My Sweet Girl

by Amanda Jayatissa

  I had reached step two on my list: Call the police about Ida.

  Pushing away the memory of my sneakers outside Ida’s back door, I dialed the number Officer Keller had given me in case Arun turned up or I thought of any other helpful information. His words, not mine.

  “Keller here,” he answered, sounding gruff.

  “Officer Keller, hi, it’s Paloma Evans.”

  “Who?”

  “Paloma Evans. We met the other day because of my roommate’s disappearance.” I carefully avoided the word murder.

  He was still silent.

  “The woman from Sri Lanka?” I tried.

  “Oh, yes. Undocumented Indian roommate. I remember now.” Of course you fucking did, Keller. I know he couldn’t see me, but I strained to keep a polite smile plastered on my face. You can hear rudeness through the phone, Paloma. “Did he turn up, then?”

  “Um, no he didn’t yet. I was—”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry much about it if I were you, most of these kids do tend to disappear when their visa runs out.” Arun’s blank face stared back at me. Sure thing, Keller.

  I could hear noises in the background. Someone was asking him something and he replied with a muffled yes.

  “There’s something else.” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t chicken out now. “My neighbor. She—she’s missing.” I resisted the urge to add as well.

  “Your neighbor, huh? Is she from India also?”

  I wanted to fucking punch him.

  “No. She’s an older lady. White. Maybe around—” Fuck, how old was Ida? “Around seventy-five or eighty, I reckon.”

  There was a rustling on the phone, like maybe he was also doing something else while speaking to me.

  “And she’s been missing for how long?”

  “Since yesterday morning. A little over a day now. There’s a note on her fridge that said she was going to San Diego, but she’d made plans with me, and—and well, it’s not like her to just take off like that.”

  There was a slight pause.

  “I’m just, well, I’m just worried that something might have happened to her. Or something.”

  Officer Keller’s voice was patient when he spoke to me next. He asked me for Ida’s details and I gave him what little information I had. I couldn’t even remember her sister’s name, let alone anything useful.

  “Look, Miss Evans, she hasn’t been missing forty-eight hours, and she seems to have left some indication of where she would be. I’ll call this in, and I’m sorry to say it, once again, but I don’t think there’s much to be done at this point.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Officer—” But he cut me off again.

  “Miss Evans, I’m on patrol right now. Give me a call in a few days if she still hasn’t turned up and we’ll see what we can do, okay?”

  “Sure. Thank you for your time.” Not. On patrol right now? On a fucking doughnut run was more like it. What a useless excuse for a cop. Of all the policemen on the force, of course I’d get stuck with this guy.

  He clearly didn’t give a shit. Or didn’t believe me.

  But what if—there was the little voice in my head that sounded like Nina—what if there was nothing to believe? Even Sam said it, didn’t he? I absolutely zombied out when I was drunk. Maybe . . .

  But there was no fucking way I imagined Arun that night. There’s something about a dead body that you couldn’t just imagine. The weight of his head as I pulled it back. The smell of his blood on my fingers. He was murdered and there was a killer on the loose and thanks to this moron Keller, who looked like he was doing an impersonation of a thumb half the fucking time, no one believed me.

  I was absentmindedly pacing the house again and had made my way to the kitchen.

  I stared out the window, not really looking at anything. But when I focused my eyes, I noticed the woman across the street was walking up and down her porch. Not stepping out into the yard. Just going in circles, cradling that disgusting old blanket in her arms again.

  Fuck, that was creepy.

  I took a deep breath. I was seriously losing my mind here. I needed to calm the fuck down. I needed to do something, but I couldn’t think of anything left.

  I grabbed my laptop and a soda from the fridge and sat down. It was no fucking green juice, but at least it wasn’t scotch, right?

  Jason Wong had finally emailed me the CCTV footage, so I guess his lack of personal hygiene didn’t make him a complete dipshit.

  I immediately pulled up the video to where the man in the hat walked out of the elevator. I stopped it at every frame, leaning close to the screen and trying to make sense of his pixelated face. Was it actually Mr. Williams? Or was I just being paranoid? It didn’t stop my hands from starting to shake a little. I needed to move on. Staring at this blurry man on my computer won’t help me in the least.

  I pulled the video back and watched myself run down the corridor over and over and over again, but it didn’t look like anyone was chasing me. Of course, if they stayed close to the wall and knew exactly what path to take, like Arun did, they wouldn’t ever be picked up on by the cameras. It was one of the reasons why we both thought it was a good idea for him to sublet. My parents had left on their dumb trip and I needed the money, even though I had told myself that I’d never share my apartment again after what happened with Fern. But something about Arun made me feel, well, I felt sorry for him, I guess. I thought I was doing him a favor. Look how that turned out.

  I opened up my browser and typed in the words slowly, deliberately making sure I spelled it correctly.

  Little Miracles Girls Home Sri Lanka

  It was my first time doing it. The first time that I let myself. I had researched the laws, the rules, the consequences, just never the home. Never the girls. I thought about them all the time. I wondered what they might look like, grown up. I would never know. So I never looked. It wouldn’t ever accomplish anything, I told myself. But the truth is that it was just too hard. I never looked at the box in my parents’ bedroom, I never googled the home, I never even asked my parents for any information. I’d shoved my curiosity away with my guilt and my ghosts and my secrets.

