The house's white exterior looks pristine and well maintained. It makes sense. It wouldn't have been in the house that the horrors happened but rather on the property itself. While my dad and I slept peacefully in our beds.
There is a small blue car parked by the cabin, doors and trunk wide open. There are a few dirt-covered boxes piled beside it. That can mean only one thing.
T-Bone is already pushing the speed dial button on his phone and requesting all available backup at our location, including an ambulance to help us deal with my mother’s case of the Foamies.
"She's here," I whisper as soon as the car rolls to a stop. My hand is going for the handle while I brace myself from the sun’s rays.
"Mila, hold on, we can't just barge in. Let me call this in." T-Bone puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me while his other hand goes to his phone, his fingers flying over the screen. "We need a plan."
"A plan? She's there, and we grab her and bring her back. There's your plan."
I rush out of the car, making my way toward the car, covering my face with my hood. The sun burns my skin, makes my eyes water, but I push through.
"Mila?" My mom walks around the corner of the house. Her clothes, which cover most of her body, are covered in dirt. Her graying hair is trying to escape the baseball cap she has on her head to shield her from the harsh sun. Her face is ashen, and there's a thin layer of sweat across her skin. She looks emaciated, white residue stuck to the corner of her mouth. She is definitely sick. It’s definitely the Foamies, but there’s something else, too. If I had to put money on it, I’d say she was injecting that blood we found in her cell into her body. She probably gave herself blood poisoning.
My mother blinks rapidly, her brow furrowed as if she isn't too sure if she's seeing me. She drops the very dirty, very small box from her hands and takes a few steps forward. "You should be in bed, Spooky. It's way past your bedtime."
"Mom?" Her words aren't making sense. I shouldn't be surprised, but the tone of her voice is one I've heard so many times I can't help but feel pulled in by it.
"Go find your father and ask him to read you another bedtime story to get you to sleep. I have to go to work." She kneels down to pick up the box, but when I don't move, she narrows her eyes. "Are you really my Mila?" Her eyes are lined in red, another clear sign that she has the Foamies.
"She's hallucinating, " T-Bone warns, treading carefully toward me. "Take a step back."
I shake my head at him and gesture for him to go. Reluctantly, T-Bone backs away, heading toward the back of the property. Oscar Trow could very well be around.
A random memory pops into my head as I watch my mother struggling to look at me. It was my sixth birthday, and no one from school came to my birthday party because it was at night. I was devastated, but Mom brought me to a drive-in, and we watched two old horror movies. She had held me all through the double feature, not because I was scared, rather because she knew I needed to be held. Comforted. That's who my mother was.
Not this sickly raving lunatic standing in front of me. Not the woman who had been described during the lengthy trials.
"Mom." I can't even keep the pleading out of my voice. "You need to come with me. You're in danger."
She looks around, looking for a threat, her eyes so like mine darting around.
"No, no. Oscar is my friend. He won't hurt me."
"Mom, the danger is inside of you. You're sick. You have the Foamies."
"That's not possible." Her hand goes to her forehead, checking her temperature. "I don't have a fever."
The glassiness of her eyes and the trembling of her hands betray her. She is definitely running high.
"Mom, I think that you might have given yourself blood poisoning. Did you experiment on yourself while you were in prison?”
“It had to be done,” she answers haughtily, giving me a glimpse of the woman she was before.
“You need iron-fortified blood. Come with me, and I'll give you the medicine you need to get better."
My heart feels heavy as I speak, dragging me way down. Because I can give her all of the iron-fortified blood, and I can give her all of the antibiotics in the world, but there is no fixing her homicidal streak.
"Mila, you don't understand. We are so close to a breakthrough. We'll be able to fix all of the diseases in the world. People won't have to age. The answer is in the blood."
"Okay. That's fine. You can keep doing your work if you just come with me."
It's a lie, but I'm banking on her being gone enough to not clue in. I’ve heard all of her reasoning before. It didn’t make sense to me then and sure won’t now.
"No." She screams like a small child in the throes of a temper tantrum. "I can't stop. I'm so close. I just need a few more samples. A few more test subjects."
"Mom, you hurt people because you’re sick. You need to follow me so we can give you help."
Her eyes darken, and she narrows them in a way that has me taking a step back.
"There are always sacrifices to be made in the name of science," she growls at me, flipping on a dime.
I flinch, inhaling sharply at her cold, senseless words. Standing before me for the first time is Sveta Markov, notorious serial killer. In all her sociopathic glory. She no longer bears any resemblance to
