Kathy and her mother sat beside each other on the cream couch in the living room—the T.V. illuminated brightly in front of them. The dim, dull room enclosed in gray walls filled with her mother’s cigarette smoke. Her mother looked at her cigarette between her fingers, and she smothered it in an ashtray upon a wooden end table. Her wrinkly hand reached for a pack and flipped it open. It was empty. She let out a sigh, slapped it on the table, and looked at her petite brown-eyed daughter.

“Is something wrong?” asked Kathy.
“I’m out of cigarettes again,” her mother replied as she pulled out a five dollar bill.
“Would you mind getting me another pack?”
Kathy picked up the remote, put the T.V. on mute, and looked at her mother—she ran her fingers through her brown hair and let out a sigh.
“I thought you said this was your last pack,” said Kathy, “you know… before you quit.”
“Kathy, you know it’s hard,” said her mother, “if it were easy, I would’ve quit when you were born,” she said as her eyes started to moisten. “But life’s been hard, Kathy. All the debt, the stress—your father being gone.”
Kathy put her hand upon her mother’s shoulder, and began to gently caress it.
“Cigarettes are what killed dad, mom.”
Her mother took in a shaky breath and tapped her fingers on her knee. A single tear fell from the mournful widow’s eyes and landed upon her blouse. She looked back up at Kathy with red, swollen eyes.
“Just one last pack—I promise.”
“Fine,” Kathy said as she took the bill, “I need to pick up a few things, anyway.” She picked herself up from the couch, and walked towards the front door. Upon opening it, the frigid air of the night rushed to enter the house.
“Kathy,” her mom called, “Love you.”
Kathy flipped on her hood, “Love you too, mom.”
The sliding glass doors opened as Kathy exited the store—a plastic bag swinged from her arm as the wind blew past her. She halted in front of the store and shuffled through the contents of it; amidst the items was the poison that was killing her mother one puff at a time.
She took in a deep breath, “I really hope this is her last pack,” she said to herself. Kathy tied the ends of the bag into a knot and continued her journey back home.
The parking lot was nearly empty, save for a white van. As she passed in front of it, the white van started its engine and flashed on its headlights. Kathy used her arm to shield her eyes from the sudden, harsh light. Peering over the top of her arm, she squinted as she tried to look at the van. The van started to creep towards her.
“What is this person doing?” Kathy whispered to herself.
She then turned in the opposite direction, and kept her head forward as she quickly walked away. The van was still behind her; it was gradually gaining speed. Kathy saw her shadow swell in front of her as the van neared her. She glanced back at the van as it passed by a light pole—the brief second of light revealed a man in a ski mask. He then firmly wrapped his knuckles around the steering wheel, and the van began to speed towards her.
It was at that moment she started to sprint; an instinctual, but hopeless action. In a matter of seconds, the speeding van rammed Kathy from behind. Her body smacked against the hood, rolled off to the side, and slammed against the ground. She laid there in shock as she held her throat and gasped for air. The van screeched to a halt, and out came the man in the mask. She looked both ways with dazed vision—On one side, her bag in an icy puddle; in the opposite direction was the man running towards her. She desperately tried to crawl away, but every movement caused an unbearable pain to travel throughout her body. She then collapsed on the ground, and saw that the man was near. Upon reaching her, his rough hands seized her by the arms, and the man began to drag her back to the van.
“Let go of me!” Kathy cried in a hoarse voice. “Let go!”
Her legs flailed as they dragged along with her to her doom. Kathy cried out helplessly into the dark night, hoping that somebody would save her. When the man reached the van, he picked her up and tossed her on its carpet floor. She turned around and screamed when she faced the man, who was now holding a needle.
“Oh God, no!” she cried. “Please, God, please!”
He then lunged on top of Kathy and held his victim down as he steadied the needle above her. Her arms scratched the floor of the van and the man’s clothes as she tried to escape his grasp. Kathy then felt the sting of the needle in her neck and cried out in pain. Immediately, the man’s face became blurry, and the world faded to black.
As Kathy began to fade back into consciousness, she looked around the worn motel room with her blurred vision. Kathy tried to move her limbs, but she was bounded by thick ropes—she was only able to move her hands. In her mouth was a gag that was tied tightly around her head. The man, this time without a mask, walked into her field of vision. Upon recollecting the memories of what had just happened, her eyes widened, and she let out a muffled scream as she flopped around on the moth-eaten bed.
“Settle down, lady!” the man said. “I’m not the one who’s gonna be doing anything to you. I’m just here to make sure you don’t get away.”
He then looked into Kathy’s eyes, which were filled with fight; she trembled as she made eye contact with the portly man. He then let out sigh and took out his phone.
“Ain’t nothing I’m doing right now is for me,” he said as looked at his screensaver, which was a picture of him beside an elderly woman. “I’m just doing what I can to help.”
His phone then rang. “Hello? Yeah, I got her here all tied up,” he said into the speaker, “when you gonna get here?... Alright. See you in a bit, love you.”
