by A. R. Shaw
“Do you remember coming down here this morning?”
She took her time to answer. “I think so.”
“Do you know where your father is?”
“He’s asleep in his chair.”
“When’s the last time you’ve eaten anything?”
“It’s been a while. He’s…confused. He forgets that I haven’t eaten.”
She helped the girl sit up and made her drink more of the electrolyte water.
“After you finish this, I’ll give you a little oatmeal if you feel like you can keep it down.”
“Thank you, Sloane,” Nicole said and would have cried had she the tears to spare.
“Nicole, it’s okay. Don’t get upset. We need to get you well.” She knelt down after hugging the girl and sat at her level. She needed to have an agreement with the girl if she was going to be able to help her long term.
“Listen. Your father’s having some problems. He may come here looking for you. If he does, I want you to hide if you hear his voice. Can you do that for me?”
“He’s…he’s not well. He doesn’t mean to hurt me…” she tried to explain.
“I know, Nicole. You don’t need to make excuses. I understand, trust me I do, but you must survive and in order to do that, you need to save yourself from him. So if he shows up here looking for you, you need to keep quiet and hide. I’ll come up with an excuse. Once you’re better, we’ll talk about what to do next, okay?”
She hoped the girl would go for it, but the emotional strain was too much and the girl’s eyes became heavier. She slid down into the veil of sleep again and Sloane covered her back up. In another hour, she’d get her to drink more liquid and try a little oatmeal, a little at a time.
Not one second after she shut the bedroom door, she heard Wren’s alarmed voice. “Mooom!”
She doubled her steps and ran to her room.
“What?”
“He’s coming,” Wren warned.
Sloane sidled up to the window. Doug walked side to side at a quick pace. In his right hand, a butcher knife swung back and forth. He swiped at his own leg as he went.
“Mae, get up here. Now.” She hefted the AR-10 and chambered a round before handing it to Mae and positioning her to aim at the door. Wren already held the shotgun. “No matter what you hear, do not leave this room. If he enters, shoot him. Empty every bullet you have into him. Don’t stop at one. I love you both.” She quickly left and locked the door behind her before they could cry.
She reached the front door right as he began pounding on it.
“Sloane…Sloane!” he yelled.
She had her Glock and the other pistol out and ready.
“What, Doug?”
“Open the door. I need to talk to you,” Doug said.
He sounded scared and Sloane almost felt sympathy for the man, but not enough to endanger herself or her children.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Doug,” she said.
“Sloane…Sloane…listen to me,” he said and then Ace ran up to the window, having recognized the danger in the man’s voice. He growled at Doug through the glass and followed with vicious barks.
“You’re not safe with Trent here. He’s trying to take everything I have. Once he takes all of my stuff, he’ll come after you.” He paused as though trying to remember something. “Oh, and Nicole’s gone. I can’t find her. I think he took her, too. You haven’t seen her, have you?”
She bit her lip. He was truly insane. Even though Nicole was missing, his stuff still came before his child.
“No Doug. I haven’t seen her. I talked with Trent earlier today. He’s been busy cleaning his basement. He’s not concerned with you, Doug. Try to calm down. I’m sure Nicole will wander back home later tonight or tomorrow. Don’t worry about her. If she shows up, I’ll send her home. Okay?”
“I’m warning you, Sloane. He’ll kill you for everything you have. You better listen to me. I’m going to get him before he gets me. This time I’ll get him…” he said as his voice trailed away to a mumble.
Ace barked again and growled at his retreating form.
She peeked around the doorframe and looked through the window to where he had stood. Red droplets of blood stained her concrete stoop. Perfect rounds of crimson red marked a splattered trail both to and from her door. She could not let Nicole go back with him. She’d have to continue the deception.
16
Priorities
The day turned to night, and she didn’t want to leave the girls. After Nicole woke again, she fed her a half cup of oatmeal watered down with reconstituted milk. She’d hoped this would be gentle enough for her to keep down. Nicole fell asleep again, having never been alerted to her father’s presence earlier. Sloane thought it was best this way. Once the girl was better, they’d figure out what to do with her, but living with Doug in his current state was out of the question.
Wren said she had watched as Doug shut himself back inside his house, gnarly knife and all, and hadn’t left the residence again. They kept up the vigil, but as the evening came, Sloane decided to take the dogs back to their designated houses.
She went alone this time since the girls were scared after what they’d witnessed earlier in the day. She’d left both of her daughters locked in her room, as before, with the same orders. If Doug shows up here, shoot him dead. She set up the neighbors’ yards in a different arrangement than the night before and waved to Wren whenever she could to ease her fears. She had to keep up the illusion that Trent was home or Doug would be at her door again in the morning.
She needed to recheck the hoses, feed the dogs, and lock up for the night. She’d begun varying her routine so that no one watching could surprise her. This time, she began with the Millers, who now had a solar lantern on in their dining room, and then the Bakers, who had closed their downstairs windows and opened the upstairs ones. Finally, as she and Ace walked into the Carsons’ house, it was pitch black. She and Ace were making their way to the kitchen when the tiny hairs along her neck stood up. She began to turn on her little flashlight when, all of a sudden, Ace began to growl, low and ominous. Fear shot through her in an instant.
