Chapter 7: Family Spats
The next few days passed in a blur for Alice, a mix of cleaning, coughing, and sneezing over the dust and mildew build-up in the house while dodging her brother and cousin at school. And Peter. At least neither of the bullies in her family seemed to be interested in singling her out, far too absorbed in their own lives, thankfully. But Alice had no doubt trouble loomed on the horizon. Not because of anything specific. No, because she knew her brother's need for amusement would eventually turn her way again.
And she didn't for a moment think Claire would go easy on her.
As for Peter...she didn't need someone as geeky as she already was hanging around all the time, despite the sad looks he cast her way, his attempts to sit with her at lunch. Alice hated to walk away from him, but part of her "under the radar" plan was to stay alone and small.
Peter didn't seem to understand. And while she didn't want to be rude, avoiding him and ignoring him wasn't working very well.
Saturday morning arrived, the relief of not having to go to school and face all her troubles enough Alice actually woke with a smile on her face. She was much happier cleaning, she admitted to herself as she descended the stairs, fingers trailing over the worn wood of the bannister as she tapped out a slow rhythm in time to her footfalls. Lost in the quiet gloom of the old house, she could avoid thinking about bullies or the future.
Or the past.
Her half-smile of anticipation at what she might discover during cleaning that day faded when she entered the kitchen in the middle of a fight.
"The guys want me to go to the field," Evan said. Whined. Alice's nose wrinkled.
Such a baby. She knew better than to say anything, though. The one time she'd called him on his whining he'd posted the pictures of her in her fat bathing suit online. Alice took it down the moment she saw it, but it was far too late already.
She almost hadn't survived that year, grade seven. The tingle of need to end it all, the call of the quiet and the darkness to replace her suffering was so powerful she'd spent endless nights standing in the kitchen in the dark while her mother and her vindictive assof a brother slept upstairs. Standing there with a butcher knife pressed to her chest, wondering how much pressure she'd need to punch through her breast bone.
School's end saved her. And though the horrible picture still showed up from time to time, Alice forced herself to ignore it, to shrug while her heart withered at the nasty comments and ridicule from her classmates.
Alice slid onto a stool at the far end of the island and poured herself a glass of orange juice, the container slippery with condensation under her fingers as Betty's face darkened. She still looked wrung out, as though balancing the move, cleanup, and her job was too much for her. Alice sat there, sipping her juice, imagining what it would look like if Betty cracked and split at the seams when her mother slapped one hand down on the counter top.
"You haven't lifted a finger around here to help so far." Shocking, really. Betty never used that tone of voice with Evan, her golden boy. She really had to be on edge.
"Mom..." Evan's complaining usually got him what he wanted. But Alice knew today wasn't one of those days. As Alice's lips curled into a nasty little smile, hidden by the rim of her glass, Betty crossed her arms over her chest.
"Don't ÔMom' me," she said. "You can spare one morning away from your new friends to help your sister and I make this house livable."
He sighed and rolled his eyes and argued some more. But by the time Alice finished her breakfast, Evan had fallen to sullen silence. She carefully scraped away the two bites she always left behind, the ones the magazine said would keep her thin if she just didn't clean her plate, before setting it in the sink. When she turned back, Evan glared at her like his morning of servitude was her fault.
Typical. Alice scooted out of the kitchen and to the hall closet for a bucket and sponge, already knowing where she wanted to work today, hoping Betty's plans for Evan included moving furniture downstairs. As Alice raised dust from the dull carpet on her way to the small bathroom at the back of the second floor, she heard Evan's complaining start up again while Betty's voice cracked like a whip.
Nice to see her mother stand up to Evan at last, although Alice knew Evan would be looking for a target to vent his frustration. And Alice was convenient, wasn't she? The door to the bathroom creaked, the old hinges dark with rust. A single bulb flared to life as Alice flipped the switch mounted on the outside wall, the other two in the fixture over the mirror long blown out, lighting the grungy tiles with their 70's swirl pattern. The bucket rattled against the pale pink porcelain sink as Alice tried to set it inside to fill. Too big, she turned, spinning the hot water knob in the tiny tub. The sound of water filling the metal bucket echoed in the small space, mist curling up toward her face as she bent over the toilet, one hand on the tank for balance.
As she lifted the bucket free, she felt the rush of air before the sound of the door slamming behind her spun her around. Evan's deep laughter echoed hollow on the other side just before the light went out.
