“What are you doing?!” Quin and I both shoot forward.
“Don’t move!”
“Let her go,” I say. “She has nothing to do with this.”
Sandy shakes his head. “Not until you say sorry.”
I look at Sofia, who’s clutching Sandy’s arm. If anything happens to her tonight, I’ll never forgive myself.
“S-sorry,” I say quickly. “Sorry.”
“Not to me. To him!”
I look at Kelly, who can’t take his eyes off Sofia and the knife. He looks lost, his arms dangling limply beside his body.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him.
“And now mean it!” Sandy presses the knife harder into Sofia’s throat. I see the tension increasing under the blade. Any more and she’ll start bleeding…
“I really mean it!” I scream. “Let her go. Please!”
“I think someone’s in love.” Sandy bursts out laughing. “Mommy’s boy has a crush!”
Mommy’s boy.
Inside my head, something snaps.
“I am not a mommy’s boy!” I take a step toward Kelly. “You didn’t listen to me that afternoon. I tried to tell you. I had to pretend I was sick. Mom made me.”
Now it’s perfectly silent in the bunker. Sandy loosens his grip on Sofia’s neck. I can feel Quin staring at me in shock, but I don’t care. I have to tell the truth.
For Kelly, and for me.
“It was Mom who pushed me down the stairs that afternoon.”
The words are out of my mouth—and it seems like they’re only really sinking in to me now. That must be what happened. How else did Mom come running downstairs? She must have forgotten something and come back. Then she heard the fight between me and Kelly. Just before I tripped, I felt something on my back. Mom’s hands.
“Mom made me sick, and I had to play along. At the hospital, with my friends, with my teacher at school, with you. If I didn’t do as she said, she hit me.”
“But…” I can see that Kelly doesn’t believe me, but at the same time he knows I’m not making this up. “It was me. Mom said I’d made you fall.”
“But how?” I yell. “You were upstairs!”
“I upset you. I scared you so much that you lost your balance. I was dangerous.”
I can feel tears burning in my eyes. How can he have believed what Mom said? Has he been going around all these years thinking that my leg was his fault?
But Mom did exactly the same to me. She made me believe that I was really sick, that I was going to die. There were times I hardly dared to go to sleep, because I was scared I wouldn’t wake up.
“You weren’t dangerous,” I say quietly. “Mom was the only dangerous one in the house.”
“How…” Kelly looks at me, then Quin, and then back again. “How did you get away?”
* * *
—
“Dylan?”
I look up, straight into Eliza’s sparkling eyes. What is she doing here? This is a completely different hospital!
“Fancy running into you here!” Eliza comes and sits beside me. “How are you doing?”
I fidget on the plastic chair in the waiting room. What should I say? Mom could come back from her conversation with Dr. Luiting at any minute.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Are you here alone?”
“No.” I look at the door along the corridor. “Mom’s in with the doctor.”
Eliza follows my gaze. “With Dr. Luiting?”
Is that strange? My hands are sweating.
“Yes…”
“What’s wrong with your leg?”
I take hold of it and shift it a little. “I, um, I fell.”
“Dylan!” Mom comes hurrying down the corridor in her high heels. “Is everything okay?”
Then she sees Eliza, and her eyes widen. “Dr. Savory?”
“Hello, Mrs. Dumont.” Eliza stands up and shakes Mom’s hand. “I was just having a little chat with Dylan. He was telling me about his accident.”
“Accident?” Mom looks at my leg and makes a careless gesture. “Oh yes, of course. The accident.”
Something flashes across Eliza’s face, and the sparkle goes out for a second.
“Okay, then. I’d better be off. Bye, Dylan.” She gives me a little wave. “See you.”
* * *
—
“Eliza was on to me. Or actually she was on to Mom. She asked to see all my files and then she discussed the situation with Dr. Luiting. He’d been working on all kinds of new tests for a couple of years by then.”
I can see that my story is slowly getting through to Kelly. Sandy is still glaring at me. I can’t stop talking now. I have to make sure that Sandy lets Sofia go.
“They reported it to social services. One night they just turned up at the door unannounced. They did that so Mom wouldn’t have time to”—my breath catches—“do anything to hurt me.”
Quin curses. Now he knows the whole truth. All that time he knew Mom had gone crazy, but he had no idea that it was aimed at me.
There’s nothing holding me back now. My whole story can be out there. Kelly has to know the truth. I wasn’t Mom’s favorite. I was just her favorite plaything. A doll she could make sick so she’d get attention from doctors. Whenever Dr. Luiting paid her a compliment, she glowed with pride. Gerda, the concerned neighbor, was a gift. No one realized what Mom was really like when my bedroom curtains were closed. No one except for Eliza.
Dr. Savory.
Dr. Savior.
“Here.” I pull the photo of Kelly and Mom out of my pocket. “This is for you.”
Kelly takes it from me. “How did you get this?”
“It was on the windowsill all that time. Mom removed everything else to do with you. If I asked about you, she hit me. So I taught myself to forget you.”
Kelly looks at me. “So it really was Mom?”
