A Cup of Murder

Despite what the mirror showed me, I was certain I was as blue as a Smurf when I began drying my hair. I got my coloring from my aunts, and the blow dryer sent my shoulder length hair flying into an auburn cloud. What I wouldn't give to have the curls my Mom and her sisters had. Unlike the rest of the Tramree women, I had straight hair that wouldn't do anything without assistance. When I took the time, my hair primped up nice... but who had the time for that every morning? I supposed I could thank my dad for that.

Shivering, both from the cold shower and the seeming perpetual chill no matter how hard the trailer's furnace worked, I spent more than a few minutes directing the blast of hot air from the dryer over my naked body to try to warm myself up and to get my blood flowing. With that thought, my mind instantly filled with the remembered images of my dream. I suddenly felt sick.

Stop it! I ordered myself. It was just a bad dream! It was the chapter I was studying, and the Monster, that's all. No more energy drinks so late at night! As I dressed, a creeping dread that something had happened to Mom coiled around me. It was like some giant, invisible Anaconda was slowly tightening its grip, making it difficult for me to breathe.

I didn't have class today, and wasn't supposed to go to the shop until ten... but dread compelled me into motion. I considered calling the shop and demanding to speak to Mom, but hearing her voice wouldn't be enough. I had to see her and make sure she was okay. I finished dressing and then, throwing on my heavy coat, I picked up my truck keys. Hunching against the biting wind, I locked the trailer before I hurried across the gravel and opened the door of my 1992 Ford F-150. No frozen door locks for me... because I never locked it. My breath steaming, I stuck the key in the ignition and twisted to prompt the truck into rumbling life. As the truck warmed, I removed the cover on the windshield and set about scraping the rest of the ice crusted windows, working frantically because I had to get to Mom.

I'd bought the truck, against Mom's express disapproval, three years ago, when I was seventeen. The guy I'd bought it from had delivered it to our home as part of the deal because I didn't have a driver's license... and it didn't run. I'd spent fourteen fifty for the truck, plus another six hundred in parts to get it drivable, plus another sex hundred for tires, but it was mine, and I loved it. Ken had helped me get it running--okay, Ken had done all the work, with me helping him--but that battered, white, rusted out truck was my ticket to freedom, and once we--he--had it running, it had never failed to start or to get me where I wanted to go.

The salt trucks had been out and the sleet and freezing rain from the night before was now a slushy mess. Driving as quickly as I dared, I hurried to Coffee w/ Cream, knowing with certainty that if I didn't arrive, and soon, something would happen to Mom. I didn't know what, and I knew that my feeling made zero logical sense, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the dread from my dream.

I arrived at the shop. During the drive, the closer to the shop I got, the more frantic I became, certain something terrible had happened to Mom. When I arrived, cars were queuing in the parking lot, like normal, and there wasn't a police car or ambulance in sight. I relaxed slightly, but only slightly. I banged to a stop in the first open parking space and bailed out of my truck. I glanced at my phone as I danced between the line of cars waiting at the drive-thru. 7:12. I hurried around the corner of the building.

My heart seized as I entered the warm and inviting shop, the smell of coffee, cream, and pastries strong as the latte and expresso machines hissed and gurgled. Sam and Karen were busy behind the counter, dealing with the customers waiting in line and the drive-thru, but Mom was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Mom?" I demanded before the door could close.

"Camille?" Sam asked, clearly surprised at seeing me. "What are you doing here so early?"

"Where's Mom?" I asked again, louder this time, and I didn't like the slightly harsh sound of my voice.

"She's in the back. Why?"

I hurried toward the counter, but I hadn't reached it before Mom appeared, holding a large container of milk. I skidded to a stop and nearly sagged with relief.

"Camille? What are you doing here?"

It took every ounce of my willpower to not throw myself into her arms. "Are you okay?" I asked. The slight quiver in my voice didn't escape my notice.

"Why wouldn't I be? What are you doing here so early?"

What indeed? I thought furiously. "I... I came by to see if you needed any help," I blurted. The excuse sounded weak, even to me. I was creating a scene, and Mom, Karen, and Sam all looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. What's going on?" Mom asked, her tone making it clear she'd picked up on my near panic.

