‘Do you understand?’ she asked. Her fingers on my cheek, light and cool. ‘You must never tell anyone about this. Not your friends at school, and not your father. It must be a secret between you and me alone.’
I nodded.
‘Do not cry,’ Mommy said. ‘Come with me.’ She pulled me up with a strong arm.
‘Where are we going?’
‘We are not going anywhere. We are walking,’ she said. ‘When your feelings get too big, you must come to the woods and walk.’ The nurse tone crept into her voice somewhat. ‘Exercise is good for the mind and the body. Thirty minutes each day is recommended. It will help you to master yourself.’
We marched along the trail in silence for a time. Mommy’s blue dress flew out behind her in the breeze. She looked like something from a myth, here among the trees.
‘They would call you “insane” if they knew what you were,’ she said. ‘That word. I abhor it. Promise me that you will never call a woman insane, Theodore.’
‘I promise,’ I said. ‘Can we go home now?’ I thought of Snowball’s pink paws and eyes. The tears rose again. There was still a lot of feeling left in me.
‘Not yet,’ Mommy said. ‘We keep walking until the need to cry has passed. You will tell me when that is.’
I took hold of her skirt and clung to it with both fists as we walked. My hands were still dirty from the grave we had dug. They left finger marks on the blue organza. ‘Thank you for not being mad at me,’ I said. I meant the dress, the mouse, everything.
‘Mad,’ she said, thoughtful. ‘No, I am not mad. For a long time, I have feared that this was in you. Now it is confirmed. I find that it is a relief. I no longer need to think of you as my son. No longer must I search my heart for a love that I cannot feel.’
I cried out and tears welled hot in my eyes. ‘You can’t mean that,’ I said. ‘Please don’t say that.’
‘It is the truth.’ She did look down at me, now. Her eyes were remote and serious. ‘You are monstrous. However, you are my responsibility. I will continue to do what I can for you, because that is my duty, and I have never been afraid of my duty. I will not permit you to be called “insane”. In this country, in particular, they love to throw that word around like a ball.’
She waited patiently as I cried. When the tears slowed she offered me a tissue, and her hand. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘Walk.’
We did not turn for home until my feet were sore.
I tried to mend the dolls and even the music box, with crazy glue and a book about clocks. Both were broken beyond repair. Mommy kept the music box but she put the dolls in the trash and they are gone for ever; another part of her I can never get back, another thing I broke that cannot be mended.
I keep meaning to record the recipe for my vinegar strawberry sandwich, but I don’t have the heart for it now.
Olivia
Light, at last. Ted’s hands on me, lifting me out of the dark. Bourbon hangs thick on his breath.
‘Hey, kitten,’ he breathes into my fur. ‘You ready to behave? I hope so. I missed you so much. Come watch TV with me. Tell you something, I’ll do the stroking and you do the purring, doesn’t that sound good?’
I twist out of his hands and rake my claws across his face. I slash at his arms and chest, feel cotton and flesh part, feel the blood come. Then I run and hide beneath the couch.
He calls to me. ‘Please,’ he says. ‘Come out, kitten.’ He fetches a plate with two chicken fingers on it, and puts it in the centre of the room by the recliner. He chirps and calls me, ‘Here, kitty, kitty, kitty …’ The chicken fingers smell really good but I stay put. I’m hungry and thirsty, but my anger is stronger.
I feel like I don’t even know you any more, I say, though of course all he hears is a hiss. In the end he gives up, which is typical. He can never take responsibility for anything.
As he goes, something falls out of the cuff of his pants. It is little and white, but I can’t quite make it out. The thing bounces and my tail twitches. I want to chase it. Ted doesn’t notice.
In the kitchen, I hear the hollow crack of a beer being opened, the clicking of his throat as he swallows, and his heavy tread as he climbs the stairs. The record player blares into life. The sad woman begins to sing in long elongated vowels about dancing. He’ll lie in bed now, music playing low, drinking until there’s nothing left to drink.
Right now I’m hiding under the couch, even though the dust bunnies tickle my nose very badly. I have to record this.
