by B. F. Simone
“Drew, look. What’s done is done. Can we stop playing the blame game and talk about your daughter,” Will said.
“The one you’ve stolen from me?”
“They didn’t steal me,” Katie said.
“Oh, no. They’ve been plotting this for some years now. Lucy’s always been good at revenge.”
Lucinda laughed violently. “You think I would use a child to get back at you? You’ve got to be kidding me. Only one of us is that cold hearted.”
Katie’s dad looked at them all. One against four. It wasn’t fair. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It just.” Katie said, trying to defuse the tension.
“That’s why they brought him here? Nothing just happens in life. I thought I raised you smarter than that.”
Katie looked between her dad and Tristan. Tristan’s eyes were dead cold. She tried to connect the pieces but nothing fit.
Will cleared his throat, “Are we gonna sort this out or not?”
Katie thought her dad was going to slam the door in their faces. Instead he left it open as he walked inside. He leaned on the wall that led to the living room. “You know you can’t take her to an omitter, Drew. It’s against the law, it’s her choice now, she’s over the age.” Will never had a quiet voice, but in their small hallway it boomed.
“Don’t talk to me like I don’t know your law.”
“Our law,” Will said. “You are still one of use whether you act like it or not.”
Lucinda stood in the middle of the hallway not touching anything. Tristan was just as rigid. Katie wanted to suggest that they all sit down, but she felt so small.
“Drew–” Will started.
“No, Will. I get it. The boy shows up and She,” he pointed at Lucinda, “Starts feeling a bit vengeful, and somehow my daughter ends up in the middle of this. I can see through you Lucy, you’re like glass. And Will you’ve never had the balls to tell her when she’s bat-shit crazy.”
“I’m crazy? How dare you! HOW DARE YOU! After what you did—”
“I did it to protect my daughter.” Katie’s dad went red in the face. “You’ve just exposed her, it’s only a matter of time before—I can’t believe you! After all I’ve done to protect my daughter!”
“What about my sister? What about her family? You just didn’t care did you? How can you stand here and think what you did was right? For years you lied to my face. How can you look at his face and think what you did was right?” Lucinda was shaking.
“Your sister? My wife was there too!” Her dad didn’t budge. “I made my decision. Katie make yours. I’m not going to burying my daughter. If you remember correctly,” her dad looked at Tristan with disgust in his eyes, “I didn’t even get to bury my wife.”
“You didn’t bury her?” Katie’s voice was so small the only person who showed signs of hearing her was Tristan.
“Decide now Katie. I can make everything go back to normal and we can get on with our lives.” Her dad fidgeted.
“You know it’s not that simple,” Will said.
“I can’t—” she looked at Tristan. What had happened ten years ago. Why couldn’t she remember anything about having a mother. “You took me to an omitter before didn’t you?” she said. She couldn’t look her father in the face. She knew the answer was written all over it.
“And you’ve had a good life because of it. This world—“
“What about Allison and Brian and everyone else? Their parents aren’t trying to erase their memories. I’m—”
“You’re different, Katie. You can’t be apart of this.”
“Why do you think I’m so stupid? If they can do it so can I. I am going to do it.” She was starting to feel brave. She was starting to feel like she had a voice. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Whether I like it or not? Okay,” her dad’s face contorted. She had pushed the last button. “Get your shit and leave.” He turned around and walked into the living room. The conversation was over.
Katie packed another bag full of clothes. The last time she was packing a bag she didn’t think she was actually running away. This time she’d been kicked out. This time Tristan wasn’t there to look through her things, it was just her, packing as fast as she could trying not to cry like a baby. She wasn’t even sad. She was angry. What had just happened? Everyone knew something she didn’t. There was no wonder she never remembered Kindergarden or any single thing about her first grade. She’d always chalked it up as she was too young to remember things that far. But there weren’t many baby pictures either were there? No, there was one. She was sitting with her dad, maybe she was two. Who’d taken it? The mother who had died during childbirth? What happened to the rest of the pictures? Who was Tristan and why did her dad talk to him like he was at fault for whatever happened. He would have only been seven…around the same time his parents were murdered. What happened?
Her mind spun faster than ever before. It worked hard trying to uncover clues. Every time it went as far as it could she’d start to feel dizzy. She almost tripped going down the stairs, but she swore, for a moment, she saw a little boy with blue eyes and black hair.
No one said anything on the drive to Lucinda’s and Will’s house. Her new home until her dad came back to his senses—just like old times. It hurt that he kicked her out, but most of it was him being petty. She knew he’d get over it sooner or later. But did she want to go back home to a house of lies? Before she left she wanted to smash every picture of her mother. What if the woman on the wall wasn’t even her but some fake picture that came with the frame. That’s the life her dad wanted for her. Fake people to fill stupid picture frames.
Lucinda didn’t have to tell Katie which bedroom to set up in. It was the same bedroom she spent most of her childhood living in. She had more childhood memories here than she did at her own house. Katie passed through the front door and stopped. When did those memories start? She ran to her old bedroom and searched the door frame. She found it in seconds. Several notches and their correlating years where Lucinda kept record of her height. Her stomach dropped. It started at seven-years. She ran to Brian’s door and looked. His started when he was one. As far as Katie knew, as far as anyone told her, she’d been coming to this house since she was born. She’d asked her dad once about that picture of them both, when she was two. Her hair had been in an elaborate up-do. She’d asked who did it and he’d told her Lucinda.
