Web of Angels

by Lilian Nattel

  “Don’t. I saw that. I know what it is,” Lyssa said. Inside a furore, a scream that was cut off. Dead silence.

  “What do you know?” Her voice was contemptuous. There were only two kinds of grown-ups: those who hurt kids, those who were stupid. And yet she’d let herself get caught. She’d come here to do it.

  Dan said, “That was kiddie porn.” He sounded appalled, horrified, disgusted, all the things that would drive away the girl with the newborn eyes.

  “Shhh,” Lyssa hissed. The blink of an eye and Cathy would switch back. Once she was back, she’d know nothing except that she didn’t feel very good. People who hurt children counted on that.

  “We should call her parents,” Dan said.

  “No, we shouldn’t. And we’re not, right?” she said quickly, looking at him, a warning in her eyes. If he started to lecture, they’d get nowhere. “You said you wanted to show Cathy that you’d believe her. First you have to listen.”

  “Okay,” Dan said. “I’m listening.”

  The girl opened her mouth to tell some lie, anything to deny what they’d just seen. “I …”

  “Don’t.” Lyssa interrupted. “You hooked up that art tablet but you weren’t drawing. Why?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the girl said. But she was looking at Lyssa, not at the floor or the ceiling or blinking to switch.

  “Just because I have a nice ass doesn’t mean I’m brainless.” A protector was trying to get out and push her aside. They were shifting back and forth, closer and further, melding and separating. “You were doing something to the picture. What?”

  “Homework.” Behind the eyes Lyssa saw a flicker of fear. The girl crossed her arms, daring the grown-ups to figure it out.

  “Was that you or Heather? I could tell it was one of you, but you look a lot alike and it was a while ago. Like—when you were maybe five?”

  Dan looked stunned, and the fear in the girl’s eyes was turning into panic. But she didn’t switch though one hand was on her stomach like it was hurting. She grinned. Or something like a grin. She could have been gritting her teeth.

  “Fuck you,” she muttered.

  “I’m not into girls,” Lyssa said with a straight face. “Besides, you’re jailbait and I’m married.”

  Jolted, the girl laughed and then for a moment she relaxed, no longer smiling, looking up at the grown-ups with a little bit of hope.

  The way to answer that hope was by sharing the truth, and Lyssa was the one to do it. She could ask the questions that nobody but her would think to ask, though she and the others inside weren’t supposed to let on what they knew. It was hard enough to talk to the therapist about things they were never supposed to say. If she didn’t choke on the words, if she didn’t get overcome by nausea, if someone inside didn’t haul her back, she could tell this girl that she knew exactly what the picture on the computer screen had been all about. From inside came a howl. No! But the girl who drew pictures was a kid in their house. Protect the children. Wasn’t that what they lived for? Lyssa moved forward as far as she could go and right behind her she could feel Sharon—the idiot outsider, the it’s nothing, the be nice one—saying, Talk. Talk your head off. Now! We are the MOM!

  “Are your parents hurting you?” Lyssa asked.

  “My parents are wonderful.”

  “I’ve got wonderful parents too,” Lyssa said. “Everyone likes them.” The girl was staring as if she could see inside Lyssa’s head and maybe she could. Let her. All she’d find was someone who wasn’t running even though Lyssa had to fight every instinct to stay where she was. “But my father liked kids.”

  Next to her, Dan stood quietly, nodding to show that he was listening, even if it cost him nearly as much to remain silent as it did Lyssa to say more.

  “Don’t they all,” the girl said.

  “He had sex with his,” Lyssa said, blood drumming in her ears.

  Dan put his arm around her, but she shrugged him off, unable to bear any kind of touch right now.

  “I did pictures like that, too,” Lyssa said. “And movies. And parties. Both my parents sold us.”

  “But you’re married,” the girl said, face confused.

  “Funny thing,” she answered softly. “I thought I’d always be a little whore. Sometimes I still feel like one.”

  “I’d like to kill them for making you feel like that,” Dan said, trying to keep his tone level so as not to frighten anyone. “The people who did that to you are scumbags. But you, hon—you’re beautiful.”