So, obviously, I had to go get the thing that fell out of the cuff of Ted’s pants. It was irresistible. Cats and curiosity and all that, you know?
I stalked towards it, belly flat to the floor. The scent came from it in waves. It was the scent I lick off my paws and jaws after Night-time has been with me. It was the scent that came from the little white flip-flop. That’s when I knew this was bad, bad.
I took the thing in my mouth. It turned out to be a square of paper, folded so many times that it was like a hard little pellet. I thought, Why would Ted carry it in his pants cuff? Weird.
I got safely back under the couch and teased the note open with a claw. It wasn’t paper, actually, but a scrap of white tree bark, thin and beautiful. But it had been used as paper. I saw there was a word, written in pink marker on the creamy surface. I froze because I know those messy letters. I have seen them often enough on the whiteboard in the kitchen.
It’s Lauren’s writing. Above the word in pink marker, like outlying islands, are three irregular patches of brown. My nose tells me what they are. Splashes of blood.
Several times I pushed the note away and tried to pretend it didn’t exist. Then I retrieved it and I read it again, each time hoping that it would say something different. But it didn’t. There it was, just that one word.
Help.
Ted
I’m drinking bourbon from the bottle, no time for glass or ice. The liquor courses down my face, my eyes sting from the fumes. Disaster, disaster, disaster. I must stop everything. I am being watched. Invaded, even. I might not have known if Mommy hadn’t trained me so well. I missed it my first morning round with the diary, which goes to show that she was right. Everything seemed fine. The windows were all secure, the plywood nailed down tight over them, the portholes were clear. I was in a really good mood.
I was in a hurry during the evening check. I had some donuts and a new bottle of bourbon waiting for me and there was a big monster truck rally on TV at six. So I was looking forward to the end of the day and I skimped my inspection a little. Who could blame me? I was heading back inside when I caught it in the corner of my eye.
Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed anything if the sun hadn’t come out from behind a cloud at just that moment, at that exact angle. But it did and so I did. There it was, gleaming silver. A pinprick of light, a little drop of brightness against the weather-stained plywood that covers the living-room window.
I waded into the thick mess of briars and weeds that cling to the house. I clutched the diary to me, trying to protect it. Is there anything on this planet that doesn’t want to scratch me? But it wasn’t as hard to fight through them as I had expected. Some of the briars were snapped and hung sadly as if something had recently forced its way through. Others lay broken on the dirt, as if trampled underfoot. Unease stirred.
When I reached the window I tugged at the plywood but it was solid, still nailed fast. I stood back again and looked. Something was wrong, but what? Then the sun came out again. It caught the nail heads. They shone, store-bright.
I knew then – someone had been here. They crawled up to the house, through thorns and poison oak and brambles. They carefully dug the nails out of the window frame and lifted the plywood off. And after that, I have to assume they lifted the sash and went inside. Later, they came out again and hammered it back in place and left. They did a good job. I might never have known. But they didn’t think to reuse the old nails. Instead, they put these shiny things in. It’s impossible to know w
hen. These thoughts were like being punched repeatedly in the neck.
Were they watching right now? I looked about me, but it was still. A lawnmower growled somewhere.
I made my way out of the briars and towards the back door. I felt the weight of unseen eyes. I didn’t run – though I wanted to, every muscle wanted to, my skin itched with the urge to run. Once inside I closed the door gently behind me and locked the locks. Thunk, thunk, thunk. But the sound didn’t mean safety any more. I went to the living-room window. My fingers sought the latch on top of the sash. It was loose in my hand. As I turned it, the latch came right off in a little shower of brown dust. At some point over the years the metal catch rusted through. Anyone could have got in.
I never open the windows, of course. I forgot that they did open. That was a mistake. There was a gasping sound somewhere, and I realised it was coming from me. I paced up and down the living room, kicking uselessly at the bobbly blue rug. I always feared this day might come. Mommy told me it would, in the forest, after the thing with the mouse. The day she understood my true nature. They’ll come for you, Teddy. I hoped so hard that she was wrong.
