Gene. Sys. by Aaron Denius (best ereader for comics txt) 📕

under the spigot. My bloodshot eyes stare back at me from the mirror with a vulnerable rawness that startles me.

Why would she accuse me of having her dress? I ask my reflection.

After swallowing a handful of pills, I strip the rest of my clothes off and burrow underneath the covers, my exhaustion giving way to an uneasy slumber.

Then, unable to sleep, I boot up my laptop, deciding to search for information on my newfound father. Even though he graduated with my mother, I can’t find any recent information on him or any type of social media presence. An obituary for Edward Marvin Pearson pops up, and my hands tremble on the keyboard.

Both of my fathers are dead?

I tell myself this can’t be the right Edward M. Pearson, but he’s the same age as my mother and grew up around here. It says he served in the navy and lived all over the world during his deployment.

Left to honor Edward are his two children, Edward Jr. and Olivia. He was preceded in death by his parents, Edward and Louisa, and his brother, Preston.

A cause of death isn’t listed, and minimal details are included. I search for the two kids and find a million Edward Pearsons and a decent number of Olivias, more than I would’ve thought possible, but none seem to have ties to our small town.

Filled with sadness, I cry myself to sleep, hating the unfairness of never knowing who my father was until it was too late.

I’m discombobulated when I wake. The light streamed in when I first hobbled to bed, but now the moon’s the only flashlight. The digital clock on the nightstand informs me it’s after 9:00 p.m.

Before I lug myself out of bed, my thoughts drift to my earlier discovery in the barn, and a wave of nausea overtakes me. My racing mind is screaming with an insatiable need that hasn’t been fulfilled. The distinct voice in my head always has a solution to my problems. I need something to curb my craving.

When I emerge downstairs, my mother’s seated at the table, her fork digging into a baked potato loaded up with butter and sour cream. I’m surprised to see her eating something, considering the state of her fridge.

“I waited as long as I could,” she says apologetically.

“Jeez, Mother, it’s after nine.” I shove my trembling hands in my pockets. “I would hope you wouldn’t wait for me to eat.”

“I was about to come and check on you.” Her hand twists around her fork. “I just didn’t want you to think I was spying on you.”

“I’m sure you have a hard time getting up the stairs.” I shrug. “If you need anything, you can always holler at me from the bottom.”

She puts down her fork.

“Are you feeling any better?” I ask. “Didn’t you go and take a nap?”

“I did. I feel much more refreshed.” My mother gives me a small smile. “And relaxed.”

Since my mother finally seems at ease, I should take this opportunity to settle on the couch with her and catch up on the past sixteen years. Find out about Edward and what happened to him. But I don’t have the patience to sit down, my body thrumming with nervous energy. After all the nonsense about the farm and her dress accusations, only one thing is on my mind.

Nonchalant, I slide my flip-flops on. “I’m going to run into town.”

“For what? I just got groceries.”

“I need to just clear my head with a drive.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She frowns. “I worry about you driving at night. You gotta watch out for deer.”

“I drove all the way here. I think I can handle it.” I grab my wallet. “Want anything?”

“Mind if I go with you? It might be good to get some fresh air. We can stop and get some ice cream, my treat.”

“As much as I’d love the company, do you mind if I bring some back for us?” Her crestfallen face causes me to hurriedly add, “I was going to try and call Holden. I’m having trouble with my signal out here.”

“It can be spotty,” she murmurs. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen you on the phone. I figured that husband of yours was getting worried. If it’s about privacy . . . ,” she says with an air of concern.

“It’s not. I’ll just call him on the drive,” I offer. “We can have dessert together. Least I can do for making you wait to eat dinner so late.”

“It closes at ten, so you better hurry.”

With a nod, I search for my keys.

I’m growing increasingly agitated, since there’s nothing more I’d like to do than close the gap between me and my next sip.

“If you’re looking for your keys, they’re in your ignition.” My mother studies me intently.

I don’t bother to ask how she knows this or why I left them there. Mumbling a simple thank-you, I rush outside to my car and pause a moment. I hurry to the barn, carefully remove the towel from the chest, and place it on my passenger-side floor mat. I did tell the chief of police I would pay him a visit. He’s used to having late shifts and is a born night owl. I’ll check and see if he’s in tonight.

Sweat trickles down to my tailbone as I drive, and I can’t decide if I’m anticipating answers about the gun resting on the floor or the taste of my disease. When I reach the station, I’m relieved to see the chief’s vehicle in the parking lot. Even though his gait has slowed with time, he still has a bounce in his step, and he barrels toward me to greet me warmly.

“Sibley!” He gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How’re you?”

“I’m okay.” I lean into his arms, smelling his pine aftershave, the scent as much a part of him as the mole on his chin.

“Must be pretty heavy to be back home after all these years.” He motions toward his cramped office, made smaller