by Leddy Harper
He was going to talk to me.
Before I could open my mouth to say anything, he jerked his head to the side, gesturing to the fence along the back yard. Without a moment’s hesitation, he led me to the woods. We didn’t venture out very far this time before he sat in a small clearing with enough room for me.
“I looked your scars up online this morning,” I blurted out.
His posture stiffened. Not even his shoulders or back moved with the exertion of breathing. I wished he would’ve looked at me so I could at least get an idea of how he felt, but he refused, keeping his attention on the dirt in front of him.
“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have.” I sighed and dropped my head into my open palms. “I wish I hadn’t seen that. I hate knowing what happened to you…without actually knowing. You don’t even want to know the things I’ve thought of over the last thirty minutes. It’s horrifying.”
His hand moved frantically. I think I can imagine.
“Oh gosh, I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry.”
Stop apologizing.
As he wrote—talked to me—he never once met my eyes.
“I just wanted to know what happened to you.”
Someone broke into my house.
A gasp rang out before I could stop it. The words “I’m sorry” sat at the tip of my tongue, but thankfully, I managed to swallow them. “D–do you know who?”
With his gaze fixated on the paper in front of him, he shook his head.
“And your parents…?” I couldn’t even finish my question. “That’s so bad, Killian.”
I don’t want to talk about it.
I didn’t blame him. I only wished my curiosity would die, because I didn’t think I’d ever be able to fully let it go. And other than hearing it from him, I knew there was no way I’d get the real story.
“Is that why you can’t talk?”
He nodded, but didn’t write anything down.
“Does it hurt?”
Not anymore.
My breathing became labored while I sat next to him, suffocating in the silence between us. I understood his inability to speak—not that I’d ever encountered anyone like that before, but I understood it—however, it didn’t get any better.
I touched his arm, making him jump where he sat. “Just know, Killian, that if you ever want to talk to anyone, I’m here. My friends say I’m a good listener. They share all their secrets with me because I never tell anyone.”
Slowly, he faced me. A sheen of tears lined the faint green of his eyes, making them sparkle like murky pool water in that stage just before it needs to be shocked with chemicals.
“Can you draw something for me?” I whispered, unable to take his intense stare for another second. It consumed me and filled me with things I didn’t understand. My heart raced and my head grew fuzzy, like a balloon without a string. Full of static electricity and air.
Instead of using the paper he’d brought with him, Killian took my hand again. I didn’t fight him. I loved it when he drew on me. I never wanted to wash it off. This time, instead of flowers, he drew vines around my wrist up to my fingers, wrapping them around onto my palm.
I could’ve spent all day like that—my hand in his, resting on his lap, his pen creating beautiful lines on my skin—but it wasn’t long before his aunt called for him. With an apologetic grin, he stood and helped me back over the fence.
The house was dark and quiet, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind wouldn’t shut down long enough to allow me to drift off into the daydreams I’d had all day. My hand still tingled with the remembrance of his pen, the black ink now faded, but the memory still vivid.
Sharp, quick knocks on my bedroom window startled me, forcing me to sit up straight in bed and flick my gaze toward the direction of the racket. The blinds were closed, so I couldn’t technically see anything, but I waited to hear it again. After a few seconds, another set of raps resounded. For reasons unknown to me, I climbed out of bed and slowly moved the few feet to the window.
Peering through a small opening in the slats, I found a large shadow standing on the other side. It frightened me, but as my sight adjusted and settled on the outline, I realized it was Killian. I glanced down at my matching pajama set and tried my best to smooth down my unmanageable hair before pulling on the blinds, then opening the window.
“What are you doing here?” I wondered if he wanted me to sneak out. The thought crossed my mind, but all I could think about was how I’d have to change my clothes and put on shoes.
He held up a folded piece of paper. Then proceeded to slide it through a small tear in the side of the screen. Once I had it in my hand, he turned to walk away. My heart clenched and pounded simultaneously. I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted to pop the screen out and run into the woods with him, sit beneath the stars and let him soothe me with his pen.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
Killian glanced over his shoulder, turned sideways, and pointed at the paper in my hand. I couldn’t really see his face in the dark, so his expression was blank to me. His finger shook, as if prodding me to open it, and then he was gone. Over the fence and back to his aunt’s house.
Stunned, I watched him leave in silence. I didn’t move—not to close the window, lower the blinds, or even open the letter. I stared at the wooden barrier between us for far too long before snapping out of it. That’s when curiosity got the best of me and I flew into action.
I switched on the lamp on my side table and sat on the edge of my unmade bed, the comforter bunched around my legs, and proceeded to open his letter. The paper was filled with his chicken scratch scrawled in black ink. Some words were crossed out, others were misspelled, but I was able to read through it all.
