Page 19 of The Devils They Are

Turning on the PC, I swing around in my chair, lazily checking the room while it fires up. The four curved screens flash as the multi-tonal keyboard lights up. The light reflects off the dark gray walls as my eyes fall onto my bed at the other end of the room. Pushed against the wall in the center, it appears Mary made my bed this morning. Dammit. I've told her countless times not to worry about it, which forced me into the habit of doing it myself. But the early start to the day had me rushing out the door and I figured she wouldn't check since she hasn't had to make it in months.

I should have known. She never misses anything.

Mary's been looking out for me since I was four. With Dad traveling a lot for work, it's just me here. So, he decided we needed a housekeeper. And eventually, Mary wormed her way into our hearts—well, mine anyway. Dad is pretty indifferent tothe helpas he calls them, but to me, she filled the void after Mom passed.

She even dotes on Rylan and Hunter, constantly fussing over us.

I'm making sure I don't forget my bed tomorrow.

The welcome screen appears, and I type in my password, opening Facebook first. I head straight for the Cedar Facebook group, reading through the new messages. My lips curl into a grin when I spot a post from Bexley herself, warning people to keep an eye on their bags at all times.

But still refusing to ask for help. She probably thinks she's seen the last of me.

There's no mention of my little paper art display, though I have no doubt they all know. It wasn't exactly like I was subtle.

Next, I start typing in the names of her ICE contacts. Archer is first, and while we already know about him, I still take a few minutes to stalk through his details. The smart cookie has his profile locked, but a search shows a few different groups, and when I switch to Google, I also find an article about his father. Interestingly enough, it happens to be one about the Cedar Heights Academy fire.

Ahh, good memories.

When I punch in the next name, I recognize her boy-toy in the pictures straight away. And this idiot hasnothinghidden. His whole entire profile is on public mode.

Steele Turner.

Plays football, likes to drink, ripped his groin muscle two seasons ago—typical stuff. But there's a few photos of him and Bexley together, posing with big smiles and 'peace signs'. I save a copy and move onto the third and final name.

Surprisingly, nothing comes up.

At all.

Zilch.

I try a few different methods such as LinkedIn, Google, other socials, even government related sites and still find nothing concrete.

Annoyed that I can't find anything, I'm too focused on the screen that I don't sense the person creeping in behind me. It's not until two soft hands rest on my shoulders that I jump six feet in the air, spinning around.

"Mary! Jesus. I'll have to start calling you Scary Mary. When did you get so stealthy?"

She smiles down at me, wrinkles crinkling around her cheeks and eyes. Her chestnut hair is fading with silver streaks, but she's still as beautiful as ever.

It's not fair that she's wasting her life here when she should be out living it. But even when I turned eighteen and begged Dad to let her go, it wasn't just him that refused.

"Oh, Tai. Maybe I'm just learning from the best," she jokes. "Or you're too busy to hear little old me."

I grin. "The first one, definitely. I like to think I have some good influence in your life."

"You're the best influence in my life, Bear."

That sense of maternal warmth floats through me as I watch her chocolate irises dance. Even after all these years, I never forget the day she saved me.

Mary had only been with us about a month when Mom passed. The final week before she died, we were able to move her back home from palliative care so she could be comfortable with family. Even though I sometimes wish Dad had stopped me, I stayed by Mom's bed, holding her hand while she slept longer and longer. Mary stood by my side the entire time, and when Mom left this Earth, I was gifted with a white teddy bear by my new friend. It even had one of Mom's old dresses repurposed into a miniature version, with our names embroidered across the bear's chest. Apparently, her and Mom worked together to surprise me, so that I'd always have something to remember.

Poppins is still in my room to this day. But he's in his special box, just in case Calvin gets any funny ideas.

"You didn't have to make my bed," I playfully scold, crossing my arms.

"Oh, enough of that," she smiles softly. "You barely let me do anything these days. Which reminds me; dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"Okay," I beam back. I may not want her to make my bed, but dammit Mary makes a mean dinner. I can't cook to save my life, so it's our little tradition that Mary cooks, we eat together most nights, and I wash up.

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