NoHo Noir Short Fiction: 'Mother Love'

The rental car Maggie Hamilton had picked up at the airport didn’t have GPS and the directions she’d printed out from Mapquest had a mistake in them that had gotten her all turned around.

She could orient herself east-west and north-south but that was about it. It didn’t help that everyone she stopped to ask for directions used a different name for the same route. It had taken her awhile to figure out the “San Diego Freeway” and “the 405” were one and the same.

By the time she got to the North Hollywood Police Station, she was nearly 20 minutes late.

North Hollywood Police Station

11640 Burbank Boulevard

North Hollywood, CA  91601

9:43 a.m.

The detective she talked to had been very nice. She could tell he was busy, but he took his time with her, listening to her story, looking at the pictures of Mary she’d brought with her.

She told him how she’d tracked the girl from their home in Delaware to North Hollywood using Mary’s status updates on her Facebook page. There was a keystroke tracker on Mary’s computer, and she had harvested the Facebook user name and password from that.

Just before the updates stopped, Mary had posted a picture of herself in front of the Circus Liquor clown. Maggie had searched Google images until she pinpointed the location. The detective had been impressed.

He hadn’t been much help though. Mary wasn’t in their system, at least not under her own name. The detective had given her a list of homeless shelters and outreach programs and wished Maggie good luck. He’d forgotten her almost before she left the building.

***

By three, Maggie was exhausted.  She’d never driven in such heavy traffic before and she felt vulnerable in her tiny rented Kia as she threaded her way through lanes filled with massive, dinosaur-sized SUVs piloted by aggressive drivers who tail-gated and cut in front of her without signaling.

She’d already decided St. Charles Borromeo would be her last stop of the day. She was hungry and hot. The only clothes she’d brought with her were too heavy for the weather and the a/c in the Kia didn’t work. It’s February, she’d thought when she picked up the car. Who needs air conditioning in February?

The oldest of the volunteers, Helen, had welcomed Maggie with a smile and coffee. The others had let Helen take the lead because other mothers had come by asking after their children and it was just too sad when they had to tell them they hadn’t seen them.

Maggie had told her story again, and shown Helen the pictures. “She’s only 17,” Maggie said. “She’s just a kid.”

Helen had taken the photographs and scrutinized them. “She looks like you,” she observed as she handed the photos back.

“I used to call her my ‘mini-me’ when she was little,” Maggie said. The old woman was pursing her lips, nodding her head as if what she’d said confirmed something.

“So you saw her as an extension of your own self, not as an individual?”

What?

“And as she grew into a teenager, did you feel competition with her? Seeing her grow into a beautiful young woman while you got older and plainer.”

“Helen …” one of the other volunteers began nervously as Maggie stood there numbly, but Helen talked over her.

“You must have been a very bad mother,” Helen said, “kids don’t run away unless there’s a reason.”

Maggie was so stunned she didn’t know what to say.

“You should go home to Delaware,” Helen said. “Your daughter is dead.” She turned around and left the room as the other volunteers flocked around Maggie to console her.

***

When Helen got home she could tell Mary had been sick again. The house reeked of the sour tang of vomit and a sickly mixture of sweat and pee. The sites Helen had consulted for information on kicking drugs cold turkey had warned about the side-effects of the process and suggested keeping Imodium AD on hand as well as lots and lots of Excedrin and otc sleeping aids.

Meeting Mary’s mother had explained so much. No wonder the poor kid had taken to the streets and started using drugs.

Once the detox stage was over, Helen would start the process of rebuilding the girl’s life.

One day, Mary would thank her.