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To Bleed, Chapter 8 |
| Written by Chelsea DeCarlo | |
| Wednesday, 23 July 2008 | |
 In the morning, Nancy awoke to find her 13 year old daughter at the kitchen table. Her daughter wouldn't even look at her. Katherine hated her, she could feel it. She needed to explain herself, but didn't know how. "Good morning," she said softly. Katherine rose and walked to the sink without glancing Nancy's way. She stalked off upstairs, and Nancy had hoped she wasn't going into Emily's room. She didn't want anyone touching what was left of her daughter. She paused, then proceeded to follow Katherine up the stairs and down the hall to Katherine's open door. But before she walked in, something about Emily's room became apparent to her. This was where her daughter died. She was unsettled about being anywhere near it, but looked inside anyway. It was depressing. Usually Emily's music was on or the steady pattern of the keyboard filled the small space. Now it was empty, it belonged to no one. "Don't go in there," Katherine said from her own doorway. Nancy seized the oppurtunity. "I need to talk to you. I want to explain. Can you at least grant me that?" Katherine pondered her mother's offer, then came to a quick decision. "No. There's no need to explain," Katherine's cold eyes were smoldering, "I have a few questions though, you can answer them." She walked into her room and sat on the bed. Nancy chose the desk chair, and waited for Katherine's interrogation. "Well, ask me anything you want." Nancy said simply. "When did it start?" Katherine wasted no time. "I'm not sure. Your father denied everything, and I never had the courage to talk to Emily. I thought it would bring up bad memories." Katherine thought carefully about how to word her next question. "Did you ever have any suspicions?" Katherine didn't know what she wanted this answer to be. "No. I trusted him," Nancy said, her eyes told Katherine that this was very painful for Nancy to think about. "Did you believe Emily?" This was the question Nancy was hoping she could dodge. "I wasn't sure," "Bullshit. You know who you believed. Tell me," Katherine said icily. Nancy was taken aback by her daughter's vocabulary, but knew she would never be able to punish her again for anything. She felt too guilty. "I believed your father, but I was naive. Emily was small, and your father could manipulate anyone. He manipulated me, too. But as time went on, I realized Emily was being honest, but I was afraid it was too late to help her." Nancy sighed. "That's it." Katherine said. This was her mother's cue to leave her alone. "Okay. If you have any questions, just ask. I have to go to New York for a couple weeks, but after that I'm going to be home for a while. I promise." Nancy left the room, and Katherine was left to her thoughts. She had believed her father. She was awestruck that any woman would leave their child on their own like that. She was suddenly very happy her father was gone. He didn't deserve death, though, he deseved to rot in thought until he was sick with guilt. He deserved the same punishment as Emily.
That night, Katherine heard her mother's heels hit the tile as she walked out the front door and to the black jaguar that was waiting for her. She was alone again, and suddenly felt worse than before about living in this house. Where did her father do this? Everything in her house now was untouchable and contaminated in some way. Nothing was clean, and she saw filth everywhere. She walked into her mother's bedroom and saw the dresser, the bed, the nightstand, and the door to the big bathroom with the jacuzzi tub. She never went in there. She never dared before. Behind the white door was the same bathroom she remembered. It hadn't changed. There was the tub, the sinks, the toilet, and finally, the shower. Katherine became enraged and sad all at the same time. She ripped down the shower curtain and threw it on the floor. She walked out of the bathroom and went to the dresser and rifled through it. She found her father's clothes and started throwing them around the room. Why was her mother keeping his memory alive? He should have died the day he killed himself, and yet he was here, always. Katherine did the same with the closet as she did with the dresser, and soon all of her father's things were scattered over the floor. She couldn't hold back the tears. She was infuriated, but she couldn't help remembering the good memories she had with her father. She wanted them to go away, though. There was nothing good about that man. She wished he wasn't her father. She stalked out of her parents bedroom and walked into the kitchen. There was a family portrait on the wall. She couldn't help herself. She took it off the wall and took a step back. She raised it above her head with both hands and threw it down with all the force she had left in her. It smashed, and the frame cracked. The only thing wrong was that the picture was still there, relatively unmarked. She took it to the bottom drawer and pulled out a matchbook. She lit it up right there in the kitchen, and watched it burn on the marble tile. The marble wouldn't catch fire, and right now she really didn't care. It turned black and reduced to embers. Katherine smiled, and proceeded to burn every picture in the house with her father in it after she took the batteries out of the smoke detector. The only picture she had a problem with was her mother's wedding photo. She had always loved this picture, they were smiling, and her mother was radiant. She decided to just put it face down in the drawer instead of getting rid of it. She felt better, like a weight was lifted. There were bare spots on the walls, and so she decided to hang pictures of Emily, smiling and laughing as she once was. This was how she wanted her to be remembered. The picture episode lasted almost two hours, though, and now Katherine needed a drink. This time, she drank two glasses, because one just wasn't enough anymore. She didn't want to remember the conversation with her mother, and she wanted to drown out her father completely. Once she had some alcohol in her, she would feel much, much better. She always did.
Nancy got off the airplane, and immediately started to sweat. Just the anticipation of the heat made her hot. She got her plain black suitcase from baggage claim and walked out to retrieve a taxi. The company would send the car to her hotel, but not the airport. It was extremely inconvenient. Nancy hated sitting in the back of a stranger's car in a strange city. It made her uneasy. But as always, she got to her resort in one piece, and checked in succesfully. The hotal had three grand fireplaces and a shiny black piano, with a marble staircase that wound around the entire lobby. They never ceased to amaze her with their architecture. It was absolutely breath taking. The room was no disappointment, either. The company had booked her the penthouse, with complimentary room service and her own balcony and hot tub. There was champagne by the schedule, and she popped the cork as she read when she had to be downstairs. The meeting was on Roosevelt Street at nine the next morning. She had plenty of time. She changed into her bathing suit and sipped her champagne in the hot tub over looking the city's bright lights. Her mind cleared, and she felt so much better. None of her worries could reach her, not on this balcony. She was completely free. Copyright 2008 Chelsea DeCarlo |
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| Last Updated ( Thursday, 24 July 2008 ) |
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