The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  “Fine. You want to know, I’ll tell you. No, I haven’t seen them,” she said, not really shocking me. “But I have seen the destruction they cause. And before you ask me how I know they were the ones to cause the destruction, let me add that I’ve seen things that can’t be explained any other way.”

  “Like what?” I peeked over my shoulder. Em had moved to the swing set and was now rocking back and forth, but she hadn’t dropped me from the crosshairs of her hawk eyes.

  “That, I still won’t tell you,” Mom said. “There are some things you’re better off not knowing, no matter what you say. You’re just not ready. Babies can handle milk, but they can’t handle meat.”

  I wasn’t a baby, blah, blah, blah, whatever. Worry had contorted Emma’s features. I forced myself to smile, and she immediately brightened as if this was now a done deal. As if I hadn’t failed her in this regard a million times before.

  Like the time she’d wanted to attend the art exhibit at her school, where her papier-mâché globe had been on display. Like the time her Girl Scout troop had gone camping. Like the hundred times her friend Jenny had called and asked if she could stay the night. Finally, Jenny had stopped calling.

  Pressure building...can’t fail this time...

  I faced my mother. She still had her back to me and hadn’t abandoned the stove. In fact, she was forking the noodles one at a time, testing their flexibility as if the chore was the most important thing ever. We’d done this same dance before. She was an avoider, and she’d just hit her stride.

  “Forget the monsters and what you have and haven’t seen. Today’s my birthday, and all I want is for us to go to my sister’s ballet recital like a normal family. That’s it. That’s all. I’m not asking for the world. But if you don’t have the guts, fine. If Dad doesn’t, whatever. I’ll call one of my friends from school and we’ll go without you.” The drive into the city was at least half an hour, so there was no way we could walk. “And you know what? If you make me go that route, you’ll break Em’s heart and I will never forgive you.”

  She sucked in a breath, stiffened. I’d probably just shocked the crap out of her. I was the calm one in the family. I hardly ever lashed out, rarely went mental. For the most part, I accepted and I rolled.

  “Alice,” she said, and I gritted my teeth.

  Here it comes. The refusal. Tears of crushing devastation burned my eyes, splashed onto my cheeks. I scrubbed them away with the back of my hand. “Forget about my lack of forgiveness. I will hate you for this.”

  She glanced back at me, sighed. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right. I’ll talk to him.”

  * * *

  All through her performance, Em glowed. She also dominated that stage, kicking butt and not bothering with names. Honestly, she put the other girls to shame. And that wasn’t sibling pride talking. That was just plain fact.

  She twirled and smiled and utterly dazzled, and everyone who watched her was as enraptured as I was. Surely. By the time the curtain closed two hours later, I was so happy for her I could have burst. And maybe I did burst the eardrums of the people in front of me. I think I clapped louder than anyone, and I definitely whistled shrilly enough to cause brain bleeds.

  Those people would just have to deal. This was the best. Birthday. Ever. For once, the Bells had attended an event like a normal family.

  Of course, my dad almost ruined everything by continually glancing at his wristwatch and turning to eye the back door as if he expected someone to volley in an H-bomb. So, by the time the crowd jumped up for a standing O, and despite my mad rush of happiness, he’d made me so tense my bones were practically vibrating.

  Even still, I wasn’t going to utter a single word of complaint. Miracle of miracles, he’d come. And all right, okay, so the miracle had been heralded by a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and he’d had to be stuffed in the passenger seat of the car like the cream filling in a Twinkie, but whatever. He had come!

  “We need to leave,” he said, already edging his way to the back door. At six-four, he was a tall man, and he loomed over everyone around him. “Grab Em and let’s go.”

  Despite his shortcomings, despite how tired his self-medication had become, I loved him, and I knew he couldn’t help his paranoia. He’d tried legitimate medication with no luck. He’d tried therapy and gotten worse. He saw monsters no one else could see, and he refused to believe they weren’t actually there—or trying to eat him and kill all those he loved.

