more refills of water later, I decided to take a Netflix break, feeling that I deserved it after an hour and a half of studying at an ungodly sleepless hour. I collapsed back onto my unmade bad and reached for my iPad, unlocking it and opening the app, searching for what show on My List I would decide to watch an episode from.

I pressed play on the show I decided on and began to watch it, my mind fading away from the seemingly endless homework and into the world of Pretty Little Liars.

--

I was in my Chemistry class, my eyes strained on the test that I was working on. My heart was pounding inside my chest and my palms were sweaty with nervousness. Nausea was making my stomach do backflips, and it took me everything not to vomit all over the test.

My eyes were focused on the sheets of paper that was on the desk in front of me, but for some strange reason I could not tell what was written on them. I felt anxiety halt my handwriting completely, my eyes burning holes into the desk at how hard I was staring at the words. What the hell? I thought, dropping the pencil. Am I even writing in English?

Based on how the writing appeared, I was guessing a big, fat no. The writing was most definitely not in the language of English. Symbols I've never seen in my entire life were forming together to make words and sentences, neat, delicate stroke making it up; that was not my style of writing, I usually wrote in chunkier, less elegant writing.

"Faye, you look lost." I jumped, slightly frightened, as Mrs. McCarthy loomed over me. She had a wicked grin on her face, and she placed her long fingernails on the desk. "I sure hope you studied, you know," she added, her malicious grin only growing, "After all ... what a shame it'd be if you failed."

I looked back down at the test, swallowing and trying to stop the shaking in my hand. "I studied," I breathed, "but I've never seen this writing before."

"That's a shame," she said, sporting a disappointed frown and leaning closer. "We just learned this chapter. Are you sure you studied?"

"I—I..." I began trailing off, my eyes falling to the foreign writing once more, swallowing a lump of panic starting to push its way up. "Please—I thought ... "

"You know..." She scraped her fingers across the sheet of paper, dragging it towards her with a horrid noise to follow. "It seems you aren't quite ready for this test. I'll give you a zero for now."

"Wait." I reached out in a flash, snatching her wrist between my fingers. I realized how big of a mistake that was as soon as her eyes sparked with rage.

"I suggest you let go of me, Miss Foreigner," Mrs. McCarthy said in a deadly calm tone of voice, a hidden warning behind her words.

I swallowed, releasing her from my grip. She smiled, a deadly form of appearance, and I watched as her pupils narrowed into sharp, straight lines, taking a snake like look. Her eyes burned with a sneering rage and she grinned softly. "Thank you, dear. Now sit down, or I'll do worse than give you a zero."

I sat down in my seat, and the teacher turned to Ken a few feet away. She rested a manicured hand on his shoulder and smiled sweetly down at him. "You may continue."

Ken looked up at her with a knowing nod of his head, and stood up from his seat. There was a sharp object clasped in his hand, his knuckles white from the right hold he had on the handle. He strides towards me, his eyes dark and as deadly's as Mrs. McCarthy's.

"Ken?" I  questioned silently, eyeing him with uneasiness. I felt sick to my stomach as he grew closer, his jaw twitching with undisguised anger and rage. He was only a foot away from me when he lifted his knife and swiped it at me.

I snapped awake, gasping for breath and gripping my shirt tightly between my fingers. My mouth was dry, and my lips were chapped as hell. I sat up in my bed, my fingers leaving my shirt and lowering to the top of the bedsheets.

My iPad had died sometime ago, seeing as it played Netflix without end as long as I was asleep. I glanced at my alarm, reading the time: 9:30 AM.

A loud meow filled the silence, and I shifted my gaze to where my fluffy Tyrone stared up at me by my bedside. His yellow eyes watched me carefully, expecting me to look at him.

I twisted around and held my arms out over the edge of the bed, a gesture for him to climb into them. "Hey, buddy. Come on," I murmured. He meowed and climbed into my arms, purring loudly as I lifted him up onto the bed.

He lay on my chest, purring as loud as he possibly could and flicked his tail back and forth while watching me. "What?" I asked, to which he cocked his head and blinked those yellow eyes at me.

"You're weird," I mumbled, fully aware that I was talking to my cat who can not even respond.

For a while I just lay on my back, stroking Tyrone's soft fur and staring up at the ceiling. I couldn't shake the nightmare I had no matter how much I attempted to avert my thoughts to something else. The nightmare would just make a reappearance in my mind, from the strange writing to Ken's dangerous stare.

Eventually, I ordered myself to get out of bed and get some breakfast. This required me having to push the large cat off the top of my chest, who hissed at me and glared at me in protest before curling up under my blankets.

I went upstairs to the kitchen, feeling the ache in my joints protest every step of the way. Those symbols in my dream were etched into my brain, and I was more entranced by them rather than the rest of the dream (though Ken waving a knife at me came in a close second).