  And though Lyssa would rather have done anything but look at him, she did. This was what she saw in Dan’s eyes: anger, worry, love so sure she had to look away, but she let him entwine his fingers through hers.

  “You don’t think she’s gross?” the girl asked.

  “Why would I think that?” Dan asked, insulted.

  “Because it’s disgusting.”

  “It—and the adults who liked it. Not the kids. Not my wife.”

  The girl looked down, looked up. Still present but barely holding on. “Heather was too old for the business so she had to do web maintenance.”

  Dan swore again, and Lyssa pressed his hand, reminding him to stay calm. The question had to be posed even though it was risky because the girl might take off. “Your father, is he still doing you?” Lyssa asked.

  The girl nodded. No words. There would have been threats about telling. There would have been demonstrations of consequences.

  “They’re both in the business?”

  The barest nod of the chin. Half the people Lyssa had met in multiples-chat had been done by both parents. It had nothing to do with being gay or straight. Breaking into a child’s body was something else entirely. “Does she use you?”

  “Not anymore. I’m too big. But she’ll go berserk if she knows I’m doing this.” Looking from her boyfriend’s mom to his dad.

  “It’s okay,” Dan said. “I’m not upset with you.”

  “Please. I can get some of this done before Josh comes back.”

  “Some of what?” Lyssa asked.

  “I do the web maintenance now. So I’m taking out Heather’s face and putting mine in. I don’t want anybody looking at my sister like that.” She was pleading with them, this tough kid who’d as soon scratch your eyes out as say hello.

  “Neither would I,” Lyssa said. “I’ve got a sister, too. But there are so many ways this could get you into worse trouble.”

  “I don’t care. I’m going to fix this. I’ve got to. It’s my fault she shot herself. I stole the gun.”

  “For protection, not for her to kill herself.”

  “You still don’t get it. If I hadn’t, she would have jumped like she planned.”

  “And the baby would have died, too,” Dan said, as if that was the worst thing possible, while his wife was considering the other options.

  They had alters that were babies. The abuse started younger than any sane person could imagine. The younger the pricier. And now people could buy real-time on the Internet. It was a three-billion-dollar business.

  “If I was pregnant in my parents’ house, I’d be thinking that they were going to start training my baby when she was in diapers,” Lyssa said. “And that before she started school, they’d be putting her in porn and selling her to men. Before she could write her name, she’d wish she was dead. I’d be thinking nothing was worse than that.”

  “You see?” the girl said, explaining as if for the first time in her life she wasn’t walking among the blind. “Every time Heather got away, like, she’d forget everything. And she’d come home as if it was a great place and she was so bad to even think of leaving it. The same thing happened after she got knocked up. She painted that crappy crib like nothing had ever happened. I had to tell her. What else was I supposed to do? I showed her the website so she could remember. I just wanted her to run away again, that’s all. Then she started putting her desk in front of the door every night. My mom would push at the door and make
her move it back. She said it was a fire hazard. They fought and my mom yelled and Heather said as soon as she got some money she was out of there and they’d never see the baby again. Then they had a little talk with her about that idea. Afterward she got so quiet it was scary. That’s why I showed her where I hid the gun. I said she could have it. I thought she’d go away and take it with her, you know? And she hugged me. She said, thanks, you’re the best. Everything was cool. I figured she’d get her own place and I could go live with her. I was sleeping on the floor in her room and she must’ve walked over me to get the gun. I didn’t even know. So stupid. I didn’t hear anything until the shot. So guess what? My sister died and, because of me, they can do whatever they want to her baby. You know?”

  “I do. But you can leave. I bet they said you couldn’t, but they lied,” Lyssa said.

  The girl shook her head, incredulous. “How could I?”

  “There was a better option for your sister,” Dan said. “You can call the police. That was what she should have done.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Lyssa said as the girl shivered.

  “Don’t, don’t. I’ll be good.” Her voice was high, her eyes fluttering. “Promise.” A little one was out. A child alter who’d be thinking that punishment was due for telling: sex, a beating, jail, all the things that had been done or threatened.