"Nothing," I said as my heart began to slow.

I glanced around the coffee shop. People were looking at me, perhaps hoping I'd pitch in and help the line move faster as Sam and Karen returned to their tasks. The picture of the happy balloon family was on the wall intact, there was no hole in the floor, and there wasn't a drop of blood to be seen anywhere. I blew out a long, calming breath as my thudding heart continued to slow, and I fought off the sudden feeling of exhaustion as my system purged itself of the adrenaline from my flight or fight response.

"Well... since you're here, the..." she paused as she glanced at the customers, "cooler is acting up again. The milk is freezing and the ice cream is as hard as a rock. Can you take a look at it?"

Suddenly, everything seemed okay. I could tell she'd censored herself because customers were there, because the 'damn' freezer had gone wonky a few weeks ago and the ice cream had nearly turned into just cream. I'd taken the thermostat out, discovered what I thought was a loose connection to the temperature probes, and put it back together, but it seemed like there was more wrong with it than a loose wire.

"Uh... sure."

Mom held my gaze for a moment. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied. The fear was fading fast and my world was righting itself. It was just a dream! Stop making it such a big deal! "Let me take a look at the freezer," I continued as I began shrugging out of my coat.

I walked into the stock room where the large cooler and freezer squatted like a giant stainless-steel toad. I could hear the compressor pumping away, and my lips thinned. The unit was only four years old and shouldn't be giving us grief this soon. I dragged a step ladder over to the unit and crawled partially on top. I popped the covering off and carefully reached into the guts of the machine. I'd have never had the confidence to attempt something like this except for the fact I'd spent weeks working on my truck with Ken. I'd discovered then that most things were designed to be easy, and with a little thought, I could often work out how they worked enough to perform simple repairs. Failing that, there was always Google and YouTube.

I released the two clips holding the thermostat cover to the 'fridge and carefully pulled it out of the compressor housing. I checked the two plugs, but they were tight. Wrinkling my nose, I carefully began working the plugs free.

"Cam..."

"Yeah?" I yelled.

"What?" came Mom's faint voice.

"What do you want?" I called back.

A moment later she appeared at the door. "What?"

"Didn't you call me?"

"No... why?"

She looked as confused as I felt. "Nothing. I thought I heard you call me."

"Wasn't me," she said as she quickly turned and returned to the front.

I finished freeing the device and paused. The fact the freezer was still running with me holding the disconnected thermostat in my hand probably meant it wasn't getting a signal from the gizmo to shut off. I started down the ladder.

"Cam..."

I stepped onto the floor and then listened for someone to call my name again. I heard nothing other than the hiss of the espresso machines and the soft gabble of customers being served. Annoyed that my imagination was still playing tricks on me, I placed the small device on the counter before opening both the freezer and cooler doors to switch the units off.

"I'm going to run down to Great Lakes Commercial Appliances and see if they have a replacement in stock," I said as I returned to the front of the store with what I hoped was the defective part in my hand. "I turned the cooler and freezer off, so try to keep the doors closed. If it starts getting too warm, just turn them on again. I should be back before everything freezes again."

"Did you get the credit card?" Mom asked. I showed her the small plastic rectangle I'd taken from her purse. "Okay." She pulled me into a quick hug. "Thanks. Love you."

"Love you too, Mom," I murmured as I pulled her tight and closed my eyes.

As I opened the door, I was sure I heard someone call my name. I paused and turned back, but Mom, Sam, and Karen were busy. Jesus... I must be losing my mind. Shaking my head, I stepped out into the cold.

Pokagon was too small, and too touristy, to have a commercial appliance distributor in town, so I had to make the ninety-minute drive to Grand Rapids. As I headed south on highway 131, a headache began to form. I didn't know if it was from the lack of restful sleep, stress, the dream, or some combination of all three. I'd relaxed when I'd realized Mom was okay, but the farther from Pokagon I got, the more the sense of dread I'd felt this morning returned.

I felt jumpy, like millions of ants were dancing the merengue between my clothes and flesh. I couldn't understand what was wrong with me. I'd had a dream. So what? People had dreams all the time. I hadn't even seen Mom in my dream, and she was fine. Not so much as a broken fingernail, but despite my efforts, I couldn't seem to shake the dread that something awful had happened... or was going to happen... or something.

