A Mother's Love

“I grew up listenin’ to this,” he said, nodding at the radio that cast a pale yellow light in the cab of the old pickup truck. “Shot a man in Reno, just to watch him diiiiiie. Right there it is. Damn, that part always gets me. Whatchoo think?”

The man looked to her for a response but none came. He frowned and clicked on the large metal flashlight on the bench seat beside him. She lay in a motionless heap on the passenger floorboard, wrists and ankles bound by wet rope smeared with dirt and grease, her long black hair in a chaotic tangle.

“I’m gonna call you Tiffany, I think. Yep, that’s it. All fancy with that exercise outfit — prolly cost more than my truck.”

The lighter in the dashboard reported for duty with a percussive chonk. He clicked off the flashlight, pulled a bent cigarette from behind his ear, and lit it with the glowing red coil.

“I mean, what you thinkin’ girl? This side of town, this time of night? You musta been lookin’ for trouble. You musta wanted me to save you from your stuffy-ass life with your boring-ass husband. Is that what it was?” He pulled hard from his cigarette and let the smoke escape his mouth as he continued his excited monologue. “You two get in a tiff — ha. You hear that Tiff-any? Meant to be. Yeah, you had your little Tiffany-tiff over your new hair-do or what color to paint your foyer — foy-yay, or whatever. Point is, you wanted me to take you and I’m happy to oblige. We were meant to be you see? Perfect couple. I’m like your knight in shiny armor or some shit.”

They drove on in silence. On a tree-lined road well outside of the city, he turned into an overgrown driveway marked by a mailbox with leprous white paint and worn numbers. The old pickup plunged into the woods, bobbing and groaning over the rutted two-track, branches whacking and scraping the sides, the noise halting the tree frogs’ nightly performance.

They soon emerged into a clearing and came to a stop before a mobile home — white corrugated aluminum bisected by a wide mustard-yellow stripe. A lonely lightbulb atop the front door strained to illuminate the clearing, its light swallowed by the surrounding darkness. A swarm of mosquitos worshiped the bulb in dance and warm television light flickered through the front screen door.

With his captive still crumpled and unmoving on the floorboard, the man killed the engine and jumped out of the cab, darting enthusiastically up the front steps of the trailer. “Mama, got us another one,” he declared triumphantly, the slap of the closing screen door punctuating the statement.

A stocky woman in a baby blue bathrobe, thick brown hair in pink and yellow curlers, feet stuffed into dirty gray slippers dangling off the leg rest of her brown recliner, sat with her back to the door, her attention on the shopping network host fondling garish earrings.

“You did what?” Her shrill reply over the blaring TV was ripe with disapproval. “We ain’t even got rid of the other one. What was you thinkin’ boy?”

He glanced to the far corner of the room where a young girl lay curled up in a large metal dog crate, cocooned in a canary yellow nightgown that contrasted with her mess of dark hair.

He resumed with a rehearsed timidity. “Sorry Mama, I — I didn’t plan to. It just sorta happened. Saw her runnin’ and I just had to get her. She’s so pretty — and rich from the looks of ‘er. Like one of those fancy ladies from your shows.”

“Use your head boy,” she scolded, her words a snakebite dripping with venom. “Only reason we ain’t been caught is we been careful. You take ’em too quick they gonna notice and come lookin’. You wanna get Mama throwed in jail?”

He deflated with a long sigh and stared at his shoes. “No Mama.”

“Not much we can do now,” she relented. “Bring that bitch in Danny — Mama needs a look.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, enthusiasm resuscitated. He spun around to carry out his mother’s orders, a triumphant and toothy grin plastered on his face that was erased the moment he saw her through the screen door. His Tiffany stood next to the truck at the edge of the darkness.

Danny slinked out of the trailer and approached her like you would a dog who had gotten off-leash. “Hey there, what you doin’?” he said softly, stopping a few feet in front of her. Apart from the rise and fall of her chest and the sound of her jagged breathing, the woman was a statue obscured in shadow.