It was a lie. Another lie. She could feel it in her bones. The memory was fuzzy but it hit her, the first day she’d met Will and Lucinda. Lucinda was making applesauce, and let Katie help. Katie had asked if Lucinda was her mother. No, maybe that was a dream. Maybe she was making it up.
Katie unpacked one of her bags and hung up her kitty poster. It was all she could do before she left the room to find Will.
He was in the basement watching pictures move by on the TV.
“How’s unpacking?” His gaze was still fixed on the TV.
Katie walked over to the empty arm chair. She leaned on it rubbing her fingers over the fabric. “Okay, I guess.”
She looked at the TV pretending to watch it. They were both pretending and she felt stupid. “Will—my mom didn’t die in childbirth, right?”
“No, Katie. She didn’t.”
“When did she die?”
“About ten years ago. You and Drew moved up here right after.”
What had happened that made her father erase the memory of a six year-year old. “—How?”
“I wasn’t the one who was there.” This time he looked at her. “Some things are best left alone. But I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t go looking for.”
She stared at the TV waiting.
“You’ve had a long day, maybe you should go get some food and hit the sack?”
He was telling her to leave.
On her way up the stairs she saw Brian walk through the front door.
“What are you doing here?” he said. Katie thought there was a hint of annoyance in hi
s voice, but she ignored it. She was on edge and probably thinking too much of it.
“I got thrown out.”
“By your dad?” Brian looked thoroughly surprised. “What the hell did you do?”
It struck her that he had no idea what was going on in her life. How much was because he didn’t care to ask. At that moment she felt a twinge of satisfaction that Tristan had embarrassed him in front of everyone. Someone had shown him he wasn’t that invincible.
“I told him I was going to quit school and be a prostitute,” Katie spat.
“What?” Brian shook his head, “Whatever, I’m not in the mood for your drama.”
“Asshole,” She could finally yell at someone and be heard.
“Go tell someone who cares,” he said, going up the stairs. Katie wanted to run up the stairs and punch him in the back of the head. She wanted to take it all out on him. Why did everyone think she wasn’t someone to take seriously? She went to her new room. How long was it going to be like this? She slammed her face into her pillow and went to sleep.
An ever growing fall breeze settled in Katie’s bones as she woke up for yet another morning training. It had been two months since she left home.
It was torture.
Lucinda scheduled trainings twice a day, no matter if the mornings, like this morning, were freezing, or if the evenings were dark and dusty. Tristan didn’t care, not that she cared if he cared. They’d gone back to being two awkward people who spent nearly every waking moment together—which was a type of sick torture. Worse was Brian actively ignoring her when they lived in the same house, but then again, he didn’t seem to be on good terms with anyone in the house.
She drug herself out of bed, wrapped up like a silkworm cocoon in her comforter, and shuffled to the bathroom wearing nearly every shirt in her closet. Katie went straight to the backyard where Tristan awaited to beat her up. The cold wasn’t the only reason she wore extra shirts. She could use the padding, her bruises from yesterday morning were barely turning a deep gray blue. Her hip ached from landing on a tree root two days ago, her elbows still burned from being dragged across the ground yesterday, and her left leg twitched a little when she stood on it too long.
“No pain no gain,” Tristan said as he sat down a pair of knives.
“Out of my head.” She was too tired for this.
“Then wake up, you’re going to learn how to really use a knife today.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Really?” She had been waiting for this ever since she saw Allison practicing. The way her body extended to the tip of any knife she held was unreal. The fluid stabs and quick recoils, the impossible accuracy of each throw. If Katie could perfect that, she could stunt double for action movies.
Tristan scrunched up his eyebrows. “No. I lied. But, now that I have your attention, stretch your legs out. You’re going to do a lot of running this morning.”
She could have pretended to be affronted, but a part of her had expected him to be lying. “Water break,” she sighed, opening the back door.
“Oh, come on. You just got here,” Tristan laughed evilly behind her. “Seriously, hurry up.”
She was surprised to hear Lucinda pacing the kitchen floors. Normally she sat at the window in the living room watching them practice, screaming orders and corrections. In the silence, Katie heard her voice from the kitchen, “She’s getting good. Really good,” she said. She must have been on the phone, because no one else was in the house. Brian and Will had left earlier that morning.
Katie stopped in the hall when Lucinda smacked her hand against the kitchen counter.
“No!” Lucinda’s voice turned to acid. “That’s not the same. Drew kept Celia’s death and Tristan from me. Letting a little boy be taken by some stranger is as bad as throwing a baby out in the woods—he claims that’s why he left this system, but he’s no better than any of us.”
Katie stiffened, her pulse beat in her throat. She pressed her body against the wall as Lucinda’s footsteps grew closer.
“No, William. He should have known I would have forgiven him. I knew what she was in the beginning. He’s a liar and a murderer.”
