In Search Of | The Ink Well Weekly Fiction Writing - Prompts: #25 ; #26 ; and #27

My hands were shaking as we approached the first floor unit. Maybe it was the thought of seeing him again. Puzzled by the slightly-opened door, my husband, Horace, spread his arm, signaling me to stay back. Once inside, darkness pervaded the room. I grabbed his shirt as he stumbled, searching the nearest wall for a light source.

Finally revealed, my body tingled as I took in the breadth of the space.

Evidence from intense partying remained. Take-out trays and empty liquor bottles lined the small breakfast table. But it was that smell; a mixture of cigar and other smoke that caused me to gag. The paraphernalia strewn near the coffee table confirmed the odor.

Horace quickly passed me a handkerchief as I covered my mouth from nausea.

Besides the clutter, the apartment appeared looted. The open refrigerator smelled abandoned of care and looked devoid of anything edible. In the bedroom, drawers were pulled out of their rails. A broken lamp lay hanging off the bed table. Clothes were scattered around the room.

However, my heart began to race when my eyes fixed on this last discovery of a blood-spattered napkin laying on the bed.

"Oh my God," I screamed.

My legs wobbled walking the few steps back to the car. Once my stomach settled, we drove around the complex. The apartment manager was off duty. Only God knows what the complex's security was guarding. We didn't know what we were looking for, but couldn't force ourselves to leave.

The police arrived shortly after our call. They wouldn't classify it as urgent since there was no sign of Colin. The officers concluded that it was just the way some young adults lived, so the interview was short.

"What about the blood on the napkin?" The pitch of my voice alerted the officers that I was extremely dissatisfied with their cavalier attitude and assessment.

"Does he suffer nosebleeds? If not, we'll make note of it."

"No, he doesn't, and I would think you would note it!" Horace's agitated voice rose slightly.

I was certain some type of struggle took place. The condition of the apartment was not the habits of the son I'd raised for twenty-three years. So I made sure the officers' detailed report contained all I noticed. Speaking the words sounded like a crime scene investigation.

My apprehension didn't subside after we left the complex and headed home. Numerous tragic scenarios filled my thoughts.

The night sky served as a distraction. My anger rose steadily with each passing mile. I needed to assign blame. The hour drive provided me ample time as I thought about that day the family ties completely unraveled.

^{[Source 2 below]}

"Colin, please don't!" I jumped up from the dining room chair. Five seconds later, I reached the foyer, but not in time to witness the keys flying from his hands and landing directly at my feet.

"I won't need them ever again. If I don't see him for the rest of my like, I can live with that." My son's eyes fixed on me as he nodded towards the living room. It was the look and gesture of a young man asserting his adulthood.

"If you walk out that door, don't ever return. It'll be wise for you to remember the bridge you cross." There was no mistaking the threatening tone of his dad.

For a second, I thought I saw tears as Colin stared at me. I frowned toward the direction of the menacing words, but kept silent.

I moved toward Colin. He saw the tears in my eyes. He put his hand up as he moved backward, then turned around facing the front door. I could sense his hesitancy.

"Colin, you're about to make a big mistake. Please listen to me before you say or do something else you'll regret. Let's just take a deep breath and figure out a compromise." After his dad's harsh warning, I knew this sounded lame, but I didn't know what else to say. I didn't even know the reason for the argument.

Colin looked back at me. Confusion crossed his face. I understood. Conflicting words, as always, flowed effortlessly from his dad's mouth.

Life trickled forward in slow motion that first week after he left. That weekend, I was anxious when my phone buzzed. The two-word text, "I'm OK", eased my mind a bit. I advised his dad. He only nodded.

I carefully placed the keys inside my jewelry box on the dresser. I buried my feelings beneath them; then closed, and locked the keepsake. How do you reconcile two people who think they know everything? I thought. One looks like an adult, but doesn't act like it; the other acts like an adult, but doesn't look the part...at least not yet.

I stood looking at the person who was staring back, silently condemning me for not taking a harder stance sooner with them both.

The key and my old feelings remained locked for three months. However, I didn't like what I saw that day in my reflection.

So, I took my small hand mirror into the living room. "Don't ever strike that condescending tone with me again. I'm not your child. Now tell me if you see a perfect parent," I said in an even tone as I handed Horace the mirror.

