Only Daughter

by Anna Snoekstra

  “Please don’t be upset.” My voice sounds so forced, but I can’t leave him there like this. “I love you, Dad. You saved me yesterday.”

  His whisper is so faint I have to lean in to hear it. “No. It’s too late. It’s already too late.”

  I don’t know what he means, but he’s starting to scare me. My heart is beating painfully fast as I close the door and go up to my room.

  I can still hear the sobs from there.

  10

  Bec, 14 January 2003

  At first Bec thought the screaming was in her dream. It was a nasty dream, the worst kind. Its sweaty, festering images lived for a moment when she woke and then recoiled back into her subconscious. But the screaming remained. She listened to it for a moment impassively. It was definitely real. It could be her mother or her father or one of her brothers.

  Pulling herself out of bed, she tried to walk toward the door but it swayed and danced in front of her. The doorknob winked. She reached out until her fingertips brushed against its cold plastic and then she pulled it toward her. She held herself up by the wall until she got to the stairs, where she sat at the top, surveying the abyss. The muffled cry came again, strangled and panicked. Pulling herself up onto all fours, she shakily crawled backward down the stairs. She couldn’t quite get to her feet at the bottom, so she continued crawling toward the noise.

  The inside of the laundry quivered with a strange energy as she crawled toward it. The noise was coming from beyond, though. On the other side of the door. In the garage. Pulling herself onto the tiles, she forced herself to stand. She reached for the door handle, the noise suddenly loud. Too loud. Crackling painfully in her ears. Her hand slipped off the handle. It was wet. Her fingers glistened red.

  She woke early, her room shining with the pale morning glow. The wind outside sounding like waves crashing into the shore. For a moment she imagined she was at the beach. That she lived alone in a little weatherboard house and spent every day sitting with an easel on her front porch and painting the horizon. But she was a terrible painter. Bec pulled herself out of bed unsteadily, her forearms trembling under her body’s weight. She’d had horrible nightmares. The worst in a while. She blinked away the images of blood and torture.

  Weirdly, she couldn’t really remember going to bed last night. Lizzie’s house, leaving and making a fool of herself and falling in the park were all clear. But after that it was all a bit hazy. There were fragments there: her brothers being angry with her, her mom looking at her head in the bathroom, but they were murky and confused. It was like she was trying to remember what had happened years ago, not just last night. She looked down at herself, realizing she’d slept in her clothes. Smears of dark red ran down her dress; it looked like blood. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screeching. There was more blood in the bed when she pulled back the sheets. And her hands, it was all over her hands. Her palms were red. She lifted her dress with shaking hands, expecting for a moment to see some shiny, gaping wound underneath it. But her skin was unmarked. The blood hadn’t come from her.

  Bec pulled the dress off over her head and ran into the bathroom, jumping straight into the shower in her undies and turning it on full. She felt sick, so entirely disgusted. Bile swam up her throat and she was kneeling in the shower, vomiting onto the tiles.

  There were little red stains on the carpet leading to her bed, she noticed, when she was scrubbed clean and wrapped in a towel. She quickly pulled off the sheets and left them as a tangled heap on the floor. It was her fault. She had fallen asleep without putting the chair under the door. It was the specter. It must have come into her room and dripped blood all over her. She closed her eyes and forced the thought out. The idea of it made her want to be sick again.

  Dressed, she went down to the kitchen to make a coffee. She didn’t want to be in her room at the moment. She couldn’t stand looking at those tiny red dots on the carpet.

  “You’re up early,” her dad said. He was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast.

  “So are you,” she said, turning on the kettle.

  “I always get up this early. You’re just never awake to see it.”

  She continued making her coffee, not really wanting to talk to him.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday, Becky. I was really tied up with something at the office. How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m okay. I think it was just heatstroke.”

  “Well, take it easy today, all right?”

  “Okay,” she said, sitting down at the table.

