Another Little Piece (15 page)

BETTER

The mom slept right through dinner, so the dad and I ended up ordering pizza and wings. He tried to pretend it was fun, the two of us having a pizza party. He even put his laptop at the center of the table and we watched what the dad called the greatest movie about golf ever created:
Caddyshack
.

“It’s so funny,” the dad insisted several times during our viewing, but I never actually heard any laughter come from him. I did, however, catch him glancing more than once toward where the mom slept.

She was still out when the movie ended.

“Looks like she’s gonna sleep through the night,” the dad said.

“She looked really tired. I guess she needs the rest.” It was the same thing I’d been saying all night, but the dad once again nodded as if I’d imparted some bit of sage wisdom.

“True, very true. Well, then, should we pop in
Caddyshack II
? It’s not as good as the first one, but not many things are. Hey, we could watch
Tin Cup
instead. That’s another great golf movie.”

Even an idiot could see the dad’s heart wasn’t in it. He wanted to be at the mom’s side, making sure she was okay. I wanted him there too.

Unlike the mom, the dad wasn’t a worrier. But he was worried now, which meant that whatever sickness or disease the mom had was serious. Equally clear was their commitment to keeping me in the dark.

I decided to let the dad off the hook. “Actually, I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

I thought he’d jump at the chance to get rid of me and rush to the mom’s side. Also, I hadn’t forgotten what I’d overheard in that motel room during our road trip home. Despite our few heart-to-heart moments, it still felt like the dad wasn’t completely convinced that I was his daughter. And even if his doubting instincts were right on, I couldn’t help but be a little hurt by them. He surprised me though.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not even nine o’clock. You don’t expect me to believe you’re already tired.”

Actually, every last nerve ending in my body buzzed with leftover adrenaline from my earlier confrontation with Eric. Caught, I shrugged.

“It was the golf movies, right?” the dad asked with a teasing smile. “You hated the game. Couldn’t even stand mini golf. But I thought maybe I’d been given a second chance to make a believer out of you.”

Stupidly, I stared at him, feeling like he’d tipped me upside down, and all my misconceptions had come tumbling out. Had the dad just said that my being different from Annaliese could actually be a good thing?

“A second chance?” I asked, wanting to hear it again.

But the dad misunderstood. He took it as a criticism. “Not as if you weren’t perfect before, or that I wanted to change you. No, it was more me with you that could’ve been better.” The dad reached forward to fiddle with the laptop, popping the DVD out, rubbing at a nonexistent smudge on the screen. “Don’t get the wrong idea. That wasn’t your fault either. It was mine. When you were a little girl, we were buddies. We’d watch
Caddyshack
together with you tucked into my side. Every time I laughed at something, you would look at me, and then you would laugh in the exact same way. I don’t know when it changed. You became a teenager, and you groaned at my jokes, and rolled your eyes when I suggested watching a movie together. Not always, but enough times that I stopped.”

The dad finally looked back up at me. He grinned sheepishly. “Couldn’t take the rejection, I guess. But now I’m insisting. We’re watching a movie together. You and me, kid.”

We ended up watching
Caddyshack II
. I don’t know why the dad had said it wasn’t good. I thought it was pretty great.

HEADLINE

I climbed into bed, my mouth still burning from the dad’s hot-sauce-enhanced microwave popcorn. Rolling over, I looked up at the smiling stars and grinned back at them.

Something crinkled beneath my head. I reached under my pillow, and pulled out a yellowed piece of newspaper.
Indianapolis Star
said the big letters at the top. And below that, the all-too-familiar headline.

FOUL PLAY NOW SUSPECTED IN CASE OF TWO MISSING GIRLS

The oasis of comfort I’d found with the dad crumbled. An illusion. So much less substantial than the truth in my hand.

There was my name in print. Anna Martin. And my picture too. This smiling Anna was me. The real me, original recipe. I was almost certain. But her face was only familiar from the dream.

Tears filled my eyes, blurring the picture. I thrust the paper away, not wanting to get it wet, but then pulled it back, needing to see one more thing.