What did they see, this intruder? Did they watch me? As I made my chicken and grape salad, or as I watched TV, or slept? The only real question, of course, is, did they see Lauren and Olivia? They can’t have done. I would know by now. There would have been consequences.
Mommy would say, look for the variable. My neighbours, the police – they haven’t bothered me for years. So what has changed?
The neighbour lady. She is new. She is the variable. She didn’t want to be my friend. She stood me up at the bar. I stare at her house and think.
I was going to unground Lauren and let her come home this weekend – but that can’t happen obviously. And there can be no more dates, for now. It’s not safe.
‘Lauren can’t come out to play,’ I sing along to the music. Then I realise that’s kind of mean, so I stop. I have been very stupid but I will take care from now on.
Deal with things one at a time. Lauren first, then I’ll see about the intruder. Maybe it’s the neighbour lady, maybe not.
I think I hear a Chihuahua barking in the street and I put my eye to the peephole to look. Maybe she’s back! That would be one less thing to worry about. The bark comes again – it’s much deeper and louder than a Chihuahua. The man with the orange-juice hair comes into view, walking his dog to the woods. He looks at my house and for a second it’s like our eyes meet, like he sees me. But he can’t see me through the peephole, I tell myself. Then I think, he doesn’t live on our street, so why is he always here? Is he the Bird Murderer, or the intruder, or both? I sit down with my back against the wall, heart galloping. My nerves are singing like struck metal.
Bourbon, just to calm me down. I drink it standing out in the yard, watching the neighbour lady’s house. Let her see me.
Dee
She has not had the dream since she moved to Needless Street. Tonight it begins immediately, as if in response to some long-awaited cue.
Dee is walking by the lake. The trees lean over, casting dark, glassy reflections. Damselflies kiss the surface of the water, sending out shining circles. The sky above is an aching nothing. The sand beneath her feet is sharp, a million tiny shards of glass. She bleeds but feels no pain. Or perhaps there is so much pain in her that she doesn’t notice the cuts. She keeps walking. Dee would give anything to stop, to turn, to wake. But she has to get to the trees and the birds and the nests, that’s how it goes. She has to see it.
The treeline draws nearer, the air is shuddering with the force of everything. She sees the birds now, small and beautiful, darts of colour among the trees. They do not call. They are silent as fish in a pond. The lake falls away behind her and she is in the shadowed place beneath the trees. Pine needles litter the forest floor. It is soft underfoot, soft as grave earth, freshly dug. Overhead the birds glide and dart. Dee comes into the clearing beneath the terrible sky and there it is, the white tree. It is a silver birch, slender and lovely. She remembers that sometimes they’re called paper birches. Strange, the thoughts that come to you in dreams. There is an intricate nest built at the juncture of two branches. A crimson bird with golden eyes and a golden beak lands. She carefully weaves the strand of dried grass she has brought into the soft inside of the nest where she will lay her eggs.
Dee begins to moan. She tries to wake herself because the next part is the worst. But she can’t. Against her will she is drawn closer to the tree, to the nest, to the bird. She covers her dream mouth with her dream hand. Even in a dream, it seems, a stomach can feel sick to death.
She tries to turn, to run. But everywhere she turns there are silent crimson birds fluttering among the trees of bone, bearing in their beaks the wisps of grass that are not grass, lining their nests with her dead sister’s hair.
Dee wakes to a soft tapping on her cheek, her forehead, her nose. When she opens her eyes all she can see is fur and whiskers. The tabby cat is very close; her nose nearly touches Dee’s. The cat taps Dee’s nose once more with her velvet fist, to make sure that Dee has really stopped screaming.
‘Sorry, cat,’ she says, then starts. ‘What are you doing in here?’
The cat sits back on her haunches and looks steadily at her. She is thin and ragged, ears torn from fighting. Her eyes are a soft tawny brown. Dee could not call her a beautiful cat. But she is a survivor.
The tabby puts her head on one side and makes an interrogative pprrrrp?
‘Really?’ asks Dee in disbelief. But the cat continues to regard her fixedly, and everyone knows what that look means, from a cat.
Dee finds a can of tuna in a cupboard in the kitchen. She empties it onto a saucer. The cat eats delicately, stirring the air with her tail.