When I was 8, someone broke into my house. Three people to be exact. I was awake when it happened, but I wasn’t sure what was going on. I thought maybe something had happened to my dad, so I went to their room. It was 11:29. I stood there and stared at my parents. I didn’t scream. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. Nothing came out. I wanted to run from the three men in their room, but I couldn’t do that, either. My parents didn’t look like my parents. They looked like they were wearing masks. My mom looked like she had a red scarf around her neck, and her eyes were wide open. She just laid there and stared at the ceiling. My dad was on the floor. Before I went to bed that night, I remember he had on his favorite shirt. It was white with the mascot on the front for the high school where he taught. A big tiger. At first, I thought he changed into a red shirt, but the more I stared at him, I noticed the picture of the tiger on the front. I didn’t know he had the same shirt in red. He stared at me while opening and closing his mouth, like he wanted to tell me something. But I couldn’t hear anything. I wanted to go to him to see what he tried to say, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even ask him if he was okay.
I was ten years old. My life had been rather sheltered, considering I was the baby and only girl. But there were some things I did understand. And death was one of them. Sometimes, when Mom and Dad were gone and left me at home with Jason, he’d watch scary movies in the living room. I’d see them from the kitchen when I ate. I tried to pretend like they didn’t bother me, but they did. They’d make me scared for at least two days. And my grandma died a year ago. I went to her funeral and saw her in the casket. But she didn’t look like the people in my brother’s movies. She looked peaceful, as if she was asleep.
Reading Killian’s words about his parents terrified me. They made me think about the horrible scenes on the TV, the blood, the screams. Not at all like Grandma. I didn’t want to keep reading for fear it’d get worse, but then I remembered I’d asked him what had happened. He’d told me he didn’t want to talk about it. Now, he’d given me his story. I couldn’t stop, no matter how badly I wanted to.
I saw the men in the room when I first walked in. They were what made me stop as soon as I stepped through the doorway. But as soon as I saw them, I found my parents, and it was like the guys jus
t disappeared. My dad made this really weird noise through his mouth. Not quite a wheezing sound…but more like a long sigh when you’re sick and have to cough. He no longer looked at me, but he didn’t close his eyes, either. That’s when I looked at the men. They all stood completely still and stared at me. I wondered if it was a bad dream. Mom and Dad were watching a bad movie before they went to bed, and I thought maybe it was a nightmare. No one moved, or spoke, or blinked. They all either lied there or stood in the room, staring at me. Mom stared at the ceiling, Dad stared at my feet, and the men stared at me.
They were wearing black clothes. All of them. Baggy jeans and black T-shirts that looked like they belonged to their dads. I know sometimes I wore my dad’s shirts and they were really big on me, and that’s what theirs looked like. One of the guys had a dog collar around his neck with pointy things on it. The one near my mom’s side of the bed had red on his face, like her blood had splattered on him or something.
They started talking to each other, but I didn’t understand most of it. I remember one of them calling me a boy and starting to freak out. He was arguing with one of the other guys. Something was said about my eyes, and cutting them out so I wouldn’t see anything. But the one guy kept calling me a boy. Then the one who was by my mom came after me. I turned to run away once I saw the knife in his hand, but he caught me by the arm and threw me to the ground. He sat on my stomach and held me down.
I tried to scream, to move, to get away, but I couldn’t. I panicked and started to cry. I begged him to let me wake up. Nothing worked. He held me by my face and told me I was to never say a word to anyone, and if I did, he’d do to me what he did to my mom. He said Mom would never talk again because she didn’t have any vocal chords. He told me I was better off without my parents, and then started saying a lot of bad words I wasn’t allowed to say. He made me promise I’d never tell anyone what I saw. And I did. I promised him. But that wasn’t enough.
The knife cut into the sides of my face and I felt something warm run down my cheeks to the back of my neck. It hurt so bad. But nothing was as bad as when he pulled himself off me and kicked me in the stomach. I curled into a ball and screamed. My mouth opened wide, and my cheeks hurt so bad. They burned and I thought they were on fire. The pain was so bad I couldn’t scream anymore. No sounds came out. The man closed my mouth and said “That’s right. Never speak to anyone. Or I will silence you forever.”
Everything after that is a blur. I’ve never felt so much pain before in my life. I think I found a phone and called for help, but I don’t really remember. I just remember hearing someone asking me questions I couldn’t answer. Because I couldn’t speak. Policemen came in with guns. Then ambulance guys dressed in blue carrying a bed on wheels. The sheets were white before they lifted me onto it, but they turned red. I was in a hospital for a while. A lot of people tried to get me to talk, but I never did.
I went to live with my dad’s brother, but that didn’t last long because I scared my little cousins. Then I went to stay with my grandparents, but they were old. My grandmother, MeeMaw, cried when I left. She kept saying she was sorry she couldn’t help me. I had to go to a lot of offices and sit with people while they tried to get me to talk, but I never did. Those guys told me I couldn’t. So I haven’t said anything. Not once. I went to stay with a few people I didn’t know, but even they said they couldn’t help me. That’s when Elise stepped in. She said she was tired of seeing me bounce between houses, and she would do her best with me. She’s never tried to make me talk or shove pills down my throat. I hate pills. They make me feel weird. I’m trying my best to be good for her because I don’t want to leave.