Someone was in there, in the dark. She turned on the flashlight and saw the blood drops along the carpeted entry. Doug! She turned to leave when she heard him speak.
“Trent! I’m going to get you before you get me!”
She turned around and Doug was on top of her. She saw a glint of a knife above her, followed by a sudden impact and a sharp pain. She felt him tug at the handle that now was a part of her somehow. Ace lunged at him. A mauling sound made Doug pierce the night air with a high-pitched scream.
She staggered backwards and ran for the doorway. When she stumbled out into the night, the screaming and growling followed her. She drew her gun, but not before she looked down and saw the knife embedded to the hilt into her shoulder, the handle sticking out before her. The pain hit her and she fell to her knees.
Ace emitted a painful shriek from within the house. A sound erupted from the opposite side of the street and when she looked up at her own bedroom window, she saw her girls were screaming in horror and pointing behind her. She turned again and saw Doug running toward her with a murderous, deranged look on his face. He thought she was Trent. She raised the Glock and fired at him. He never slowed down. He kept coming for her. She fired again and again, and still he was coming at her. She felt the dark closing in. She was fainting and he was nearly on top of her. She fired once more and then her head fell backwards and slammed into the pavement of Horseshoe Lane.
Her eyes flickered toward the girls in the window. Their mouths agape, she could no longer hear their screams. Her own heartbeat was somehow too loud and crowded out their cries. Above her, the stars twinkled, the moon was full and bright, and then it all died out into the night.
17
Wren in Chaos
“Mom! Mom!” Wren yelled as she stood on the second floor. Her damp hands held the shaking rifle, as her siste
r screamed over and over and, Nicole kept roaring, “No!”
That was when the sisters’ mother ran from the darkened house with the hilt of a knife sticking out of the space just below her left clavicle with Nicole’s father chasing her. Then the shots were fired, as their mother lay in the middle of the street on her back, with momentary flashes that lite the night in contrast to the dark in rapid bursts.
Without the moonlight, the three girls would not have known the final outcome, but they saw everything…even the last moment Sloan looked up at them in the window to the moment when Doug’s body landed face down across her legs. Like a drunken boat docking at a busy marina on a Saturday night, Sloan’s body jolted to the side, then righted once again with the impact.
That was it. Both bodies laid motionless. Still. Wren put the rifle down, leaned it against the wall, thinking, How can you leave us like this? You promised.
“Mom! Is she dead?” Mae turned to Wren and asked. Tears streaming down her face, her hands plastered to the window.
Nicole had turned away, leaned against the wall, buckled into herself and slid down the wall wracked with sobs when Wren looked.
She didn’t blame Nicole, she couldn’t look at them laying there in the street any longer, either.
“Where are you going?” Mae screamed. “Mom said to stay here.”
Before Wren realized her plan, she unlocked the door to the bedroom and rushed downstairs with Mae on her heels.
“You can’t go out there!” Mae yelled.
“We have to get Mom away from him. Now help me or be quiet!” she said through clenched teeth.
Nicole suddenly appeared next to Mae saying, “We can help,” as she rubbed the slick moisture away from her eyes with the palms of her hands.
I can’t let her see her father that way, Wren thought. It’s not right.
“Nicole, no. You should stay here. Mae and I…we’ll bring Mom in.”
As Nicole began to shake her head in protest, Wren said, “We need you to look out for anyone. We’ll be quick. Yell if you see anyone coming, okay?”
The young girl took in a long shuttering breath. The breath told Wren, the tears were held there…just on the verge.
“I knew something like this was going to happen.” Wren’s harsh whisper caught her sister by surprise.
“How did you know?” Mae asked still crying.
“Just get behind me. Only move when I say so,” Wren said. She put her warm hand on the door handle, and looked out the side window with the two bodies lying there in the street. A silver-winged moth floated down like a feather and landed on corpses as if that were allowed now that her mother was motionless out there. Wren opened the door, then felt Mae’s clammy hands hang onto her arm. “Stop that! Come on,” she said, shaking from her sister’s grasp.
Looking up and down the street as she neared the stoop, she saw no movement. Nothing. No one came running to help them or harm them. If moths could land on corpses in the middle of the street, no one is coming, friend or foe, she reasoned.
Then, when she decided to stop being afraid, Wren marched with heed, straight out to her mother.
“Wait, is it safe?” Mae said scrambling after her sister. “Mom said to stay inside!”
Wren never answered. Her feet stopped at her mother’s head while her arms hung like stiff rods swinging at her sides.
Standing over her mother’s form from the top down, it occurred to Wren that never in her life had she seen her mother this way: small, delicate, fragile. Dead? That was the question Mae asked her earlier. The hilt swayed just so slightly in the wind. Wren’s knees buckled suddenly, to get a closer look. “Mom?”
“Is she dead?” Mae asked, her voice wretched, from five broad steps behind her.
Wren forgot her sister. Forgot she was even there.
“No. Help me.”
“Is he…dead?” Mae asked still from the same distance behind her.