  “It’s okay. Nobody’s in trouble.” Lyssa turned to Dan. “She’s a lil. I can’t leave her like that. We need to get an adult out.” The kid was hugging her knees, rocking a little bit, trying not to be noticed.

  “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

  “Just let me talk to her,” Lyssa said, and knelt in front of the desk chair. “I’d like you to do something, sweetie. Can you get a big out?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Okay.” Lyssa stood up again. Turning to the computer, she put her hand on the mouse. Most lils could read and write phonetically. If you were five for long enough, you’d learn how. But the girl who did the web maintenance might come forward again if Lyssa talked about the Internet. “See here? You can download this chat software free. This is the port address. You click here to get to a chat room for people like us. Take a look.”

  Welcome to multiples-chat, a supportive chat room for people who have DID or DDNOS. Visit our homepage at www.multiplesweb.com.

  *S&ALL has joined multiples-chat

  Panther› hi s&all how are you

  *S&All is now known as lyssa

  lyssa› i’m just showing a friend how to get to chat

  *Janet is now known as RG

  RG› hey lyssa, good to see ya, tell your friend welcome

  “Who’s Lyssa?” the girl asked.

  Lyssa glanced at Dan. This wasn’t the way she’d imagined telling him her name. “Me,” she said, and gestured at the monitor. “Those are our friends. They all got away and they’re safe now. RG stands for rockgirl. And you’re?”

  “Call me Ceecee. It stands for cunt.” The girl smiled her sharp and bitter smile though the person she was talking to knew all the kinds of names there were and was surprised by none.

  In that spare, neat boy’s room there were two adults and a girl visible to the average eye, as well as a multitude of children who knew how to split and separate and cope with being whipped, burned, beaten, shocked, terrorized, threatened, mocked, raped in every way by man, woman and animal, for kicks and for profit. They were reaching out through the eyes to the children outside, all the children of the night being used for pleasure and for pain, small hands reaching to small hands, invisible, despairing, scrabbling for hope.

  “Hey, Ceecee. Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

  The smile vanished. “I can’t. I have to go home. The baby’s there.”

  They looked at each other, sizing things up. Greeting each other as warriors of the children’s war, battle weary, wanting only to rest and knowing they couldn’t, not yet, maybe not ever.

  Lyssa’s heart sank as Ceecee looked away, unable to hold on anymore. The good girl was back, covering up her confusion that her art tablet was plugged into the computer when she’d come here to study, not to draw.

  “I should be getting home,” Cathy said. She unplugged the tablet and put it back into her bag.

  “But Josh will be back soon with snacks and a movie,” Lyssa said, hoping for another chance to talk. “It’s not that late.”

  The girl’s eyes went flat, opaque, the blue of an eggshell. And just for a moment, someone else came forward to say, “My parents let me sleep in Heather’s room with the baby. I’ll take good care of her.” Then Cathy was back, blinking. She rubbed her tired eyes. “I’ve got to call my dad,” she said. “It’s not safe to walk home in the dark. He said he’d pick me up.”

  While she took out her cell, Dan pulled Lyssa out into the hallway. “How can we let her go home?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Rick rang the bell twice, not impatient, but cheerful. He was in an expansive mood. Even his hair seemed less grey, maybe touched up to match his good spirits. He said he’d spent the afternoon with architects, who were quoting on an addition to the cottage. You have to keep looking ahead. He’d have a good-sized study, with built-in drawers for his digital cameras. His new camera had twelve megapixels. And there would be an ensuite guest room. It was exciting to design your own home. You could put in secret passageways or a dungeon, he joked, standing with an arm around his daughter. She neither leaned into him nor resisted, like a stick of wood, like petrified wood as hard as stone, waiting for the sun to age and the earth to grow cold.

  He didn’t seem to notice Dan’s stiffness or Lyssa’s pained expression, her stomach hurting as he went on talking. After the move, he’d keep a hand in the Committee for Youth. He’d be teaching downtown and if the commute was too onerous, he could rent a small place for weekdays. He was just in the midst of arranging a corporate sponsorship for the gifted class in Seaton School. The kids needed computers and cameras for multimedia presentations.

