by Sean Platt
After Holly vanished, he had to hold in whatever self-pity or depression he felt. Had to hold in the anger over her leaving him saddled with bills he couldn’t pay, and kids he couldn’t possibly raise as well on his own.
But he’d find a way through it.
They would find a way through it.
And when the lawyer appeared with this promise of a new life in this new place, Scott felt like he’d been rewarded by Fate for not being a whiny little bitch. God, or Fate, or Whatever had tested him, and he didn’t break.
And now God, Fate, or Whatever would deliver — would help them through these tough times with a gift he could never have imagined.
Scott should be grateful, happy that the worst of things were behind him. So why did he still feel on the verge of collapsing?
It all came to a head last night after Hudson’s bullshit. He’d needed relief, and had thus turned to an old friend and enemy, slipping into the old routine of self-pity and wallowing in his depression with the bottle.
And, as much as he hated to admit it, the drinking felt good. At least what he could remember.
But now, as his head throbbed and obligations waited for him downstairs, Scott felt even worse.
He got out of bed, showered, then found some ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet and washed down three with a gulp of water from the bathroom sink.
He got dressed and headed downstairs.
Jacquelyn greeted him at the bottom with her usual smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dawson. Are you feeling well?”
Normally, he liked being in her company. She was professional, but warm and friendly, kind of like a woman he used to know who ran a bed and breakfast. But, for some reason Scott couldn’t explain, he felt agitated by her now.
“Where are my children?”
“Hazel went to town with Mara to pick up some groceries. Hudson, last I saw him, was in the garden playing games on his phone.”
“Hmm …” Scott looked out the windowed doors into the garden. Hudson was sitting on a stone bench staring at his phone.
“Are you feeling well?” Jacquelyn repeated.
I will be, as soon as you get out of my face.
“Yeah,” he said, “just a bit of a headache.”
“Do you need me to get you anything? Or perhaps call the doctor?”
“I don’t need a doctor. It’s just a headache.”
Jacquelyn stepped back a bit.
He was pretty sure he’d been short with her, and normally would recognize his lack of manners and start falling all over himself to apologize. But something cold stirred inside him, something that wanted to hurt her.
He stared at Jacquelyn until she grew uncomfortable.
“Okay,” she said, “if you need anything, just call.”
Scott said nothing and headed toward the doors, looking out into the garden at Hudson.
What kind of idiot sits in a beautiful garden like this with his eyes glued to a fucking phone?
Scott stepped outside and approached his son.
Hudson was bolted to some game, unaware of his father was approaching, then equally clueless to Scott standing behind him watching for a full minute.
Anger stirred inside Scott as he watched his son playing some idiot game. Not just that he was practically addicted to the fucking phone, but for last night’s bullshit. He was acting like an entitled brat, and it was time for Scott to step in and put some hard boundaries in place.
He’d start by taking the iPhone away.
That’ll wipe the smile off his face!
Scott cleared his throat.
Hudson turned, startled, and nearly dropped the phone, catching it just before it hit the ground.
Lucky little shit.
Scott wished it had hit the ground. Wished the boy’s carelessness had shattered the screen. It would teach him to be careful, that nothing in this world is forever, and you can lose it all in a blink.
A part of Scott wanted to take Hudson’s phone and hurl it to the ground just to see his son’s reaction. Then smash it to pieces with his heel.
That’ll teach him.
Hudson looked up at his father. “What’s up?”
Something shifted in Scott, as if someone had taken a mirror and raised it to his dark thoughts. He stepped back, shocked.
“You okay?” Hudson said, seeming to notice something in his father.
Scott looked into his eyes and flashed back to the old days — when he couldn’t control his temper. Scott remembered the first time he’d smacked his son. It wasn’t hard, but the boy had been a toddler, too young for a wallop. Scott didn’t even remember what Hudson had done to deserve it, as if a two-year-old could deserve it at all.
But he remembered the moment afterwards.
There was a shift in his eyes, the look a child gets when betrayed by a loved one. That look when your child realizes he’s not safe around you.
And that look was a knife in Scott’s heart.
I did this to him.
Me.
My anger.
And Scott hated himself for that to this day.
Now, as he stared into Hudson’s eyes, he thought about how hard he’d worked to rebuild their trust, and worked to never put that look in Hazel’s eyes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Was I actually about to break his iPhone?
Why was I such an asshole to Jacquelyn?
Why am I feeling these horrible feelings about my son?
Scott felt a crushing wave of self-loathing. He needed to get away from Hudson.
“Nothing. Just seeing how you’re doing.” Scott turned, heading back into the house, without even waiting for his son’s response.
He went to the bar, found another bottle of whisky, and returned to his bedroom.
* * * *
HAZEL
“Hazel!” the voice called out in the night.
She was awake in an instant, sitting up in her bed looking left and right, blinking.
“Mom?”