“You were in an accident and hit your head bad.” He paused awaiting her response. “Don’t worry though — the ambulance is coming. They’ll get you fixed up.”

“Where is she?” The woman’s words a low, breathy growl.

“She who?” he replied.

“The girl,” she replied.

“Only other female here is my mama. She’s inside. Come on in, you can meet her. I’ll get you somethin’ to drink.” He attempted to deflect her hateful stare that bore into him with his friendliest and most reassuring smile.

“All I knew was that it was a ‘redneck in an old truck’ that took her. I spent all night, every night, in the worst parts of the city. I became bait. I’ve been stabbed, mugged, chased, and harassed waiting for,” she made a sweeping gesture to Danny and the truck, “that asshole in the shitty truck to come take me too.”

Danny let out a nervous laugh, and pulled a soft pack of cigarettes out of his left front pocket.

“Bring me my daughter now or I will fucking kill you where you stand.”

“Think you’re smart, huh?” He spun and threw a wild right hook. She moved in a blur, striking his forearm before the punch could land. He yelped like a dog and grabbed his forearm, staring at her in angry confusion. “The hell was that, Tiff —”

“My name is Candice,” she screamed, her voice deepening and doubling in volume with each word, reaching crescendo at Candice — the name with the unnatural intensity of an air horn, bifurcated into two distinct frequencies, the upper and lower tones creating a dissonant wail.

Danny stood gaping, holding his wrist as blood like black oil seeped through his fingers and dripped to the ground.

Her bones shifted and popped in a cacophony of clicks, layers of rhythmic ratcheting with a metallic quality. Her hands collapsed into sharp points. Her forehead separated and spread. Bulbous and sallow eyes without iris or pupil protruded at the widest points of the head, now in the shape of an inverted triangle. Mouth parts formed at the base of the triangle and her hair retracted. Thin antennae extended upward and continued to twitch. Her torso contorted and began to elongate, as her legs folded backward and separated, two on each side. Papery skin unfurled in all directions, first enveloping the head and flowing down the body. Wings thrust out of her back.

Knocked to the ground during her change, Danny scrambled backwards in a frantic crab walk, not taking his eyes from the creature. “No no no —” he shrieked.

Candice scurried to him, sleek and sharp legs moving like opposed cylinders. Looming over Danny, she studied him as he cowered and sobbed, as if her humanity had given her momentary pause for what came next. She drove her spiked tibia into his chest again and again — a gallop to gurgled screams. Soon he was motionless, his chest a gaping crater of meat and splintered bone, eyes wide with terror.

“Danny!” Mama shouted from the top of the stoop, double-barrel shotgun at her hip and face twisted with bewilderment as she grappled with the scene before her. She pulled both triggers. The concussive blasts peppered the creature and tinkled off the truck. Candice let out a piercing hiss at the impact and leapt into the air, disappearing in the black moonless sky.

Seconds later, the creature came down on the woman while she clumsily attempted to load the gun. Its forearms pierced her shoulders like tent stakes driven into sand. She dropped the shotgun, screaming incoherently until the creature’s mandible snapped closed like a trap on her face and flung her limp carcass away.

Candice returned to human form — limbs, torso, head, and wings folding in on themselves with cracks, snaps, and pained groans. Once the transformation was complete, she stood at the foot of the stairs, naked and blood-soaked from her wounded flank, a peppering of steel shot visible under the surface of the skin. She steadied herself on the porch railing while taking in her surroundings.

“Mommy,” came a small voice over the sound of the television. At this, Candice sprinted inside and pulled her daughter from the crate. There on the floor of that dingy trailer, they clung to each other and wept.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. Mommy will never let this happen again.” Candice scooped up the girl and held her tight. “Close your eyes, baby. I’m taking you home.”

Candice carried her daughter out of the trailer and into the night.

This story is also available on Medium (if you're into that sort of thing).