Ember X (Death Collectors) - By Jessica Sorensen Page 0,76

thinking about him. Please, oh please, don’t let him be a serial killer. I like him too much. I toss the phone on my bed. It’s the afternoon but I’m exhausted and I start to climb into bed to get some rest.

“Ian!” My mom’s scream echoes through the house.

Sighing, I stumble out of bed and hurry down the hall into her room. Her bed is unmade and her waitress uniform is discarded on the floor. The bathroom door is shut and the knob is covered with blood.

I pad up to the door. “Mom? Are you in there?”

She sobs from the other side. “Go away… I want Ian.”

I jiggle the doorknob and jerk on the door. “Mom, unlock the door. Ian’s not here right now, but I am.”

“No!” she screams. “I don’t want you here. You’re a killer! You’re a killer! You killed your grandma!”

I hammer my fist against the door. “Mom, please just open the door up. You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

Something hits the other side of the door and I hear the sound of glass shattering. I run into my room, grab my phone off the dresser, and call Ian on my way back to her bedroom.

He picks up after three rings. Music blares in the background. “Yo, yo, yo. What up?” He’s drunk and it’s barely past lunch time.

“You need to come home,” I demand. “Now. Mom’s having another one of her meltdowns and she only wants to talk to you.”

“What?” He suddenly sounds sober.

“She locked herself in…” I trail off as I enter my mom’s room. The bathroom door is open. “Ian, just get here now. And get someone sober to drive you.”

“Okay,” he says, frazzled. “I’ll be there in ten.”

I hang up, toss the phone on the bed, and check inside the bathroom. The white tile is obscured with fragments of glass and the sink and mirror are stained with blood. The shower curtain is torn from the rod and pills scatter the inside of the bathtub.

“Mom.” I step back into the bedroom and glance under the bed. “Ian’s on his way, and he told me to tell you that it was okay to talk to me.” I pad over to the closet door and throw it open. “Mom?”

“I’m not in there.” Her chillingly numb voice floats over my shoulder.

I spin around and press my hand against my heart, tripping backwards. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She’s just outside the doorway with a pair of scissors in her hand. An X on her forehead drips blood into her eyes and the entire front of her shirt is drenched in blood. “It’s not okay to be around you at all.” Her eyes are unemotional, as if she’s detached from reality. Blood trickles from her wrists as she raises the scissors above her head. “You’re a killer! The cops think so! And Grandma knew, even though she wasn’t thinking rationally. But you did it anyway.”

I hold my hands in front of me and slowly back up, reaching for my phone on the bed. “Mom, how many of those pills did you take?”

“Enough to numb the pain—he told me I had to.” She walks into the room, then pauses, slanting back as if someone is whispering in her ear. “Yes, I know, but she’s not… Okay, I will try.” Her soulless gaze locks on me. “Ember, my dear child, why did you ever have to be born? Ian was fine and your father and I were so happy his disorder did not pass along to him. But then you arrived, and we could see it in your eyes. The way you talked to the air and whispered secrets to the plants while you drained their life away.”

“I…” Does she know about me? “Mom, what are you talking about?” I continue to feel around for my phone. “And Dad didn’t have schizophrenia, everyone just thought he did.”

“I’m not talking about schizophrenia!” she shrieks, her face bright red, and her veins bulging. “I’m talking about a curse passed along to you.”

My fingers brush the edge of the phone. “Mom, just calm down—”

She barrels forward with the scissors pointed out in front of her. I leap on the bed and bolt for the bathroom, but she skitters around the bed and grabs my legs, jerking them out from under me. I fall on my back and she raises her arm up and sinks the scissors into my chest.

“Mom…” A river of blood streams out of my chest and I