A Mother Would Know (80)

Chills overtake me. I’m terrified of the answer, but I have to ask. “The night of my release party—tell me about the breakin.”

His entire face droops, all of his features seeming to sink like a rock after being thrown into a creek.

“I’m not sure there was one.”

Flames lick up my spine.

“I mean, I can’t be sure. Kendra rushed into my room, told me someone was in the house. We closed my door, hid behind it. I thought I heard sounds, creaks, someone murmuring—but it could have been my heart racing. Eventually Kendra took one of my bats and said she would check things out, call the police. I begged her not to go, not to leave me. She locked me in my closet—” he shudders “—and told me I’d be safe there. The next thing I know, I hear crashing. Men’s voices, muffled. I heard Kendra scream, which was terrible, but the silence that followed was worse. There were big, heavy footsteps right up to the closet door. I thought they’d found me.” Hudson swallows hard. “When she let me out right before the police came, she said she’d gotten away and hid in the basement. But I found a pair of Dad’s shoes in her room, like she’d been clomping around in them. Years later, I watched this heist movie with Browning, and I swear the dialogue was just like what I’d heard from downstairs. It sucked me right back to that night—I nearly had a panic attack. And when I thought about it...the only noises I’d really heard were when she was out of the room. But things like that always happened when I was left alone with her.”

I cock my head to the side, confused. It was the only time I’d ever been aware of something bad happening. “What do you mean?”

“She would just always play these sick games. She used to steal things from me, school assignments I’d been working on, lunch money you’d given me. Tore pages from my library books. I could never catch her—but I did see her spitting in my drink sometimes. I always volunteered to set the table so she wouldn’t have the opportunity. One night when we needed to cook dinner...” He glances at me, aware that he’s calling Darren out for being too drunk to do it, and me for not being there to help. I nod, dread filling my gut. He needs to say it. “Well, I put the colander in the sink like she asked, and she poured the pasta water right onto my hand.” I remember that burn, the way he whimpered at the pain in his sleep. Darren had said it was a clumsy accident and left it at that. He’d had no idea, had he? “And it was her who tore all the heads off her dolls. But she blamed it on me, and you were so angry... I couldn’t sleep, knowing you were mad at me. That’s why I tried to tape the heads back on.”

Hudson was quiet a moment, staring at the lines in his palms. “The breakin wasn’t the first time she’d locked me in the closet. She used to lock me in there for hours and hours when she babysat me. I’d scream and claw at the door, but it didn’t matter. She’d leave me there, sometimes the whole time you and Dad were gone.”

I shiver, thinking about the scratch marks. Those were Hudson’s? I feel sick. Reaching out, I touch his hand. Maybe if I’d been home and present more, I would’ve noticed. Surely his hands were bruised or bloody. Then again, his hands often were. He played rough. Most likely, if I did notice, I chalked it up to him being a playful child. I’d never have guessed the truth. Who would? “I wish you’d have told me back then.”

“I couldn’t.” He shakes his head firmly. “It was when I’d threaten to tell on her that she’d lock me in. She promised that things would be worse for me if I did tell.” His gaze meets mine. “I believed her.”

I don’t blame him. I stare out my bedroom door and see a hint of metal, the hook and latch hanging from the door frame.

“I did tell Dad once. Not everything, just that Kendra picked on me. He didn’t take me very seriously. Just told me that sometimes older siblings did that, and I should just try to get along with my sister. He must have said something to her, though, because a week later, Chompers was dead.”

Oh, god.

Chompers.

Once again, I’d had it wrong. All my memories were backwards. The hamster. The headless dolls. Even him strangling Kendra looked different in light of this new information. I’d want to strangle someone, too, if they’d tortured and bullied me all those years.

I think about the nights recently when I’d found him curled up on the couch. Had he been afraid of being in his room? Maybe the memories were too much for him.

“I’m so sorry that your dad didn’t take you seriously,” I say, suddenly furious with Darren, even though I have no right to be. I might have reacted the same way. Lord knows that Darren was more attentive than I was.

Silently, he nods.

“I know he meant well, though. He probably just didn’t understand the scope of it,” I say.

“No one did,” he says. “Sometimes even I underestimated her.” Swallowing hard, he lowers his gaze to the floor. His eyes are sad. “If I hadn’t, then Heather would still be alive.”

“What?” I sit up straighter, my heart pounding in my chest.

He sighs, picking at a tear in his jeans. “Heather had been over at our house one afternoon. We were doing homework and shit, and when she left, there was this note folded up neatly on my bed, right under where her backpack had been. Curiosity got the better of me, and I read it. It was a note between Heather and some guy, and it was, like, really dirty. A lot dirtier than she ever got with me. And I was pissed.”