The Mute and the Liar (7 page)

“
You
stay
away
from
my
daughter,
”
he
hissed.
It
wasn’t
my
father’s
voice
that spoke.
It
was
the
hiss
of a
tortured
reptile.

“
Don’t
worry.
Dating
the
daughter
of
the
policeman
that
put
Steve
in
prison?
That
would
be
stupid,
”
the
Ringleader
concluded
confidently,
and
spun
around
on
his
heel
and
took
a
few
steps
away.
Father
nearly
strangled
me as he wrenched me around and marched me to the car.

I
turned
around
to
see
that
the
boy
had
stopped
walking
and
was
now
standing
statue-like
once
more.
We
were
already
quite
distance
away
from
him,
but
I
could
still
hear
him
mutter
quietly
to
himself:
“
Or
maybe
it
wouldn’t be such
a
bad idea.
”

And
I
definitely heard
him
when he called over
his
shoulder:

“
See you...
Alicia.
”

I
tried
to
put
the
whole
encounter
behind
me.
That’s
all
you
can
do
in
these
situations.
Well,
I’m
just
guessing
that.
I’ve
never
been
in
that
kind
of
situation
before.
That’s
a
perk
of
being
silent.
You
don’t
have
to
deal
with
things
like that... usually.

I
just
hung
around
the
shops
until
Father
was
finished,
which
surprisingly
only took
about
half
an
hour.

I
scribble
a
note in
the
notebook.
What
happened?

“
Nothing.
Turns
out
they
already
found the vehicle.
”

By
the time we got
home, I’d forgotten about
earlier. I’d
forgotten how all
my
stuff
was
sprawled
out
on
the
floor
around
me.
No,
I’d
forgotten
how
all
my stuff
was sprawled
out
around
him
.

Everything
hurtled
back
when
I
reached
the
front
door,
searched
in
my
pocket, and couldn’t
find
my
house keys.

24
th
February
2011

I
have
been
worrying
about
the
house
keys
all
week.
I
never
leave
them
or
lose
them.
And
I
swear
they
were
in
my
pocket
when
I
left
the
house
that
day.
I
know
what
must
have
happened
to
them,
but
I’m
trying
not
to
think
about
that.

What
if
he
took
them?

What
if
he
breaks
into
my
house?

I
have
been
so
worried
I
even
convinced
dad
to
stay
home
with
me
yesterday
by
pretending
to
be
ill.
I
still
haven’t
told
him.
I
know
he’ll
overreact
and
do
something
awful.
It
will
be
just
like
that
time
I
stayed
late
at
school
without
telling
him.
He’ll
get
the
police
involved,
then
some
big
search
will
erupt,
and
the
next
thing
I
know
I’ll
be
dragged
out
of
my
detention by
three police
men,
two
teachers
and
a
poodle.

It's best just to
stay
silent.

But
I'm
worrying.
And
bad
things
always
seem
to
follow
worrying.

*****

28
th
February
2011

Of
course
I
thought
something
might
happen.
But
who
could have predicted that
it
was
going
to
be
this?
I
cannot
believe it.

I
am
still
in
shock.
Time
has
been
suspended,
is
travelling
syrup-slow,
is
nothing.
I
cannot
even
describe what
happened.
How
did
this
even
happen?

Everything
was
so
painfully normal
up
until
now.
I
went
to
school.
I
went
to
all
my
classes.
I
listened
to
the
teachers
monotonously
dragging
on.
I
waited
and
waited.
Then
the
bell
finally
went,
and
I
slumped
all
the
way
home.

By
the
time
I
reached
my
street,
I
knew
something
was
wrong.
The
gang
was
all
bunched
together...
Right
outside
my
house.
One
of
them
noticed
me
and
swore.
This
alerted
the
others,
and
they
all
swivelled
their
shaved
or
brightly
dyed
heads
around.
They all started
cursing
and
scuttled
away.

Well,
that
wasn't
exactly
a
good
sign.

But
what
terrified
me
was
when
I
was
about
to
unlock
the
door.
I
lifted
the
key,
but
as
I
was
about
to
put
it
in
the
lock,
the
door
creaked
open
a
little.
It was already
unlocked.

Normally,
I
might
have
thought
it
just
meant
dad
had
come
home
early.
But
he
has
never
left
the
front
door
open,
and
he
never
will.
Being
so
high
up
in
the
police
force
and
dealing
with
all
these
crimes
means
he's
always
worrying,
always
preparing.
So
neurotic.
He
thinks
about
every
possible
dangerous
situation
that
could
spiral
from
the
smallest
event.

He
never
forgets
to
shut
the
door.
It's
exactly
the
opposite
–
he
always
remembers
to
lock
it,
bolt
it
twice,
and put it on
a
latch.
So that
meant
that
s
omeone
else
was
in my
house.

I ran
in,
bracing myself
for the worst, expecting a
huge
parade
of
gangsters
stampeding
through
my
house,
chucking
cigarettes
and
beer
bottles
everywhere.
For
a
moment,
it
seemed
like
everything
was
fine.
Everything
looked
normal.

But then
I
heard
it.
Rustling.

Someone
was
downstairs.

It
felt
like
my
heart
had
stopped.
The
air
around
me
tightened
and
pulled
right
through
me,
suffocating
me.
I
dropped
my
school
bag
on
the
floor
and
hugged
this
notebook
against
my
chest,
feeling
that
if
I
didn’t
hold
onto
something
I
would
faint.

Still
holding
the
notebook,
I
crept
into
my
living
room
and
grabbed
the
first
lethal item
I
could
see:
a
potted cactus.

Shakily,
I
stumbled
down
the
stairs,
half
tiptoeing,
and
half
tripping.
Something
fluttered
in
my
stomach,
and
I
felt
strangely
weightless.
My
heart
was
racing
ahead
of
the
rest
of
my
body,
and
my
clammy
hands
were
trembling.
I
was
terrified,
but
at
the
same
time
I
was
shivering
with
excitement.
Crimes
never
happen
here.
And
nothing
interesting
ever
happens
to
me.

And now someone had
broken into my house.

With one
powerful
blow,
I
slammed
open
the
door
leading
to
the
kitchen.