  “Mom told me you forgot to take the boys to the pool.”

  “I said sorry!” He’d barely finished his apology and he was already talking about her brothers.

  “I know. But try and make it up to them, okay?”

  Bec just ignored him. How sick would she have to be for them to focus on her rather than the twins? The paper was open on the table to a large picture of smoke and flames. It was hard for her to imagine that there was a fire burning right now, not even that far away. Her father finished his breakfast and took his plate to the sink; he never really had much to say to her. As he walked across the tiles, she noticed his feet. They were pallid and hairless, his toenails slightly too long. She looked away quickly, her coffee threatening to come back up.

  Upstairs, she heard the water of her mother’s shower turn off. She picked up her mug and went quickly back to her room, wondering when it had become so weird with her dad. She remembered when she was younger he’d bring a puzzle home every Friday night after work. He’d come through the door and shake it at her triumphantly and she’d be allowed to stay up as late as it took to finish it. It was something special they had, just her and him. But then one Friday he brought home a puzzle with horses on it. Did he really think she was one of the horsey girls? The girls who came to school wearing jodhpurs and somehow never got in trouble even though it wasn’t part of the uniform? They’d swap cards with pictures of horses on them and imagine their school chairs were trotting ponies, pretending to ride them then giggling madly. Bec couldn’t understand how her dad could think she was one of those girls. She’d refused to do the puzzle on principle.

  Well, mostly on principle, and also partly because all the rest of her friends had started being allowed to go to the movies together on Friday evenings. She could still remember the look on his face. He never brought any more puzzles home after that.

  Later, when her parents had left for work, she hauled the bundle of bloody sheets and the dress downstairs. She felt like a shameful bed wetter trying to hide the evidence. Bec shoved it all into the washing machine, dousing it in bleach. The lid clicked closed and the machine began its cycle. She watched them for a while, going around and around in circles. For a moment she wished she could climb in there with them. Be bleached clean and perfect again.

  Leaving the laundry, she noticed the door to the garage was open. She pulled it shut and a sudden unexplained sense of panic shot through her body. Last night’s dream threatened to resurface. She quickly grabbed the bleach and a sponge and went upstairs to scrub the carpet.

  By the time she got to work she felt like herself again. The itchy polyester of her uniform and the smell of sizzling meat seemed to calm her in some strange way. It was busy, so she started serving straightaway. Ellen was on the till to the left of her and Luke was on her right. She could hear Matty banging around in the kitchen behind her and Lizzie’s voice through the speaker from the drive-through. They didn’t speak to each other directly, but they were so used to moving in synchronicity it was like a dance. She felt protected, like nothing bad could ever happen to her when she had these people all around her. They were like a family.

  As the crowd died down, Luke flung an arm around her shoulders. She felt slightly dizzy again, being engulfed completely in his scent.

  “How’re you going?” he said.

  “It happened again,” she told him.

  It felt good to tell the story. Bec thought she might be e
mbarrassed, but she wasn’t. It felt like she wasn’t alone anymore.

  “How much blood exactly?” Ellen asked.

  “Quite a bit. There were dry smears of it everywhere.” She left out the bits about blood on her hands.

  “Could it have come from you?” asked Luke.

  “He means do you have your period!” said Lizzie.

  “No! That’s not what I meant!” Luke shoved her lightly.

  “I don’t have my period, you weirdo,” Bec said to him, watching his colour rise.

  “I meant from a cut or something,” he said.

  “Sure you did,” she said, “pervert.”

  “Oh, shut up!” he said, grabbing her and ruffling her hair.

  Bec squealed and pushed him off. Looking around, the laugh died in her throat. Ellen was looking at her carefully and Matty was unusually quiet in the kitchen. They didn’t believe her. Of course they wouldn’t, not if she was mucking around and laughing. It was just hard for her to be anything but happy when she was with Luke. She could never be scared or upset when he was there, especially when he was touching her.