  He was still going on that way, all of them standing in the hallway, when Josh unlocked the door and came in. His backpack was loaded with chips and drinks and the movie, a big box of donuts in his hands. “You’re going, Cathy?” he asked. “So early?”

  “I have to,” she said to Josh.

  “Early to bed and early to rise, my friend,” Rick said. “I’ll see you soon to talk about the fundraising for the Committee for Youth, Dan.”

  It was all Lyssa could do not to kick him in the nuts. Finally he left, and she was able to lock the door. Her stomach cramped and she dashed up to the bathroom, switching on the light at the top of the stairs.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  There were two sinks in the second floor bathroom. Beside one was a Barney toothbrush and a SpongeBob toothbrush, a stack of yoghurt tubs used for rinsing the girls’ hair, a brush, Emmie’s hair clips with a couple of red hairs stuck in them, Nina’s Silly Putty. Beside the other sink, toothpaste with baking soda, deodorant, a magician’s biography, a shoelace. On the window ledge, African violets. Talking inside: we are safe, nobody can get us anymore, we are big, this is our house, with flowers.

  Lyssa stripped, clothes too painful on her skin, and lay naked on the floor of the bathroom, her eyes on the windowsill. As long as she kept her eyes fixed on the flowers, the room wasn’t so spinny, and she could get to the toilet again if she needed to.

  If only she could get the pictures out of her head. She swore in French and she swore in Chinese but the girl she’d seen on the computer screen kept morphing into her cousin Karen, who also had blonde hair and blue eyes. Karen wasn’t a real cousin but that was what they called her, a big girl in grade one. She made good money for her dad, even at the parties. Later she was in a wheelchair, but back then she did everything better.

  They worked in the business room, the finished part of the basement, which was furnished like a bedroom with an orange shag carpet, a bed
, a night table, and a velvet painting of a clown. At the back, next to the door to the garage, there was a couch to sit on while they waited their turn. The floodlights and camera were set up at the front. There was a table and a big chair for her father. At the top of the stairs, the door to the rest of the house was kept locked.

  Lyssa’s earliest memory took place in that basement. Lester was working them that day. He had a bushy beard, he smoked brown cigarettes and he smelled of the same aftershave as the father. They were both Aqua Velva men. First the kids drank their medicine mixed with red Kool-Aid. It made them dizzy and queasy, but throwing up wasn’t allowed. Across the windows there were bars and blackout curtains, on the walls striped wallpaper. Mummy always put a clean white sheet on the bed, sprinkled with Chanel No. 5 so it smelled nice. There were bunnies on the night table because it was Easter. The straps were on a shelf in the headboard.

  Karen went first because she was prettier, Alyssa was second. They always called her by her middle name when she was working, or Ally for short. She wasn’t very good and she didn’t get a treat hardly ever. She had pigeon-toes. She was supposed to keep her feet turned out while she sat on the couch at the back of the business room, waiting her turn. It was vinyl and in summer the cushion stuck to her. In winter it was cold. If she moved it squeaked. She moved too much. That’s why she was always making Daddy mad. He was never in a movie only in a bedroom. He had an important face so he just watched. She could tell he was mad before his face changed. She looked inside his head and it was there. She wished she could have a little chickie. Some people got chickies at Easter. They were soft and yellow. If she got her feet to turn out maybe she could have a chickie, too.

  After Karen was finished, Mummy came downstairs with a tray of ginger ale. Stripes in the wallpaper. Squares on the ginger ale glasses. Ally didn’t get a drink. Mummy said, “If you are a good girl, you’ll get some later.” Everybody else got some ginger ale and there was a glass on the table for Daddy and a glass for the cameraman. Lester went to pee. When he came back it was Ally’s turn and the couch squeaked when she got up. She looked at Daddy but he wasn’t mad. Maybe Ally would be good. Maybe she’d get a big glass of ginger ale and a treat. But there was another idea, too. Of being very bad, so bad nobody could ever be as bad as that. Shhh she said in her head. She had to talk in her head without making her lips move because if lips move then somebody could say she was crazy. And crazy kids got sold down the river to bad people.