I feel Mom’s hands on my back again. I see the eager look in her eyes when she came running down the stairs and saw my injured leg. She thought it was awesome that I actually had something wrong with me. Just as long as I wasn’t happy or healthy.
“Yes.”
Kelly’s eyes fill with tears. “I should have protected you.”
“That’s enough!” Sandy shoves Sofia aside. Quin immediately pulls her out of his reach.
“He’s lying, Kelly!” Sandy’s face flushes red. I can see it right through his makeup. “Are you falling for it again? You can’t trust anyone—get that into your head! Everyone’s out to destroy us. Social services, Nell, your mom, my mom, him.” Sandy points the knife and runs at full speed toward me.
SOFIA
“No!” My scream echoes off the four walls of the bunker. Not Dylan, that can’t happen, that mustn’t happen.
Dylan’s eyes widen. I gasp for breath. But I don’t see what’s happened until Sandy steps aside. That razor-sharp knife, the knife that was just at my throat, is stuck in Kelly’s chest, right up to the handle.
He’d jumped between them.
Everyone steps back, except for Dylan, who kneels down next to his brother.
“Kelly!” Dylan takes hold of the knife handle, but then lets go. There’s a pool of blood forming around the blade. “Someone do something!”
All three of us stare at the scene in front of us, but no one moves.
“The walkie-talkie…” Dylan reaches into the inside pocket of Kelly’s costume. “How do these things work? How does it work?”
Finally the walkie-talkie turns on.
“Hello?” says a tinny voice.
“Help! My brother’s dying. We need help!”
“What? Where are you?”
“In the bunker…I…” Dylan takes Kelly’s hand and makes him sit up. “Kelly, please.”
But Kelly’s eyes are rolling back. A dark puddle trickles out from under his body. I lean my whole weight back against the wall, like I might be able to disappear into it.
“The bunker?” the voice says. Someone yells something in the background. “We know where you are. We’re calling an ambulance. Okay?”
Dylan throws away the walkie-talkie and pulls Kelly toward him, who hangs limply in his arms. “What have you gone and done?” The dark puddle on the ground grows bigger and bigger. That’s way too much blood. “You’re my brother, Kelly, Kelly. You always have been.” Dylan lays Kelly down and starts frantically scratching at his brother’s face. “I need to get this makeup off. I want to see my brother!”
Quin and I kneel down beside him and help. The makeup has hardened and it comes off Kelly’s cheeks in chunks. Slowly but surely, his own skin appears, pale and fragile.
Kelly’s eyes open. For a moment, he stares at Dylan. His lips barely move when he whispers, “It’s okay.”
Then his eyes roll back in his head again. All I can see is the whites.
“Kelly, stay with me!”
“He can’t hear you.” Behind us, Sandy has taken off his wig. “He’s—”
“Shut your mouth!” Dylan’s still brushing the makeup off Kelly’s face. “Kelly, can you hear me? Help’s going to be here any minute. Just hang on a bit longer.”
MURDERER?
I know I wasn’t the one who stuck the knife into you.
I was the one the knife was meant for.
But I still murdered you.
I murdered you by forgetting you.
Because if I’d fought harder,
for myself and for you,
then you’d still be alive.
AFTER FRIGHT NIGHT
SOFIA
The back doors of the ambulance are open and the morning sun is peeping through the trees.
The EMT lays a hand on my shoulder. “It might leave a small scar.”
I nod numbly. What does that matter?
“Your parents are on their way.” The man gives me a pat on the shoulder. “You just sit here and wait.”
I pull the blanket he gave me more tightly around me. It’s not cold, but it feels safer that way.
Quin comes and sits beside me. Although he doesn’t have any injuries, the ambulance crew still wanted to check him out. They gave him a blanket, too, which is hanging loosely around his shoulders. Together we watch the flashing lights of the police car. Two men are leading Sandy away.
“I didn’t mean to!” I hear him shouting. “I didn’t! He jumped in the way, and—”
One of the cops pushes Sandy into the car and the rest of his words are lost behind the closed door. Curious Fright Nighters and journalists, who have come flocking, are taking photos from behind the barriers. The police car drives away without sirens, as if they hope to erase Sandy by silence.
Quin doesn’t say anything. For the first time since I’ve known him, he has nothing to say. Dylan’s sitting a short distance away. He has a blanket, too, but his looks twice as big as ours. He’s hanging his head and barely reacting to the police officer’s questions.
I hear the wheels of a gurney. The black bag lying on it says it all. A ripple runs through the crowd, and the photographers start clicking away.
When the bag was zipped up, Dylan broke. I’ve never heard anyone make such an animal sound as he did. I know there’ll be nights when I hear that scream all over again.
Quin and I watch as the gurney with Kelly on it is lifted into the other ambulance.
The back doors close with a bang. I look at Dylan again. For a moment, our gazes meet and I see his dark-brown eyes. The same eyes as his brother, with the same pain. I hold up my wrist and point at my bracelet.
Everything will be fine, I think. In the end.
Dylan nods. It’s a small nod, but I think he understands.
I feel a hand on my shoulder again. When I look up, I see Nell standing there. Her mascara has left dark rings under her eyes, but otherwise she’s as pale as a ghost.
