Amy Chelsea Stacie Dee (18 page)

I sat so still, I was almost frozen into stone.

“You haven't changed, have you?” he said. He was looking me right in the eyes. I noticed that his deer-brown eyes weren't ugly. They weren't all that different from my eyes. I must have noticed that before, but he had never looked at me, not this way.

I had changed a lot. But I didn't want him to notice that.

“Chelsea, you're beautiful, too,” he said. “You're really the mother of these children. Our children.”

I took this chance to look at Lola, to watch her moving the letters around into shapes rather than words.

“We'd all be lost without you,” he said. He pulled his hand back, and I was still, hoping, praying he would look away. And he did.

“I'm doing my best,” I said.

“I want to marry Stacie,” he said. “When she's eighteen, we'll go into town and do it. We'll get the certificate. Rings and everything.”

He was going to take her into town?
What about us?
I thought. What if we all went into town together, and what if I could get the girls away? Would Stacie come? Would she understand the chance we had?

“You can take care of the girls, when we go,” he said. “You'll do that, won't you? Let us have our little honeymoon?” There were still tears in his eyes, the tears over how Stacie wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't look at him, didn't want him. But he believed he would marry her, and the truth was, he would, because she would have no choice. Unless she was beyond caring what threats he used. Unless she didn't care about me anymore, or the kids. But even though she kept her face to the wall and cried and screamed, I thought there was still a part of her that cared. I couldn't believe that she was one hundred percent gone. He would threaten us, and she would go.

What if we left while they were gone? What if we left Stacie with him? Would he kill her? Maybe he wouldn't realize what was happening until it was too late. Maybe we could get the cops here before they got back, and we could save her.

“I can watch the kids,” I said.

•   •   •

For the next two years, I waited for Stacie to turn eighteen. I thought about Kyle's plan. I realized that Stacie's name wasn't Stacie, and she couldn't prove who she was or that she was eighteen at all. Kyle celebrated Stacie's birthday every year as the day he took us, June 13. He didn't even know her real birthday. The judge in town probably wouldn't marry them. But Kyle didn't seem to think of that. He didn't tell Stacie what he was planning. But he would talk to me about it, any chance he got.

“You can fix this dress, can't you?” he said to me. Stacie was down by the river this time, and we were inside. Lola
and Barbie were playing on the floor. Lola was using building blocks, and Barbie was basically just knocking down what Lola did. But Lola didn't get mad; instead, she would rebuild her block tower. Lola was a patient little girl, even-tempered, strong. If she could be that way, then so could I.

The dress was pink, of course. It was big enough for Stacie, but it belonged on someone Lola's age. It had frills and puff sleeves. Possibly it had once been a princess costume, before it ended up at a thrift store. He still saw her as a doll, even though she was a mother, and even though as soon as they got married, he was going to start raping her again. Did he think she would suddenly want him if he gave her a ring?

“Of course,” I said. “It will look good as new.” I took the dress from him and looked it over. I would make it the most beautiful dress in the world, if it made him think his plan would work.

He bent over and kissed me on the cheek. It was over before I even realized what happened. He was up and out the door, whistling a little. Going down to the river to see the girl he claimed to love.

“Is that for me?” Lola asked.

“Silly,” I said. “Would this fit you?” I held it up in front of her.

“Make it fit me!” she said.

“This one is for Mommy,” I said.

“Me! Me!” Barbie added.

“Maybe we can find one for you and you,” I said, pointing at each of them. “But not this one.”

“When can Mommy wear it?” Lola asked.

“As soon as I can get it done,” I said. I imagined how Stacie would react. She would either put it on in silence and brood, or she would scream and cry and throw things, and then she would put it on. She would sometimes fight, but she would always lose. Over and over, she had retreated from screams into silence. But this time, it would be different. This time, she would think she had lost, but she would win. I couldn't tell her, risk her freaking out, risk her giving us away. She couldn't handle it, but that was okay. I could handle it for both of us, and this time, we were all going to be free.

Thank God he thinks he loves her, I thought. Now we have a real chance.

•   •   •

And then he told her.

And she hurt them.

And I was able to grab the lamp.

“HOLY SHIT!”
Vinnie cries. “Everyone into the car.” He grabs my arm and pulls me up.

I stand, but I'm a little dizzy. Maybe I'm not as okay as I thought.

Vinnie reaches down for Barbie.

“No! Chel!” Barbie cries.

“I'm okay,” I say. I lift her, and I'm not used to it. I've gotten weaker this past month. But I carry her to the backseat of the car and put her in. I'm aware that little kids are supposed to have car seats; I used to see that on TV. But we don't have any. She'll be all right in there for this one trip, won't she? I don't really know. I don't know anything about taking care of them outside our tiny little world.

Lee is holding Lola's hand, rushing her over to the car.

“Come on, Amy, get in,” Vinnie says. “You can hold the kid on your lap.”

I'm watching Kyle's car come across the intersection. He's
going to get here before we can leave. And there are no cops in sight. After all this talk of calling them, they aren't here.

“Amy, come
on
,” Lee says. She's putting Lola in the backseat on the other side of the car.

“We can't run away from him,” I say.

“Fuck yes, we can,” Vinnie says. “Get in.”

“No, he's already here.”

“Get
in
,” Vinnie says.

Kyle is in the parking lot now. We don't have car seats. We can't race him. We can't get away.

“Shit. Does he have a gun?” Vinnie asks.

Kyle steps out of the car. He flows out of it, his big body seeming to materialize out of the metal. He stands with his head lowered, so his crazy self-cut hair falls over his face.

“No,” I say. He doesn't have a gun. He never had more than a pocketknife. He had his hands and his fists and his size and his threats. How did he do this to us, with nothing but himself? When he lowers his head like that, it means he's sad. It means that he's realized for a few minutes that Stacie doesn't love him back, before he returns to his delusion. It means that he wants something that he doesn't think he can have.