  In a way, I even understood him. One night, about a year ago, Em had been crying about the injustice of missing yet another slumber party. I, in turn, had raged at our mother, and she had been so shocked by my atypical outburst that she’d explained what she called “the beginning of your father’s battle with evil.”

  As a kid, my dad had witnessed the brutal murder of his own father. A murder that had happened at night, in a cemetery, while his father had been visiting Grandmother Alice’s grave. The event had traumatized my dad. So, yes, I got it.

  Did that make me feel any better right now? No. He was an adult. Shouldn’t he handle his problems with wisdom and maturity? I mean, how many times had I heard, “Act like an adult, Alice.” Or, “Only a child would do something like that, Alice.”

  My take on that? Practice what you preach, people. But what did I know? I wasn’t an ever-knowing adult; I was just expected to act like one. And, yeah. A real nice family tree I had. Murder and mayhem on every gnarled branch. Hardly seemed fair.

  “Come on,” he snapped now.

  My mom rushed to his side, all comfort and soothing pats. “Calm down, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “We can’t stay here. We have to get home where it’s safe.”

  “I’ll grab Em,” I said. The first flickers of guilt hit me, stinging my chest. Maybe I’d asked too much of him. And of my mom, who would have to peel him from the roof of the car when we finally pulled into our monster-proof garage. “Don’t worry.”

  My skirt tangled around my legs as I shoved my way through the crowd and raced past the stage curtain. Little girls were everywhere, each of them wearing more makeup, ribbons and glitter than the few strippers I’d seen on TV. When I’d been innocently flipping channels. And accidentally stopped on stations I wasn’t supposed to watch. Moms and dads were hugging their daughters, praising them, handing them flowers, all about the congratulations on a job-well-done thing. Me, I had to grab my sister’s hand and beat feet, dragging her behind me.

  “Dad?” she asked, sounding unsurprised.

  I threw her a glance over my shoulder. She had paled, those golden eyes too old and knowledgeable for her angel face. “Yeah.”

  “What’s the damage?”

  “Nothing too bad. You’ll still be able to venture into public without shame.”

  “Then I consider this a win.”

  Me, too.

  People swarmed and buzzed in the lobby like bees, half of them lingering, half of them working their way to the doors. That’s where I found my dad. He’d stopped at the glass, his gaze panning the parking lot. Halogens were placed throughout, lighting the way to our Tahoe, which my mom had parked illegally in the closest handicapped space for an easy in, easy out. His skin had taken on a grayish cast, and his hair now stood on end, as if he’d scrambled his fingers through the strands one too many times.

  Mom was still trying to soothe him. Thank goodness she’d managed to disarm him before we’d left the house. Usually he carried guns, knives and throwing stars whenever he dared to venture out.

  The moment I reached him, he turned and gripped me by the forearms, shaking me. “You see anything in the shadows, anything at all, you pick up your sister and run. Do you hear me? Pick her up and run back inside. Lock the doors, hide and call for help.” His eyes were an electric blue, wild, his pupils pulsing over his irises.

  The guilt, well, it stopped flicker
ing and kicked into a hard-core blaze. “I will,” I promised, and patted both of his hands. “Don’t worry about us. You taught me how to protect myself. Remember? I’ll keep Em safe. No matter what.”

  “Okay,” he said, but he looked far from satisfied. “Okay, then.”

  I’d spoken the truth. I didn’t know how many hours I’d logged in the backyard with him, learning how to stop an attacker. Sure, those lessons had been all about protecting my vital organs from becoming some mindless being’s dinner, but self-defense was self-defense, right?

  Somehow my mom convinced him to release me and brave the terrifying outdoors. All the while people shot us weird looks that I tried to ignore. We walked together, as a family, our feet flying one in front of the other. Mom and Dad were in front, with me and Em a few steps behind them, holding hands as the crickets sang and provided us with an eerie soundtrack.

  I glanced around, trying to see the world as my dad must. I saw a long stretch of black tar—camouflage? I saw a sea of cars—places to hide? I saw the forest beyond, rising from the hills—a breeding ground for nightmares?

