Brighter Than the Sun
Page 8
She hadn’t been lying when she said she was dying. I asked only because I wondered if Kim knew the truth. Her mom was lying, however, when she told Earl she was going to find her aunt Donna. Kelly was never going to look for Donna, and she was never coming back for Kim.
Of course, I don’t tell Kim any of that, either. I just tell her the weird stuff. By that point, she is so excited, she’s sitting right next to me.
“But what if she’s not a dream?”
“Dutch? She has to be. People like that don’t really exist. No one is made of light.”
“I think you’re wrong. I think she’s real.” She leans back against the wall and stares into space. “I think she will be beautiful and strong and she will kill bad guys with her superpowers.”
I lean back, too. “If she does, she’ll have to kill me, too.”
She bolts upright. “Nuh-uh.”
“Uh-huh,” I argue.
“You’re wrong.” She wraps her arm in mine. “You’re not bad. You gave me noodles.”
“Well, that settles it, then.”
“Wait,” she says, straightening. “Is—? Is my mom going to hell when she dies?”
“No,” I say.
Kim nestles beside me again, and I’m thankful she can’t feel other people’s emotions. She doesn’t know I just lied to her.
Kim’s mom never shows up, which is understandable, since she’s burning in hell, but all of a sudden Earl seems okay with Kim being there. He’s never okay with anything. Ever. Unless there’s an angle in it for him. About two days later, I find out what that is. And my plans for leaving are shot to hell.
10
After that—after the park incident in which Dutch helps her father find the body of a little girl, a girl her own age, actually—her father goes to her one night. I’m there, too. I hadn’t been drawn there that night. I simply wanted to be there. To see her. To feel whole.
I stay back so I don’t scare her. Her father goes to her room and tells her they’ve found the little girl’s body. He is confused, I can tell. He’s scared. Not of Dutch, but of what she can do. What she can see.
“Of course you found her,” Dutch says. “She told me where she was.”
She is wearing a pink nightgown and lime green socks. Classic Dutch style.
“How?” he asks. He stands and rakes a hand through his hair.
Dutch is confused, too. “She opened her mouth and told me.”
“Charley,” he says, sitting beside her again.
She is holding a doll and twirling its hair in her fingers.
“How did she tell you, honey? I don’t understand.”
She lifts a tiny shoulder, unable to comprehend what his problem is.
“Sweetheart.” He takes the doll out of her hands and lifts her chin. “Explain to me exactly how … how she told you.”
“Daddy, I don’t understand now. She just told me. Was she not ’posed to?”
He lowers his head lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Oh, and Jacob wants me to tell you that his girlfriend killed him. No one knows. They think she was out of town, but she gave her credit card to a friend, broke into his house as he was taking a shower, and stabbed him.” She looks over at the man in her room. The naked one covered from head to toe in blood.
From the looks of it, the woman did more than stab him. He has burn marks on his body. Brandings. Like something ritualistic.
Neither the blood nor his nakedness throws Dutch. She is already used to such horrors. Such atrocities.
Maybe that’s why I long to be near her. Maybe it’s her sense of everydayness. Her acceptance of anyone, no matter how they died. No matter how they lived.
“Jacob?” her dad asks. “Jacob Townsend?”
She looks at the man. He kneels beside her bed so she doesn’t see him down there. He nods.
“Yep,” she says, picking up her doll again. “Her name is Beth and he says she’s crazier than a gallon of Pop Rocks.”
Her dad puts the doll down again. “Sweetheart, how do you know about Jacob Townsend? We just found his body two hours ago. It hasn’t been announced.”
“Oh.” She straightens. “So, I should wait until it’s announced to tell you?”
“What? No, honey, that’s not what I’m saying. How do you know about him?”
“He told me.”
His mouth falls open for a whole minute; then he asks, “How?”
Dutch giggles and her laughter lights up the room. Jacob smiles. He is as mesmerized with her as I am.
“He opened his mouth and told me. You’re funny, Daddy.”
