Chapter 1 - Part II

                                    

                                          
IF CELL PHONES WORKED AGAIN, were things getting better? Lizzie spun through her contact list and stabbed a name at random. Jennifer. It rang and went to voicemail. "You know who I am. You know who you are. You know what to do."
                          
"Jen. It's Lizzie. Call me."
                          
Another stab; another message. The sound of voices, even if the people were gone, was like music.
                          
                                                                  *        *        *
                          
Jayce's screaming bird alarm clock woke her the next morning. Lizzie's head throbbed, her mouth so dry her tongue felt like sandpaper.
                          
She rolled off the living room couch with thoughts of murdering her brother and his wake-the-dead clock. "Jason Ronald. Turn that thing-" Reality slammed back into place. Her brother was in the hospital with Mama. "Shit." She stumbled to her feet, clothes twisted from sleeping in them. Lizzie stalked the alarm clock to its nightstand, wrenched the cord out of the wall and dropped it on the floor.
                          
Lizzie wobbled back to the couch. The whiskey bottle on the floor made her heart jump. Jerkwad's best. But he was dead. He would not be slapping her, or anyone else, for it.
                          
Mama had rotten taste in men. She'd kicked Lizzie's father out when Lizzie was three, blaming drugs and the army. The only thing left was the CD and movie collection Mama kept. When she was old enough Lizzie claimed them and Mama hadn't objected.
                          
Lizzie raised the whiskey bottle to swig the dregs, gagging as it hit her dry tongue. Her stomach threatened to empty its contents. She went to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and splashed her face. Her head pounded and she knew from experience it would only get worse. She grabbed some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and swallowed a few.
                          
She returned to the living room and flopped back on the couch. Her phone flashed. MISSED CALL. "Damn." She thumbed the 'return call' and held it up to her ear. "Mama?"
                          
"Lizzie?" Mama's voice was feather-light and tired.
                          
"Yeah, Mama. Sorry, I missed your call. I was sleeping." Lizzie's explanation felt lame.
                          
"Liz." Her voice broke off.
                          
Lizzie could hear her crying. Her gut twisted and her throat tightened; she felt like she was going to throw up. "Jayce?"
                          
Mama sobbed harder in response.
                          
"No, Mama. I'm coming over there."
                          
"NO!" Her mother's voice was steel. The sobs stopped. "You will not. You are not sick. I am. Doug is gone. Now Jason's gone. Dammit, I'm dying! Please. Lizzie, promise me you'll stay inside." Another sob escaped. "Promise."
                          
"Okay, Mama." Tears fell. Lizzie heard a voice in the background.
                          
"The nurse is here to give me meds, Lizzie. I'll call you, okay?"
                          
"Yeah, Mama. Okay." The phone clicked.
                          
Why hadn't she said I love you? Was it too much like goodbye? Or was she just withholding her love like her mother had done? Lizzie grabbed a plate, the closest thing to her, and hurled it against the wall. It left a dent, fell to the floor and shattered. She screamed. It gave her no release.
                          
She headed to Mama's room, keeping her phone close. She collapsed onto the bed and pulled Mama's pillow into her arms. It smelled like her: spicy sweet perfume and a hint of her cigarettes. It had been a week, but Mama's scent had not faded.
                          
Lizzie thought of little Jayce, his short blonde hair she'd dyed red for his first day of school, all the ketchup he put on everything, his annoying habit of having the right answer for everything and never getting into trouble for anything. Jerkwad loved to point out that Jayce was only her half-brother. But losing Jayce wasn't half the hurt; blood was blood. Sobs wracked her body. She lay there for a long time until the sobs faded.
                          
Her head throbbed again. She slid from the warmth of the covers and stepped into slippers. She walked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, going straight for Mama's pills. She ignored the bottles with her own name, prescriptions meant to help her "get along better" in the "normal" world. Not much point in that anymore.
                          
Mama's codeine would kick her headache quick. She opened the container, dropped one in her hand and put the container back on the shelf.
                          
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