Friday, January 14, 1973

1973. I’d been forever young since 1973.

On the razor there had been seven names in addition to Anna, but if I was never older than seventeen, that meant becoming a new girl almost every year. The seven names on that razor had seemed like so many, but if my suspicions were correct, that was only a small portion of the hearts that blade had met.

In 1973 I’d been a sixteen-year-old girl named Anna who had disappeared. Now I was a seventeen-year-old girl named Annaliese who had disappeared and then miraculously reappeared. Perhaps only to disappear once more.

Automatically, I reached for my breath strips, but before I could pull one out, I threw the package across the room.

No more covering up the terrible taste. I couldn’t hide from the blood any longer. But before I could face the truth, I had to find it. The room began to fade before me, and this time I didn’t flinch.

TOGETHER

I make two long slices through my skin. One for each arm. Starting at the edge of my elbow and tearing straight through the soft flesh until I reach the edge of my palm.

The razor falls into the dirt at my feet. My hands hang limp at my sides, and blood streams from my fingers, a slow drip that will quickly turn into a steady red waterfall.

Annaliese stares in horror. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

“Yes, I will pay” are the last words Annaliese will ever say.

“Now, pick up the razor, and cut out my heart,” I tell her. And because she took someone else’s free will, Annaliese has no choice. She does exactly as I ask.

The first bite she tries to chew. They all try to chew. Her jaw works, making little headway on the tough tissue. Then with a grimace and a gulp, she swallows. Bringing the heart to her mouth once more, she sinks her teeth in.

This time they are my teeth too. And together we gag on the blood. Together we lock our jaw, swallow, and bite again.

Now I can feel the heart still warm in her hand. And through Annaliese’s eyes, I watch Jaclyn—the girl I had been—stagger forward. I catch her in Annaliese’s arms, carefully cradling the heart in a loose fist behind her back. New me holds old me in a macabre embrace, sealed with blood. And tears. A good-bye of sorts.

With the next bite, Jaclyn will begin her disintegration, until by the last bite there will only be a razor on the ground to mark where she’d stood.

The next bite doesn’t happen.

Something sharp and silver shiny comes flashing out of the woods, a madwoman behind it. She chants a single word. A curse. No, an accusation.

“Sodomite!”

Amazing the things you can hear in that one word. Hate. Fear. Anger. And love.

This last is for her daughter. For Jaclyn. Too late though. Jaclyn’s heart has already been cut from her chest.

“Sorry.” I try to say the word, but it is too early. I can’t control Annaliese’s vocals yet.

The pickax in the hand of the woman I’d spent a year calling mother drives straight into my skull. Blood floods my eyes, and I wipe it away only to dodge the slicing silver coming at me once more.

Oh God, oh no, oh help, please, please, please . . .

The words run in my head, on a loop. But they aren’t mine. I gave up on God years ago. This is Annaliese, still stubbornly clinging to her body, and her life.

I have already decided it is over.

Finally.

Let the executioner swing. I am ready for the end.

But Annaliese is not.

The scream that has been bottled inside her comes roaring from our lips—the high-pitched whistle of a teapot boiling.

It shouldn’t be happening. Annaliese’s will should be suspended—just long enough for me to replace it with my own. But instead, what should have been a killing blow—the sharp metal tip of a pickax piercing her gray matter—has somehow set her free once more.

And we are running. Wiping more blood away, attempting to catch the light bobbing in the distance. The trees grab at us, trying to pull us back, trip our feet, and then they fall behind.

We are in the light. We slow, stumble. Lights and eyes everywhere. Staring.

Help
. Annaliese tries to form the words. Can’t get them past the scream that won’t stop. A monster we created, now stronger than both of us.

We take another step forward. Hoping. Wailing. Waiting to be saved.

Please.

Everything goes dark. At the same instant, one finger presses against our windpipe. Cutting off our scream, our air, but not our life.

Before the darkness extinguishes our thoughts as well, I find one last prayer inside myself. I pray that it isn’t him.
Please, anyone but him
. Please don’t let the Physician drag me forward into another stolen life. Please let this be the end.

