Second part of the story from the online class

“Mom, are you sure it was Robbie? I mean, you haven’t seen him since he was a little boy?” Beth pressed her mother as they sat at the kitchen table. Catherine had called her daughter the day after the robbery, babbling that she had to find the son she had lost twenty years ago.
“Beth, I know my son!” Catherine said indignantly. “A mother knows these things.”
Beth didn’t argue with her, but she knew that if she hadn’t given her the picture that she had discovered when she was researching her family history, that her mother could have been sitting across the table from her son and wouldn’t have known him. From the information she had dug up, her mother had been a full-on drunk when Robbie was a little boy. Catherine couldn’t remember where she had lived right before the divorce form Robbie’s dad, and the following two years were a blur also. She decided to listen to her mom, and help her, if she could.
“Mom, relax. I believe you. Robbie was the guy who hit you and robbed you.”
“Beth, he didn’t know it was me. If he knew, he wouldn’t have done any of those things.” Catherine’s voice showed how much she wanted to believe what she had just said.
Beth bit her lip, she didn’t know her step-brother, but from her mother’s description of the robbery, she was convinced that Robbie Jr. wouldn’t have acted nobler if he had known the woman he was terrorizing was his long lost mother.
“Beth, I need to find him. He needs me!” Catherine whined.
“Ok Mom, do you have any idea how we can do that?”
Her mother paused then and her head dropped a little. “I don’t know, Beth. He has to be living around her somewhere.”
“Mom, do the police know what he looks like? Did you give them a description of Robbie?”
Catherine’s eyes flashed, “Of course not, Beth, I told them some Mexican robbed me. I can’t have them arresting my baby. I would never be able to take care of him then.”
Beth held her tongue again, but it was getting harder to do. Her mother was so prejudice and maybe a little delusional when it comes to Robbie Jr.
“I know what I can do,” Catherine said, her face shining like she had just discovered a cure for aids. “I could report Robbie Jr. missing. Then, instead of arresting Robbie Jr., the police could help me find him. What about that? Your mom’s a smarty, right?”
Not wanting to burst her mother’s bubble, but feeling she had to help her mother, Beth, sighed and said, “Mom, I think that Robbie may not be looking forward to a visit from the police and the police might already be looking for Robbie, and you don’t want to help them with that.”
“Oh, yeah.” Catherine sighed.
“You could call, Robbie’s dad. I am sure he knows where he is?”
With a look that could slice a person’s throat, Catherine practically screamed, “Never! I swore I would never speak to that man ever again, and my mind hasn’t changed!”
Beth reeled back in her chair. It had been years since she had seen this kind of wrath from her mother, but it still affected her the same way. Catherine sat silent, her chest heaving. Beth looked down at the table, her face a twisted picture of mixed emotions. Finally Catherine broke the silence.
“I am sorry, baby. That man just makes me so angry. I know you are only trying to help me find my other baby.”
Beth did not return her mother’s gaze for a minute. She was trying to avoid the tears that would come if she looked at her mother right away. She knew her mother was trying to be sincere in apologizing, but she also knew that it wouldn’t take much for her to fly off the handle again.
Catherine spoke again, “What about hiring a detective, like they do in the movies? They always find whoever they are looking for.”
“Mom, that costs money, a lot. You don’t have that kind of money.”
“I have a little saved, you know that.” Catherine pleaded.
“Mom, you have saved a little money for Brianna’s college, at least that what you told me when you opened the account.” Beth remarked a little hurt that her mother would throw the money she was saving for her granddaughter for a long shot chance on reuniting with a son that probably did not want to see her.
“You’re right, baby.” Catherine said. “I did promise to help your daughter go to college. She is such a lovely girl. I really love Brianna. Ok, we can’t do that. But there has to be some way.”
Catherine kept glancing at the cabinet over the fridge, wishing she could have a quick visit with her friend in there, Jack Daniels. She knew Beth would not allow it, so she let it go.
Like a light bulb had been turned on in her head, Catherine lit up. “What about that AOL internest thing you used to check on the family before. You always tell me that you can do all kinds of things on that computer of yours.”
“Mom, it is called, INTERNET.” Beth corrected, looking down at the table. She paused a minute. She really wanted her mom to be happy, but she didn’t think Robbie would be good for her. She knew she could probably find out where Robbie was by searching some things online. Reluctantly, she finally responded to Catherine, “Yes, Mom, I can try to find out what I can online, when I go home.”
“Oh, thank you, baby,” Catherine cooed as she stood up and kissed Beth on the forehead. She continued standing, looking at Beth expectantly.
“You want me to go home and do it right now,” Beth asked with surprise.
“If you would, sweetie, I really want to find Robbie Jr. I know he needs me and I can help him.”
Catherine looked so eager and expectant that Beth decided that she wouldn’t try to dissuade her, so she stood up, grabbed her purse and kissed her mother goodbye with a promise to call her as soon as she had any information.
Watching Beth leave, Catherine realized that Beth really didn’t want to help her. As that realization settle in, Catherine began to get angry. Why can’t she be happy for me? Is she so selfish? She wants all my attention on her and Brianna. Well, she can’t have all my love. Robbie Jr. needs me and I will find him.”
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Then she saw the picture of Brianna on the fridge and smiled. Ok, I know Beth loves me and she loves Brianna. She is only doing what she thinks is best. I will find Robbie, and I will accept whatever help Beth will give me. But I am not helpless. I know a few guys who might know Robbie Jr. They always hang out at Bennie’s bar. I think I could use a drink and Bennie’s sounds just right.
As Catherine got dressed for her own little bit of detective work. She rehearsed what she would say, how she would act, and what she would do. Slowly, though, she kept thinking about one thing, how she had left Robbie and Danny alone while she went out and got drunk when they were babies. She began to weep. She put down her make-up. The tears flowed freely, and she fell in a heap on the bathroom floor.
“What am I thinking? I have no right to even try to find Robbie Jr.” This line of thinking continued and her crying deepened. She crawled out of the bathroom and slowly pulled herself back to her feet at her dresser. It didn’t take her long to reach the kitchen. She went above the fridge, and grabbed her friend. Screwing the cap off and letting it fall to the Mexican tiles, she took a long drink, and said, “I will go to Bennie’s tomorrow.” No one responded to her procrastination as she shuffled back to the bedroom.
As the numbness washed over her and the bottle falls with no sound onto the thick bedroom carpet, Catherine muttered, “Robbie Jr., where are you?”