He rakes a hand through his hair again. But slowly, as more and more departed go to Dutch for help, he begins to believe her. She simply knows too much. Sees too much. And this becomes her life. From that day on, she begins helping her father with cases. And her uncle Bob. For the most part, nobody knows. Denise, the stepmother from hell, begins to suspect. It seems to make her even more jealous, and she treats Dutch worse than ever.
11
My thirteenth birthday is spent in the closet with Kim cleaning blood off me. Earl leaves after he finishes. Goes to see his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Sarah. Not because he misses her or wants a piece of ass. He got that from me. He needs money for beer, and she is his latest ATM.
Sarah is a dental hygienist. She likes me. A lot. And not in a healthy, nurturing way. Her attraction was instant the first time Earl brought her home, but she hides it well. And she really likes Kim. In a healthy, nurturing way. So I put up with her. She cooks for us and buys Kim bubble bath. She says it’s for both of us, but I’m a tad old for bubble baths.
In Sarah’s defense, I don’t look thirteen. Or at least I don’t think I do. Older girls are attracted to me. Younger girls are attracted to me. Women are attracted to me. Thankfully, most women don’t act on their impulses. Those who do are usually train wrecks.
But women want me in a different way than girls do. The older they get, the more knowledgeable they are about what they want. Girls, young girls, want to make out. To kiss. To touch. They want to run their hands over my arms and back and stomach. Women want the same thing, but more. Much more.
A lot of boys want to make out, too, but I don’t. I’m not into boys. And when men want me, I make it very clear I’m not open for business. I get enough of that shit at home. All in all, I get tired of their desire. Of the weight of it. Everyone wants something from me, and it’s exhausting. So, I usually hide under a hoodie. Like today. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
After Earl leaves, Kim helps me stand. I take a long shower even though the hot water last only about three minutes. Then we sneak out of the apartment through a crawl space underneath the house. I have to get to the park. I’ve been waiting weeks for this day, and I’m not about to let Earl’s strange appetites ruin it for me.
By the time we get to the park, I’m feeling a little better. It’s a warm day for the season, so I take off my hoodie, and three girls notice immediately. They start flirting with me. It takes my mind off Earl, so I flirt back. Just a glance here. A half smile there.
Kim sinks into the background, seeks out the swings when the girls work up the courage to approach. They’re in high school. Juniors, they say as they flip their hair. They talk and laugh and play the usual games.
Of course, I don’t tell Kim any of that, either. I just tell her the weird stuff. By that point, she is so excited, she’s sitting right next to me.
“But what if she’s not a dream?”
“Dutch? She has to be. People like that don’t really exist. No one is made of light.”
“I think you’re wrong. I think she’s real.” She leans back against the wall and stares into space. “I think she will be beautiful and strong and she will kill bad guys with her superpowers.”
I lean back, too. “If she does, she’ll have to kill me, too.”
She bolts upright. “Nuh-uh.”
“Uh-huh,” I argue.
“You’re wrong.” She wraps her arm in mine. “You’re not bad. You gave me noodles.”
“Well, that settles it, then.”
“Wait,” she says, straightening. “Is—? Is my mom going to hell when she dies?”
“No,” I say.
Kim nestles beside me again, and I’m thankful she can’t feel other people’s emotions. She doesn’t know I just lied to her.
Kim’s mom never shows up, which is understandable, since she’s burning in hell, but all of a sudden Earl seems okay with Kim being there. He’s never okay with anything. Ever. Unless there’s an angle in it for him. About two days later, I find out what that is. And my plans for leaving are shot to hell.
10
After that—after the park incident in which Dutch helps her father find the body of a little girl, a girl her own age, actually—her father goes to her one night. I’m there, too. I hadn’t been drawn there that night. I simply wanted to be there. To see her. To feel whole.
I stay back so I don’t scare her. Her father goes to her room and tells her they’ve found the little girl’s body. He is confused, I can tell. He’s scared. Not of Dutch, but of what she can do. What she can see.
“Of course you found her,” Dutch says. “She told me where she was.”
She is wearing a pink nightgown and lime green socks. Classic Dutch style.
“How?” he asks. He stands and rakes a hand through his hair.
Dutch is confused, too. “She opened her mouth and told me.”
“Charley,” he says, sitting beside her again.
She is holding a doll and twirling its hair in her fingers.
