Under Her Care(12)

The floor shakes above me as Mason stomps to the beat of the music upstairs. Eight more minutes of free time and then another long night. We’re both too keyed up to sleep. I might give him a sleeping pill if he doesn’t fall asleep by one. Too many nights without sleep isn’t good for him. Makes him act funny. We can’t have that. I’d take one, too, but one of us has to stay up, and that one of us is always me.

The first half of the night isn’t so bad. It’s when the house gets quiet after Mason finally settles that I can’t even sit down anywhere. I just pace the house with my Fitbit tracking every step. Over three miles last night. But then it starts getting later and later. Like real late. The stumbling-home-from-the-bar kind of late. That’s when my mind starts traveling places I don’t want it to go. That’s when Annabelle’s face plays tricks on me.

If only I hadn’t looked at her.

But I did. Mason screamed and I looked. But how could I not? I’ve never heard sounds like the ones that came out of Mason’s mouth as he crouched next to Annabelle. I looked before I thought not to because I never imagined what I’d find. Now I can’t get it out of me.

Her wide-open eyes paralyzed in a moment of fright. Blood wet her cheeks. Ropy red tendrils stuck to her eyelashes. Her mouth a half-frozen scream. All that’s seared into my brain in the same way we’re probably seared into That Monster’s.

A twig snaps outside, sending me flying to my feet. I race back over to the monitors. Nothing’s changed. It was probably just Hilary’s cat from around the block. She’s always getting out. It could be the cat, sure. It could. It could also be him, because if he knows who we are, then he knows where we live.

I need my gun. Somebody has to protect us from That Monster.





THEN



My favorite. This. After that.

This.

Hand so soft. Kind as she washes this dirty away.

My dirty.

Mama so clean. Kind. Love me. Smell that smell.

Don’t forget. That’s the moment that you keep. The one that you treasure.

I’d take this over ten million thats. Do I have a choice?

Someday. Someday Mama says.

I love Mama.





SIX


CASEY WALKER



I turn off the news as I finish cutting up Harper’s strawberries on the counter and hope she doesn’t notice. Our mornings, much like everything else, have to follow a specific routine, or she melts down. The WDYM morning show is always part of breakfast. I peek at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s spooning the last bite of Cheerios into her mouth, which means she’s close enough to finished that the news being off won’t matter. She’s probably already rehearsing her next step under her breath—get dressed.

I can’t stomach any media right now. They just keep interviewing residents, and everyone keeps saying the same things over and over again:

“We never thought it could happen to us.”

“Things like that don’t happen round here.”

Technically, Tuscaloosa is a city, but it’s really just an overgrown small town where everyone knows everybody else. That’s why people move here. Some people have never lived anywhere else. This is home for me. I’m a true southern girl, but of the less traditional variety. I was always more likely to be driving the pickup truck than I was to be riding in the passenger seat like most of my girlfriends. We grew up with Friday-night football games, home-cooked meals, and church on Sundays. Not much has changed since then. We like believing we’re safe, but if the mayor’s wife can die, then nobody is safe.

I slept terrible last night, but I knew that I would. Stress always disrupts my sleep. I’ll need extra coffee today.

My phone buzzes with Detective Layne’s call. Why can’t he text like everyone else?

“Harper, I have to take this call quick. I’ll be back in two minutes,” I call to her as I step into the living room and hurry down the hallway out of her earshot. “Hello?”

“Hi, Casey, sorry to call you so early, but I knew you were up,” he says, but I’m pretty sure he’s not sorry. He’s called every morning for the last three days. Seems like we’re establishing a pattern.

“What’s up?” I ask, waiting to hear what he has to say and straining for sounds in the kitchen at the same time. Harper’s strapped in her seat, but I don’t trust her to stay there with me not in the room. Her seat worked when she was a toddler, but she’s bigger and smart enough to get out now. She’s done it before. Feels weird to have her in a booster seat when she’s nine, but she started flinging herself off the chair recently. She banged her head on the table twice when she fell, so I didn’t have much of a choice unless I never wanted to take my eyes off her, which is impossible.

Detective Layne clears his throat. “I have a few psychological-assessment reports on Mason from the psychologists that examined him before. Can you take a look at them?”

“As long as the proper consent is in place, sure.” I’m one of those weird people who really like numbers and figures, so I can’t wait to see what the reports say about Mason. It was impossible to get any sense of him yesterday. “Do you have my email?”

“No, that’s why I’m calling so early.”

I quickly rattle it off for him. “I’ll try to look at this as soon as I can, but it probably won’t be until later this afternoon. I have to drop my daughter at school and be to another appointment by nine.” As if the mention of her summons her into action, she pounds her spoon on the table.