Chapter 8 #2
Rory kicked out a slimy grin as he pulled her up toward him.
Almost as if rewarding her for a blow job well done, he kissed her monstrous blurred-out breasts.
I couldn’t believe such an explicit video had been so quickly released for public scrutiny.
Released before I had been forewarned. Released before I could contact my son.
Released before my whole world fell apart.
Why would they even show such images at all?
Where was Rory in all this? He must have known about the video.
I wasn’t watching it live, for God’s sake.
I was sure this incident had happened at least a day before.
Why had he not told me before the damned video went public?
Why had he come to me last night and tried to make me believe I was the most important thing in his life? Why? Why? Why?
A desperate cry escaped from my lips, my face burning with shame and rage and hurt. “No,” I whispered. How could he? How could she?
My phone lit up again. And again. Philippe barked.
I grasped the ironing board to steady myself before my legs gave out from under me. Could this be happening? A burning smell crept into my nostrils, and I looked down to find the rug on fire.
“Nooooo!” I screamed. The red-hot iron was on its side and had burned a hole through the rug, all the way to the floor.
Smoke filled the room as the flames spread.
I wasn’t wearing shoes, so I couldn’t stomp out the fire.
Screaming desperately, I grabbed a pillow from the chair and tried to smother the flames.
The pillow caught fire as well, dispatching dark black toxic smoke.
With Philippe chasing after me, I ran down the stairs and searched frantically for the fire extinguisher. My pulse throbbed in my neck, and a wave of dizziness fought to drop me to the ground.
You always intend to keep the extinguisher where you can find it easily, but let’s face it, you never expect to need it.
If I’d been any less sane, I might not have cared if the house burned down, but it was almost like the burning rug had distracted me and given me a new mission.
I forgot about Rory and Nadine for a moment.
Back upstairs, amidst the growing cloud of smoke, I examined the extinguisher.
Considering I hadn’t immediately known where to find it, I’d certainly never used it before.
Who has? I tore the plastic safety tie and pulled the black trigger.
White foam shot out and began to cover the room, blanketing the expensive rug, the floors, and the chairs with what looked like snow.
Once the flames were gone, I dropped the extinguisher and unplugged the iron, then collapsed to my knees in the foam, my pounding heart kicking at my ribs. What about Jasper? My poor love.
I trembled like I’d been pulled out of icy waters. Tears lined up like soldiers behind my eyes. The agony of what would come next seized my throat.
My Jasper.
I don’t remember the next few minutes. I don’t think I cried. Those tears had stayed put. It was just this numbness, a throbbing in my ears, the shaking, the torture of loss, of heartache. The terror of having lost it all in moment..
But I remember coming to my senses. It might have been ten or twenty minutes. I was still on my knees, sitting in the foam. Philippe sat by my side, looking at me as if asking what he could to help. My hands shook. The burnt chemical smell had invaded my nostrils. The phone was ringing.
I slowly forced myself to stand and look to see who it was. I’d received twenty-five missed calls and forty text messages. Erica and my parents had called the most.
Jasper’s call was the one I’d just missed. I called him back.
“Mom?” he said, and I knew he knew, and all the suffering I’d endured multiplied like aliens in a horror movie.
I burst into tears and covered my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me cry. After a few agonizing seconds, I muttered, “Honey.”
“Mom, what’s happening?”
How does a mother answer that question with the vulgar truth?
I didn’t even understand what was happening, but at that moment, nothing mattered more than Jasper and his security.
No matter what I’d seen on television, I had a duty as his mom.
I literally bit down hard on my tongue to find some control and then, with the irony taste of blood in my mouth, I said, “I don’t know exactly, Jasper. ”
“Is it true?”
Maybe he hadn’t seen the news yet. “Jasper, do not watch the television. I don’t know what is true, but I want you to come home. Please do not watch the news. Do not talk to anyone about this. Do you understand?”
“Are you okay, Mom?”
“I don’t know. Will you come home, honey? I need you to come home.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I’ll make arrangements.”
“I can get there, Mom. Don’t worry.”
“No, please, sweetie. I’ll make a couple phone calls and book you on the first available flight home. I’ll get back to you with the info.” He finally relented, and we both said, “I love you,” as we ended the call.
I dropped the phone, fell back into the thick foam, collapsing onto my back. Philippe waded through the sea of white and licked my face. I pulled him closer.