‘Do you have a name?’ Dee asks. The cat ignores her. She licks her lips with a small pink tongue and strolls into the living room. Dee rinses the saucer before following. It only takes a moment but when she comes through she can’t see the cat anywhere. It has left.
Dee knows that her sister has not come back to her as a mangy alley cat. Of course not. That would be crazy. But she can’t help the feeling that the cat pulled her out of the dream. That it is helping her, somehow.
Dee goes to her post at the window. The world is lit by a dim and secret light. She is not sure if it’s dawn or dusk. She hasn’t slept on a regular schedule for some time. She gasps, her heart flurries with shock.
Ted is standing in his front yard. Bourbon drips from his beard. He lifts a slow hand, a pointing finger. His eyes seem to pierce the shadows. Dee wriggles as if his gaze is a touch.
She knows he can’t see through the glass, into the dark house. But she feels the feather brush of fear like red bird wings. With it comes a rush of defiance. I’m coming for you, she tells Ted silently. You feel it, too.
She yelps and jumps as her cellphone rings. She’s surprised it’s charged and switched on. It has been so long since she used it. Dee checks the number. She makes a face and answers.
‘Hi,’ she says.
‘Delilah.’ Karen sounds even more tired than usual. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Oh, you know,’ Dee says. She doesn’t offer anything else. She makes Karen work for it.
‘Where are you, these days?’
‘I keep moving,’ Dee says. ‘If I stay put I start to think.’ Tears rise as she says this. She hadn’t meant to. She brushes her stinging eyes angrily. Truth is as slippery as mercury. It always seems to find a way to escape. Get a grip, Dee Dee. Get it done. ‘I’m in Colorado, right now.’ Colorado seems safely distant from here.
‘You need anything, you let me know.’
Words cluster, stinging in her throat but Dee bites them back. Karen has failed again and again to give Dee the only thing she really needs. Lulu.
‘How are you?’ she says instead.
‘We’re having a heatwave up here in Washington,’ Karen says. ‘It hasn’t been this hot in years.’ Not since th
e year Lulu went missing, but neither of them says that. ‘Anyway I know this time of year is difficult for you. I thought I’d check in.’
‘Check in on me or check up on me?’ Dee says. She knows Karen is thinking of the man in Oregon.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I appreciate it, Karen.’
‘You’ve been on my mind. I could have sworn I saw you in a grocery store in town the other day. The mind plays tricks, huh?’
‘That it does,’ Dee says. Her heart is racing. ‘That part of the world won’t hold me, Karen. I wouldn’t come back.’
‘I understand.’ Karen sighs. ‘You promise me you’ll call, Dee, if you need help?’
‘I do.’
‘Take care of yourself.’ The line goes dead.
Dee shivers and curses her luck. Could Karen trace her cellphone? Maybe, but why would she? Dee has done nothing wrong.
She’s got to be more careful. It would mess everything up if Karen knew she was here. No more going out in the day. She’ll take the bus into the city to do her groceries. She swears to herself in a hiss. When Dee looks out of the window again, Ted is gone.
Ted
Is the intruder the Murderer? I think and think but I can’t work it out.
I haven’t been so scared since that time at the mall. That was the last time I came this close to being found out – to being seen for what I am.
Lauren cried and showed me the holes in her socks. She had outgrown all her clothes and she hated the stuff I chose for her. What dad can refuse his daughter clothes? So even though I knew it was a mistake, I said yes.
I picked an older mall, one slightly further out of town, and we went on a Monday afternoon, in the hope that it wouldn’t be too crowded. Lauren was so excited before we left that I thought she would pee herself. She wanted to wear all kinds of crazy pink things in her hair, but I thought there should be limits.
‘I simply couldn’t be seen with you,’ I said to her in a fancy lady’s voice, and she giggled, which showed what a good mood she was in, because she never laughs at my jokes. I wore a baseball cap, sunglasses, and regular clothes in neutral colours. I knew that this shopping trip was a risk, and I was anxious that we should attract as little attention as possible.
The Last House on Needless Street Page 16