Mom’s voice came as a whisper in Hazel’s head: “Yes, Hazel, it’s me. I need to see you. Will you come and see me?”
Her feet hit the floor. She curled her toes, took a step forward, paused, perking her ears, wanting to hear her mother again.
“Good job, Hazel. Keep going.”
She left her bedroom and followed the drifting notes of her mother’s song, down the hallway, then the stairs, and through the manor toward the cellar.
The final stairway was dark. And cold. Hazel hated it more by the step.
“Almost there,” Mom said when Hazel was halfway down and could see the end of the stairs — a small black square, slightly darker than the surrounding shadows, a shifting shape standing in front of the imposing cellar door.
Though she hated each step and the stairs felt icy on her bare feet, Hazel ran down those final few until hitting the door at the bottom. She turned the knob and pressed her body to the wood, smiling, knowing she was seconds from seeing her mother.
The door wouldn’t budge. She pushed her body harder against the door, but it went nowhere. She turned the knob faster, over and over, banging her shoulder into the frame, as if speed and repetition might act as her keys. They didn’t, and soon Hazel could feel her shoulder starting to purple.
The door was formidable, with metal bands and bolts looking like it was made to withstand an attack.
Then she stared at the lock above the doorknob, the one she’d noticed on the house tour, which didn’t even have a keyhole.
How do I open this?
She ran her fingers along the circular depression in the thick metal frame and felt a cold chill run through her. She withdrew her hand, wiping her fingers on her pajama top as if they were wet.
“I can’t get inside!”
“I know, Hazel. I’m sorry.”
“What do I do?”
“You must find the key, Hazel. It’s the only way to free me.”
“There’s no keyhole. Where do I put i
t? I’ll ask Dad. He’ll help me.”
“No! Don’t do that, Hazel. You must find it on your own. It’s not a regular key. It’s a small copper medallion, fixed to a copper necklace. You’ll know it when you see it. Find it, then put it in the lock to open the door. But please, tell nobody. Not your father or your brother. And especially no one in the house. This is your job, Hazel. You must do this for me. For us. For our family. We can tell everyone about this, but only after I’m free, when there’s nothing to keep me trapped down here, away from you.”
“But Dad can help us. We can find the key faster!”
“No. You can’t trust him. He is a liar, Hazel. Lies are sticky like webs, and your best intentions are flies inside them. You must be careful, Hazel. Webs can kill you in a place like this.”
Hazel felt scared. Part of her was mad at Mom for saying those things about Dad. But then she thought about how her father had been earlier in the evening, not coming out of his room until dinner time, and looking like he didn’t want to be there with them during dinner. Something was definitely wrong with Dad, but that didn’t make him a liar.
“Dad’s not a liar.”
Mom was silent.
Hazel tapped at the door. “Mom?”
“Did you ask him about Karla?”
“Yes.”
“And what did the liar say?”
“Dad said she was a landscape architect. He knew her from a couple of jobs.”
“Liars love to tell part of the truth. That way you can’t tell which parts are rotten. She was an architect, and your father did know her from some jobs. But … he also loved her.”
Hazel stepped back from the door, feeling as if her mother had just punched her in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs.
“No! That’s not true.”
“It is true,” Mom said calmly.
“No, he loves you.”
“Maybe he once did. And maybe he can again. But he also loved Karla. You can ask him yourself, as long as you don’t mention the key.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you deserve the truth. And because everything depends on it. I need you. I can count on you, right, Hazel?”
Hazel hated the idea of not telling her father about this, almost as much as she hated what Mom said about Karla. There had to be something more to the story, something else Mom was leaving out. Dad wouldn’t just forget about his wife, forget about his kids, and fall in love with someone else.
Would he?
“Hazel? Can I count on you?”
“Of course, Mom.”
“Good. I’ll be checking on you again soon. Right now, return to bed. Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll start our work in the morning. No one can see you before then.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, Hazel.”
“Are you really my mother?”
“What do you think?”
“I want to say yes.”
“Then say it.”
Hazel looked at the door, wishing she could open it and be in her mother’s arms. “Yes, Mom.”
Hazel heard a gentle kissing sound from the other side of the door, then silence. She turned, trudged up the stairs, returned to her room, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers up under her chin.
She thought it would be impossible to fall asleep, but sleep came quickly to claim her.
* * * *
HAZEL
“Dad?”
Hazel knocked on his bedroom door for a third time, and yet no response.
She knew he was in there because of the dot on her iPad. And she knew he was awake because she couldn’t hear him snoring.
Pretending to be asleep wasn’t nice, and made Hazel think of Mom’s word:
Liar.
“Dad!” Hazel called again. She considered walking in, but restrained herself.
“What?” he finally shouted.
“Good morning to you, too.”
Dad hated when she was sarcastic, even though Hudson was always sarcastic and always got a pass.
