Tugging at the Heart Strings

Even as tired and as fatigued as he was, Michael remained on heightened alert, ears attuned to any unusual sound coming from beyond the tenuous security of the handbag.

There was a smell, a familiar odor in the air teasing his senses and Michael began salivating. It smelled like fresh baked cookies, just like his mother would sometimes make when he was a little boy.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, drawing the scent across the olfactory receptors in his nasal passage. That was exactly the smell of her cookies, the smell eliciting a handful of happy memories tucked away in the recesses of his subconscious mind, bringing him back to a time before all of the shit that ripped the family asunder happened. A smile touched his lips as the recollections continued to surface.

“Michael, honey, where are you son?” he heard a voice call again, causing him to snap out of his reverie. He knew that voice, but it left him feelings confused, perplexed. It belonged to his mother. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be here now. She was in Europe somewhere burning through her divorce settlement with some boy toy not much older than him hanging off her arm. It couldn’t be, could it? He shook his head from side to side, almost violently. No. It had to be another one of Adelina’s gypsy tricks, a trap to bait him into revealing himself. The old gypsy had already shown them she could make herself look younger and imitate Lucie, why not his mother. Too much didn’t add up. First, why would she be here? That why made zero sense? Secondly, wouldn’t the fact alone that he was super tiny raise some alarms for her? In what world would that not be considered odd?

“Michael, please son, you’re scaring me,” he heard his mother’s voice say, fear bleeding through into the tone. “Where are you?”

Every instinctive fiber in his body wanted to rush out and take solace in her arms, but his mind knew better. She should not be here. Plus, after the divorce was finalized, there is no way in the world his father would have even allowed his mother into the house. No chance. To say the split was acrimonious would be an understatement. It had been ugly, messy and savage and no one got out unscathed, especially Madison and him. Nope. There was no way in the world his mother just happened by and offered to help find him.

The smell of fresh cookies continued to intensify, tantalizing his nostrils, they smelled so good and he was so hungry his stomach grumbled in response. When was the last time he had eaten? Mirielle’s?

He looked at the opening in the purse, the one he had fallen through. Could he climb back up? He desperately wanted to go to her.

“Michael, please son,” he heard his mother call again, repeating her plea, the fear in her voice put a lump in his throat and made him feel like he was a bad child. Immediately he started to scale up the interior of the purse, trying to get up and out, but slipping and falling back down and landing on his back. What am I doing? Seated on his ass, he shook his head and slapped his own face with his left hand, using the blow to remind himself it was a trick, Adelina playing with his mind. Using her powers to cloud his reason and impair his judgment. Her strategy and tactics were so convincing, so compelling.

He heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. Curling himself into a tight ball, he tried to make himself small and as innocuous as possible.

“Don’t you think this masquerade isn’t a little brutal?” he heard Lucie’s voice protest, the sound coming very close to the bag.

“Brutal? You yourself pointed out that I wasn’t doing my part to assist. I’m just trying to help encourage the boy to reveal himself before something truly unfortunate happens,” explained his mother voice, much farther away. Top of the stairs?

“Do you not think some of what has already transpired will not leave some measure of lasting trauma to his psychological state?” Lucie asked.

His mother’s voice snorted. “So the boy got the opportunity to experience the heated affection of some very attractive young women,” she said nonchalantly, “where’s the lingering harm?”

“Affection? Is that what you call it? I think it was more like wanton lust those girls experienced intensified by the power of your curse,” Lucie countered.

There was the sound of his mother’s laughter. It sure sounded like her, the lilt, the cadence of the speech, it was a perfect match, giving him an eerie, uncanny feeling.

There was an exasperated noise, close still to the bag. The sudden movement of the bag took his feet out from under him, spilling him to the bottom of the bag as it moved. Spreading his arms and legs wide, he tried to protect himself. The zipper on the bag opened, bright light pouring in. His heart thundered in his chest as he dreaded to see whose face it would be to look in the bag as he rolled over to look up. It was Lucie. Her massive hand halfway into the bag when she saw him, her eyes blinking as she registered his presence.

“Maybe once the lady Mirielle has been fully restored to her prior self she can help you look for him?” she suggested, curling her fingers around the cell phone and removing the device from the bag.

Face looming back over the opening, Lucie looked down on him, touching her right index finger across her full lips to indicate silence.

Michael nodded eagerly, swallowing hard. Was this real Lucie, or another manifestation of Adelina’s magical ability? A reprieve or a cruel evisceration of hope? He didn’t know. A wry smile crossed his face. Not that it mattered much, trapped as he was in the inside of the bag. The only thing for him to do now was wait.