  But it was true. She wasn’t trying to get attention or anything like that. It was true and she would show them.

  “I want to do the exorcism,” she said.

  “Yes!” said Lizzie. “I’ll bring the Ouija board.”

  “Maybe tomorrow. Will you guys come?”

  “I’ll be there,” said Luke.

  Ignoring the glowing feeling in her chest, she turned to Ellen, looking her square in the face.

  “Will you come?”

  Ellen didn’t meet her eye. Bec wasn’t sure why it was so important to her that her boss be there.

  “We can’t all go, Bec. Someone has to work.”

  “We’ll do it after close.”

  “Creepy!” said Liz.

  “Won’t your parents have a problem with that?”

  “We’ll just be quiet.”

  “Why don’t we do it in your garage?” asked Lizzie. “It’s kind of blocked off from the rest of the house. There’s no way they’d hear us.”

  That unexplainable panic rose through her again, but Bec ignored it.

  “Let me think about it, okay?” Ellen said.

  * * *

  Later on, after Ellen had left and the sky was dimming, Luke came over and put an arm around her again. Bec stopped scooping the fries and just stood, breathing him in.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. I feel better now we’re doing something about it.”

  It wasn’t entirely true, but it sounded like the right thing to say. She didn’t like the idea of doing the exorcism in the garage, but Lizzie was right. It was the only place where they wouldn’t wake her parents.

  “I think what you need is to take your mind off it. A friend of mine is having a house party tonight. You should come.”

  She could feel herself blushing.

  “I’d love to,” she said.

  “Cool. I’ll text you the address.”

  He squeezed her shoulder and went back to the counter. That Scanlan & Theodore dress would be perfect. She watched herself walking in through the door of the party wearing it, casually chatting to Luke on the couch. Meeting all his friends like she were their equal. Luke holding her hand again.

  “Oi, bitch, wake up!” said Liz, smacking her on the butt.

  “Um, excuse me. That’s workplace sexual harassment,” Bec said.

  “What about this?” Lizzie poked her in the boob.

  “Ouch!” Bec laughed.

  “So do you want to get ready together before the party?”

  Bec’s heart slipped.

  “What party?”

  “Um…didn’t Luke invite you? Awkward!” said Liz.

  “He did. I just thought it was a cool party for cool people and not losers like you.”

  “Wow, catty. I love it!”

  “Let’s get ready at my house. I still have supplies under my bed.”

  “Great—I get to see the haunted house with my own eyes.”

  Lizzie made ghost noises as she went to sit back in the drive-through window. The heat light was on over the fries. She stared into it until green shapes flashed in front of her eyes like jelly beans.

  Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that Lizzie was coming with her, she decided. She couldn’t imagine walking into a party alone. Lizzie had chatted endlessly as they approached her house, then abruptly gone silent as Bec started fishing in her bag for her keys.

  “Are you scared of my house now?” Bec asked her.

  “I just haven’t been here in ages. I think I’d started imagining gargoyles and a moat or something.”

  Bec rolled her eyes and unlocked the door. It creaked open, the hallway eerily silent.

  “After you,” said Bec.

  Lizzie took a small step inside and then suddenly the twins jumped out in front of her.

  “Boo!” they yelled.

  Lizzie’s scream was bloodcurdling.

  “You little shits!” she yelled at them, lunging for Paul.

  He ducked underneath her and they both ran up the stairs, giggling madly.

  “Did you plan this?” she said to Bec.

  “No! That is just what they’re like.” Bec was laughing, too.

  “I swear to God, I’m so glad I don’t have little brothers,” she said, a hand over her face.

  “Calm down. They’re just kids.” Bec laughed as they walked up the stairs.

  “Yeah, but they’re weird. Remember that dead beetle collection you found in their wardrobe?”

  “That was ages ago!”

