by Charity B.
14
Origins
Sarah Stein
December 14th ~ Evening
I still can’t believe this is really my life. Nothing snores loudly, curled up next to me on the couch. John’s in the kitchen, singing along to Christmas music as he cooks dinner. The smile that never seems to go away sprawls across my face.
John’s obsession with celebrating Christmas has been getting crazier. The inside of the house has become completely unrecognizable. Every time we go into the Mundane World, we come back with more ornaments, tinsel, or Christmas lights. Every single taxidermized animal is wearing a Santa hat. John even bought Nothing the cutest red light up nose. Since I gave him a candy cane the first time he wore it, Nothing now gets excited every time we put it on him.
Christmas feels like our own special secret since nobody else around here cares about it. It does make me think of Sandy, though. I just hope she’s okay.
A commercial comes on that I’ve seen a few times. I’m not completely sure what it’s about, but I like the song so I sing along.
“I don’t eat, and I don’t sleep, but I got the cleanest house on the street! Oh, meth. Mmmmm meth!”
John walks into the parlor with our food, laughing. It’s such a sexy sound that I swear I get wet every time I hear it. “Yeah, I don’t think that commercial is having the desired effect.”
He hands me a bowl full of spaghetti. It’s weird that we always eat on the couch. There’s a table in the kitchen, so why don’t we ever use it?
“John?”
With a mouthful of food, he just answers, “Hmmm?”
“Why don’t we ever eat at the dinner table?”
The question seems to catch him off guard. He swallows his bite and leans back. “I don’t know. I think because my mother always made us eat at the table growing up. When I started living on my own, I took advantage of doing everything I’d never been allowed to do when I was with her.”
He doesn’t talk a lot about his past. I know it was painful, I just don’t know many of the details. “Where is your mom?”
His fork twirls around in his bowl as he stares at the pasta. “She died of cancer when I was sixteen. I got emancipated at fifteen, so I wasn’t living with her, but I wouldn’t have been able to take care of her even if I had.”
Esty was the only person I’ve ever known who’s died, and that was a special kind of horrible, even though I didn’t really know her. It’s impossible for me to imagine what losing a mom would feel like. “That’s really sad. I’m so sorry.”
With a sigh, he swallows another bite. “I had a…complicated relationship with my mother.” He shrugs. “Dealing with her death was equally complex.”
“Why was it complicated?” I try not to ask too many questions, so I really hope I’m not annoying him right now. I just want to know everything about him, and I’m learning there’s a lot.
“Let’s just say Mom had some ‘issues.’ I think her father fucked her up in the head. I don’t know much about my grandfather, but I know when my mother was a little girl, he made her undergo a genital mutilation procedure. It was the source of a lot of fights between my parents.”
My mouth falls open. I had always assumed that if I had stayed with my family, my life would have been less painful. What if my real father was worse than Fink?
“Why would he do that?”
Using a napkin, John wipes spaghetti sauce from his face. “His family was from Egypt, and there, it’s a fairly common practice. At least that’s what I was told. Anyway, it ended up giving her a very skewed outlook on sexuality. I never met him, but what she told me about my grandfather suggested he was ruthless. My mom was always hard on me, but one night, my father hurt her…badly. He disappeared the next day and we never saw him again. She changed after that. Things got worse. She did some cruel things to me growing up that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive her for.”
I want to ask him what she did. I’ve told him stories about what Fink did to me, but I don’t want to push him. I want him to tell me on his own.
“Do you ever think about your dad? Wonder where he is?”
He finishes his last bite before answering. “Not very often. I have zero desire to ever see him again.” Standing, he kisses my head and changes the subject. “I’m gonna shower and start getting ready for tonight.”
One thing I’ve realized the past few weeks is that I don’t know John as well as I thought I did. I’ve always seen him as this flawless creature, but he has scars as deep as I do. The only difference is that I wear mine on the outside. Slowly, he’s been revealing himself, morsel by morsel, and I greedily gobble up every bite he shares with me. I didn’t think it was possible to care even more for him than I already do, yet every single day I’m proven wrong.
Nothing and I watch John while he puts on his skull makeup. It’s so neat to see the transformation, even Nothing seems mesmerized by it. I try not to pout whenever John leaves. I know he has a business to run, and leaving the notes was my idea. I do understand, but he refuses to let me come with him, and he’s usually gone for so long.
His smell fills my lungs as he grins at me in the mirror. “You’re sulking.”
“Can’t I come just this once? I’ll stay in the car. Please?”
He sighs as he finishes applying the setting powder. Crossing his arms, he leans against the sink. “Sarah… if I get caught and you’re there, I don’t know what would happen to you. I refuse to risk that.”
I know he’s protecting me, so I stop myself before pointing out that he’s only leaving a letter, not graverobbing. It just gets so lonely here without him.
He brushes off his face, sending little powder particles into the air. “And don’t say it’s only a note because it’s not. It’s a very incriminating one.”