“How did she tell you, honey? I don’t understand.”
She lifts a tiny shoulder, unable to comprehend what his problem is.
“Sweetheart.” He takes the doll out of her hands and lifts her chin. “Explain to me exactly how … how she told you.”
“Daddy, I don’t understand now. She just told me. Was she not ’posed to?”
He lowers his head lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Oh, and Jacob wants me to tell you that his girlfriend killed him. No one knows. They think she was out of town, but she gave her credit card to a friend, broke into his house as he was taking a shower, and stabbed him.” She looks over at the man in her room. The naked one covered from head to toe in blood.
From the looks of it, the woman did more than stab him. He has burn marks on his body. Brandings. Like something ritualistic.
Neither the blood nor his nakedness throws Dutch. She is already used to such horrors. Such atrocities.
Maybe that’s why I long to be near her. Maybe it’s her sense of everydayness. Her acceptance of anyone, no matter how they died. No matter how they lived.
“Jacob?” her dad asks. “Jacob Townsend?”
She looks at the man. He kneels beside her bed so she doesn’t see him down there. He nods.
“Yep,” she says, picking up her doll again. “Her name is Beth and he says she’s crazier than a gallon of Pop Rocks.”
Her dad puts the doll down again. “Sweetheart, how do you know about Jacob Townsend? We just found his body two hours ago. It hasn’t been announced.”
“Oh.” She straightens. “So, I should wait until it’s announced to tell you?”
“What? No, honey, that’s not what I’m saying. How do you know about him?”
“He told me.”
His mouth falls open for a whole minute; then he asks, “How?”
Dutch giggles and her laughter lights up the room. Jacob smiles. He is as mesmerized with her as I am.
“He opened his mouth and told me. You’re funny, Daddy.”
He rakes a hand through his hair again. But slowly, as more and more departed go to Dutch for help, he begins to believe her. She simply knows too much. Sees too much. And this becomes her life. From that day on, she begins helping her father with cases. And her uncle Bob. For the most part, nobody knows. Denise, the stepmother from hell, begins to suspect. It seems to make her even more jealous, and she treats Dutch worse than ever.
11
My thirteenth birthday is spent in the closet with Kim cleaning blood off me. Earl leaves after he finishes. Goes to see his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Sarah. Not because he misses her or wants a piece of ass. He got that from me. He needs money for beer, and she is his latest ATM.
Sarah is a dental hygienist. She likes me. A lot. And not in a healthy, nurturing way. Her attraction was instant the first time Earl brought her home, but she hides it well. And she really likes Kim. In a healthy, nurturing way. So I put up with her. She cooks for us and buys Kim bubble bath. She says it’s for both of us, but I’m a tad old for bubble baths.
In Sarah’s defense, I don’t look thirteen. Or at least I don’t think I do. Older girls are attracted to me. Younger girls are attracted to me. Women are attracted to me. Thankfully, most women don’t act on their impulses. Those who do are usually train wrecks.
But women want me in a different way than girls do. The older they get, the more knowledgeable they are about what they want. Girls, young girls, want to make out. To kiss. To touch. They want to run their hands over my arms and back and stomach. Women want the same thing, but more. Much more.
A lot of boys want to make out, too, but I don’t. I’m not into boys. And when men want me, I make it very clear I’m not open for business. I get enough of that shit at home. All in all, I get tired of their desire. Of the weight of it. Everyone wants something from me, and it’s exhausting. So, I usually hide under a hoodie. Like today. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
After Earl leaves, Kim helps me stand. I take a long shower even though the hot water last only about three minutes. Then we sneak out of the apartment through a crawl space underneath the house. I have to get to the park. I’ve been waiting weeks for this day, and I’m not about to let Earl’s strange appetites ruin it for me.
By the time we get to the park, I’m feeling a little better. It’s a warm day for the season, so I take off my hoodie, and three girls notice immediately. They start flirting with me. It takes my mind off Earl, so I flirt back. Just a glance here. A half smile there.
Kim sinks into the background, seeks out the swings when the girls work up the courage to approach. They’re in high school. Juniors, they say as they flip their hair. They talk and laugh and play the usual games.