  Except there was another, very different letter. It came about two years after I left Sri Lanka. My parents kept it at the very bottom of the box, beneath everything else. The letter from the agency that Dad had to read to me because I never could bring myself to even look at it. The letter that I had thought about, almost every day since, every time I looked in the mirror or someone asked me where I grew up.

  We regret to inform you that the Little Miracles Girls’ Home in Sri Lanka has ceased to exist. The orphanage was unfortunately burnt down by a fire. The residents of the home have been transferred to alternate homes, as per the state protocols in Sri Lanka. Regrettably, we were informed that, despite the authorities’ best efforts, one of the girls lost her life in the fire.

  One of the girls lost her life. I knew then, even before he said it out loud. I knew when I left. I knew when I abandoned her. It was me. I had killed her.

  I’m so sorry, Paloma, Dad had said, his own eyes drowning in the tears he was trying to hold back. Lihini is . . . He had paused there, chin trembling, and I knew, I knew in my bones what came next. She’s no more.

  No more.

  No more, like we’d run out of milk. No more, like a fucking domestic violence campaign. No more.

  But she wasn’t “no more,” because of the fire. She was “no more” from the moment I left.

  The search had loaded.

  Facebook pages for different girls’ homes. But it wouldn’t be them. Facebook didn’t exist back then. Hell, computers didn’t exist for orphanages in Ratmalana back then. No, they wouldn’t have a Facebook page. They wouldn’t even have a regular website. I clicked through about three pages of results.

  The Little Miracles Gir
ls Home Sri Lanka Fire, I tried.

  Nothing. Well, not nothing. Pages and pages of well-crafted, PR company–managed orphanages.

  Volunteer in an orphanage in Sri Lanka

  Donate to St. Mary’s Girls Home, Sri Lanka

  Child Protection Authority, Sri Lanka

  But not what I was looking for.

  The house was completely dark around me, and the glow of the monitor blinded me from seeing anything else. Someone could be in here with me, and I’d never see them.

  I thought I felt something on the back of my neck.

  Was there someone else in here?

  A shiver ripped through me.

  A pale face. Long hair. White dress.

  Fuck it, Paloma. Get a grip on yourself.

  Mohini doesn’t exist. She never did. I don’t care what you think you saw. She doesn’t exist.

  I closed the laptop and stood up, willing myself to be more fearless, and pissed off that my hands shook, betraying me. Two strides and I turned the kitchen lights on. One glance and I was able to confirm that I was starting to lose it. Obviously my kitchen was empty.

  I sighed. This wasn’t going anywhere. I might as well get to bed. I snuck a glance out my window again, but she wasn’t there.

  The yawn that erupted out of me was sudden. I needed to get some sleep.

  I made sure all the windows were locked and that the alarm was turned on. I even left a light on downstairs.

  A whole day without a drink. It’s pretty rare that I felt proud of myself, and I wished there was someone I could call. I took a nice, long shower and wore my favorite old flannel pajamas. I’d left a lamp on in my bedroom so it wasn’t completely dark when I went back in there.

  I was just about to climb into bed when I noticed something on my pillow.

  It was a small piece of card. About the size of a postcard. I must have brought one up from my collection on the fridge or something. But there was no writing on it.

  I turned it over.

  It wasn’t a postcard.

  It was a photograph of me.

  A photograph of me smiling, holding up a bronze medal.

  A photograph of me smiling, holding up a bronze medal, with my eyes scratched out.

  A pounding that started in my head crashed down to my ears, and everything felt woozy again.

  I went back downstairs and poured myself a stiff drink. I would need it, now that I knew, beyond any doubt, that my past had finally caught up to me.

  32

  RATMALANA, SRI LANKA

  WE WERE WOKEN EVERY morning by a bell that rings through the orphanage. But I must have slept through it because I was tossing and turning all night after I found the photo on my pillow.

  When I finally woke up, the girls had all gone for breakfast. Lihini had gone too. She didn’t wake me like she normally did when I overslept.

  But that was okay. I took a moment to think about who did this.

  It was Shanika. I knew it. She was the only one who was jealous of me going. She was the one who attacked me. She probably thought she could scare me. That this was some sort of revenge.

  Well, two could play at that game.

  I got out of bed and quickly got dressed. I knew exactly what I was looking for. We weren’t allowed any toys or books in the dining room, so Shanika would have left it in the playroom during breakfast. I hurried there while the rest of the girls ate.

  I was right. The doll was left seated on a chair, like it was another person. It once had eyes that would open and close automatically as you laid it down or picked it up, but now its eyelids were stuck in a half-closed position. Its hair was matted, and it wore a fraying dress that was once pink but now an ugly greyish colour.

  I picked it up with my thumb and index finger. There was no one around; the corridor was quiet. The girls would say their morning prayers and then start to eat. That meant I’d have some time.