More than once I'd considered turning around and going back to the shop, just to be sure there was nothing wrong, that nothing had happened, but I forced myself to continue my drive south. Mom was expecting me to bring back a part that would, hopefully, fix our cantankerous cooler.

Using my phone, I navigated my way to Great Lakes Commercial Appliances, the same place where Mom had bought our cooler, coffee machines, and ice cream cabinets. I pulled to a stop in the small parking lot, and checked the time, to make sure they were open. 9:54. The dealer opened at nine, so I opened the door to my truck. As I pushed the door wide, an evil demon rammed a railroad spike into my skull. At least that was what it felt like.

I slammed the door shut and whimpered as I held my skull with both hands to stop my head from exploding. After four or five hours, the pain began to ease, and I slowly released my head.

"Wow..." I gasped.

I glanced at my phone and frowned. Something must be wrong with the device because it still said 9:54. I stared at it, mute, until the minute flicked from fifty-four to fifty-five. Gritting my teeth, wondering if it was the blast of cold air that had triggered my violent headache, I slowly eased the door open again.

My head was still pounding, but at least the pain was tolerable. Grimacing against the pain and the cold, I stuffed my phone into my coat pocket, picked up the thermostat, and walked into the dealer.

"May I help you?" asked a woman as the door slowly closed behind me.

"Parts?"

"What'cha need?" I handed her the thermostat. She nodded as she looked at it. "Came off a Polar DXS5600 freezer?"

"Uh..." I began. "It's a Polar, but I don't know the model number. It's the small walk-in freezer and cooler combo."

She nodded. "The SBS1200 then, probably. Bought it four or five years ago?"

"About four."

She nodded again. "A lot of these are showing up defective. The good news is, Polar is extending their warranty coverage for these. Let me get you a new one."

"Great! Thanks!" I said, forcing myself to be cheerful, even though my head was killing me.

"No problem."

I followed the woman to the back of the store, pausing as she disappeared behind a counter, and then down an aisle. Less than a minute later, she returned with a box in her hand.

"I have to keep this, to send back to Polar for the warranty. That okay?" she asked as she gestured with the defective thermostat.

"That's fine."

She placed the box on the counter. "Company Name?"

"Coffee with Cream... or maybe Coffee with a W and a slash Cream."

"Catherine Wicker?"

"That's my mom."

The woman nodded as a printer began to whir out of sight. A moment later, she slapped a paper on the counter. "If you'll sign, please." I quickly checked to make sure there was no charge and then signed the paper. She took it back and handed me a second copy. "There you go."

"Thanks," I said as I took the box and paper.

I returned to my truck and settled inside. I rested my head against the back glass with my eyes closed, wishing my headache would go away. I sat like that for maybe five minutes, but rather than the cold glass soothing my head, it was making it worse. Grimacing, I forced my head upright and started my truck. It was getting too cold inside the truck for comfort anyway.

I was about half-way home when my headache returned with a vengeance, and I suddenly felt sick. Slamming on the brakes, I hauled the truck to a stop on the shoulder and jammed it into park. My hand over my mouth, I jumped out of the truck and hurried around to the front of the vehicle where I heaved violently. I hadn't eaten anything that morning and my sides twisted painfully, trying to purge my already empty stomach.

One hand resting on the hood, I stood, bent at the waist, panting as my head shrieked with agony. I heaved again, and then again, every convulsion causing my head to hurt that much more. Then everything flashed black as I passed out... except I wasn't passed out. I could hear the roar of the traffic passing behind me, the soft ticking of my running truck, and I could feel the bite of the cold air. Before I could panic, the blackness disappeared as quickly as it arrived... but I was no longer standing in front of my truck.

I was in Coffee w/ Cream... except I wasn't. I could see Mom, anger etched clearly on her face, but she was like a ghost as I could see the roadside ditch through her. She pointed at me as she said something. From the corner of my eyes, a black gloved hand flashed out and struck the picture of the balloon family, shattering the glass, the shards falling through my truck to land on the snow-covered floor. Mom's eyes widened as her anger instantly morphed into fear.