Silence, as expected. I retrieved the mirror. "I'm going to call our son. I'll let you know how it goes."

The next day, Colin returned my call. I listened intently, then responded, "yes, we promised to release your trust money once you turned 23 years old. We'll honor that." I then added, "if you budget like we taught you, it should last a year."

Colin agreed, then hung up. The next day, he visited. We transferred the money to his account. A silent nod, then he left without an extended goodbye.

All was well until six weeks later. I almost dropped the phone. "What do you mean it's all gone?" I asked, shocked and disappointed.

"You know how expensive life is when it's all on you?" A short pause, then "I paid a couple months on my mobile phone and my rent, though."

"What the hell! I can't reconcile $10,000 gone in six weeks!" I yelled, then continued, "something's happened, and now you're lying about it." My head began to throb. I could feel my blood pressure rise.

"Look, I'm in bit of a jam. No need to worry. I don't want you all involved. I just need more money."

What the hell seemed to have become a standard opener lately when something smelled rotten and didn't set right with me. "What the hell! Do you think we're stupid to continue to throw good money after bad?"

Silence was the preferred answer absent a rational explanation. However, with some coaxing, I managed to elicit extra details. But the totality involving: a girl, betrayal, a roommate, getting fired, and then evicted, was too convoluted and bizarre to figure out during the brief call.

Colin breathed heavily into the phone that signaled he couldn't clarify these events coherently. "If you won't give me any more money, then get my clothes from the apartment before it's locked. The key is where you taught us."

Two weeks later, we headed to Colin's apartment to bring his belongings home.

That's when we discovered the situation there. Once home, our repeated calls to him went unanswered. We were frantic.

The next afternoon, the phone rang. It was the police. The bizarre story the detective who took the report at the apartment told us didn't immediately register, but coincided with what Colin was trying to convey six weeks earlier.

"Where's our son," my husband yelled. Colin was allowed to speak with us briefly. Then, the detective instructed us to come to the precinct. I needed the support of a chair as we listened to a story that felt as though we were supporting cast in a B-rated crime movie.

But this was real life.

Apparently, the police were on the trail of Colin's friend, Bendryx Hayward. We understood then why the officers didn't seem to take our concerns seriously at the apartment.

My husband and I listened intently as the detective recounted the events over the past three months:

"We thought it best not to involve you. Colin was responsible for helping us put a stop to Hayward's crime spree. Hayward fell into that life after he dropped out of college. His latest offense was robbery and attempted murder in another state.

Trying to help a friend, Colin didn't know Hayward was a fugitive. He allowed him to crash for a few weeks. To return the favor, Hayward beat Colin and stole his money. Hayward then threatened to implicate him as an accomplice.

Colin told us he didn't think the police would believe him. Fortunately, he reported the incident after he'd talked to you two a few weeks ago. That's when we set up a string operation.

The plan was to flush him out with the lure of additional money. Colin was scared, and I know it was tense for him. Armed, Bendryx approached his car. Colin jumped out to allow the officers time to approach and apprehend. Suddenly, Hayward hijacked the car. A short chase ensued. The car careened off the road into a ditch. Fortunately, no one was injured. The bad news is that we only recovered half of Colin's money. The good news is that Hayward's crime spree is finished for at least two decades, if the punishment fits his crimes.

Colin agreed to go home with us.

I felt that hurt feelings had subsided to the level of an even-keeled conversation. But I could feel the distance still there as he waited for his dad to unlock the door.

"Your key would've come in handy just now. You did throw it back, remember?" his dad sneered, half jokingly.

"Yeah. Not my finest moment," Colin said, as he lingered a few seconds at the door, then entered. "The truth is I was too ashamed that I didn't listen. I thought I knew at 23 years old what was best for my life. But losing my money, and the thought of me dying in that police chase, made me face reality. I took a hard look at myself."

He continued slowly, "you know how a table has 4 legs. Well, I don't have even one leg to stand on right now. And you all are my last option. No, my not last; my only option."

Knowing my child, it was the best he could do by way of an apology.

We moved aside and allowed him to pass into the kitchen. He was thinner than I remembered. My husband took hold of my hand as we headed for the dining room.

"Do you need help?" I shouted.

"Nope. Nothing has changed here in the past twenty years."

Colin prepared himself a plate and joined us at the table.