  Goodness, it was filthy. I don’t think Shanika ever washed it. Typical.

  I gripped the doll tightly as I crossed over through the building, making sure that Perera sir didn’t hear me.

  Anyways, I shouldn’t have to worry. The doll wasn’t Shanika’s, not technically. Technically all the toys belonged to the orphanage and we were all supposed to take turns playing with them. I couldn’t help it that Shanika had just decided that this doll was supposed to be hers, and just took it without sharing with anyone.

  I didn’t feel bad about what I was going to do. I knew it was Shanika who destroyed Wuthering Heights, and who scratched the eyes out of my photograph. It was definitely Shanika.

  I got to the back garden, behind the kitchen. It was empty. Good.

  The bottle of lamp oil was where it always was under the sink. I unscrewed it carefully, inhaling the sharp smell. I had to make sure I didn’t get any on my hands.

  I went to the very corner of the garden, right up next to the back wall, and left the doll on the ground. Looking behind me again, just to make sure, I poured a little bit of the lamp oil on it, making sure the dress was soaked.

  I wondered how long it would take. Miss Nayana said things that are synthetic burn more easily, and the doll’s hair was made from cheap plastic.

  I lit the match from the box I had taken along with the lamp oil.

  Maybe this would teach her, I told myself as I dropped the match onto the ugly, dirty doll.

  I needn’t have worried. The flames caught on quick, licking at the plastic hungrily for only a few moments, until the doll started to get misshapen, and then started to melt away.

  The smell was disgusting, and made my eyes water.

  That should teach her a lesson. That should show her to stop messing with me.

  * * *

  • • •

  IT WAS ONE OF the hottest days in April yet. The sun beat down on us like beams of fire, making our clothes stick to our backs and our skin break out in rashes. It was too hot to be outside, but Lihini sat under our tree, book in hand, even though I could see the sweat drip down her nose as I went to join her.

  “If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden,” I recited.

  “Huh?”

  “The Secret Garden.” I nodded towards her book. “I read it last week, remember?” I was reading a lot of other books now that we didn’t have Wuthering Heights anymore.

  “Oh.” She looked like she only just noticed the book she was holding.

  “You okay?” I asked, sitting down, not with my back against the tree like I usually did, but across from her. Goodness gracious, it was hot out here.

  She shut the book and tried to fan herself with it, even though it was too thick to really stir up any air.

  “It’s an oven, no? What was I thinking, I don’t know. Coming outside today.” She smiled, but it was only her lips that curved. Her eyes still looked like they were far, far away.

  “Shall we go inside, so?”

  “No. No. Don’t worry aney.” But I did worry. I had hardly seen Lihini these days. Most of my time had been filled with forms and applications and packing and new clothes, and the few times I had been free, I was never able to find her. She never climbed into my bed at night anymore, either, and one time I climbed up the ladder to the top bunk to ask her why, but she wasn’t in bed. I thought she must have spent the night in the sickroom or something, but then I heard her giggling from Maya’s bed, which made my chest hurt a little.

  I guessed she was trying to make new friends so that she wouldn’t be so lonely when I left. She definitely seemed to be more friendly with Maya these days. I heard them planning to lay a trap for Mohini the other day. It felt like someone was reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart whenever I thought about that.

  “How’s the book?” I asked instead.

  “Good.”

  “Got to the par
t with the key yet?”

  “What?”

  “The key. You know, to the garden?”

  “Oh. No. Not yet. Don’t tell me what happens.”

  “Sorry.”

  The air was heavy and still between us. This was strange. We always had so much to talk about. Miss Nayana always said we were like two gossiping achchi ammas who didn’t know better. One time, we even lay in bed talking until the sun came up. But that felt so long ago now.

  “So, did you—” I started, just as Lihini said, “Here, I was—”

  We both paused.

  “You first,” I said.

  “No, you go.”

  “Just tell, will you?”

  Lihini’s lips curled up into a small smile.

  “What a spoiled brat, no?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Mary.”

  “She gets better. Her parents seemed awful too.” At least we weren’t talking about ghosts for once, thank goodness.

  “At least she had them.”

  “Had. They died.”

  She shrugged. I knew what she was thinking. Mary’s parents died. They couldn’t help it. At least they didn’t give her away because they didn’t want her. I don’t know what’s worse—knowing your parents are dead, or knowing that they are out there somewhere, but they don’t want anything to do with you. We didn’t let ourselves think about it often. But that didn’t mean these thoughts didn’t exist, like little shadows, hiding in the backs of our minds.

  “Anyways, she makes friends, and she gets better. That’s all I’ll say. Don’t worry haiyyo, I won’t spoil it for you.”

  “So she wasn’t alone for too long?”

  “Nope.”

  “Lucky her.” The fingers around my heart squeezed again.

  Snooby trotted outside the main building and wandered towards us.

  “Shoo!” I drew my knees up to my chest. I finally had some time alone with Lihini and I didn’t want anyone ruining it, not even the dog.

  “Sin, aney.” Lihini reached over and petted him. Snooby whimpered a little and lay down next to her. Great. Just great.