Hands... a man's large hands, encased in black winter gloves, grabbed her shoulders. Mom twisted violently, colliding with the table as she tried to escape, but the hands held her. The room spun crazily and I stumbled, suddenly dizzy as I grabbed my head. The incredible pain that had forced me from the truck became even worse, and again all I could see was blackness. I staggered, almost falling as I stumbled away from the road, afraid I'd blunder into traffic and be hit by a passing car.

I clung to the edge of my truck as the blackness suddenly receded and I saw Mom again, but now she was laying on the floor, her temple clearly misshapen with blood running down her face from the deep gash to pool in the snow around her head. As I stood, shaking, trying to understand what was happening, her face suddenly loomed close before the hands shook her and then gently slapped her face, as if trying to rouse her.

The close view of Mom's face receded, and I looked around the shop quickly. It was as if I were seeing the room through someone else's eyes. The room slew violently before I stared out of the front glass, traffic passing on the highway beyond the glass. The room spun again, and I saw that the glass over the balloon family was broken and the table beneath it was knocked askew, the top somehow laying inside the motor of my truck. The room whipped back and forth before I rushed to the register, poked furiously at buttons until the drawer opened, and reached inside to grab all the bills. I then spun and hurried to the door, slowing to a walk before exiting, turning the open sign to Closed as the door swung shut.

The intermixed images faded and I was beside the road again, the ghostly images of Coffee w/ Cream replaced by a few swirling flakes of falling snow as I hunched at the passenger side corner of my pickup. A semi-truck roared past behind me. No! No! No! My stomach spasmed again and I retched as sweat broke out on my face, despite the cold.

I stood for a long moment, my hand resting on my truck to give me something grounded to hold onto. Gradually, the pounding in my head and the clenching of my stomach began to ease. I coughed and spat as I gathered my scattered wits. What just happened? I wondered to myself as I slowly straightened.

I didn't know, but I knew, I knew with as much certainty that I was standing beside the highway, that something had happened to Mom. She'd been pushed and had fallen, hitting her head on something that caused her to bleed profusely. I closed my eyes, trying to remember what I'd seen. The ice cream case! She'd hit her head on the edge of the ice cream case! I also knew she was either seriously injured or... dead.

The thought caused my knees to weaken, and I felt like throwing up. I bent, but after taking several deep breaths to steady myself, I straightened again. I felt my pockets, but my phone wasn't there. I remembered I'd tossed it onto the seat. I stumbled to the passenger door and yanked it open. I had a moment of panic when I didn't see the device, but then remembering how hard I'd braked, I glanced to the floor.

I grabbed the phone and whimpered with panic and frustration as I tried to unlock the phone but kept failing. I paused, took a deep breath to calm myself, and carefully tapped my code with shaking hands. The phone unlocked. I quickly pressed the phone icon and selected mom from my recent list. I was beginning to shiver from the cold, but I couldn't pull the phone from my ear long enough to zip my coat.

Hi! It's Cathy. I can't an--

I ended the call before the voice mail prompt finished. Gripping my phone, I crawled into my truck and slid across the seat to the driver's position. Whimpering, I flicked through my contacts until I found Coffee w/ Cream and pressed dial.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang some more. I whimpered and sniffed when the ringing stopped. We're sorry, but no one can take your call. Please--

My hands shaking, I again dialed Mom's number. Hi! It's Cathy. I can't answer the phone right now, but leave me a number and I'll call you back.

"Mom! It's Camille! Call me the moment you get this! It's important!"

I hung up, stared at my phone for a few heart beats, and then dialed again. Hi! It's Cathy--

Blubbering in frustration and fear, I stabbed the button to end the call, tossed the phone onto the seat, jerked the truck into gear, and with barely a glance behind me, I floored the throttle, the truck's tires whining as they spun.

My truck was too old to have any type of hands free, but for the next forty-five minutes, I dialed Mom's number, heard her voicemail prompt, and then either hung up or begged her to call me.

Stop! Just stop! I scolded myself. Mom's okay! You were just as sure she was dead this morning, and she was fine. She's fine now. I sniffed, trying to take my advice to heart, but I couldn't. This was different than this morning. This morning, I just had a feeling, but this time I'd seen what'd happened.