Him
Nora is at the police station. My nerves are on fire as I try to guess what she is telling them. She is flanked by the girl she sees most days, and Eve. I want to shout at her not to listen to the lies Eve has spewed at her about me. That Eve was nothing like her. That Eve meant nothing to me. She was not special like Nora. Hours later, an older woman follows behind a tall lanky boy who is being escorted by two police officers. The woman rushes to Nora’s friend and they embrace in a hug. I cannot see Nora or Eve. Something about the scene niggles at me. The woman knows the friend. The friend is close with Nora. The boy is of similar age to Nora and her friend.
Anton.
The name comes at me with gale force. I grip the steering wheel so hard, that my knuckles go white. My teeth grind. I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
It is dusk when they finally emerge. I follow Anton and the older woman when they leave the police station. She pulls into a driveway. When Anton steps out, she leans over the seat to say something to him. She looks somber and tearful. Anton slams the door shut, looking guilty, and the woman pulls away. I step out of the rental and stride across the street.
“Hey,” I call out. “Anton?”
The boy turns in the threshold of the house. He squints. “Do I know you?”
I climb the three front steps and quickly look around. No one is on the street.
“I’m Holden.” His brow wrinkles. “And you hurt something that’s mine.”
Anton holds his hand up in defense. “I’m calling the cops.”
I snicker. “Not today.” I push his chest quickly and hard. He stumbles into the house and I follow, kicking the door closed behind me.
I hold my mother’s head under water. I blink back tears as she struggles, but wait, and wait, until she stops moving. Then I wait some more. Just to be sure. The river is cold this time of year. I shiver as I look down at her. Pulling myself to a standing position, I wait again, positive that Ma will magically pull her head out of the water, eyes—daggers, pointed at me. With my boot, I roll her body into the river. I watch for a moment as she begins to float away from me. Then, I turn and head for home to make sure Laura is alright.
“Holden?” Lotte’s voice snaps me from my memory. “Holden?” her voice is small and scared.
“What?” I snap. I’m back at the hotel. In the doorway. Her delicate hand extends and points to me. I look down. “Shit,” I mutter.
“Are you hurt?”
“It’s not my blood.” Charlotte cries out. I slam the door shut behind me and storm to her. Placing a hand over her mouth, I tell her, “Be quiet.” She mumbles something into my palm. I let her speak.
“Is it Nora’s?”
I wrinkle my brow. “What? No. No, Lotte. It’s not Nora’s blood.” She sags with relief and I head to the bathroom to clean myself up.
“Whose is it, then?” she asks.
“You ask too many questions,” I shout over the running water.
Anton’s.
It is Anton’s blood. He hurt Nora, broke her. No one lays a hand on something that belongs to me. I let the scalding water rinse the blood from my hands. The little punk will never bother anyone again. Part of me can’t wait to tell Nora what I’ve done for her. The other part is scared to tell her.
I exit the bathroom and look at Charlotte. She’s sitting Indian style on the bed, watching TV. I plug it in for her while I’m home to entertain her. Her blonde hair is ratty and needs brushing. I reach back into the bathroom and grab the hair brush. I never intended to keep her around after Eve left, but hurting a child is not the same as the others. I couldn’t kill her. I see her and think of Laura. I feel the need to protect her the way I did my own sister. Right or wrong, I decided to keep Lotte.
I sit down on the bed behind her. She barely pays me any attention. She is used to my madness. I pull her hair over her shoulders so it falls down her back and begin brushing. Long, slow, strokes. She only winces at one large knot. Her hand cups her scalp and she turns to shoot me a scathing look. It makes me laugh. Little Lotte trying to intimidate me. Her expression quickly morphs into something I can’t quite identify, as she takes me in.
“What did you do to your hair?” she asks. Her hand darts out to touch my newly buzzed head. I incline my head to let her feel it.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
She wrinkles her face. “I don’t know. You look weird without hair. I’ve never seen your face really either.” She turns my head side to side, her small hand on my clean shaven chin. “It’s alright.”
I stifle another laugh. “Do you think Nora will like it?”
Lotte shrugs. “I think Nora will like you, however you come.”
“You’re a smart little thing,” I tell her and pat her head. She bites her lip and turns back to the television. I resume brushing her hair.