I chewed my bottom lip, my feet dragging against the cold floor lazily toward the kitchen. They looked familiar, the symbols did, but at the same time I could not even begin to think where I have seen them before. I'm positive I have seen them, somewhere, but I am also positive I have gone crazy so it's a raw deal for me.

I shuffled through the cabinets, pulling out empty boxes of cereal and throwing them bitterly in the trashcan when I saw nothing left. I knew it was my fault because I always put empty boxes of cereal and Poptarts back in the cabinet in hopes I wouldn't be blamed for taking the last of whatever was left. Now I was paying for the bad habit, for I forgot to go shopping and until a few days ago I was the only one here.

I managed to hunt down one raspberry Poptart halfheartedly ripped open. I know that I didn't leave it like that. Only last weekend did I find the same package unopened and holding two of them, telling me that either Jordan or Jen got into them.

I crumbled the foil wrapper between my fingers as I slipped the leftover Poptart into my mouth.

"I was going to make something." I turned and saw Jordan walking in, her eyes bleary with sleep. She sported RavenClaw sweatpants and a black tank top. "If you would have waited."

"Your cooking is terrible," I reminded her, remembering the smoothie she had attempted to force down my throat the night before. "I'll pass, but thanks."

She scowled at me, her face scrunching up. "You're an awful person."

I shrugged, tugging a part of the pastry and nibbling on it. "I'm not going to apologize for narrowly avoiding food poisoning."

"I tasted it. I didn't get hurt," she snapped, angrily searching for something in the cabinet. "Where's the goddamn coffee? I swear to god it's moved every time I look for it!"

"Top left shelf." I smirked behind my breakfast. "I always keep it where it should be, but our lovely cousin enjoys to have coffee when she's over and misplaces it each time."

She practically slammed the cabinet doors shut as she stomped over to the coffee maker. "I don't understand why we don't just buy something to keep the coffee next to the coffee maker. It's freaking genius!"

I snickered. "Glad you came up with the idea. I need to go and buy some groceries so I'll get one while I'm out."

"Marvelous," Jordan replied dryly, searching the cabinets above until she pulled out one of the coffee mugs. It was baby blue with delicate owl carvings engraved on each turn. It was my favorites, a gift from my parents when they returned from a business trip in Ireland.

She made her coffee, the smell of brewing beans drifting up and filling the kitchen. It was a nice aroma, and had a nostalgic feel whenever it hit my nose.

"So no school?" I asked casually, letting my fingers run across the sprinkles of the poptart.

"No," Jordan replied, picking up her coffee and walking to my side and leaning against the counter. "I just don't think the stress is good for you."

"I feel fine now," I tried, biting my lip. "I don't want to miss anymore classes than possible."

My sister shook her head. "I'm sorry, but until Mom and Dad get home I just don't feel that it's a good idea."

"Mom and Dad won't be back until the fifteenth."

"Actually, I called them last night." Jordan lifted the mug to her lips and used the opportunity to take a long sip.

"You what?" I froze, setting the Poptart down on the counter. Crumbs scattered across the top and I stared at Jordan with wide eyes. "Jordan, you didn't!"

"What, you think it would matter whether I did or didn't?" she shot back, brown eyebrows raising in question. "The school made the call before I did. I just gave her more details and a check up."

"Jordan," I repeated, dismay rushing through me. "You do understand that you can't just make them come home over a small thing."

"Small?" Jordan set the mug on the counter and met my eyes, a burning look in their depths. "Faye, you almost passed out. We aren't even sure exactly what caused it in the first place." She then grabbed my arm in her cool hand. "Faye your arm—"

"It's probably just an allergic reaction," I said, pulling my arm back from her grasp. "Don't touch it."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, I just don't want to risk another breakout."

Jordan eyed me coolly, her eyes holding an unreadable flame. "I didn't ask them to come home," she finally stated, picking her coffee back up and sipping it. "They decided that on their own." She pushed herself off the counter and left the kitchen, leaving me alone to my thoughts.

--

After I finished my nearly forgotten poptart, I went downstairs to get dressed. I pulled on a pair of black leggings, a white skirt, a see through white top and a black bra. I pulled a pair of combat boots on and a leather jacket, fearing it would be chilly out.

I searched my bedroom for my purse, which held my wallet and keys. Tyrone watched me closely as I tugged my hair in a ponytail while searching for my things.

I found my purse and walked up the stairs, my thoughts drifting back to my dream more than once during my search and as I walked through the house. Usually, my dreams weren't vivid and clear, and if they were I would forget about them soon after waking. This one I couldn't shake — and that bothered me.

"Jordan?" I called up the stairs, searching for my keys. "Jordan!"

"What?" she asked from the top stairs, very annoyed at being yelled at.

"Do you want anything while I'm out?" I asked her, not bothering to look up at her as I jerked my keys out from under my phone.

"I'll text you."

I sighed and made my way out through the garage, finding my car and getting in.

