Alyssa

King's expression hardens as he stares at the woman who tripped in front of us, his entire body going rigid, as if frozen in place.

I don't have to ask to know who she is: his mother. They share the same nose, the same sharp, assessing eyes, though hers are dulled by time and whatever damage she's done to herself. I can almost picture what she looked like before addiction stripped her of everything. 

She's dressed in faded blue jeans and a red tank top, the fabric ...