I listened through the ruckus of Magic’s doggy detective-work. I stopped a couple of metres back from the bathroom, took a breath and listened to the bath tap drip onto that rusty stain. I tried to think of my dad looking in the mirror each morning, plucking grey hairs from the side of his head as though it would somehow stop more from growing. He would stand back and look at himself, pleased, like he didn’t even see the other 25,000 grey hairs.
I edged forward and peered around the doorframe, a white-knuckle grip on the knife. But Harry was not at the basin. I approached the mouldy shower curtain that was pulled around the bath. I couldn’t remember whether the curtain had been pulled across when I’d checked the bathroom during the night. A lot had happened since then. My hand shook with the knife in it. I wasn’t sure if I had the guts to use it. My teeth chattered quietly.
I reached my left crutch out towards the curtain and my mind flicked through every scary comic I had ever read. I waited for an explosion of human body through curtain or a single deadly shot. Thwack. Pow. Kaboom.
SEVEN
THE VISITOR
There was nothing. Just that rusty-red stain. Drip… drip… drip. I reached into the bath and squeaked the tap hard clockwise, but the drip would not stop.
I moved out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, twisting and turning to look behind the door and flick open the wardrobe. I dropped awkwardly to the floor to see under the bed.
Nobody.
I had checked the entire apartment. I laid the knife on the floor. In a horror comic like Weird Terror or Tales from the Crypt, this was the part where the killer rolled out from nowhere, grabbed the knife and plunged it deep into the victim’s chest.
I picked up the knife and rested it in my lap. As I did, I heard someone bounding up the stairs. I crawled to the bedroom door, dragging my crutches and leg behind me. I peeked out, saw the front door still open and stood awkwardly, leaning against the bedroom doorframe. I crutched across the lounge room, the footsteps still winding their way upwards. I pressed myself against the wall as a shadow appeared on the front door. I took a chance and peered out to see the girl from upstairs – dyed red hair, black sweat pants, black hoodie, white earbuds and an earring up high on her left ear. She looked a year or two older than me.
She saw me and looked startled. I withdrew into the apartment and waited till she had gone by. I peered out again and she looked back at me as she climbed the next flight of stairs. Then she was gone, up the final flight to the sixth floor.
I pushed the door closed. It banged on the jamb and swung open again. The deadlock was lying on the dirty lino of the kitchen floor with splinters of wood still attached to it. I closed it again and rested my forehead against the murky-grey-painted timber.
Why didn’t I ask her if she heard anything? I wondered.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and stared at the screen.
Mum. My heart rose and sank simultaneously. What would I say? She would expect a message back right away. Otherwise she would call and I couldn’t have that. I was tired and confused and scared, and I would tell her everything. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want her to have to save me.
My mother had honed the fine art of over-parenting me from a distance. When I was little she only worked three days a week at the hospital, but when I was in second grade she said that we needed more money. So she started doing five, sometimes six days, mostly in Emergency, which meant that they asked her to stay back if there was a car accident or some other big event. She couldn’t afford to say no. I used to like going to my cousins’ house while she was at work but, lately, it felt like she was hardly ever at home or awake when I was. Sometimes early shifts, sometimes late. But, even though she wasn’t physically at home, she always seemed to be there looking over my shoulder – texting and calling, checking in, knowing what I was doing before I knew. I clicked on the message.
Morning Sammy. Did you
sleep well?
Sammy. I had told her about using that name. I wondered how I could answer honestly without telling her that I had witnessed a possible murder, that the perpetrator was after me and that my father was missing. Sometimes mothers needed to be protected from small pieces of disturbing information.
Morning Lisa.
Bit restless
Not exactly a lie, I figured.
Don’t call me Lisa.
Don’t call me Sammy
You’ll be home tomorrow.
I’ve missed you. I’m sorry
I let you go.
I know. You told me that.
It’s okay
I didn’t think I had any
choice.
It’s okay
I’m a terrible mother.
No you’re not
Well he’s a terrible father
and I’m a terrible mother for
letting you stay
with him.
I know Mum. You’ve told me that
before too
Many times, I wanted to add, but I didn’t.
ok
‘ok’ was Mum-speak for ‘I’m sad that you seem to be enjoying yourself so much and sorry I said anything’. The short, lower-case answer came with an invisible sad-face emoji. I felt bad. My mum was an emotional wreck. Probably because of me. She was a good person. She did everything for me. Why did I have to upset her all the time? And the truth was that I really hadn’t been enjoying myself so much. Even before Harry went out for milk. I hadn’t told her about him working every day, being late every night, about how impatient he’d been with all my questions, and about him being old and distant and smelling slightly weird.
Take your magnesium.
She thought magnesium would solve everything – my jumpy legs, stomach pains, anxiety, inexplicable rage and ‘very poor decision-making’. So far, only the jumpy legs had been cured. I went over to the bed, my leg howling in pain now that the tide of adrenaline had gone out. I flopped down, reached into my backpack, grabbed a small brown glass bottle of magnesium, shook a couple of tablets out into my hand and chewed them.
Just took some
Good boy.
‘Good boy’ was another thing I had banned her from saying, especially in front of my friends. Mum wanted me to be four years old forever. She had, so far, chosen to ignore the hairs poking from my chin. There were only three of them but I was letting them grow out. There was no way she hadn’t seen them. If I pressed my chin to my chest in the bath they were really spiky.
Are you looking forward to
your party? Lachie’s mum
messaged me to say he
could come.
I had forgotten about my party. It wasn’t really a party. Just friends coming over to play video games and watch movies.
Yep. Great
Bye teenager.
Bye little old lady
Watch it.
I squeezed my phone into my pocket and spent a few minutes wrestling a heavy armchair up against the front door, hopping on my good leg. I shoved the coffee table behind the armchair for extra protection and stood back, assessing my work.