  Bec swallowed the anger that always flared up if someone other than her said something bad about her brothers. Lizzie was just stalling, though, so Bec let it lie. She was standing still in Bec’s bedroom doorway, looking into the dark space. Bec flicked the lights on and she felt Lizzie’s body tense ever so slightly next to her.

  “It’s okay,” she said, looking under the bed. “No monsters, only vodka.”

  She pulled out the half-empty bottle of vanilla vodka from the tube of her bed frame. Lizzie only smiled weakly and stared at the carpet. Bec realized she was looking at the tiny stains. She had scrubbed at them twice that morning, but she could only get them to fade to a pale pink.

  “Bec, this is genuinely freaking me out. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

  Liz still hesitated, as if she felt crossing the threshold would change her somehow.

  “Who knows? Maybe it was just my period.”

  “Really?” A real smile was starting to tug at the corners of Lizzie’s mouth.

  “Probably.”

  “You filthy bitch! I’m not stepping on it!” Lizzie hopped over the stains and sat next to Bec, taking the vanilla vodka out of her hand and taking a swig.

  “Oh, Jesus, this stuff is nasty!” Her voice was hoarse. “Next time let’s just get the regular kind, okay?”

  “Let’s go for gin next time. Apparently that’s really good.” Bec felt so relieved to be laughing again in her room, for it to be just hers again, not some horror scene.

  “My dad said gin just makes you cry.”

  “Yeah, but your dad’s a pussy.”

  Lizzie threw a pillow at her and she jumped to her feet to get out of the way.

  “My dad is not a pussy!” Lizzie cried.

  “Then why does he cry when he drinks gin?” Bec asked. “Anyway, let’s get ready. I want to look hot tonight! This has been a shit week.”

  Bec pulled out the teal dress as Lizzie jumped up and started flicking through Bec’s closet with one hand, still holding the bottle of vodka in the other.

  “You better have something good that will fit over my honkas.”

  “Yeah, I’ve stolen tons of stuff that doesn’t even fit me.”

  “Like this?” Lizzie pulled out a hideous shapeless dress that looked like it had been made from a
faded old gingham tea towel.

  “Oh, put it away! It hurts my eyes.”

  “Why do you have it?”

  “My mom bought it for me. She gets really hurt that I don’t wear it.”

  “Don’t wear it.” Liz looked at her seriously. “Even if it hurts her feelings. Never wear it.”

  “I’d sooner die.” Bec sat down in front of the mirror and began smearing new makeup over the old.

  “I might wear this,” said Lizzie, holding out a black leather skirt. “Going to go for the dominatrix look!”

  “Ha, I’ve never been able to bring myself to wear it.”

  “Why not? It’s so slutty I love it!” She laughed, putting it back in the drawer.

  Bec turned back to focus on her makeup. She was going to look amazing tonight. Her phone buzzed. It was Luke texting her the address, with a little x at the end. Like a kiss. Bec watched the goofy smile unfold across her face in the mirror.

  “It’s in Deakin.”

  “Should we walk?”

  “Nah, I want to wear heels. I’ll ask my mom to drive us.”

  The liner spread perfectly across the orb of her closed eyelid. The mascara pulled tight and didn’t leave any lumps. Her left eye looked perfect. She held a hand over her right side and then swapped it, looking at how much better her face looked with makeup on. The room felt strangely quiet. It was Lizzie. Bec was so used to her constant chatter that the silence made her feel uneasy. She was staring into the wardrobe, a strange look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Can you get your dad to drive us instead?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Your mom makes me feel weird sometimes.”

  “Like how?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She looked into Lizzie’s face, trying to find the answer. It wasn’t there.

  “All right, I’ll ask my dad. He owes me.”

  She jumped up and ran down the stairs. Her parents were sitting on the sofa, watching the news.

  “Dad, can you drive me and Lizzie to Deakin?”

  They looked up at her, their faces looking alien in the light from the television. Their eyes looked red and tired and there was strangeness between them, like she’d interrupted some silent argument.