II

There was no blood, no cries or screams. But it was neither clean nor swift.

I could not see her face from the small opening under the door, but I saw her struggle. I saw her fingers, small and fragile. Nails painted in bright red – grown-up red.

It must’ve been a dream, I thought. Wanted to hide behind the tall gate of unconsciousness. I locked it away, buried the keys in the depths of my mind.

I was naïve to think that’d be enough.

The gate would begin to crack, sooner or later.

The next morning, deep down, I expected police sirens all around the block. I thought someone would at least look or ask.

Nothing. A vacuum. A perfectly silent day.

Everything was normal on my way to school, then the same once I got there, and at home. Slowly, silence was feeding on me, corroding the I gate had built. Silence meant there was no need to worry, no need to offer comfort or explanation.

Then it was his eyes that stopped looking at me.

Day after day, questions, unanswered, drilled into my skull. It was all silence, everywhere. Months went by, the gate turned only a few bricks tall. You could easily see whatever I’d sealed behind and how eager it was to come out.

When it finally did, I decided I would no longer wait for answers – I would look for my own.

I woke up once late in the night to the repeated claps of thunder. I remember the feeling still. I remember the sound shaking my bones. Raindrops hailing, knocking on my window like rocks. The red rear light of his car colouring my ceiling. I couldn’t hear him close the car door, nor could I hear him enter: such levels of quietness could only be achieved deliberately.

I kept my eyes closed and breathing steady. I did not see him, but I felt his presence. I His eyes focused on me, making up tenfold for the time they’d ignored me during the day.

‘What’s going on?’ I heard my mom say. ‘Look at you, you’re all wet. Where were you?’

He groaned. ‘Somebody left the garage open.’

Her tone softened as if admitting her mistake. ‘Come on. Get yourself warm.’

I had closed the garage earlier that day.

I had no sleep that night. A part of me was spiraling, unsure what to make of this situation. Another excited, looking for clues or evidence. Perhaps he’d forget something in his pockets, maybe I should check the car trunk…

Rain slowed down, the wind went quieter and the sun began to rise. The car engine started; he was leaving, taking away my evidence.

I bolted downstairs; by the time I was outside, however, I could only see the back of the car disappearing into the horizon.

Lost, I stared into the void in the ground between my feet. My eyes widened at something that hadn’t been here before. An anomaly – evidence. The ground was muddy, right where his car was parked, far from any dirt. The mud must have been rinsed from his car at night.

It did not tell me much, but it was something. It told me to look beyond the comfort of the city, beyond roads and pavement, out where sludge stole footing. I ran dramatically towards my room, things had looked far… dreamier, sillier at the time.

Perhaps because of the lack of sleep, halfway through the stairs, I felt my weight lean towards my back. Time slowed as I fell, face up, staring at the ceiling like an abstract sea of stars.

Consciousness mercifully left my body, saving me the pain of the impact.

‘It’s just a fever. No need to worry.’ A doctor – a short and fit lady – comforted my parents as she pushed them outside with finality in her voice and demeanour. She remained still for one last second – practically hugging the door – before turning to me, smiling, still, yet less relaxed and confident.

‘Hey, Veronika.’ She summoned my attention. Her skin was dark and clear, the kind that either had all or nothing to hide. ‘My name’s Brynn.’

She paused, waiting for me to affirm. I nodded.

She then continued in her very slow and clear accentuated speech. ‘Just making sure you’re with me, can you tell me how many fingers you see.’

Three. Five. None.

‘Fantastic, you’re doing good. You’re in a clinic right now, do you know why?’

I shook my head.

‘You hit your head when you fell down the stairs – no need to worry, though.’

There was more, her silence was not complete.

‘You said some… things when you were asleep.’

My eyes widened, I did not wonder what I’d said as much as I wondered how much of it. I gulped, ‘I—’

‘I deleted the recordings…’ she interrupted. ‘Don’t be scared. The camera is turned off right now too. I just want you to talk to me.’

‘Why?’ Why delete the potentially damning evidence of what he’d done? Why allow yourself to listen to someone’s secrets when they’re most vulnerable? Why give me such a chance?

‘That man’s your daddy, right?’

The question felt more like an answer than anything she could’ve said. I was sick, fevered, only half of the things I saw were real and most importantly, silence was gnawing my bones. I stood no chance.

I told her everything, which, at that point, still wasn’t much. Any mature adult in their right mind would make nothing of a stupid dream and some mud on the ground. But Brynn listened. In hindsight, that must have been the wrong thing to do.

After that, there was some small chatter between the two of us, the kind easiest to forget. She managed to bring a smile back to my face, which at the time felt weird; some of those muscles had gone numb.

Brynn then opened the door for my parents who had been bored in the waiting room. Mom walked in first, visibly disparate to hear my voice – one last confirmation that I was indeed alive. Father next, a paper cup – steamy with the smell of fresh coffee – in hand. His eyes preyed Brynn as she exited the room.

Far away in my sleeping mind, an idea was born – a possibility: what if he knew?

I stayed at the clinic for three more days during which nobody could contact Brynn.

On the morning of the fifth day, he came to take me home. It was a silent car trip. Myself from a week ago would have spent it scanning the seats and corners. Instead, I looked at the window, answered only when addressed. My fear kept me from facing the man sitting to my left.

From the car to the stairs to my bedroom. I locked the door and crammed my face into a pillow. I screamed. As hard as I could. No. Harder.

My fingers clawed into my scalp; my hands pressed my head as if to hold it in place or keep it from splitting in half.

My legs shook frantically as I repeated ‘No! No! Please.’ I might’ve said something else, but it was buried in the gurgling sound of saliva filling my throat. My salty tears were accompanied with a metallic taste. Blood was pleasing to see, it was a message from my body, a validation of my actions. Most importantly, a proof that I was truly in pain.

This time, there was no escape. Time refused to move and relieve me. The gates of unconsciousness and slumber refused to open for me. This was my jail – the punishment for my own sins. Brynn was dead, and it was because of me. Because I couldn’t handle silence. Even as the child I was, mundane objects in the room rose as candidates for the tool I would use to end my misery. But fear and hesitation stood in the way.

At last, I went silent. Not gradually, but instantly. No panting or hiccupping, no whining or sniffing. All got reduced to one low growl before evocating a deep silence. The same silence I hated so much, the same that got Brynn’s blood on my hands.

I stood up, unlocked the door and headed to the bathroom with efficiency. I dampened my face and stared down the beast in the mirror. My hair was a mess; I brushed that first.

I spotted my mom at the edges of my field of vision. I faced her with the best smile I could draw on my face at the time. Things were not going to be fine, but they were going to be different.