True to her word, I found a text message of things my sister wanted when I checked my phone at the store. I  propped my phone up against the nearest unused cart and started through the first isle of things to purchase.

When I was done, I had spent over three hundred dollars on groceries alone. I was annoyed at the fact that's the cashier had been snobby with me as I put my items on the line and was sneering at me for every object I did put on there.  

Loading my car was a frustrating experience. The cart kept trying to roll down the middle of the roadway when I turned my back to put some bags in the trunk. I was happy as hell to be done with shopping and was eager to get home and take a nap.

I pulled into my garage and grabbed the first two bags, placing them next to the front door of the entrance to the garage. By the time I had finished grabbing the bags, the entire entrance was filled.

I peered down at the amount, debating on how to get them all through the house in less trips, when someone behind me asked, "Want help?"

I almost dropped the damned eggs and milk, but managed to keep my grip around them tight. My mother's heavy English accent was unique to me, as she was the only one in my entire household to have one.

"Mom?" I whirled around to see my mother standing just down the steps in the garage, a smile on her face. "Mom! H-how did I not see you?"

She laughed. "Hello to you too."

"Hi! Oh my gosh!" I set the bags to the side and rushed down the steps, where she waited with open arms. When they enveloped around me, warmth coursed through my body. The familiar smell of her perfume struck me, encouraging me to hug her tighter. "God! I missed you!"

"I missed you too, darling," she told me, her voice warm and soothing as she stroked my hair. "It feels like it's been a while since I've hugged you."

I couldn't agree more. "Jordan didn't say you'd be back early." I pulled back from the hug a little to look at her and she smiled warmly at me. "I thought it would be really late tonight or sometime tomorrow."

Her lips quirked more and she shook her head. "I made sure I got here as fast as possible. Your father had to stay behind for a few more hours to do some leftover meetings, then he's going to cancel the upcoming ones and the other things planned."

"I didn't want you to have to leave work over this," I admitted guiltily, stepping back from her warm embrace altogether. "It's not something that requires emergency attention. I'm feeling better already."

My mother shrugged, her eyes revealing nothing but love and warmth. "Doesn't matter. You come first, and work comes second. If you're hurt or sick, your father and I will be here when needed."

"Thank you, Mom."

"It's not your job to thank me, sweetie. Now, how about those groceries?"

--
After unloading the groceries into their proper places in the kitchen, my Mom and I caught up on a few things. She bought me a mug from New York, and then she went to take a bath.

I went upstairs to find Jordan, deciding to talk to her about earlier. As I passed a few doors down the hall, I heard voices from my parents' bedroom.

I came to a halt and peeked through the crack in the almost shut door. My mother was sitting on her queen sized bed, her heels taken off and placed to the side as she rubbed her feet. Jordan stood in front of her, her expression frantic.

"Mom, I thought we had more time," Jordan said, her voice shaky. "We — she's not ready."

I furrowed my brows, stepping lightly and listening in closer. I shouldn't eavesdrop, but my attention was caught. "It's not up to her whether or not she's ready, Jordan," my mom replied, her tone sounding tired and worn — a big difference from when I talked to her only minutes ago.

"I know." There was a long, pregnant pause and she then said, "Mom, what do we do?"

Mom stopped rubbing her feet and stretched her back. "I'm taking a bath. Do you know how dirty you feel after being in the air for four hours and on the road for another?" She stood off the bed and picked her shoes, walking to the closet. I whipped back and pressed myself to the wall so she wouldn't catch me while walking past the door.

"Mom," Jordan insisted, her voice rising slightly, "this isn't something you can just drop. Pretty soon it will reveal itself to her, and she won't even know what's going on. What do we do then?"

Apparently my mother knew what 'it' was, seeing as she didn't ask about it. My mother shuffled through her closet, the noises of fabric being the only response for a few moments. Then, "Did you see any Markings?"

"No."

"Then we have time."

"But—"

"Jordan." My mother's tone turned sharp and defensive. "We will discuss this at a later time with your father. For now—"

I decided to make myself known now, and I pushed through the door.

They both shot up, turning to me with shock. "Faye," my older sister sighed, placing a hand over her chest. "Could you be any quieter?"

"I could." I let my eyes drift back from her to Mom. "What were you talking about?"

Jordan shrugged. "Nothing important," she replied, her expression closing off any revealing emotions about the question.

"You sounded pretty stressed for something unimportant," I replied.

"How much did you hear?" Mom asked, pulling out a silk bathrobe from her closet.

"Just something about talking to dad," I lied coolly, fumbling with my fingers. "Everything okay?" I asked hesitantly, leaning forward on my heels then rocking back.

"Of course." My mother looked at both of us dryly. "Now get out so I can take a warm bath. Both of you." She gestured to her door, and herded us out.

"Jordan?" I turned slowly to my sister.

"Mm?"

"You okay?"

"Just fine."