Authors: Tara Brown
I screamed and clawed until the girl stood. I hoped she was coming to help me, but she went in the door of the dirty house, leaving the Barbies in the dirt. The dead look in her eyes made contact with mine as she rounded the corner. Suddenly there was something in her eyes, something that didn’t match the dead look that had been there all along. She looked scared.
I swallowed and waited but she never came back, so I clawed until my fingers ripped and tore, and managed to move the metal lid enough.
Frantic sobs left my lips and I gasped, dragging my body from the bleak hole.
I kicked and squirmed until I was free, moving so fast I tripped trying to get to the house quick enough, but the gunshot stopped me. My feet skidded across the filthy floor. I paused, holding everything…waiting. I knew I was waiting for the sound of my sister. The unknown and the fear overwhelmed me. I ran for the screaming I knew didn’t belong to Em.
The narrow walls and rubbish everywhere made it hard for me to see them. My eyes wouldn’t adjust from the blinding light of the hole. Finally reaching the room and the disaster that lie before me, I shook my head. It was involuntary. I shook, as if it would change the outcome. Her dirty legs lay on the bed behind his shaking, angry body. The angry man’s fists came down on the other girl. Her dead eyes were back.
Something caught my eyes. I turned, seeing the gun on the floor.
I needed to save us. That was what a man did and I needed to be a man. I wavered for a second, not sure if I could, but the fists landing on the girl and the lifeless legs of my sister filled me with rage. It was hot like the white heat of the hole. It blinded me and made a sound inside of me like white noise on the radio.
I picked up the gun; it was heavy and hard. I lifted it and pulled the trigger. I fired the shots and soon the only people standing were the girl and me. I didn’t even see the woman come back into the room. She was just there and I shot her.
The girl's eyes were black and filled with fear.
The resonating sound of the gun dropping echoed around us.
My feet couldn’t move fast enough. They took the steps my brain refused and my heart feared.
I walked past the girl, touching the still-warm arm of my sister. My fingers bit into her skin but she didn’t wake.
I shook her and yet she slept. The crimson stain upon her chest was becoming larger with the movements I forced upon her. It seeped. That was the only word for it. It seeped.
I shook her again, my eyes searched her tiny body for a breath. I pushed on her chest but the seeping got worse. I started shaking her, but there was nothing. She had left me, left to sleep with the angels and ride on a cloud. Free from the things that surrounded me. I couldn’t forgive her for that.
I screamed into the ceiling. The sound of it made the girl drop to the floor and curl into a ball after she crawled backwards for the corner, touching either side of it as I screamed and shouted at Em. There was nothing left of my sister. I didn’t have a reaction for it. The pain was stuck in my seized-up heart. Everything was too big and too scary, and I had to be a man. A man that saved his little sister. A man that saved the day. A hero.
Instead, I was a lost boy. I cried out for help like a child.
I wanted to cry. The tears were there, but the girl with the dead eyes and the twitching head needed me. I could save her. I lifted my sister from the bed and slung her limp body over my shoulder. The weight of her was more than I expected. I looked at the sobbing girl and put my hand out for her to take.
When her hand lifted into mine, I noticed the difference between us. The level of filth in her pores and nails was disturbing. Her hand shook with uncertainty and fear.
I reached the extra inch she couldn’t go and pulled her up and dragged her from the house. Emalyn got heavy on my shoulder, like she was trying to push me to the ground. I gripped her tightly, trying to get one foot in front of the other. Dragging the girl and carrying Em was too much. One of them had to go. I let go of the girl's hand, taking one step in the dusty driveway before I realized I had chosen the wrong girl. My shoulders cried for release. I slumped to the ground, laying Em down on the dirt. I brushed her hair from her face, "I'll be back, Em. I'm not leaving you. I'm getting help. I swear, I won't leave you here."
I let myself take in the seconds of her and me and everything that had gone wrong. I had done it all wrong. I almost couldn’t turn back to the girl and look in her eyes, her swollen eyes.
I ran a hand along Em's peaceful face, "I’ve gotta go, Em."
I needed to save at least one of them. I left her there, in the dirt, swearing to myself I would be back for her. I put my hand out for the mess of the girl standing behind me, lost and dead inside. She took my hand again. I pulled her across the dusty ground for a long time. I didn’t know where we were going, but I knew we needed people. There were no power lines and the driveway seemed like it went on forever.