She was confused about the conversation on the phone. The use of endearment was shocking to her—what a weird thing to hear from a kidnapper. The man then looked back at her and leaned against the grimy wall. They remained in silence until a knock on the door echoed through the room. The man jumped and opened the door, letting in an elderly woman with a fur shawl, oversized glasses, and maroon leather boots; the same woman on the screensaver. She stood still with her hands on her hips as her beady eyes inspected every inch of the musty motel room.
“Turn on the damn heater, Jeffrey,” she said in a raspy voice. “It’s cold in here.”
“I don’t think there is heater,” replied Jeffrey
“Then find a heater, you idiot!”
As Jeffrey started to look around the room, the old woman reached inside her cheetah print purse. She pulled out a cigarette, put it between her fingers, and extended her arm out to the side of her.
“Light!” she called. Jeffrey hastily pulled a lighter out of his pocket, and lighted her cigarette. She took in a drag, and closed her eyes as she exhaled a large cloud of smoke.
“At least you’re good for lighting my cigs,” she said.
With the cigarette still in her hand, the elderly smoker leaned in towards Kathy. She wore flashy makeup and had black, damaged hair—the stench of cigarette smoke stung Kathy’s nostrils as the woman examined her. The woman’s red, crusty lips then cracked a smile, and she turned to face the man. She took a long drag from the cigarette in her scaly hands, and exhaled the smoke slowly.
“You talked to her?” said the woman.
“No,” replied the man. “Well, maybe a little.”
“What I’d tell you, you fool!” she snapped. “After 39 years, you think that my son would be able to follow some damn directions.”
“Mother,” he timidly replied. “I’m 42 years old.”
“Oh,” she huffed. “Then I guess that makes even you more pathetic,” she said as she snickered to herself. “Anything else you’re not telling me?”
“Oh, she had this bag with her.” He then reached beside the bed, and retrieved the plastic bag. He shook it in the air—the contents of the bag rattled. His mother held out her hand, and gestured for him to give it to her.
“What do we got here?” She said as she opened the bad and sifted through its contents. “Nutty Bars, tampons, some of that”—she picked up the pack of cigarettes—“s***!” She turned to face Jeffrey. “You kidnapped a smoker, you dumbass!”
“She looked like she didn’t smoke!” he cried. “I swear!”
“Take the damn gag off her.”
“Yes, mother.”
He quickly approached Kathy and untied the gag around her mouth. She instantly let out a loud, piercing scream that filled the room. The mother slapped her across the face.
“Shut up!” she roared. “Just shut up before I put this thing back on!”
Kathy laid on the bed quietly, with tears starting to fall from her face as she trembled. The woman readjusted herself, and let out a soft chuckle.
“Ain’t no way in hell a smoker can scream like that,” she said with confidence.
She then held out her hand towards her son. “Give me the damn cigarettes, Jeffrey.” He reacted quickly to her order.
“Who are these for?” she asked as she held them up. “I know these are not for you! Your boyfriend? Underage sibling? Anybody that might come looking for you?”
Kathy refused to answer. The mother grabbed her neck and stared into her eyes with piercing anger.
“Who are these for?” she screamed.
“My mother!” Kathy wailed. “They’re for my mother!”
She let go of Kathy and scoffed. “Great! Now we have to worry about the goddamn cops!” she said to herself. She then marched towards the bed side table and smacked the lamp off of it. As she breathed heavily with rage, she burnt out her cigarette on an ashtray upon the same table.
The smoker reached into her purse. “Damn it! I’m running low!” She reached for the pack that was in Kathy’s bag. “Of course these are f***ing wet! Jeffrey!”
Jeffrey rushed towards his mother. She handed the pack to him. “Go make yourself useful and dry these off. I’m running low on cigs.”
When he closed the door after him to the bathroom, the hum of a hair dryer sounded. The mother put her cigarette between her red, crusty lips. She flicked her lighter beneath it until its embers glowed red and took in a large puff. She exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked at Kathy.
“What’s your name, darling?”
“Kathy,” she quickly replied.
“Never liked that name” the old woman remarked. She smirked. “You know, if you’re mother did call the cops, she probably only did it ‘cuz she realized she didn’t have her cigarettes.”
“What do you know about my mother?!” yelled Kathy.
“Probably not much, darling,” she said. “But at least I’m not the one letting her kill herself.”
“Your son’s letting you kill yourself, too, you old hag!” Kathy yelled.
“Ah, but here’s the thing,” the old woman said. “My baby boy already made it so I don’t have to give up these sticks of magic.” She took in another drag. “You’re probably thinking that I’m just gonna shrivel up and die, just like any other damn smoker out there. All I need to keep myself healthy is a simple black market operation for a new pair of lungs—and you know who’s gonna give ‘em to me?”
She took in a long drag, and exhaled a large, circular cloud of smoke in Kathy’s face. “You.”
Kathy’s face drained of all color. She then started to gasp for air as if the room had a limited supply, and her body trembled violently.
“No!” she cried. “Please! You can quit, just like my mother!”
“But here’s the difference between me and your mother,” she said as took in another drag. “Sylvia don’t wanna quit.”
The hum of the blow dryer stopped. Jeffery then walked out the restroom, and approached his mother.
