Hide Says Toc, Run Says Tic

by Carrie Pålsson

"Jessie?" Amanda's small voice was barely a whisper.

"Yes, hon?" I answered, not much louder. I had my hand at the ready, prepared to cover her mouth if need be.

"I'm so tired, Jessie. I just want to go to bed." Her words broke my heart.

"Me too, Mandy, me too," I whispered, happy that the darkness covered the tears that had welled up in the corner of my eyes, unbidden.

There was silence for two minutes, maybe three. I held Mandy close against me, trying to infuse some of my strength into her tiny little body. Or maybe I was trying to steal some of her innocence.

"Jessie?" She whispered again.

"Shhhhh," I soothed her forehead with the palm of my hand. "They'll be asleep soon. I promise."

"I hate them, Jessie. I hate them!" Amanda's tone shocked me. I hated them too, but I was older and knew I should. I knew the full horror. I thought she had been spared the worst of it, but I should have realized that though I did everything in my power to protect her, she was still a victim just as much as I was.

"One day, Mandy, one day soon, we'll be gone," I told the familiar story that always got us through the nights of hiding. "One day we're going to get on a bus and leave this place forever. Remember Aunt Joanne?"

"The one who sends Christmas cards with the picture of baby Jesus every year?" Mandy asked, as always, keeping her part of the litany.

"That's the one. Anyone who sends Christmas cards with a picture of Jesus has to be a good person. When we get enough money we're going to get on a bus and go and find her. She'll take care of us. She'll make sure no one ever hurts us again. She'll be surprised to see us, of course." My heart pounded as I told the story, hoping that our luck would hold and Leonard would pass out before his rage took him up the stairs and into the attic. It was my most fervent wish that tonight would be one of the good nights, the nights our mother seemed to have a spark of maternal instinct and didn't climb the stairs for him and suss out our hiding spot. We'd been lucky for the past month and they hadn't discovered the dusty old trunk could be unlocked and hold two girls. When our luck ran out there would be hell to pay.

"She'll be happy though, right?" Mandy's voice sounded hopeful. "She's nice, right? She'll even give us ice cream sometimes, maybe?"

I had no idea if she'd be happy or not, but the story was the only thread of hope that Mandy had. It was her lifeline, and mine, though I was old enough to know our plan was fraught with risks that would most likely lead us into a system I instinctively knew we must avoid at all costs. "Of course, she'll be happy. She doesn't have any children of her own and always wanted us to come live with her. She just couldn't tell mom or dad. You'd know what they'd do if they found out."

"Probably kill her," Mandy broke the litany and added a tenor of terror to the once-calming story. So much for hopeful innocence. She was supposed to answer, "Move and not leave a forwarding address."

I took a deep breath, unsure what to do about this deviation from the routine.

"Maybe," I finally agreed. "They are evil, evil people. They'd do anything. But they won't find us. They'll never think to look for us at Aunt Joanne's. I don't think they even remember her. You know they never look at the Christmas cards."

"They might," Mandy was shivering.

"What's the matter, Mandy? Did something happen that you didn't tell me about?" We never kept secrets. Secrets would lead to more pain.

The walls of the house shook as Leonard or Brandy committed some act of violence upon the house we'd lived in for the past three years. We could hear a storm of footsteps directly beneath us, heavy from someone running. I wondered if this might be the night they finally killed each other.

A child shouldn't wish for her parents to kill each other in some grisly murder-suicide scenario that would curl the toes of the most dedicated true-crime fans.

A child shouldn't need to send up desperate prayers that she and her sister are not a part of that grisly scene.

A child shouldn't have to live the way Mandy and I have always lived.

Mandy's body was trembling against mine as the sounds of violence escalated from below. I could feel her heart beat clearly, as fragile and fast as a small bird's heart beat.

There was yelling, of course. There was always yelling. Silence was more frightening. Silence meant they remembered we existed and were stealthily making their way through the house, looking for us. I often wonder if they had children specifically to torment or if they actually thought they might love a child one day. I listen to all the girls in school decry abortion and want to tell them it might be a kinder answer if the parents are psychotic. Of course, I can never say that to the girls. The pretty, popular girls. The sincere, religious girls. The smart girls. The unpopular girls. The girls who have never had evil lay a hand on the smalls of their backs and breathe the stench of foulness on the napes of their necks. They'd think I was crazy and someone might say something to someone. Mandy and I might be separated. We are sisters. We can not be separated. I won't allow it.

"You're a God damned whore and I want you out of my house!" Leonard's voice was clearer than I'd heard it in weeks. He didn't sound drunk. This didn't bode well for us.

Brandy's voice was a muffled siren of protest, the words too frantic and fast to make out.

"Jessie?" Mandy whispered.

"I'm here, hon, I'm here. It will be ok," I lied. This was beginning to sound an awful lot like the last time they found us. I couldn't let that happen, not again.

"He touched me, Jessie. In my privates."

I felt the breath leave my body and my stomach turn to stone. My heart stopped beating and the blood drained from my face. I made sure she was never alone with him. Never. I can take it. She is only six.