I turned into the field, hoping to arrive at a town. The girl's legs gave out across the field; I turned and lifted her into my boyish arms. I carried her the rest of the way to the barn we found. My back was aching and my heart was hollow. I was gasping for air when I placed her down, stroking her hair as she lost control of the tiny hold she had. She stopped shaking and started bawling.
“I shot her,” she whispered.
I didn’t understand.
She cried again, "I meant to shoot him but it hit her. I wanted her to stop screaming. I wanted him to stop hurting her."
The girl had shot Em. I closed my eyes, containing the devil inside of me. I shook my head, “It wasn’t your fault.” It was though. I wanted to shake her and tell her Em was dead because of her. I wished that it had been her and Emalyn were the one alive. The wish made me sick but my mind couldn’t stop it. Her delicate, malnourished, heaving body told me that the wish was a bad one. But I couldn’t stop my brain from thinking it.
Instead, I did what I thought I should, I hugged her. I wrapped myself around her.
“I sh-sh-shot h-h-h-her,” she sobbed.
I would take the blame. I would take the darkness from her. “I should have saved you both. It was my fault.”
Her tiny, messy head twitched a no, “My fault. I wanted him to stop. M-m-my fault.”
I held her tightly, “We need to go for help. Where are we?”
She shook her head, refusing to open her eyes. I tried to stand but a scream came from her lips, like a natural-defense mechanism she had no control of.
We stayed there for days, eating the fruit that had been left to go bad and drinking from the stream nearby. I held her and waited for her to fall asleep so I could go for help, but she was traumatized and every time I moved, she freaked out.
I needed to find help but she was too scared to tell them what she had done. I would go first and explain. It wasn’t her fault, it was mine. I failed them both.
I closed my eyes, not meaning to, but I was exhausted. The throbbing in my fingers was the last thing I felt before I drifted off with her.
I woke to darkness, panicking momentarily until I realized the small child next to me was still breathing. She whimpered in her sleep and curled away from me.
I pulled myself away from her farther, sliding off of the hay and tiptoed out of the barn.
I looked at her one last time, “I’ll be back. I’ll tell them it wasn’t your fault,” I whispered and ran towards the lights I prayed were from a neighboring home.
Clovis, New Mexico - January 2010
“The window’s been replaced. Glare shouldn’t get in the way of your peeping now.” he chuckles, but I can’t laugh. I stand at the window of the building I bought and look in her window. It is a perfect viewpoint. I can see into her window perfectly but the glass on this building has a tint. She will never see me. Between the cameras we have set up and the view from the window, I will be able to watch her at all times.
I look up at him and nod, “Thanks.” He gives me a grin but all I have is a scowl, “I don’t want you here for this.”
He crosses his arms, “Ha! Fat chance you’re gonna get me to leave you here like this. Not after the way I found you in the office last fall. I know what this girl does to you. I know what she means. I know what this all does to you.” He points a finger at me, knowing I hate it when people do that, “We’re a team.”
I nod once. I’m not in the mood to argue with him. My palms are sweating from the knowledge I’ll be able to see her…tonight, all night. I've seen glimpses and watched her randomly but this will be us all night. She will be there in the morning and I will still be free of my sister’s death.
“Eli, man, you gotta relax a bit. That look on your face is going to scare the ever-loving shit out of her when you do meet her. You get it every time you see her.”
I take a breath, like Jane—Dr. Bradley said to when I’m feeling tense, like I might hurt myself or someone else. The breath isn’t helping but the view through the window does.
I gulp when I see her hair. It’s the same. The light hits it and I couldn’t tell you my name if I had to. It's so blonde and shiny now though. The color is the same but it's clean. She is clean. She is real. She isn’t an elephant in the room. She isn’t a coping mechanism or any other ism… I'm crazy but I didn’t make her up. She may be a teenager but I can see the face of the child she was. I wonder if I look the same?
She moves quickly; I see what she’s doing. It hurts to watch her be like this. Something is wrong, she cleans when she's scared. I remember the conditions of the house she lived in. She cleans because of that house. I know it.
“Fuck, she cleans fast, huh?”
I ignore him. He understands a lot of things, but this kind of frenzy isn’t one of them. Not this kind. His is different, probably worse.
She is meticulous with her cleaning, it's forensic. She doesn’t allow any part of her body to come in contact with anything as she cleans; her hands do all the work. She doesn’t lean or touch her silky hair. She does one thing, cleaning every surface.
She straightens things in the room that could be a cell. She’s thin, thinner than she should be. My jaw clenches. I want her now. I want her safe now. I want to take her away from it all. I want to save her, the way I promised I would.