“I just wanted to let you know we’re going to the hospital.”
Quin and I quickly stand up to let Martin past. He has a white bandage around his arm and my bloodstained denim jacket in his hand.
When he holds it out to me, I shake my head. Like I’ll ever wear that thing again.
“Just throw it away somewhere, please.”
He nods. “Will do.”
“Good luck,” says Nell. She takes my hands and gives them a squeeze. The smile she gives me seems to be hard work. “With everything.”
“You guys too,” I say.
Quin and I watch as the second ambulance drives away. I pull the blanket even more tightly around me.
Quin nudges me. “Where’s Dylan?”
I turn around. The spot where Dylan was sitting just now is empty. I look around the crowd, but I don’t see him anywhere.
More cars come along. I recognize my mom and dad’s and Quin’s parents’ too. When Mom gets out, a shock goes through me.
“Ah, of course.”
“What?” asks Quin.
I look at him. “It’s Sunday.”
DYLAN
“I need to pee.”
The police officer stops her rapid-fire questions and gives me a searching look. Then she nods. “Sure. The restrooms are over there. Come straight back, though. We have more questions for you.”
I stand up and walk toward the building. When I turn around, I see the cop talking to one of her colleagues. I throw the blanket off my shoulders and run to the bikes.
* * *
■ ■ ■
In the morning, the building looks whiter than ever. The sunlight glints off the windows on the first floor, almost blinding me. The revolving door isn’t moving yet. Visiting hours don’t start for a while yet.
I leave my bike in the rack and walk up to the entrance. Inside, the staff members are going about their business.
“You’re early.” An older woman with a walker comes to stand next to me. “I thought I was the only fanatic.”
I nod.
“Come sit with me, young man.” The woman slowly sinks down onto a bench. As I sit beside her, she gives a deep sigh.
“I always dread this. Every time. But he’s still my son. They often let me in earlier, so I have an extra hour.”
I look at the revolving door, which still hasn’t moved.
“Can you keep a little secret?”
I’m sick of secrets, but still I nod.
“Sometimes I play hooky.” The woman smiles. “Then I go to the beach and I eat fish.”
A smile bubbles up inside me.
“But then I feel guilty. On Sundays I should be here. I’d give my life if it would make my son better.”
The smile turns into a lump. A brick. I touch the broken glasses in my pocket.
“Are you okay?” The woman sounds worried.
I nod, but suddenly tears are running down my cheeks.
“Here.” She hands me an old-fashioned embroidered handkerchief. “Don’t worry. It’s clean.”
I rub my eyes with the handkerchief, but they fill right back up. The revolving door turns and a woman comes out. She’s wearing a white uniform and I recognize her from the visiting hours.
“Mrs. Van Diepenhoven?”
“That’s me. Have a nice day, young man.” The woman struggles to her feet and looks up at the sky. “It’s beautiful weather for a day at the beach.”
I watch her walking to the entrance, with her bent back and her shuffling feet. The nurse helps her inside and then I’m alone again.
Mom’s probably eating breakfast now. I can picture her in the chair by the window. If she makes an effort, she can see me from there, but she won’t.
I’d gi
ve my life if it would make my son better.
I can feel the blood rushing through my veins. I think of the look in Sofia’s eyes when I ate the cockroach for her. I’d give my life for her too. I bet Quin will be going on about that again before long. He’ll give me a little break, but then it’ll start again. Everything will eventually go back to the way it was.
But maybe better.
Because I owe that to Kelly. From now on, every day of my life has to be an A+ day.
The revolving door slowly comes to a stop. Does Mom know yet that she just lost a son? Does she care? She’s probably more interested in her new wheelchair, which she’s had for a few weeks now. Her legs are sick, she says.
I close my eyes for a moment and let the sun warm me. Hester’s making lasagna tonight, my favorite. She does that every Sunday, because she knows what kind of day it is. There’ll be a plate for me, because I’m part of the family. Maybe Quin was right. Maybe it’s always been that way.
I stand up. It’s time.
A few seconds later, I’m back at my bike and swinging my leg over the seat. I take one last look at the white building and feel the sun on my face.
She’s right. It’s beautiful weather for a day at the beach.
MAREN STOFFELS ON FRIGHT NIGHT
One summer break, I took part in a Fright Night in the woods, without knowing exactly what I had let myself in for. I was terrified. All those actors leaping out of the bushes with chainsaws, fake blood, and layers of makeup on their faces.
No, Fright Night was definitely not for me.
But I couldn’t help being fascinated by the subject. Why would anyone want to take part in such an experience? A story came into my head, and it started with Dylan. Because he has a very unusual fear: his mother.
For every book I write, I make sure that the story is realistic, so for this story I got in touch with Nina. She survived the form of child abuse that Dylan had to deal with. It’s known as Munchausen syndrome by proxy (MSBP).
Nina was made sick by her own mother for fourteen years, so that her mother would receive attention from doctors and hospitals. Nina helped me a lot by telling me her story. As a writer, I was able to craft that information into a new story: Dylan’s.
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