My mouth falls open as I gape at him. Did he just read my mind? “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”
His adorable laugh sends tingles across my flesh . “We’ve had this conversation a few times.” As he makes his way to me, he smirks, making me wish I could see his dimples. His hands squeeze my waist, pulling me tight to him. “It’ll only be a couple of hours.” Dropping his voice, he brings his lips close to mine. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back. I promise.”
The last thing I want is to make him feel guilty for trying to keep me safe, so I give him a soft kiss, careful not to smear the greasepaint as I rub his growing erection over his pants. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He groans. “I think I liked it better when you were pouting.” I love how much he makes me laugh. It really is a whole different world, living here with him. With one last kiss to my head, he says, “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”
Passing me, he takes Nothing with him and leaves me alone with my thoughts. Writing the apology letters to the families of the dead girls actually seems to make him…sunnier. Though he hasn’t told me as much, I think he’s being choosier with the bodies he digs up as Skeleton King. With the last one, I heard him say it had to be a ‘John’ or ‘Jane Doe.’ Apparently, that means nobody knows who they are, therefore, there are no friends or family to effect.
I sigh, falling back against the couch in the parlor. Vince’s meow sounds outside the window. He figured out I was living here at some point and now comes to see me every day. Sometimes, John lets him come inside, but Vince torments Nothing who now hides in the corner every time he’s here.
Walking onto the front porch, I kneel next to my kitty and scratch my fingers across his back. I love Vince so much. I just hate that he makes me think about Fink.
Although John hasn’t forbidden me from seeing him, he’s made it clear he would be more comfortable if we weren’t ever in the same vicinity. I truly do understand his worries, but the fact remains that Fink is the only person who can tell me where I come from. It’s something that’s been gnawing away bits of my brain for weeks.
After an hour of boring TV and a bath, I can’t stand it anymor
e. I walk to the guest bedroom where John set up my sewing machine. He got it for me the first week I was here, and he’s always bringing me new fabrics and patterns. I’ve tried, but I still don’t feel comfortable in anything besides loose dresses.
I decide to wear one of my new, floral-patterned shirtdresses before applying some make-up. Putting on the cosmetics John bought me gives me more understanding as to why he gains power from his paint. Having my face made up feels like some kind of pretty armor. With a deep breath, I look in the mirror, reminding myself of the kind things John says to me every day while simultaneously trying to ignore the thoughts Fink has imbedded into my psyche all these years. After giving Vince a kiss on his tiny black head, I head down the street.
As I creep up the pathway leading up to Fink’s front door, nausea unexpectedly hits me. There were so many nights I snuck up this walk, terrified about what was waiting on the other side of the door. Taking a deep breath, I reach up to ring the doorbell, the high-pitched chime chewing on my nerves.
I expect Ingvar to answer, so I’m surprised to be met with a smiling Fink and a giggling Madame Emerald when the door opens. His face falls the moment he sees that it’s me.
“What are you doing here, Sarah?” he sneers.
It’s odd how much his disdain for me hurts. For years, he told me how much he loved me and cared for me. Now, he can’t even look at me without repulsion.
“I have some questions…ones that only you can answer.”
His face falls blank and emotionless, yet his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his cane. “I don’t have an obligation to you anymore. You made certain of that.”
Madame Emerald’s long fingernails trail over his arm. “Finky, darling. Answer the poor girl’s questions.” Her red painted lips brush against his ear. “Please?” she whispers seductively.
I’ve always thought Madame Emerald looked so elegant. Today she’s wearing a green fur dress and her makeup is perfectly in place. I never would have put her and Fink together, but now that I see them, they look really cute. I find myself hoping for Fink’s happiness. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I think a part of me will always have a platonic love for him, even if I wish I didn’t.
All of his resolve evaporates as he looks at her, nodding his agreement. He was never that way with me. When Madame Emerald reaches out to touch my arm, I see that she hasn’t been spared from his blade. Fresh stitching wraps around her wrist that’s red and healing.
“Lovely, isn’t it? It’s new.” I look up at her, embarrassed that she caught me staring only to find her grinning with pride. She holds her hand out, spinning her arm to admire his work. “We’re doing my foot next,” she squeals with a wink before waving me inside. “Come in, darling. I’ll bring you two some treats.”
It feels uncomfortable being back here. It’s weird to no longer belong in a place that was once all I knew. I follow Fink into the living room as Madame Emerald’s heels clickety-clack across the floor. He sits on the couch, so I choose the chair on the other side of the coffee table. We stare at each other for so long the silence becomes awkward. A crunch sound causes me to look toward the hall where I see Ingvar peeking in, chewing on his dog biscuit. I hold my hand up in a wave to which he responds by disappearing. I wonder if he’s glad I’m gone?
When Madame Emerald returns with a tray of pumpkin cookies and green juice, I feel obligated to say something.
“How did you two, um…how long have you been together?”