"Oh, Mandy," I smoothed her arm, "I'm so sorry." The words stuck in my throat, so inadequate in expressing my utmost sorrow and shame that I hadn't protected her well enough. "I didn't think that would happen. I really didn't. We have to leave here. We have to get out."

"He came to school, Jessie. He told them I had to go to the doctor. I cried and told them I wasn't sick, but no one ever believes me. They think parents never lie. They don't know." Amanda was right, they don't know. How can they know when I've taken every step to cover it up? I thought I'd have at least another year before this happened, another year to plan our escape together. I would have had enough money to get us out of here by then.

"He will never do it again, Mandy." I steeled my voice and my resolve. "I promise."

I sent up prayers to the God I so often cursed for abandoning us. I begged him to allow me to keep my promise, but the feeling in my bones, the instinct that had kept us alive through some of the most horrendous of nights, was telling me it was hopeless. Things were going to happen tonight. The screams below were subsiding, but I'd heard our names mentioned, which was never a good sign. I hadn't heard the squeak of the stairs yet, but it was coming.

My mind whirled with plots and plans. We needed money and warm clothes and maybe even food. Twelve-year-olds can't get jobs. Warm clothes would mean a trip out of the attic down to the first floor. They would see us and it would all be over.

A shot blasted through the chaos of the night, sending a scream from Mandy's lips. They had to have heard it. We had to make a break for it even if it meant hunger and cold. Even if it meant separation.

"Mandy, you must be very, very quiet. We're leaving." I made the decision and we were going to do it. Mandy couldn't be hurt anymore.

I slowly lifted the lid of the trunk and peered out into the darkness.

All I could hear were screams of pain from my mother. Maybe someone would call 911 and this would all be over, but I wanted to be well away from the house if police officers and EMTs swarmed the house. They would separate us and I'd heard stories about foster homes. If we were separated I couldn't protect Mandy from any of the new horrors that might await a young girl in a temporary shelter.

I tip-toed across the attic, urging Mandy to be as quiet as possible. We had only thin slippers and our crisp, white nightgowns, but that would have to be enough. With the screams from downstairs I was sure we could at least get out of the attic, but I would never feel safe being this exposed when Leonard was on a shooting rampage.

Another shot boomed an interruption to my thoughts. My mother's screaming became an even higher pitched keening then slowly ended.

Mandy looked at me in the dark and I knew she knew. Brandy had to be dead or hurt very badly. We would be next if I didn't do something.

There was a small window in the attic, small enough for under-fed girls like us. I hated being so skinny. The other girls called me "Sticks" and "Olive Oyl." They had no idea that words could never hurt me. My thinness would serve me well, but there was still the matter of being two stories off the ground.

I went first and managed to get a decent hold on the drain pipe while digging my feet into some sort of hole that was perfectly placed for this ill-conceived escape attempt. I pulled Mandy out with me and we shimmied to the ground, the drain pipe creaking in protest while our white nightgowns whipped around us in the wind. We must have looked like ghosts, leaving a house so full of evil that those who haunted it were forced to flee.

My heart was pounding, but we seemed to have made it by the grace of the God who so often abandoned us.

Then I turned around.

Someone was watching from the bushes. Someone big. Someone who looked an awfully lot like Leonard.

Mandy screamed just as I heard sirens sounding in the distance. He fired a shot straight at us, but I pulled Mandy to the ground and it missed. She was crying. There was no way to sneak out now.

"You ruined my life!" He bellowed. "You and your whore of a mother!"

My teeth were chattering but I didn't say anything. Where were the neighbors? Why didn't someone help us? Why had no one ever helped us?

"Get your ass over here, Mandy," he screamed, "now." The "now" was ice cold. I knew what he wanted.

"It's over, Daddy," I finally found the courage to stand up to him. Rapidly approaching sirens did wonders to bolster my frazzled nerves. "Can't you hear the sirens? They're coming for you!"

He fired his gun again and I swear I felt the swoosh of the shot pass over my head.

"You're mine. Mine. I let that whore have you and now I'm done with her and you. Mandy is all I need." A shot was fired to punctuate his crazed ramblings, again just barely missing.

The sirens had finally reached the house, but no one had made it through to the backyard. It was just the three of us, the last of our dysfunctional family.

Leonard ran toward us, moving faster than I'd ever seen him move before. I had a flash of understanding that this was the end. He'd kill me. At least Mandy would be safe. They'd take him away for murder and Mandy would be safe. Maybe. If her new home was better.

I hugged her, before Leonard reached us, and told her I loved her. I didn't want to wait for my death to descend upon me, but it was too late to run.

Someone rounded the corner of the house but Leonard never saw his defeat coming. He was tackled from behind and thrown to the ground. His shotgun flew forward without firing the shot that would see me dead.

I grabbed Mandy by the hand and ran. Our saviors were occupied. We could hide and find our Aunt Joanne someday.

We hid in the bushes. No one has come for us, yet. Maybe they think we are dead. Maybe we are.