What Lucinda said pushed past Katie and beat her down worse than all the weeks training with Tristan. A murderer? Her dad wouldn’t kill anyone. Had he killed Tristan’s parents?
Lucinda said her goodbyes to Will, and Katie hurried back outside. Being in the house, made her feel like she couldn’t breathe, but it was worse the moment she looked at Tristan. She felt a wave of his anger, frustration, and pity.
“Practice over,” he said, no doubt knowing how all-sorts-of confused she was.
“Why won’t any of you tell me anything?” she screamed.
He turned his back on her like they all did. Her dad the liar, Lucinda who swept everything under the rug, and Will who made it very clear that if she wanted answers she wasn’t getting them from him. This wasn’t some national security secret. This was her life.
She spent days not talking to any of them. She trained because it was necessary, but she ignored them all.
Though Katie was most definitely not being unreasonable, she did give up Operation: Don’t Talk To Me when she realized she hadn’t talked to her dad in two months; Will and Lucinda were too busy to notice; Tristan didn’t care; and Brian was already doing his best to avoid her.
Her fourth favorite holiday, Halloween, came and went and she didn’t even notice until the day after. It didn’t help that it fell on a school day—a school day that was jam packed with three test and Traci jamming flash cards down her throat. She was on the third stack when she heard Brian and his new friends say it again, “Train-wreck Traci.”
Traci always tried to pretend like she couldn’t hear them, and Katie did her best to pretend like she didn’t hear them either. Katie was embarrassed for her and angry that Brian was worse than usual. Whenever Traci would start to look like she might cry under her bifocals, Katie would tell Traci about one of her new and up coming hobbies.
That day it was Origami, but as the days moved forward again, the only hobby she had was training and homework. She couldn’t skip training to do anything fun, and it turned out her teachers were way harder on her when she didn’t turn in assignments or did poorly on her test. Mrs. Barnes would hand back homework with a raised eyebrow and a note that read: See me after class; Mr. Carver offered extra lessons anytime she got something less than an high-B on a quiz or essay; and Mr. Rhineheart called on her more in class whenever he thought she was drifting off.
Schoolwork was hard, but it turned out training was kinda fun. Everyday she could actually see improvements. When she learned something knew, Tristan would pair it up with moves she’d learned earlier. He didn’t take kindly to forgetfulness; the tender spot on her rib cage, just above her left elbow, was a reminder of that. Every time she missed a step, he’d tap her there, in the exact same spot, just hard enough to make her recoil.
It wasn’t so bad all the time, though. Sometimes her body moved on its own as if it had a conscious of its own. “Muscle memory,” Tristan would say over and over when she’d spend two hours throwing single, identical punches, one after another. It was numbing and exhilarating at the same time. Most of the time it was boring, but all of it—the movements, Tristan’s dry low voice, “again…again…again,” and the pain—felt right.
Watching Brian train however, felt very wrong. Will, Brian, and Allison always used the backyard before Tristan and Katie. Katie always made a point not to be around when they did. Will always told Brian he wasn’t doing something right, or scolded him for not practicing hard enough. He even once told him that Katie was better than him and it made Katie want to melt into the wall.
Tonight, Will asked Tristan and Katie to switch practice times with them. She had no clue that Will was going to make Brian join theirs. He called it a: mandatory warm-up.
Watching Brian try to block a punch or carryout more than three offensive moves at once made her stomach hurt. She’d
look away when it was his turn, pretended to tie her shoe, or shield the nonexistent sun from her eyes.
She couldn’t take watching him fall and trip over his own feet. Not again. She ran inside for water and waited by the door until the distant thuds stopped.
“You get to use a knife today,” Tristan said as she closed the back door.
She stared at him, making sure to squint her eyes.
“I’m serious. Sort of.” He pulled a white plastic knife from his pocket.
“Liar, liar pants on fire.” She regretted it as soon as she said it.
“Wow. Lethal rhyming skills. But, a knife is a knife, Katalina.”
“Whatever, just show me how to use it.”
“That’s the spirit,” he smiled that disgusting two dollar smile. “I think you mean million dollar smile,” he said.
Been in the mirror lately? She arched an eyebrow, but quickly put it back down as Brian eyed them. She’d forgotten he didn’t know anything about Tristan’s mind voodoo. She honestly didn’t want anyone to know.
“Stop calling it that,” Tristan murmured.
“Can we train?” Brian said, pushing up his dusty sleeves. The dirt on his face made his jaw look sharper than usual.
Tristan showed Katie how to disarm an opponent with a knife. He made her repeat the move slowly, twenty times before they did it. She felt her body pull and snap as if she were dancing—fast, but smooth. Each time she missed the disarm, he’d slap her ribcage, and pain would shoot down her leg and up to her arm. They kicked up dirt and sweat burned her eyes; but, each time she was more determined than the last.
Until finally, she got him to drop the knife.
It hit the ground and in one quick movement she picked it up. Her chest bounced up and down, and her arms burned, but she couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face. She couldn’t help the electricity spreading throughout her body.
“That’s called pride,” Tristan said, looking at the small white piece of plastic. “Hand it over. It’s Brian’s turn.”