THE NEXT NIGHT AS I’M heading to have a little one-on-one Taser/zip-tie conversation with Aisha, Victor announces, “Wait right there. We’re going to church tonight.”
Daisy, Justin, and I all look at each other. I can’t remember the last time we went to church, and, clearly, neither can my brother and sister.
I hold up my book bag. “I was heading to—”
“No, you’re not. There’s a service tonight. Thirty minutes,” he tells us, and heads into his room to get ready.
I don’t disguise my aggravated sigh.
Forty-five minutes later we’re walking into McLean Worship Center. It’s packed, and we find seats in the church equivalent of the nosebleed section. No one spares us a glance, and I find the anonymity comforting.
The sermon is on breaking free from the past. I chance a quick look up at heaven. Did God know I was going to be here today?
The minister is saying, “As we focus and put on our new self, we will obtain freedom from that which has shackled us. Colossians . . .”
Freedom from that which has shackled us. Why didn’t I see this before? I need to release my mom and my dad. I need to say good-bye and let their ghosts go.
All these childhood memories I’ve been having. Taking my energies out on that cheerleader and that freshman. Freezing up with Jacks. Being taken off guard by Aisha. I’ve lost my focus. I need to get it back.
Officially saying good-bye to my parents is the key to regaining my equilibrium and purpose.
The sermon continues and I listen intently. Maybe this church thing isn’t so bad after all. By nine o’clock we’re back home, and I go straight to my room.
I clear it of anything that is connected to my mom. The necklace she gave me when I was ten, the books she bought me at twelve, and the souvenirs she picked up when on business trips. Everything I can find, I gather it and put it in box.
I crank up my laptop and delete every picture and every file of not only her as my mom, but the Decapitator as well. I don’t ever want to see anything again.
When I come downstairs, Victor shoots me a look. “Where are you going?”
I hold the box up. “My lab partner texted me that he needs this stuff. Mind if I make a quick run?”
He nods. “Okay, be safe.”
“I will.” I stop. Now would be a good time to ask. “Did you ever clear out Mom’s personal stuff from her locker?” If he did, I could dispose of it, too.
“No.”
I nod. I know it’s hard on him. I’ll be patient.
He sighs. “But I will. This week. I promise.”
“Take your time,” I encourage him, and he gives me a relieved smile.
I’m out the door and driving to a gas station to fill up an empty gallon container. I jump on the toll road and go straight to where it all started—4 Buchold Place in Herndon.
I sit in the yard for a few seconds remembering when I came here with my mom. She walked through the house with me, acting all normal, knowing what she and my father had done here. Knowing what they made me watch. What they made me participate in.
Anger rolls through me, heating me to a boil, making my jaw clench and my breath come slower, deeper.
I hate her. I hate him. I hate what they did to me. What they made me become.
I throw my door open, stalk to the house, and use my keys to let myself in. I go straight to the room where they killed my preschool teacher and stand in the center, panting now, seething, allowing the raging fury in. To take over.
I toss the box of mementos down, saturate the whole room with gas from the container, and open the window.
I charge straight out the front door, pull a lighter from my pocket, flick it, lock it, and throw it in through the ajar window. The room erupts in flames, and my pulse deepens to a thick thud.
I stand for a second, watching, soaking the heat into my face as the flames cleanse me. Renew me. I am my parents’ daughter. I am a killer. But I am nothing like them. Nor will I ever be. I will not carry on their twisted legacy.
I am me. I am justified.
A siren pierces the air and I move, not even glancing back as I pull away. I don’t have enough time to fit an Aisha visit in, so I drive straight home to find Daisy waiting in my room.
“I’m ready to ‘part ways,’ ” she tells me.
“Excuse me?”
She laughs a little and it reminds me of the old Daisy. “I’m ready to be a big girl again. I’m moving back into my room. And I’m going to start eating lunch with my friends again. No more bugging you.”
“You weren’t bugging me,” I fib.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I was.”
I smile. “Well, just don’t go back to being a bitch.”
Daisy gives me a playful punch.
“Hey!”
And then she wraps her arms around me. “I love you, Lane.”
I hug her back, harder than I recall ever hugging her before. “I love you, too.”
She heads out and I sit on the edge of my bed. It seems that sermon did us all some good.
Victor knocks on my door.
“Come in.”
He hands me a business card. “Listen, I know you don’t like Dr. Depof. So I’m hereby giving you permission to not go anymore.”
I almost fall over in shock, but glance at the business card instead. “What’s this?”
“It’s a group thing. Thought you might like that better. If you go, it’d be just you going, no family. It’s a mixture of people who have lost loved ones.”
Yes, but is it a mixture of people who have killed their loved ones? “Do you want me to go?”
“I would very much like that, but I’ll leave the ultimate decision up to you.”
I look up into his caring eyes and see how much this means to him. “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
He smiles, and my heart relaxes at his relief. “Good night, then.”
“Good night, Dad.”
He turns back. “I really love it when you call me Dad. Thank you for that.”
Mom always insisted I call him Victor. She was adamant he was my stepfather. I never realized it until now, but I bet that hurt him. And it gives me one more reason to despise her.
From now on I will always call Victor Dad. Because the truth is, he’s more of a parent than my real ones ever were.