“Mom!” Brian shouted. “It’s starting to rain.”
Mia shook herself out of the funk she had fallen into. She ran around the side and used the key to open the garage. She turned on the lights and made a beeline to the ladder. She opened it and warned Brian, “Let Mommy go up. It’s not safe for you. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Brian had a hundred questions, but he sensed her mood and chose to be quiet and obeyed. He busied himself with organizing Uncle Burt’s socket set.
Mia moved carefully in the small space. She didn’t realize how much stuff she had left in the garage. She found the chest and realized too late that it was locked, and she didn’t know where the key was. Mia inspected the big ring of keys she had on her, and it wasn’t on it. “I’ll just have to take the whole chest with me.”
“That’s one way of getting you to move your stuff,” Burt said from the ladder. “Let me help.”
“Thank you, I owe you one.”
“You can repay me by you and Brian coming in and visiting for a while, and you’ll tell me the reason for the impromptu raid of my garage.”
“My garage,” Mia reminded him.
“Our garage,” he compromised.
They worked the chest to the edge, and Burt took the brunt of the weight as they brought it down to the garage floor. Mia looked at the lock and walked over and selected some of Burt’s tiny screwdrivers and sat on the floor and fiddled with it.
“What’s she doing?” Brian asked.
“Your mother is picking the lock. It’s a handy skill to have if you’re a criminal or a paranormal investigator.”
The lock popped open, and Mia opened the chest. Inside were books and files she had saved before she burned down the brownstone. She had hidden it in the woods so the fire marshal wouldn’t suspect the fire was arson.
Mia found the file envelope she wanted. She pulled it out just as the first clap of thunder echoed over the water.
“Come on, you two, we don’t want to get trapped in the garage,” Burt said, picking up Brian. “I’ll help you load that thing in your truck after the storm,” he promised.
Mia ran after them.
The house was warm and inviting. It smelled faintly of the last pizza Burt had brought home, but also of the inks on his drawings. Burt’s Dark World had a loyal following. The graphic novels, fictionalizing the world of the reapers, weren’t an instant hit, but the number of readers grew with every issue.
Burt set Brian down and walked in the master suite and brought out a towel for each of them to dry off with. Mia extracted the envelope she had jammed in her jacket and laid it on the counter.
“Can I get you something hot to drink?”
“Do you have hot chocolate?” Brian asked.
“Yes. But I ran out of marshmallows.”
“That’s okay, you didn’t know I was coming,” Brian said. “Can I sit on your couch?”
“Yes,” Burt said, enjoying having the little guy in his home.
Mia was acting oddly, but Brian was alright.
A flash of lightning and a boom of thunder made Mia jump. She quickly scanned the room.
Brian ran over and took her hand. “Come on, Mom, let’s sit on Burt’s couch.” He led Mia over to it and turned back and said, “My mom doesn’t like thunderstorms.”
“I had forgotten that,” Burt said. “Hot chocolate coming up.”
Mia cuddled with Brian until Burt came over. Another flash of lightning caused Mia to reach out for him. He sat down and put his arm around her and Brian. “It’s just a storm. It was forecast. Give me your phone, and I’ll text Ted so he won’t worry,” he said gently.
“I don’t mind storms. Uncle Murphy says that the forest needs rain, so I shouldn’t mind storms too much. We were in a big storm once, and the building fell apart.”
“I remember that. You were a very brave boy, I heard,” Burt said.
“My mother fought a demon, and I sent another one to the Pit of Despair. That’s why I can’t have green chalk anymore.”
Burt laughed. He felt Mia relax beside him. “You were only doing what I told you to do.”
“But I sent the good guy to Hell and not the bad lady.”
“It happens,” Mia sniffed. “If you two will excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.”
Mia got up and ran to guest bathroom.
“Why is she so scared?” Brian asked Burt.
“Something very bad happened that involved lightning when your mom was a young woman. I think she fears it will happen again. It was traumatic.”
“Is it like Lazar’s post traumatic silver dome?” Brian asked.
“Post traumatic syndrome,” Burt corrected. “I find it amazing you got the traumatic right, so points for that.”
It was Brian’s turn to laugh.
“To answer your question, it’s similar. We must be understanding, and don’t tease them about it. Listening would be the best course of action.”
“What if they don’t want to talk about it?” Brian asked.
“You have to respect their privacy. Just tell your mom or Lazar that you’ll be there to listen to them if they need to talk to someone.”
“Did you ever get traumatized?” Brian asked.
“Yes, and it was your mom’s voice that brought me out of the horror I was in. She is very special, and it’s not because she can do all these amazing things. It’s because she is compassionate. Your mother can find good in almost anyone. I’ve seen her face the most horrible entities and, yet, give them a chance to mend their ways. She accepts us