My hands try to shake, but I refuse to allow weakness in. Not here. There is one place for weakness, this isn’t it.
She is the opposite of the last time I saw her, and yet, she is the same. She is neat and straight and clean, but I can see the dirt and the stains. I know they’re there to her. She sees them still. She won't ever be free of them…not on her own. I have convinced Jane to save her, to free her.
“Did you tell them what we were doing?”
I glance at Stuart and shake my head, “The orphanage knows she’s a Jane Doe. They know her name isn’t Emalyn Spicer, obviously. They gave me the hair from her brush and a blood sample. They know she was one of the kids at the Spicer home and that she somehow made her way here. They believe me to be her benefactor. An idea Jane came up with. I am her benefactor and eventually when she is well enough, I will be able to have contact with her through a cell phone. It will be the first link to a family member she will have."
Stuart gives me a funny look, “You will be her family member?"
I laugh, "No, but she might feel like I am."
He nods, "You tell them about Emalyn?”
I nod once. I don’t want to talk about it. He knows that...
“Wanna train while we watch?”
I nod and pull my coat off. I know she’s going to be a distraction for me. She always has been. At least she’s no longer a void that makes me empty, and in need of things I don’t want. She is no longer an obsession.
I'm glad I came dressed for training. I grab my sparring gloves and we start to hit each other, softly at first for warm up.
Stuart laughs, “You know the craziest part of this shit?”
I shake my head and let him hit my hands.
He nods towards the window but doesn’t stop staring at me, “She’s probably the one who is the most sane of us all. Right now, she seems a little touched but she’s gonna be fine. Those orphans are hard man, they get beat for shit you and I don’t even know we do. I knew a couple orphans and they were balls to the walls crazy.”
I shake my head, “She’s delicate. She isn’t like them.” I look at her pacing around her room, “She isn’t like us either. If one of them lays a hand on her…”
“Easy tiger.”
I take a light hit to the jaw and turn to face him. I feel it make sparks inside of me.
He gives me a shitty grin and I try to give him a shot to the face. He ducks and jabs me in the ribs.
I feel it lighting up inside of me. He points at me, seeing the look in my eyes, “Friendly. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
I shake my head, “You do every time you speak. Wanna, gonna, hafta, and the crowning jewel in that family—sup. By far my favorite. I imagined it was more of a cockney phrase, like we would sup with another family. Of course, time spent with you has cured me of that foolish notion. I actually Google the urban dictionary weekly to understand you.”
Stuart shakes his head, “One day that carrot you got shoved in yo’ ass is GONNA get pulled out and you’ll HAFTA loosen up a bit, bro.”
I growl, taking shots on him. I punch at least ten rabbit punches, each one landing with a feathery grace but not inflicting pain. He doesn’t have time to stop a single one.
He laughs and backs off, “How come you don’t wanna go pro? You’d be the man.”
I roll my eyes, “Yes, being the man has always been an enticing motivator.” I look back at the small room with the small blonde, and smile. It’s the first time I’ve felt whatever the hell I’m feeling. She’s safe and I can see her. I don’t need to hurt when she’s there. I feel like finding her is the path to saving her.
It’s like they’re both alive when I see her.
We fight for a while longer, but I see the glimpse of exhaustion on his face, “Go home and get some rest.”
He shakes his head, “You want something to eat?”
I nod, “Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
He grins and leaves the apartment. It’s not really an apartment; it will be. We're staying at an inn that makes me want to clean the way she does. We are renovating the apartment into something we can live in while she finishes high school. We have two years of this ahead of us. Two years of watching her until she finishes school. Unless of course, Jane can cure her before then. Even if she did, I don’t think I could leave her. I left once and I didn’t find her again for a decade.
Stuart comes back with the food, and I can't trace the time he’s been gone. She makes everything faster, even with her limited movements and lack of activity.
“Has she been reading this whole time?”
I nod.
He shoves me lightly, “You’ve been watching her this whole time and she hasn’t moved?”
I give him a look when I take my bag of junk food and my chocolate shake from him. I suck from the straw, watching her, and decide I could live this happy for the rest of my life.
“You’re getting creepy about this, man. You remember she's a sixteen-year-old girl, right?”
I feel the spark. It burns when I think about hurting him. I swallow it and sigh, “It's not like that, Stu. I’ll never be able to explain to you how I failed her. You can't understand unless you let someone down, the way I have.” It is the wrong thing to say to the wrong person.