  Above, I saw the moon, high and full and beautifully transparent. Clouds still puffed through the sky, orange now and kind of creepy. And was that...surely not...but I blinked, slowed my pace. Yep. It was. The cloud shaped like a rabbit had followed me. Fancy that.

  “Look at the clouds,” I said. “Notice anything cool?”

  A pause, then, “A...rabbit?”

  “Exactly. I saw him this morning. He must think we’re pretty awesome.”

  “Because we are, duh.”

  My dad realized we’d lagged behind, sprinted the distance between us, grabbed on to my wrist and jerked me faster...faster still...while I maintained my grip on Emma and jerked her along. I’d rather dislocate her shoulder than leave her behind, even for a second. Dad loved us, but part of me feared he’d drive off without us if he thought it necessary.

  He opened the car door and practically tossed me in like a football. Emma was next, and we shared a moment of silent communication after we settled.

  Fun times, I mouthed.

  Happy birthday to you, she mouthed back.

  The instant my dad was in the passenger seat he threw the locks. He was shaking too hard to buckle his belt, and finally gave up. “Don’t drive by the cemetery,” he told Mom, “but get us home as fast as you can.”

  We’d avoided the cemetery on the way here, too—despite the daylight—adding unnecessary time to an already lengthy drive.

  “I will. No worries.” The Tahoe roared to life, and Mom yanked the shifter into Reverse.

  “Dad,” I said, my voice as reasonable as I could make it. “If we take the long way, we’ll be snailing it along construction.” We lived just outside big, beautiful Birmingham and traffic could be a nasty monster on its own. “That’ll add at least half an hour to our trip. You don’t want us to stay in the dark, at a standstill, for that long, do you?” He’d work himself into such a panic we’d all be clawing at the doors to escape.

  “Honey?” Mom asked. The car eased to the edge of the lot, where she had to go left or right. If she went left, we’d never make it home. Seriously. If I had to listen to my dad for more than thirty minutes, I’d jump out the window and as an act of mercy I’d take Emma with me. If Mom went right, we’d have a short ride, a short anxiety attack to deal with, but a quick recovery. “I’ll drive so fast you won’t even be able to see the cemetery.”

  “No. Too risky.”

  “Please, Daddy,” I said, not above manipulation. As I’d already proved. “For me. On my birthday. I won’t ask for anything else, I promise, even though you guys forgot the last one and I never got a present.”

  “I...I...” His gaze shifted continually, scanning the nearby trees for movement.

  “Please. Em needs to be tucked into bed, like, soon, or she’ll morph into Lily of the Valley of Thorns.” As we’d long ago dubbed her. My sis got tired, and she left carnage in her wake.

  Lips pursed, Em slapped my arm. I shrugged, the universal sign for well, it’s true.

  Dad pushed out a heavy breath. “Okay. Okay. Just...break the sound barrier, babe,” he said, kissing my mom’s hand.

  “I will. You have my word.”

  My parents shared a soft smile. I felt like a voyeur for noticing; used to be, they’d enjoyed these kinds of moments all the time, but the smiles had become less and less frequent over the years.

  “All right, here we go.” Mom swung the vehicle right, and to my utter astonishment, she really did try to break the sound barrier, weaving in and out of lanes, honking at the slower cars, riding bumpers.

  I was impressed. The few driving lessons she’d given me, she’d been a nervous wreck, which had turned me into a nervous wreck. We hadn’t gone far or cranked the speed above twenty-five, even outside our neighborhood.

  She kept up a steady stream of chatter, and I watched the clock on my phone. The minutes ticked by, until we’d gone ten without a single incident. Only twenty more to go.

  Dad kept his nose pressed to the window, his frantic breaths leaving puffs of mist on the glass. Maybe he was enjoying the mountains, valleys and lush green trees highlighted by the streetlamps, rather than searching for monsters.

  Yeah. Right.

  “So how’d I do?” Emma whispered in my direction.

  I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You were amazing.”

