Free Curiosity Killed the Kat by Elizabeth Nelson

the room. I couldn’t blame her. At this point we didn’t know what kind of horrors would come out of the night for us.
    Sleep would help both of us. I went to my mother’s room and slowly opened the door.
    At first I hesitated to step inside. The room appeared as it always had from the time I was a child. She wasn’t fond of change and she had never added or removed or changed the furniture in this room. The queen-sized bed was neatly made with a gray and white comforter and she had gray and white accent pillows decorating the bed. Her dark oak dresser and nightstands were uncluttered and dusted. The light blue walls displayed only a few much-loved pictures and I could see a picture of me, taken at my high school graduation, on her nightstand.
    Mrs. Foote had been right. I did feel close to her here. I thought of her waking up and making her bed this morning, never knowing that it would be the last morning of her life.
    With a sigh I sat down on the edge of her bed and stroked the familiar comforter with my hand.
    “Mom,” I said out loud to the empty room. “I came to see you. I wish you were here with me right now.”
    With half a thought that she might answer me, I paused and listened, but the only sound I could hear was Sandra whimpering in her sleep across the hall.
    This was silly. My mother was dead. She wasn’t going to give me advice about what to do. I had to figure it out for myself, for once.
    Still, I thought as I sat there quietly. I almost felt like I could feel her calming presence. I felt better, stronger, being in this house. I thought again about what she had said to me that morning, about being a strong, independent woman and I smiled.
    “Okay mom. I’m doing it.” I said. For some reason I felt like I had to say it to her, even though I knew she was gone. Maybe she could hear me, wherever she was. “I’m going to help this girl and who knows how many other girls that might be involved in this. And then I’m going to make a life of my own, and Steven can go to hell.”
    Even saying it to an empty room felt treasonous. It felt necessary, but scary, as if Steven himself would open the door and walk in, summoned by the sound of his name and the slur against him.
    I held my breath and waited. Nothing happened and I let myself relax.
    “Okay girl ,” I told myself, “Time to see what you’re made of.”
    With that thought I pulled my shoes off and laid down on top of the comforter and fell asleep in minutes, exhausted by the life changing events of the day.

C HAPTER SIX
     
    The next morning I woke up to the sound of knocking on the door.
    When I opened my eyes I went through that jumble of confusion that happens when you wake up in a strange bed. My first thought was that it had all been a horrible dream and Steven would be coming in with coffee or a request for me to pick up his dry cleaning that day. And then I remembered that Steven wouldn’t be bringing me coffee and I would never be running his errands again. And then the moment I remembered that, I remembered my mother was dead and I couldn’t turn to her for help.
    For a second it all felt like it was pressing down on me, trying to suffocate me again, the way I’d felt last night on Mrs. Foote’s couch. I had to make an effort to lift those feelings away from me and bury my fear and grief deep inside so it wouldn’t crush me. I blinked quickly to keep the tears from falling. I had to be strong today, and do something to get us out of this mess. But right now, I had to find out who was knocking on the door.
    I got out of bed and pulled open the bedroom door. The hallway was empty and Sandra’s door was still shut. I hoped she still had the dresser blocking the door. Unexpected visitors were not welcome today.
    Moving slowly through the house toward the front door, I passed through the kitchen to grab a knife. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it – I didn’t know if I was mentally ready to stab my husband, no matter