Story beginning from an online class

This one part of a story that I am writing for an online writing class. I would love to hear anythng y'all care to say about this. Critique please. The next post will be the second part.

Catherine drained the amber liquid from the glass, listening to the ice clang back to the bottom. She enjoyed the bite of her drink, knowing that the numbing effect she craved would soon follow. As she filled the tumbler again, she replayed the incident this afternoon that was driving her to renew her friendship with her once constant companion, Jack Daniels.
She hadn’t noticed the man when he entered the store. The door chimes that had so annoyed her when she started working at the Stop-n-Shop five years ago were now nothing but background noise. She was engrossed in her book with the Fabio inspired cover art, so she didn’t bother with the customers until they made their way to her counter.
He made his presence known by barking at her to put that trash down and get to the counter. Ordering Catherine Angela Harris to do anything was a big mistake. She doesn’t take orders well, not even when they come from the man who signs her paycheck, but the man’s main mistake was addressing her with that one word that will raise the hackles on any woman. Catherine’s two ex-husbands never got away with that kind of disrespect and there was no way some redneck in a convenience store was going to get away with it. She didn’t care what Mahir would say later about how she treated the customer, she was going to tell this little creep off. She jumped off the stool, sending Fabio crashing to the floor and turned to face the man. She started toward the counter when she saw the man’s hand, and what he had in it. It was nickel-plated and cocked.
She froze, not daring to look at his face, afraid that if she did, he would have no choice but to eliminate a witness.
“Give me the f*#@ money now!” He ordered.
Her hands shaking with fear, she opened the register and drained the contents into a small paper bag. She grimaced when she realized that it wasn’t all that much. She had just come on shift, and she hadn’t had many customers yet. Her fear intensified, worried that the robber would take out his frustration with the small amount of cash on her.
“Now, give me the poker machine money!” He demanded.
Still fearful, she felt a little better, knowing that the poker bag held two thousand dollars. Surely, he would be satisfied with that haul and not hurt her. She also was glad he had asked for the poker bag, because now she could call for help without him knowing. The panic button had been placed right next to the lock for the drawer where the poker machine money was, so that they could push it with less of a chance of a robber catching them alerting the police. Catherine fumbled with the keys, dropping them once, before getting the key in the lock. She was just about to push the panic button, when the man spoke.
“Hurry up; this ain’t getting the baby no shoes!”
Catherine stopped. She knew that stupid saying. She hadn’t heard it in over twenty years, but it was as clear to her as when Robert, her first husband, had said it every time she was running late. She had come to hate that phrase, almost as much as she hated Robert. Robert, the man that had taken her boys away from her, and kept them away from her all their lives, simply because she had a shot or two of Jack Daniels every now and then. She had to look at the man now. There was no way this could be Robert, but she had to be certain. She pretended to fumble with the lock again, while she looked directly at the man. It wasn’t Robert. This man was in his thirties; Robert would have been in his fifties. As she was about to finish getting the money and push the alarm, she met his eyes. She stopped again. She knew those eyes; they were Robert’s eyes, but this wasn’t Robert.
“No, this can’t be. It can’t be.” Catherine screamed at herself in her mind. She looked at his face again. It was pock marked and showed a life committed to alcohol and drugs, but she knew the face and her heart broke.
“What are you doing down there? Hurry up or you will be sorry!” The now familiar man bellowed.
“What am I going to do?” She agonized. She abandoned the panic button; she could not bring the police here, not yet. Quickly, she got the poker money bag and placed it inside the other bag. As she gave him the money this time, she looked directly at him, hopping that she was wrong. Even as he backhanded her, telling her that she shouldn’t look at him if she wanted to live, she knew she was right and shame now replaced the fear she had been feeling. She had fallen to one knee from the slap and he told her as he was leaving that she better stay down, and not call the cops or he would come back and kill her. Then he was gone.
She burst into tears, not from fear or pain, but from shame and loss. She sobbed for a few minutes, but she knew she had some things to do, so she wiped her face clean and got started. Before she pushed the panic button, she went into the office, thankful that she had been promoted to assistant manager; otherwise she would not have been able to pull the tape in the surveillance camera. She took the tape and put it in the suitcase she called a purse. The cops wouldn’t look in there, so she would be ok. She pushed the button and waited, glad that the robber had not actually touched anything at the counter except the money bag. The rest of the day was a blur. After the cops left, Mahir sent her home.
Now, as she drained the glass again, she wiped the tears away from her face. She put the glass on the table and picked up a photograph. It was a snapshot that Beth, her youngest daughter, had given her a year ago. It showed two men in their thirties, obviously brothers. As the numbing effect that she had been longing for washed over her, the picture slipped from her hand and drifted to the floor.
“Robbie Jr, I am so sorry,” she slurred as the man from the store stared back at her from the photo on the floor.