EMERGENCY

After that last memory, sleep eluded me. I drifted off eventually, but it was a restless and haunted slumber. When the dad shook me awake, I was relieved.

“Is it time for school?” I rasped, peeling my eyes open.

“No, no,” the dad said. “It’s still night. You can go back to sleep, but I wanted you to know—” He stopped, and I could actually see him trying to pull it together. That wasn’t like the dad.

I sat up, worried now. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he answered automatically, but then, shaking his head, quickly backtracked. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. That’s why I woke you, to let you know your mother is sick and I’m taking her to the hospital. You’ll be okay here, won’t you?”

I ignored the question. “Sick?”

“No. I mean, yes. It’s not . . .” He shook his head again. Harder this time. Sounding just as tense but less scattered, the dad tried again. “It’s nothing life threatening, but she needs to get to the hospital.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, uncertain. I didn’t understand how it could be that serious, but not life threatening. I wasn’t going to argue, though. “I’ll be all right.”

“You’re sure?” the dad asked, but he was already standing.

I nodded, not trusting my voice as tears suddenly pressed against the backs of my eyes. I didn’t want to be here alone. Not at night. Not with the memories coming hard and fast, and my dreams consisting of nothing but nightmares. I liked knowing the mom was close, ready to rush in and stroke my hair and tell me everything would be okay.

“All right then.” The dad stood silhouetted in the doorway. “I’ll make sure all the doors are locked. Just stay inside. We’ll be back soon.”

I jerked my head up and down, but the dad’s footsteps were already on the stairs. I could hear his voice, but not the exact words. I didn’t need to. He was assuring the mom I was okay, that I would continue to be okay, and that they needed to take care of her so she could take care of me.

Maybe the mom could only nod in response too, because I couldn’t catch any sound from her. Then the garage door opened, ejected the car out onto the street, and closed again.

They were gone.

I hugged my knees to my chest, staring into the darkness. The smart thing—the brave thing—was to go back to sleep and hopefully dream once again. Or I could pull out the newspaper clipping and see if the past came to swallow me up and spit me out, the way it had so many other times. The more pieces I remembered and put together, the better I could understand what was going to happen next week on Annaliese’s birthday. And if there was any way to stop it.

I promised myself I would do one of those things. In a few more minutes. As soon as I calmed down a bit.

Calm never quite came. Sitting up in bed, I dozed a few times, but as soon as my chin touched down on my chest, I’d snap awake once more. The red numbers on my alarm clock seemed frozen in place, until all at once they would jerk forward fifteen or thirty minutes in time. In this halting way the night crept on, until a little after three a.m. when I finally heard a car on the road. Like a child, I ran to my window and peered around the edge of the blinds, hoping to see the mom and dad returning.

The car slid past the house, and I watched the taillights disappear into the night. I scanned the dark street, looking for a light somewhere, and as if in answer, the light over Dex’s garage door flickered on. Pressing my nose against the glass, I waited for something else to happen, hoping the light wasn’t just a motion-activated one triggered by a skulking cat. Again, my wish was granted. The garage door slid upward, and a moment later a small car came inching out.

Without even thinking about it, I ran. Down the stairs, out the front door, and then across the lawn and into the street. The cold stung my bare feet and the wind whipped through my thin pajamas, but I didn’t care as I flung myself across the hood of Dex’s car.

The car jerked to a stop. I looked up to meet Dex’s astonished gaze. It occurred to me that I might look a little insane. Or maybe he was remembering how the last time we’d been together we had kissed. Hoping it was the latter, I waggled my fingers at him and then mouthed the word
hi
.

Dex’s eyes widened a fraction, and I thought he might finally tell me that I had gone too far, but then a huge grin spread across his face and he laughed. A second later his window came down and he leaned out. “I don’t know whether to make a very bad hood-ornament joke or ask what the hell you’re doing.”

“Maybe you could just ask if I need a ride?”

The grin faded. “Anna, you don’t know where I’m going. And if you did, you wouldn’t want to come along. Trust me.”