“I couldn’t get them dry,” he hesitated. “I swear I tried my best.”
“How much money you got?” Sylvia demanded.
Jeffery quickly emptied his pockets. Along with the coins that flew out his pocket came out a pocket knife that landed beside the bed unnoticed by all except Kathy.
“That much.” he replied.
His mother gathered the coins. “This is not even enough for a gumball! Go back and try again, you worthless oaf!” she screamed.
He ran back into the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. The hum of the blow dryer once again traveled throughout the room. Kathy kept her eye on the pocket knife.
“I’m tired of talking to you, darling,” she said. “I think I would like you better if you were passed out.”
She then walked over to a cabinet, and pulled out a jug of liquid. “Ah,” she sighed. “In case you’re wondering, it’s ammonia,”—she popped the lid open and damped a rag with the clear liquid—“always puts them right to sleep.” She slowly started to creep towards Kathy with the rag clenched in her hand.
“No!” Kathy begged. “Please! Please don’t!”
“Shut up!” she said as she brought the rag closer to Kathy’s face.
“No! No!” screamed Kathy as she shaked violently. “Please don’t! Please!”
A loud crash of glass then sounded from the bathroom. Sylvia paused, and threw the rag down on the floor as she headed towards the bathroom.
“God damnit, you idiot! They’re gonna charge us for that!”
After she closed the door behind her, Kathy eyed the knife beside the bed once again and examined the position of it. She started to rock slowly, and eventually gained enough momentum to roll off the bed.
She wiggled on the floor, and tried to position herself to reach the knife. “Come on, come on.” she said as she extended her fingers. The door opened—Kathy gasped as she saw the shadow of the man in the stream of light.
“Where do you think you’re going? Get back in here!” the mother screamed. The door closed. Kathy’s forehead began to bead with sweat. She didn’t know how much time she had to get the knife.
Finally, at last, the knife was in her grasp. She carefully opened it and started to tear through the rope; her hand moved quickly in a repeated sawing motion. She looked towards the bathroom door, and back to her hands—the muffled nagging began to die down.
The knife suddenly jerked forward as it broke through the ropes, which caused the ropes around her to loosen. She threw the ropes off of her, and grasped the edge of the bed to pull herself up. Upon standing up, she scanned the room to look for something that would protect her. Her eyes laid upon the broken lamp on the floor; she walked quietly towards it, and grasped it. Kathy held it close to herself, and approached the bathroom with caution.
“Get the hell out, Jeffery!” Sylvia yelled. “You stupid piece of s***!”
He then opened the door and rushed out. He stopped dead in his tracks and widened his eyes when he saw Kathy. Kathy’s grip tightened around the lamp.
“Mother! She esca—”
Kathy struck him on the top of his head with the lamp. He fell limply against the wall of the room, and the carpet around his head began to soak with the blood.
“What the hell did you do now?” the mother screamed.
Kathy hid behind the doorway, and waited for the mother to exit the bathroom. As she walked past Kathy, she looked at the bed, and noticed that her unwilling donor was gone.
“Where the hell did—”
Kathy struck her on the side of her head, causing the pack of cigarettes in her hand to fly across the room opposite of her son. The mother laid limp in the middle of the room—she wasn’t bleeding as heavily as her son. Kathy stood above her, breathing heavily, with her hands shaking. She dropped the lamp, and ran to Jeffrey’s phone that was atop the dresser. She dialed 911, and put the phone to her face.
“911, what’s your emergency?
“I’ve been kidnapped. Please send help.” she said in a breathy, shaky voice.
The mother lifted her head up, and reached into her purse to get another cigarette. When her hand came back empty, her eyes laid upon the pack that was lying across the room. She started to weakly crawl towards it.
“Help me.” croaked Jeffery. “Mother, help me.”
Sylvia looked back at her dying son, and back at the pack of cigarettes. “Momma needs her smokes, Jeffery.” She continued to crawl towards the cigarette.
“Try to escape the area, OK?” said the 911 operator. Kathy rushed to the door and jiggled the doorknob; she was locked from the inside. She then looked at the mother and son, and saw that the mother had moved—she was flicking a lighter under a damp cigarette. Kathy picked up the lamp, and struck her again. Her head fell limp on the ground—the cigarette was still in her mouth. Now breathing more heavily, the mother looked across the room at her son, and saw his chest slowly rising and falling.
“Mother,” he croaked again. His arm reached out, and fell against the floor. Soon after his chest stopped moving—his eyes no longer sustained any sign of life.
“My baby boy,” she whispered. She brought the cigarette to her mouth, and took one last puff before her arm fell limp on the ground. She exhaled the smoke with a low moan, and closed her eyes as she lost all her senses. The mother’s body laid still on the blood-stained carpet.
The sound of sirens grew louder and louder as the cops approached the ratty motel room. No longer pumped with adrenaline, Kathy began to process what she had done. She looked back and forth between the two dead bodies as tears fell from her face. Noticing the pack of cigarettes in front of the mother, she grabbed the box and threw it across the room. Mama wasn’t going to be smoking anymore.