He opens his burger and starts to eat, “Whatever, eat up.”
I eat but the food tastes bad. She has suffered for a decade in that place. She has wasted away like Rapunzel in her tower and I have failed her.
I finish and look at my watch, “I’m meeting with the head nun.”
“Mother Superior.”
I give him a grin, “Right. Stay here.”
He shakes his head, “I won't leave.”
Fear ripples through me, “You can't take your eyes off of her. You understand that?”
He looks intimidated for a second and I hate myself for my tone. He nods, “Dude, I got this shit. She isn’t exactly doing tricks over there and you’ll be in the damned building with her.”
I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave the window. My hands start to sweat.
He grabs my arm, “Go. I won't take my eyes off that girl. If I see anything, I will text you immediately.”
I take a breath and turn away. I need to see the nun more than I need to watch her.
I race down the stairs and across the warm desert street. Even in the dead of winter, Clovis is a warm place. Nice in the winter but the summer must be murder.
I can’t get my breath when I walk through the front door. I’m greeted by her, the steely-eyed nun I already had a chat with.
“Mr. Adams, how nice to see you again.”
I know it isn’t. I give her my business face, “Good evening, Mother.”
Her eyes twinkle when I say it, and I wonder if it’s the wrong thing to say. I know nothing about Catholicism and when I asked at the office before we left, they told me the nun in charge was Mother. I never went to church. My parents were alcoholics and closet atheists. Most parents who live through what they have, end up that way. I know I never believed in God until a few months ago. Now I wonder actively, if God intervened? How else could her paper have landed on my desk? How else could I have dropped blood upon her name?
The nun walks to her office. I notice the smell of the place again. Sterile and frightening. Kids can't find joy in this place, there’s no way. It’s like kid prison.
When I sit down, I keep my arrogant flare riding high. She’s a bit of a ball buster, and I don’t dare let her think she can one up me, even if I have to admit she’s scary in the habit. I know there is a horror movie I watched once with nuns floating down a breezy hallway. The whole scene is somewhere in the back of my mind, haunting my dreams.
“I understand you wish to tell me how to run my orphanage?”
I watch her for a second before I nod, “Yes.”
She looks affronted, “You think you know how to raise these children, better than I do?”
I shake my head, “No.”
Her eyes narrow, “Is this a game to you, Mr. Adams?”
I shake my head again but this time more slowly. I am trembling on the edge of my anger, “I owe that girl the sun, the moon, and the stars. I owe her everything in the whole world. The only reason I haven’t checked her out, is that our therapist agrees she will meltdown and close up. It will destroy the tiny amount of sanity she clings to, if I take her from here. She isn’t ready for reality. She can't face the things that she’s done and have been done to her. The moment we are cleared from that, I will spend every second of my life recreating the world for her. Do you understand that level of devotion and care?”
The nun swallows and clasps her hands, “We understand her sit…”
I slap my hand on her mahogany desk, “NO!” I shudder with anger, “You don’t. You don’t know what it's like to accidentally kill a small child who is about to be raped by a fucking savage.” I push the spark down. I can’t feel my legs. I want to run or kick the door in and just take her. I take a breath, “Forgive me.” I just said fuck to a nun. If I wasn’t already going to hell, I'd worry.
She looks frightened but nods.
I continue calmly, “You and I both, have no idea what it’s like being her. She believes she’s Emalyn. If we take that from her…well, Doctor Bradley believes she will cocoon herself in denial and possibly go catatonic.”
The nun frowns, “You are certain this is the girl?”
I nod, “That is the girl. I would know her from a mile even if I were blind. What we went through, it bonded us. I know her. Her name isn’t Emalyn, she took that from my sister. She must have been only five or six-years old when it happened. The Spicers called her kid, and a variety of other names I won't repeat. They never said her name. They did say Emalyn; I’m assuming she took the name because it was the only one she had heard in a while.”
“Well, she seems to be very normal for what she has been through.”
I tap my fingers against the chair like Jane does and stop myself. I hate that I’ve picked up annoying habits from her. “She doesn’t remember anything. She’s blocked everything out. The world isn’t real. How normal is that? She calls herself the name of a dead girl she shot.”
The nun smiles as if she is trying to avoid the things I am making her feel, “What would you like us to change?”
I hold up a finger, “New rules. You don’t ever touch her. No one lays a hand on her or hits her with anything. I will remove any appendage that comes in physical contact with her body. I understand this makes me sound crazy; I am comfortable with that and a prison sentence defending her.”