Glory (Book 2) Read Online Free

could be wrong. She had to make sure.
    She picked up the phone beside her mother's bed and diale d 9-1-1 . She waited for someone to pick up.
    As she did, she looked back over at her mother. The contorted look of anger was still on the old woman's face. She tried her best not to let it bother her.
    "Just hold on, mother. I'm going to get someone to help you."
    Marianne continued to wait, but there was no answer. There wasn't even a busy signal.
    Marianne looked down on the phone and pressed the numbers again.
    Nothing.
    She looked back at her mother - the contorted fac e - and paused. She thought that her mother's eyes were looking straight at her. Big black globes.
    She felt scared again, but fought back the feeling. The last time she had been frightened her mother had been trying to tell her to get help, that she had been having a heart attack. And Marianne hadn't listened.
    "Mother?" she asked. The eyes continued to stare at her. "Are you okay?"
    Marianne lowered the phone back onto the nightside table. Then she crept back over to the old woman and bent down beside her.
    "Mother?" She thought that she saw some movement and nearly jumped back again . But this was her mother . "Is everything all right?"
    She got onto her knees. Her mother's eyes hadn't stopped looking at her . Where they following her ? she wondered. She even thought she heard a sound coming from the old woman. Maybe sh e wa s trying to tell her something.
    "Mother?" Marianne lowered her head beside the old woman's and placed her ear right near her mouth. "Did you say something?"
    Instead of an answer, there was a rush of breath. It came out of her mother's mouth and tickled Marianne's ear.
    Marianne pulled away. She couldn't help it. Her mother's breath smelled horrible.
    She looked back at the old woman. The dark eyes were still focused on her. But they didn't move. Nothing did.
    No, Marianne wasn't a doctor; but she knew for sure now that her mother was dead.
    She raised out her hand and rested it on her mother's head. The old woman had been so good to her, had taken care of her all of her life. Marianne wished that she had been able to do the same. But she hadn't. Here was her mother, lying on the ground, dead. Marianne hadn't even been able to call the ambulance.
    "I'm sorry, mother," she said.
    She sat onto the ground and rested her back against her mother's bed. She didn't know what to do. Her mother had died. Her phone didn't work. She thought about getting up and telling a neighbour about it, but she didn't have the energy . Surely, no one was going to bother her with such a detail . They weren't going to get angry that she didn't call the police. They weren't going to think tha t sh e had anything to do with it.
    "I'm sorry, mother," Marianne said once more.
    She started to cry again.
     
    *
     
    A while passed before Marianne acknowledged the noise coming from outside. She couldn't ignore it any longer. It had gotten louder, more violent.
    She stood up from the floor, unsure what was going on. It couldn't be an accident outside. It didn't sound lik e tha t . If anything, it sounded like a fight. But it couldn't be that, either . Why would there be a fight on her street?
    She walked around the foot of the bed and made her way to the window. Now that she was paying attention, she could hear all sorts of noises - none of them nice. There were screams. There were bangs. There were crashes.
    She approached the window slowly. Then she raised her fingers to the curtains. She couldn't see outside because of them. At least, not very well. There were little holes in the thin white fabric, but they didn't offer much to look at.
    She pulled the curtains back and peered out of the window.
    Her mother's bedroom faced the street. She could see a few car crashes. She could see people running around. Most looked like they were angry. But she didn't think that it had anything to do with the accidents.
    She heard screaming. She saw fighting.
    People punched and