Madame Emerald sits next to Fink, brushing her blonde hair away from her face, revealing another wound across her forehead. “Well, after you got him into such a tizzy, you naughty girl,” her hand waves at me in a playful way, “he came to see me to have his fortune read. Well, let me tell you, we were both in for quite a surprise! I’ve never seen myself in someone else’s reading before.” Her hand trails down his arm. “Our futures are intertwined.” Leaning back against the couch, she crosses her legs and fondles her large, orange beaded necklace. “I’ve been staying here for a few weeks while Finky makes some improvements on me.”
She’s clearly enamored with his experimenting on her. Even though it may not make sense to me, I truly hope they make each other happy.
“Have a cookie, darling. I baked them fresh today.”
I smile at her, reaching for the plate as Fink clears his throat. “You’re here to ask questions, and I know they aren’t about my relationship, so let’s hear them.”
Madame Emerald adjusts her fur hat with one hand while placing her other on Fink’s arm. “Don’t be rude, Finky,” she says sweetly.
I’m shocked when he not only refrains from scolding her, he also sighs and softens his voice. “What would you like to know, Sarah?”
My pulse picks up in anticipation. I’ve dreamed about having these answers, and now I’m really going to get them.
“Where did I come from?”
Licking his lips, Fink rests his cane against the edge of the couch. “The first time I saw you was in your front yard playing with your younger brother. For a broken second in time, I thought you were my Sara. After that, I followed you and your family for weeks.” Hot tears well up in my eyes as my skin burns around my insides. I had parents. A brother. “Your parents had a habit of leaving you in the yard by yourselves. I assume they felt a false sense of security in their quaint, little neighborhood. The music box that you love so much was what ultimately brought you to me.” Madame Emerald holds up a finger, but says nothing as she gets up to leave the room. “I turned it on next to your fence, and you were immediately drawn to it, coming close within minutes. You were awestruck. All it took was me telling you that you could keep it if you came over to play with my little girl first.”
Memories clash around in my mind. I remember the fence, his car…the music box. The first tingle of fear I felt when his daughter was nowhere to be found. The terror when I first heard the click of the lock to my new room. My family, though, I’m struggling to remember their faces.
“What was my name? My real name?”
He takes a deep breath, rubbing his forehead as if trying to massage out the memory. When he meets my eyes, I swallow. “Timara.”
Timara.
The air is knocked from my lungs when a woman’s faint voice sounds in the back of my mind.
“We love you so much Timara. You’re our little butterfly. Don’t be scared to spread your wings.”
My tears fall so hard, I gasp. Covering my face, I wipe them away and try to compose myself. There were people in my life who loved me the way a child is meant to be loved. He took that from me.
“Where?” I bite out. Getting angry at him might make him stop talking, so I force down my fury. “Where did I live?”
He waves his hand as if it doesn’t matter. “A place a few hours north. Waltford, I think it was called.”
Excitement has me sitting on the edge of the chair. John could take me to meet them. I wish I could remember their names.
“Do you know if they’re still there?”
Straightening, he struggles against his cane to stand. “I’ve told you many times that I saved you, so I’m sure you’ve wondered what it was I saved you from.” He walks to a shelf in the corner, moving a few books before taking out a square pink one. “If you would have stayed, you would be long dead.”
He hands me the book, and I find it odd that there’s no title. When I open it, I see the first few pages have been ripped out. There’s a picture of me when I was a young child wearing a pink My Little Pony shirt. It’s so odd that I can barely recall anything before Fink took me, but I remember adoring that shirt. The photo is fastened beneath the words: Nine Years Old. I turn to the next page to find a newspaper article. My eyes get wet, blurring my vision as I read the headline that destroys years of hope.
Family of Three Found Dead
Tuesday, December 13, 1983
Stephen and Delanie Burtone, along with their seven-year-old son, Trent, were found dead by
a family friend Monday morning. This isn’t the first time tragedy has struck the Burtone family. Last June, a missing persons report was filed for their daughter Timara (9), who was never found.
Police have ruled out foul play, determining their deaths were a result of improper exhausting of fumes in their fireplace which released carbon monoxide into the home, poisoning the family.
“They’re all dead,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
I shake my head because it’s so unfair. I’ve spent years fantasizing about reuniting with the family I lost. So many hours of dreaming, wasted.
Just then, Madame Emerald walks in, holding my music box in her hands. I want to scream at myself for how desperately I reach for it. Why does it mean so much to me? Now that I know its origins, I should despise it for sealing my fate. Regardless, I still long for the comfort it’s always given me.
“Here, darling. I thought you might want this.”
“Thank you.” I nod, taking it from her as I stand. There’s nothing else I need or want from Fink. It hasn’t been that long since he let me go, so I truly hope that one day I’ll be able to be in his presence without this war fighting in my soul, constantly ripping me to shreds between loving and hating him.
Looking at him now, I can’t believe I let him have so much control over me. I may be broken, but broken things can be fixed. What he is, though…he’s ruined. Ruined things can’t ever be repaired or made into what they once were, but they can be made into something else, something new. And that? That’s what I want for him.
“I’ll let myself out.” My words are nasally from the tears pleading to be released.
“Take the photo album too. I have no use for it any longer.”
I nod, tucking the pink book under my arm and walking out the door for what I hope is the last time.