“Can I come in?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Hazel opened the door and went to her father’s bed. His eyes were red and his hair a mess. He looked as if he’d barely slept. She noticed two empty bottles on his nightstand and wondered if that was why he looked so bad.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Why are you being so mean this morning?”
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Guess I’m just feeling grouchy. What do you want?”
“I want to know more about Karla.”
Dad sat up straighter in bed and glared at her. “Really, Hazel? We’re gonna do this again? Where is this coming from?”
“Mom. Same as last time.”
“Did your mother put you up to this before she left?”
Dad’s face was turning red, his nostrils flaring.
“No.” Hazel held his eyes and planted her feet in the carpet as she stood. “She told me last night.”
“No, she didn’t.” Dad was off of the bed and starting to pace in front of her, like a caged animal. “She told you about Karla before she left, didn’t she? She told you she was leaving, didn’t she Hazel? You knew she was going to go, didn’t you?”
Hazel shook her head, trying not to cry. She took a few steps away from the bed, and him.
Dad’s eyes went suddenly wide as if he’d just figured something out. His voice climbed in pitch. “Wait a second! That’s why you say you’ve talked to her, isn’t it? You do talk with her, don’t you? She’s calling you or something! Where is she, Hazel? Tell me!”
Dad was huffing, puffing, and giving her shivers as he circled her.
Her mom’s voice was suddenly in her head.
“Don’t let him scare you.”
“Keep asking him about Karla. He’s deflecting, accusing YOU of things so he doesn’t have to answer.”
“Make him answer you!”
Hazel wasn’t sure if her mom’s voice was really advising her, or if she was imagining it like she sometimes did when needing encouragement.
Either way, she would listen.
Hazel stood straighter, trying to find the confidence to continue her line of questioning.
Dad kept circling her, fists balled at his side like he wanted to hit her.
Though it was scary, Hazel maintained eye contact, turning in a circle with him.
Two can play this game!
He saw what she was doing and stopped. He stared at her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to hit her.
She swallowed, but refused to break eye contact.
He let out a deep sigh then walked toward the dresser and slammed both fists into its top.
She flinched at the sound, but stayed put, looking up to meet his reflection.
“Bluff. Tell him you already know what’s going on.”
No way. He’ll know I don’t know.
“Just do it!”
She met his eyes, then told the lie.
“Mom told me everything last night.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed in the mirror. He turned and ran toward her. Time seemed to freeze for just long enough for her to become truly frightened of him for the first time.
Hazel screamed as he seized her by the arms, fingers clawing hard above her elbows, and started to violently shake her.
He was out of control. His eyes were like a madman’s — like a stranger’s.
“Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
Hazel yelled, but Dad kept shaking.
Instincts kicked in as she remembered something she’d seen in a safety film about getting away from bad guys.
She kicked her heel down hard on his foot.
He yelped but didn’t let go. She struck a second time, harder, and this time he released his grip. She turned and scrambled toward the door.
“Stay away from me!”
Dad’s hands seized the back of her pajamas. He spun her around while kicking his door shut, then loomed above
her, face completely red, eyes dark and scary. “Tell me the truth, Hazel!”
He was no longer speaking. Every sound was a snarl.
“Mom said you were lying. If you want to make this right, you have to tell the truth and stop scaring me!”
“Tell me the truth! Where … is … your … mother?”
Hazel said nothing.
Her father raised his hand, cocking it back, ready to strike.
Hardly able to register what was happening, let alone believe he was actually about to hit her, Hazel threw her hands out in front of her face to deflect his blow.
Her palms suddenly burst into flames, except the fire didn’t hurt, and wasn’t orange or red. Instead her hands were engulfed in a bright-blue light, surrounded by crackling flecks of green and red that felt like raw energy waiting to be unleashed.
Again, time felt frozen.
She stared in awe as colorful light swirled in slow motion around her hands.
Dad seemed to freeze as well, in mid-motion, about to strike her.
The beautiful light swelled, faster than the slowed-down time, until it exploded in a bright white blast.
Slow motion collapsed, time returning with vengeance, as the blast of light hurled her father backward across the room.
Dad slapped the wall so hard that a chunks of plaster rained on him as he slid to the floor beside his nightstand.
Dad heaved, back pressed to the wall, gasping for breath, staring wide-eyed at Hazel, who looked helpless, shocked, and confused. She stared down at her open palms, colors fading to barely-there wisps around her fingertips.
What did I do?
Hazel thought of the Incredible Hulk, pictured him turning from monster back to Bruce Banner, and felt like that’s what had happened to her.
Dad’s door exploded open behind her.
Hudson rushed into the room. “What the hell is happening in here?” He looked from Hazel to their father, crumpled on the ground. “Oh my God! What happened to Dad?”
“I d-d-don’t know.”
It was the truth.
“Weren’t you here?” Hudson stared at his sister in disbelief.