If he doesn't think he can have us, then he will never get us.

I close the door to the backseat, leaving Barbie inside. As I turn, I see that Lee is on the phone again. She must be trying to get the cops here. But I know they won't get here in time. I have to handle this myself.

Vinnie steps out of the car.

“No, get back in,” I say.

“Amy, come on!”

“I know him,” I say.

Vinnie doesn't get back in the car, but he doesn't say anything else either.

I walk forward.

Kyle walks forward.

I don't know what Vinnie does. I can't see anything but Kyle.

Kyle's feet shuffle but still manage to land hard and strong. I feel them on the pavement as they land. But I keep walking. I'm not going to run away this time. This time I'm going to stand up to him. But as we come closer, I look down, too. We're both looking down, and we both realize we're doing it, and we both look up, and our eyes meet.

I brace myself for the blow. But it doesn't come. He reaches his arms out and encircles me, and pulls me in. He holds me against him. My face is pressed against his chest. He is sweating through his long-sleeve T-shirt, but he doesn't stink. He smells familiar, like someone who has been in my life for years, like the familiarity of a father.

I can't pull away. He's too strong. But he can't take me away. Everyone knows where he is now. They all know about the girls. The police are coming. All he can do is kill me. But he won't get to them unless he goes through me. So if he wants to hug me, it's all right. He can hug me for as long as he wants to. He can do anything he wants to me, as long as he doesn't get past me and go to them.

“You can't have them,” he says. His arms pull me even closer, so I can't move at all. I can't speak. “You thought you could have them if you killed her, but you can't.”

I turn my head, pushing against his chest, just enough to get out a few words. “I didn't mean to,” I say.

He releases me from the hug but grabs my arm and pulls me toward the car. I brace myself to fight, to not let him pull me in. When you get in the car, you die. I'm sure that this time it's true. But he doesn't try. Instead, he opens the back door and reaches in, still gripping me with one hand. He pulls out the dress, the princess dress that he thought Stacie would marry him in.

“You want it,” he says. He pushes it into my chest.

Instinctively, I catch it. I don't know what to do with it. She hated it from first sight. She saw it, and she hurt them. She saw it, and there was no hope. But it was for her. It was everything Stacie became. If I drop it, I'll drop everything that's left of her.

He lets my arm go, and I wrap both arms around the dress. But it's empty. My arms come together, and I'm only hugging myself.

“I don't want it,” I say. But I keep holding it.

“It's yours,” he says. “Get them.”

I almost begin to shake my head. He thinks I'm going to get the girls and get in the car with him, and then we're going to go away, all of us. He thinks I'm going to do this voluntarily, even though he doesn't have them, and he doesn't have Stacie. He has no one anymore, and I have no reason to go with him.

He stares at me. His shoulders tense. This is the look he
gets before he hits me. But his head is also angled down. This is the look he gets before he cries.

“We'll tell them you're eighteen,” he says.

The dress slips from my arms. He wants me to marry him. He thinks I'm going to do this. I take a step back, keeping my eyes on him.

He takes a step forward.

Somebody takes my left hand. It's Vinnie. I can feel his height over me.

Barbie and Lola are both crying. Somebody says,
Daddy.
I can't tell which one. They're crying because he's out here and they're not allowed to go. Lee is holding them back. Lola knew enough to be quiet, and to run, but she still wants her daddy. That's why it's the mom who makes decisions, because the child doesn't know who is her friend and who is not. I'm the adult here. I'm not ready to be one, but I am.

We all hear the sirens at the same time.

Kyle stands up straight and looks behind him. The cars come around the curve in the road. There are three of them, speeding toward us, lights blaring. Kyle looks from them to me to Vinnie. He leaps forward and grabs my free arm and pulls. Vinnie pulls, too, but Kyle is too fast. He tears me away from Vinnie and jerks me close. He presses my back to him this time, and his arm is around my waist. He's almost lifting me off the ground, he's so tall.

“Tell them to go away,” he says.

“You can't get them,” I say. “You can kill me, but they'll kill you. You'll never get them.”

“Chelsea,” he says. “Chelsea.” The arm that is not crunching me touches my face.

“It's Amy,” I say. “There never was any Chelsea. There never was any Stacie. You made us up.”

“Stay back!” Kyle yells. His voice booms out across the parking lot. There are people coming toward us, people in black uniforms, and lights everywhere. It's hard to see them, or Vinnie. I look for the car. I see Lee's face inside it, and the top of Lola's head. They are safe.

“Her name was Dee,” I say. “And she was good. She was sweet and friendly and fun and smart and loyal.” Tears are rolling down my face. I'm seeing her the way she was, that day at the river, before. I'm seeing her smile and her blue eyes, those real blue eyes that a doll's eyes could never do justice to. “She was my best friend, and you killed her.
You
did.”

He pulls me tighter. “I said,
stay back!
” But he hears me; I know he does. His voice trembles. He's hearing me for the first time.

“You
raped
her,” I yell. “You raped her a million times and she was supposed to have years, and she was supposed to choose, but she couldn't. You
hurt
her and that's why she was crazy, and that's why she's dead. You!”

Kyle drags me in a half circle until we're facing the car. He slams me into it, and he's behind me, completely shielding my body from the outside, crushing me against the metal.

I don't hear the gunshot. I only hear him scream and see him stumble backward. But he grabs me as he falls, and I fall with him. I fall half on his body and half on the pavement.
There's another gunshot, and this time I hear it. Kyle screams louder. He lets me go and screams and screams. I get to my hands and knees, and I crawl. I crawl toward a man who is wearing black, and the lights blind me, but I put one hand in front of the other.