“Yes. Too much blood.”
Pebbles skidded under the soles Mae’s sneakers as Wren’s eyes tracked the slow oscillations of the hilt, back and forth. It wasn’t the wind.
“Be careful of the knife,” Wren said to her sister as they each lifted their mother by the shoulders and freed her legs of the dead weight of Doug.
She felt her mother would weigh as much as a mountain. She thought the task of dragging her inside the house would take all night. In no time, they pulled her surprisingly light body, back across the street, out of the moonlight and into the darkened house.
It was Nicole who held the door open to the moonlight as they crossed the threshold and sealed it slowly shut as she peeked at her dead father’s form until the last sliver blinked out.
18
A Mantra
“What do we do now?” Mae asked as the three of them stared down at Sloan’s body on the living room floor.
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor,” Wren yelled.
“We can’t call a doctor,” Nicole whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry he did this to your mom.”
“Stop crying. Both of you,” Wren said, annoyed, as the younger girls embraced. “It’s not your fault, Nicole. It’s no one’s fault. She shouldn’t have gone over there.”
“It’s not Mom’s fault!” Mae yelled.
“Shut up!” Wren yelled and knelt down near her mother’s head with her eyes affixed to the knife handle still swaying in the wind.
“Get some clean towels…and, a bottle of water,” Wren said and both girls ran off, returning quickly with the items.
Wren took one of the clean white hand towels their mother kept only for guests and sat the others nearby. “She’s not going to like that we used her best towels,” she said as she reached for the handle when Mae suddenly asked, “Wait! What are you gonna do?”
Retracting her hand suddenly, Wren said, “I’m going to pull out the knife, Mae. What do you think I’m going to do? We can’t leave it in there like that.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for someone?” Mae asked.
“We can’t wait for someone. There is no someone. It’s just us, Mae. Here, hold this towel. As soon as I pull out the knife, you put the towel on the wound and push down. That’s what they told us in health class.”
“Okay,” Mae said kneeling down next to Wren’s side and holding the folded towel shaking in her hands.
Wren hadn’t touched the knife handle yet. She still gazed at its sway. That movement meant her mother breathed but what would happen when she pulled the blade free? Did the sharp point pierce a lung? The blood, she expected, but what about after that? What if she stopped breathing then? Wren closed her eyes and shook her head.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t over think. One step at a time. That’s what Wren’s father used to say to her at the kitchen table as he guided her through tough math problems. It became a mantra for Wren before tests. Now, the mantra played on a loop within her mind. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t over think. One step at a time.
Her hand reached for the hilt. That’s when she literally felt her mother’s life within her hand. She grasped the handle harder.
“Wait, Wren, maybe…”
And Wren pulled the knife free with one swift yank.
Blood pooled up and began soaking the circumference of the wound. “Now, Mae. The towel.”
“Oh,” Mae said and reached the towel forward, “I can’t.”
Wren grabbed the cloth from her sister and pushed the layers into her mother’s shoulder. Kneeling up, she pressed down.
Then nothing. No one said a word, as if it was any other dull day in the living room playing a game or reading a book. But Wren watched her mother’s chest as she held her down. She waited for the rise and ebb of her mother’s breathing. She felt for it, too.
“It’s getting on the carpet,” Nicole said pointing a finger down at the once beige rug, turned a dark grey after the flooding, and now the damaged fibers were evolving into a shade of maroon.
“Oh, help me,” Wren said
, and the three of them rolled Sloane onto her side, placing a pad of towels underneath her shoulder. Turning her back again, Wren pushed down on the wound.
After a time, Wren lifted her palm and saw the bloom of bright red blood growing beneath. “Hand me another towel.”
“Is it stopping? What do we do if it doesn’t stop?”
“We’ll keep adding towels until it does, Mae.”
“Won’t that soak up all her blood? I don’t think we have enough towels,” Mae said suddenly startled.
“Mae, it’s okay. She’s breathing, see?” she said pointing to her mother’s chest. “And her pulse is beating. She’s going to be all right.”
“Why is she still sleeping then?” Nicole asked.
Wren hadn’t asked herself that question, yet. Looking down at her mother, the scene replayed in her mind.
Her mother came out of the house with the knife hilt already stuck inside her. She ran down into the street. She staggered and then fell as she shot Nicole’s father a few times. That’s when Wren remembered seeing her mother’s head hit the pavement. Watched the scene replay in her mind, the sickening thud as the back her mother’s skull slammed down on the road. That was called a concussion, a brain injury. That was bad.
With her clean hand, Wren slipped it under the back of her mother’s head, massaged her scalp, and felt there. She pulled it away and came back clean.
“We have to wait and see. We don’t know what’s going to happen yet.”
19
Two Weeks Later
“Moooom,” Mae woke her.
“I swear to God, you’ve got to stop that, Mae! Is there something wrong?”
“No, I was only joking,” Mae giggled.
“That is not funny. Is everyone up?”
“Yeah, Nicole’s on watch and Wren’s fixing breakfast,” Mae said as she helped her mother sit up, though she didn’t need to now. She did it more out of kindness than necessity.