No. She knew better. Why had she let her guard down? A scream rose in Alice, coming from her belly, to her chest, pouring up through her throat. But she couldn't let it out, the black closing around her like a fist, pressing into her ribs, her lungs, pushing her down, smaller and smaller. The handle of the bucket slid from her hand, crashing against the floor, soaking her jeans, her feet. The moment the water touched tile, she slipped, the rubber of her sneakers sliding over the slick surface, sending her sideways. She came down hard against the side of the tub, towel rack scraping across her back, elbow impacting with a sharp crack.
The tears came without her permission, sobs shaking her so violently she couldn't rise, clutching at her aching arm, hugging it to her as she scrabbled both feet against the floor in an attempt to push them under her. Choking on her tears and her terror, Alice fell sideways, reaching with one hand for where the door had to be, a thin rim of light calling to her at the bottom, the barest view of wood and the runner carpet taunting her.
Alice crawled toward the light, chest hitching over and over with hysterical sobs. She made it to her knees, falling forward, both hands pressed to the door, her hurt elbow twanging so badly she cried out in pain. Her fingers scratched at the door, fumbling for the knob. The dented metal rattled in her grip as she wrenched it to the side, jerking forward.
It didn't move, frozen in place. Locked.Alice slipped again, the puddle of water beneath her making it impossible to stand.
For a moment she huddled, shoulder against the inside of the door, eyes squeezed shut as her terror rose, crested, poured over her in a violent wave.
Not the dark.
Please, not the dark.
Alice was six again, locked in her closet, screaming for Betty, begging to be rescued, falling into her terror. Devoured by the gray. Drained and left a husk, empty. Broken.
Lost.
Until a glimmer of light reached for her, the whisper of a voice in her head, the prick of a pin bursting the bubble smothering Alice's will.
It shattered, broke open. Shoved her past her fear. Jerked her out of the debilitating terror she'd lived with her whole life and prodded her with a sharp jab.
There was nothing in the darkness with her. It wasn't trying to eat her whole. She gasped a breath. Repeated what her heart told her. Nothing. Here. Just Alice and a bucket. And her asshole brother, probably standing outside the door, laughing at her.
A tiny spark of anger formed in her stomach. While Alice had felt frustration and rage toward Evan before, it had always been tinged with hopelessness. Despair. This anger was a new thing, bright and sharp. She grasped onto it, coaxed it to grow. Embraced it as it flared and flamed inside her.
Enough fire to burn back the black and hold off the gray.
Alice swiped at her face with the cuff of her sweatshirt, no longer crying. Heart slowing, she reached for the knob while she kicked off her sneakers, using the handle to pull herself up.
Her eyes adjusted. Not so dark in here after all. She could see her reflection in the mirror, caught the defiance in her face. Enough it shocked her out of the new sensation.
A shiver of her old fear returned, but a far cry from the dread that used to grip her. Alice drew two deep breaths, forced herself to look around the murky dimness of the cramped bathroom. She let the last dregs of her phobia loosen and soften and finally shed from her like the water dripping from her clothing.
For the first time in her life, Alice wondered why she'd been so afraid. A peek through the keyhole showed her the key remained in the lock. Poking around in the cabinet behind the mirror gave her an old nail file. A sheet of liner ripped from the lower cupboard provided the rest of what she needed.
Feeling rather clever about it, she placed the sheet under the door beneath the key before inserting the file into the lock. The dull thud of her prize hitting the target made her giggle. Look at her. Alice Blunt, secret agent. A careful pull on the sheet slid the key far enough under the door she was able to hook the rounded end with the file.
Hands shaking, but from excitement, not fear for once, she slid the key back into the lock on her side and was free.
A quick change of clothes righted the mess. Alice descended to the living room, calm taking over while inside she still trembled with the thrill of her success.
The look on Evan's face when he saw her was worth the experience. She smiled at him, bright and cheery, before turning to Betty.
"I'm working upstairs," she said. "If you need me."
Alice turned with one last smirk at Evan before leaving him to grunt over heavy furniture while her soul soared, light as a feather.
***
It wants to destroy him for bringing the mistress so much pain. It is only comforted in the fact Its presence brought her peace in her time of terror. But the brother is evil, It can feel his cruel intentions, and It will not rest until he is punished for hurting the mistress.
Soon.
***