You asked me what happened. That’s the most I can tell you. I probably shouldn’t have even told you that much, but I wanted you to have answers. I don’t know why. I’ve never cared before about answering anyone. Not the doctors or the policemen or even the strangers I lived with. But for some reason, Rylee, I wanted you to know.
The paper fell into my lap and I stared at the wall across the room for what seemed like forever. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought about the horrific things Killian had lived through. Although his parents hadn’t survived, I was thankful and happy Killian had lived. But I couldn’t imagine the things he saw in his head. He said he saw pictures, and part of me wanted to know if some of those were from that night, but I didn’t think I could ever ask him.
I ended up staying up all night. I couldn’t sleep after reading his story.
My heart ached for him.
I cried for him.
But I didn’t know what to do.
Four
Killian
I’d scared her away.
I knew it.
It’d been a week since I told her my story. I’d given it to her and then left, because I couldn’t stand the thought of her looking at me as she read it. But now, I questioned if that was the right thing. Because I haven’t seen her. Not once. I’d climbed the fence a few times, hoping she’d see me and follow me into the woods, but she never did. I saw her bike in her front yard so I knew she was home. I’d seen her blanket and book in the back yard beneath the tree she liked to read under. And at night, I’d peek through the slats of wood and see her bedroom light on.
But she never came for me.
I thought she was different.
Apparently not.
School was about to start in a few days. It was the first time with this tutor, and I grew restless the closer it got. I didn’t like meeting new people. They stared and made me uncomfortable. That’s why I hated it when Elise had people over.
I became agitated and anxious. Panicky. More withdrawn than normal. I spent more time in the woods than I had in the last few weeks, and I often debated about leaving altogether. Sometimes, I’d sit beneath the trees, drawing in my notepad, and wonder what it’d be like to never go back. To just run away. Be on my own where I didn’t have to depend on others. But I knew that wouldn’t happen for a while. I wouldn’t get my inheritance until I turned eighteen.
Seven more years.
And then I’d be gone.
No one cared anyway.
The only ones who did were gone.
Night had fallen and I knew I needed to get back. I’d been out for a while. I’d eaten my dinner alone in my room, then headed into the protection of the trees. When I drew, I lost track of time, but I knew it was late. When I made it to the fence, I could tell by how dark all the houses were that it was more than likely past ten or eleven. But I wasn’t sure.
At the top of the fence, I glanced over to Rylee’s house. Her bedroom was dark and I wondered if she was asleep. I just needed to check on her. I don’t know why I landed in her back yard or crept in the shadows until I made it to her window, but I did. Something pulled me to her, despite her withdrawal from me.
I only planned to peer into her room to make sure she was okay.
I didn’t plan to knock.
Or help her get the screen off.
Or climb in.
I certainly didn’t plan to crawl into her bed.
And lay next to her in the dark.
But I did.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you since you gave me your letter,” she whispered with her face so close to mine. Her warmth flowed over my lips and made them dry. So dry I had to lick them. “My mom came home from work. She’s an airline attendant. Sometimes she’s gone for a few days, but last time she was gone for a week.”
I didn’t move, and could barely see her, but I remained still and watched her as best as I could in the dark room. I never wanted her to stop talking. I didn’t care what she said, as long as she spoke to me in that whispered breath that fanned across my face and calmed me. I had no way of speaking to her, so I prayed she’d just keep talking.
“My brother, Jason, is sixteen. He has a lot of friends. So he doesn’t like to stay home with me when my parents are gone. My dad hates it when I’m home alone. He’s a car salesman, which means he wo
rks all day. When my mom is home from work, she tends to baby me a lot. So I haven’t been able to sneak away.”
I hated how that made me feel. Hearing her admit she had to sneak around to see me cut me deep. Like she was ashamed of me. Like she didn’t want anyone to know about me. Just like everyone else. It hurt. Because I thought she was different, and once again, I was proven wrong.
“I was kind of their oops baby. Jason says I was an accident, but Mom says I was just a surprise. Sometimes I think she forgets I’m ten and not five. She doesn’t let me leave the house without knowing where I am, and she doesn’t like me hanging out with boys. There used to be a boy who lived down the street. He was my age. But Mom wouldn’t let me go to his house. I don’t know why. She just said he wasn’t a good kid. So I didn’t want to chance her telling me I couldn’t see you. Because I don’t want to stop seeing you.”
That deep ache flourished into burning excitement.
Approval.
“School starts in a few days. I don’t want to go. I was looking forward to it because I’ll be in fifth grade. I’ll finally be one of the older kids. But now I don’t want the summer to end. I know I’ll see you even less, and I don’t want that.”
I grabbed her hand and held it beneath the covers between us. I’d never been in a bed with a girl before, but I liked it. I liked being next to her. It erased the pictures in my head and calmed the anxiety running through me. It lessened the anger I sometimes felt when I thought about the night I lost my parents. Being with her just gave me…happiness. Peace.