Chapter 3(a)

A man sits alone in a small room. The one door from the hallway opens into a room that is approximately twelve feet wide and fifteen feet long, furnished with simple furniture, a bed, a small bedside table, a wardrobe cabinet and a fairly good sized table with two chairs. On the opposite wall hangs a window that offers a pleasant view of the city and the river that rushes pass just outside the city wall. The room is one of a dozen or so that make up the second floor of this building, all of which are occupied. Some of the other guests have added some better quality furnishings and all have decorated their rooms with keepsakes from home and personal items. The man in this room is not like the others. His room is Spartan and one would be hard pressed to figure out where this man calls home from a tour of his room. The only thing of significance in the entire room is a large map spread across the main table. The map displays the entire known world. Scattered, for no apparent reason on top of the map, are a handful of ordinary pebbles. It is late afternoon and the shadows begin to fill the room, so the man lights the oil lamps that adorn the walls. He had earlier pulled the bedside table close to the map table and had placed a unique lamp on it. The lamp had the normal base of an oil lantern, but added to all four sides, just above the flame were four highly polished three inch long metal plates. These plates were attached at such an angle, that when the lamp was lit, the light hit the plates and cast off a more brilliant glow. Returning to the tables, he lights this lamp and retakes his seat before the map.
So engrossed is he in his study of the map that it takes four attempts of loud knocking before he is aware that he has company.
“Enter,” he calls out.
A tall, fair skinned, human enters the room clad in a chain mail shirt, black leather pants, black leather boots, and a dark blue cloak. Walking with the stride of a confident warrior, he carries his six foot long spear with him into the room.
“You have a visitor, sir,” the guard announces.
Without moving his gaze from the map, the man behind the table says in a tone dripping with rebuke, “I thought my instructions were clear, Borban. I am not to be disturbed.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard replies, “your order was clear, but this visitor is most insistent. Also, I thought I heard you this morning asking for this visitor, mentioning that she was overdue in reporting to you.”
As soon as the last sentence left his lips, Borban knew he had made a critical mistake.
The man behind the table stood quickly and fixed a hard glare at the guard.
“So, now, your duties include listening to my conversations, do they?”
“Uh…no, sir…I…uh...was just…,” the guard stammered, trying to explain himself when the man behind the table cut him off.
“Silence! I will deal with your error momentarily. Tell me who this visitor is.”
“It is Flit, sir,” the guard informed in a much subdued voice.
“Ah, yes, Flit, Send her in and then go and bring Iltor to me.”
At the mention of Iltor, Borban’s expression changed dramatically. He went from looking like a hardened soldier to looking like a ten year old boy facing down a pack of war wolves. Terror was not simply written on his face, terror was the very fabric of it.
“Don’t just stand there, do as you are told. I would not want to have to add more subjects for Iltor to address with you,” the man behind the table barked.
As the guard scrambled out the door, the man returned to his seat. He was playing with the pendent on his necklace, which seemed to have a calming effect on his facial expressions, when Flit entered the room.