  Her dark brows knit together, and I knew what was coming next. Suspicion. “You swear?”

  “Swear. You rocked the house hard-core. In comparison, the other girls sucked.”

  She covered her mouth to stop herself from giggling.

  I couldn’t help but add, “The boy who twirled you around? I think he was considering pushing you off the stage, just so people would finally look at him. Honestly, every eye was riveted on you.”

  The giggle bubbled out this time, unstoppable. “So what you’re saying is, when I tripped over my own feet, everyone noticed.”

  “Trip? What trip? You mean that wasn’t part of the routine?”

  She gave me a high five. “Good answer.”

  “Honey,” Mom said, apprehension straining her voice. “Find some music for us to listen to, okay?”

  Uh-oh. She must want him distracted.

  I leaned over and glanced out the front windshield. Sure enough. We were approaching the cemetery. At least there were no other cars around, so no one would witness my dad’s oncoming breakdown. And he would have one. I could feel the tension thickening the air.

  “No music,” he said. “I need to concentrate, remain on alert. I have to—” He stiffened, gripped the armrests on his seat until his knuckles whitened.

  A moment of silence passed, such thick, heavy silence.

  His panting breaths emerged faster and faster—until he roared so piercingly I cringed. “They’re out there! They’re going to attack us!” He grabbed the wheel and yanked. “Don’t you see them? We’re headed right for them. Turn around! You have to turn around.”

  The Tahoe swerved, hard, and Emma screamed. I grabbed her hand, gave her another squeeze, but I refused to let go. My heart was pounding against my ribs, a cold sweat beading over my skin. I’d promised to protect her tonight, and I would.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” I told her.

  Her tremors were so violent they even shook me.

  “Honey, listen to me,” Mom soothed. “We’re safe in the car. No one can hurt us. We have to—”

  “No! If we don’t turn around they’ll follow us home!” My dad was thoroughly freaked, and nothing Mom said had registered. “We have to turn around.” He made another play for the wheel, gave another, harder yank, and this time, we didn’t just swerve, we spun.

  Round and round, round and round. My grip on Emma tightened.

  “Alice,” she cried. />
  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I chanted. The world was whizzing, blurring...the car teetering...my dad shouting a curse...my mom gasping...the car tilting...tilting...

  FREEZE FRAME.

  I remember when Em and I used to play that game. We’d crank the volume of our iPod dock—loud, pounding rock—and boogie like we were having seizures. One of us would shout freeze frame and we’d instantly stop moving, totally frozen, trying not to laugh, until one of us yelled the magic word to shoot us back into motion. Dance.

  I wish I could have shouted freeze frame in just that moment and rearranged the scenery, the players. But life isn’t a game, is it?

  DANCE.

  We went airborne, flipping over, crashing into the road upside down, then flipping over again. The sound of crunching metal, shattering glass and pained screams filled my ears. I was thrown back and forth in my seat, my brain becoming a cherry slushie in my head as different impacts jarred me and stole my breath.

  When we finally landed, I was so dazed, so fogged, I felt like I was still in motion. The screams had stopped, at least. All I heard was a slight ringing in my ears.

  “Mom? Dad?” A pause. No response. “Em?” Again, nothing.

  I frowned, looked around. My eyesight was hazy, something warm and wet in my lashes, but I could see well enough.

  And what I saw utterly destroyed me.

  I screamed. My mom was slashed to ribbons, her body covered in blood. Emma was slumped over in her seat, her head at an odd angle, her cheek split open. No. No, no, no.

  “Dad, help me. We have to get them out!”

  Silence.

  “Dad?” I searched—and realized he was no longer in the car. The front windshield was gone, and he was lying motionless on the pieces a few yards away. There were three men standing over his body, the car’s headlights illuminating them.

  No, they weren’t men, I realized. They couldn’t be. They had sagging pockmarked skin and dirty, ripped clothing. Their hair hung in clumps on their spotted scalps, and their teeth...so sharp as they...as they...fell upon my dad and disappeared inside him, only to reappear a second later and...and...eat him.