CHAPTER FIVE: HIS MOTHER
1007 Words
The storm hadn't let up since morning, the rain kept falling each day without stopping...
Ryan Alexander stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in his penthouse, mug of untouched coffee in hand. The city skyline below shimmered under streaks of rain, blurred like a painting left in the downpour.
His phone buzzed.... It was Zion.
"Cancel everything today," Ryan said, before the man could speak. "No meetings. No calls."
Zion paused.
"Understood. The team meeting with the vice directors?"
"Push it." Ryan replied
"And the transfer you requested yesterday?"
"Proceed. Get Anna Blake on the team I asked for."
There was a flicker of amusement in Zion’s voice but he replied anyways.
"Done."
Ryan ended the call and tossed the phone onto the couch. He needed silence or maybe just to forget.
A gentle knock echoed through the apartment.
He didn’t have to ask who it was. Only one person visited unannounced anymore, it was his favourite Uncle, the only person who stayed true to him even at his lowest...
"Come in," he said.
The door opened and in stepped Uncle Harris, gray at the temples, cleanly dressed in a soft navy sweater and slacks. Despite the age in his eyes, he carried the same composure that raised Ryan after the accident.
"You canceled work again," Harris said, settling into the armchair by the window.
"Well,the board’s circling." Ryan said, smiling...
"They’ve always circled. You’re just more interesting when you bleed."
Ryan gave a humorless chuckle. "I’m not bleeding. Yet."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Harris spoke again.
"Your mother asked about you yesterday."
Ryan’s shoulders stiffened. "How was she?"
"Calm. For once. The doctors think the rain soothes her. She called you Richard. Again."
Ryan looked away, jaw tight.
"She doesn’t even remember he’s dead."
"Maybe it’s a mercy that she doesn’t."
Ryan was quiet.
"You’re still blaming yourself," Harris said gently, never adding pressure...
Ryan let out a dry laugh. "I was the one who told them to leave early. I was the one who wanted..."
"It wasn’t your fault." his Uncle reassured him as always
"Then why do I still dream about it every night?"
Harris reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Because you’re human. But the past doesn’t own you. The living still need you, Ryan. And they’re watching, waiting for you to fall."
"Then I won’t fall."
Later that evening, the rain had lessened to a drizzle, so he called on Zion to accompany him to see his mom.
Ryan stepped into the private psychiatric wing like he did once every two weeks. The hallways were too white, too quiet, echoing with an emptiness that pressed against his chest every time. The air smelled sterile, like citrus disinfectant and cotton sheets. Familiar and suffocating.
Room 214.
He stood outside it for a long moment before gently pushing the door open.
His mother sat by the window, her posture perfectly straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her silver-streaked hair was braided...She looked peaceful.
"Richard?" she asked, her voice soft, without turning.
His heart clenched. "No, Mom. It's Ryan."
She blinked slowly and looked at him. A small smile tugged at her lips, but it was the smile she gave to strangers, not her son.
"You sound like him."
Ryan sat beside her, silent for a while. The rain tapped gently on the windows.
"She came back," his mother whispered suddenly.
"Who did?"
"The one with the sad eyes. You saw her too, didn’t you?"
He frowned. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"She came in the rain. Just like before. I remember her perfume. Vanilla and honey, always crying on the inside."
Ryan's body stiffened. The scent… the rain…
He tried to ask more, but her attention drifted, her mind floating somewhere he couldn’t reach.
---
Zion was already waiting beside the car when Ryan stepped outside the facility, now dressed in sleek black, no tie, jacket slung over his shoulder.
"You good?" he asked, his voice unusually casual.
"Define good," Ryan muttered, yanking open the door and slipping inside.
Zion climbed in after him.
"She still thinks you're your dad?"
"Every time."
"It’s getting harder for you to see her, isn’t it."
Ryan didn’t answer immediately. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, it was familiar.
Zion glanced sideways. "You don’t have to do this alone, man. Not everything has to sit on your shoulders."
Ryan gave a small, bitter smile. "Funny, coming from the guy who used to say ‘don’t trust anyone.’"
Zion smirked. "Still true. Except you."
Ryan didn’t reply, but something softened in his expression.
They drove in silence, the city lights blurring through raindrops.
"Let's go clubbing Zion".....
---
Club Noire, 10:17 p.m.
The music was dark. Blue lights snaked across the velvet walls. Ryan sat in the private upper lounge, swirling dark liquor in a short glass.
Zion slipped into the seat beside him, dressed casually for once, no tie, sleeves rolled.
"You really bailed on the board," he said, raising a brow.
"They’ll live."
They didn’t sound like colleagues now. This was different, more relaxed and real.
Zion smirked. "I moved Anna to Team Kade. They think it’s because she has potential."
Ryan gave a faint smile but didn’t respond.
The silence stretched.
Zion leaned forward. "So what was the real reason for that move?"
Ryan swirled the drink again. "Call it curiosity."
"You sure it's not guilt?"
Ryan looked sideways, but his eyes didn’t give anything away.
He downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside.
"You know what, Zion?" he said, voice low.
Zion arched a brow. "What?"
"I think I’m in the mood for it tonight."
Zion blinked. "It?"
Ryan leaned back, cool and unreadable. "Line up the usual. Three."
Zion sat up straighter. "You haven’t, since....."
"Just do it."
Zion nodded slowly and stood. "Got it."
As he disappeared into the crowd, Ryan exhaled, eyes narrowing against the flashing lights. He didn’t clarify what "it" meant.
But from the outside, it...
- Writer
