It was loud, the yelling and the arguing, it was so loud. Loud enough to wake her. Loud enough to pull her out of the comfort of her bed. Loud enough to cause her to drag her feet down the white carpeted hallway on the second floor of their townhome and bring the eleven-year-old down on bended knee to crouch behind the banister of the staircase. Erin held onto the railing as she watched her parents argue, name call, curse and shout for the third time this week. It was their voices, their rising anger that woke the child from her sleep.
"Hank, I can't keep doing this," the sound of her mother's voice wavered as she struggled to hold back tears, "I can't keep living like this. I can't keep putting the kids through this. I'm tired Hank, I'm so tired of the arguing, of living in fear, of being terrified of having my kids out of my sight for three seconds, I'm tired," Camille stops pacing, choosing instead to exasperatedly take a seat on the arm of the couch, "you have to choose."
He sighs because this isn't the first time she's asked this of him. This isn't the first time she's given him this ultimatum, and just like in the past, he responds the same, "you know I can't."
"You can't be serious," she jumps up to her feet, hands thrown up in the air in disbelief, "you're joking with me right now, aren't you?" and when he doesn't smile or laugh or give any hint of confirming her assumption that this is in fact a joke, she scoffs, "that maniac sent you a note threatening me last week. He sent you a photo a few days ago of the kids catching the school bus, obviously hinting to us that he's watching. He'll leave us alone if you leave this case alone."
Erin leaned closer, sliding her head between the railings of the stairs. She hated hearing her parents yelling, it's been happening more and more these last few months but this night it seemed to be much worse. It's the first night they actually woke her up because their voices were so loud. She can see her mother crying, her bottom lip quivering and it makes Erin want to cry when her mother whispers, heartbroken, "Please Hank. Don't you care?"
"I'm doing this because I care, Camille!" Her dad has a temper that's been worsening the longer he's been on this case, "The streets aren't safe! It's my job to make them safe, Camille. I thought you understood that," Hank approached his wife slowly, cautiously, as if he were approaching a wounded animal. He reached for her hands yet she pulls them away the second she felt his touch.
"I know it's your job, but so is being a father to your kids, so is being my husband. You missed seeing them off for their last day of school. You missed Erin's father-daughter dance."
"Your dad took Erin to the father-daughter dance."
"My father isn't her father! You are!"
Hank took a step back when he noticed the look on his wife's face. She struggled to stay calm. She didn't want to wake the kids. She took a deep breath, held it in and with every fiber of her being, she replied using an acceptable indoor voice, "You missed Justin's soccer game last Sunday."
"He understood why I couldn't make it."
"No," Camille disagreed, "all he understood is his father is full of excuses."
"He knows why I do what I do. Erin too. He wants to be a cop. Erin wants to be a cop or a doctor, they both want to keep the city safe and that starts with getting this serial killer off the street. No one is safe until that happens."
Erin's eyes widened when the clock struck midnight. It was way past her bedtime and if her mother knew she was still awake she would be in a world of trouble. The young child blinked through the tiredness weighing down her lids just as her dad shouted, "You can't expect me to be able to make it to every dance, every practice and every game." His loud, booming voice startles her, waking her up and filling her with a short burst of energy, "That's not realistic with my work schedule."
"You're right Hank," her mother sounds defeated, carrying a tone of voice that's foreign to her daughter's ears, "I can't expect you to be at every one, but I do expect you to make one. I asked you to choose between us and Ash. Not making a decision is still making a decision."
It's the calmest Erin has ever seen her mother.
And as soon as Erin realized her mother was heading for the staircase, she rose to her feet and took off back to her bedroom. Making it just in time, she quietly closed the door behind her, ran to hop into her bed and pull the blanket over her head. She squeezed her eyes shut to pretend like she was sleeping. Holding her breath nervously, hoping her mother didn't see or hear her, she eventually lets it out when she hears the front door slam shut. It must be her dad leaving again, most likely going back to work. Ever since her grandfather, Richard, retired and handed him over the case almost six years ago, it was all he could focus on. It was an obsession, spiraling out of control when her grandpa died of a heart attack a year ago, the one case he couldn't solve now being in the hands of his son who is determined to close this case for the victims and for his dad.
For years Ash stayed one step ahead of them. For 16 long years, longer than Erin has been alive, Ash has plagued the city of Chicago, consuming nightly news as he left trails of bodies in his wake. For ten years, her grandfather worked the case, the only detective managing to get so close to catching him, and when an injury forced him into early retirement, his son, Erin's dad picked up the case. And for six years, this has consumed the life of Hank Voight and his family. Always wanting to please his dad mixed with the cockiness left in Ash's letters to the police bragging about the victims, threatening the families of the cops still hunting him and warning law enforcement to cease their search. Voight hates a smug criminal and the longer he's free, the more her dad dedicates time and energy into capturing him.
Erin tossed and turned, struggling to fall back asleep because all she can think about is her parents, their arguing and the topic of all of their arguments. Ash. No one knows what he looks like, never leaving a witness alive long enough to tell, and hearing the fear in her mother's voice as she mentioned pictures of them, pictures they didn't tell their kids about because they didn't want to scare them. All she can do is replay their argument over and over in her head, ruminating on it, filling in details and answering questions about Ash that she didn't know. Her mom made sure she and Justin didn't watch the news. But, kids at school talk. Teachers and the other staff talk. Erin can't sleep because she's scared. Scared for her dad, her mom, her brother and everyone out there.
An hour of tossing and turning passed and when a memory from an argument her parents had last week plays through her mind, she shoots up out of bed. Her eyes water at the memory, at remembering her mom threatening to take her and Justin away. Erin rushes out of her room, watery eyes now turning into fallen tears as she makes her way down the hall, "Erin? Justin?" She hears her mother call out when a creak in the floor alerts Camille to someone's presence, "Who's there?"
"It's me," Erin whispers, approaching the open door of her parents' bedroom.
Camille sees her and sighs, "You're supposed to be asleep Er-bear," her daughter smiles at the nickname that started when five year old Erin became obsessed with Care bears, even six years later, she still has most of them lined up on the window seat in her room, "Are you crying? What's wrong?" Her words and offer of comfort gave Erin the green light to come in, running to her mother's arms as the flood gates open and allow more of the tears to rush down her face.
Camille held her tightly, practically squeezing so much love and comfort into the hug, silently holding her daughter as she got all of her tears out. Neither said anything. Camille simply offered comfort and waited until the tears stopped before asking, "Er-bear, what's wrong? Why are you up? What happened?"
She snuggled her face further into her mother's nightgown, arms wrapped around her waist and holding on so tight that Camille had to gather her balance before she fell over, "I heard you and dad arguing," her words came out muffled but her mother heard them as clear as day.
"You were supposed to be asleep."
Erin didn't drop her arms from its position around her mother's waist. She only pulled her head back to look up, to rest her chin on her mom's stomach, "I know, but you guys were so loud. You woke me up."
"Your brother is still sleeping," Camille smiles.
"Yeah, but you know Justin. He can sleep through literally anything."
Camille snickers, "literally anything, huh?"
"Yes," Erin nods affirmatively, unwavering in her opinion, "I tried to go back to sleep."
"…but you couldn't?" Camille filled in the blank, "Why? What's on your mind?"
With a slight nudge from her mother, Erin drops her arms from around her waist. Her mom takes a seat at the edge of her bed then pats the spot next to her, inviting Erin to take a seat, "I don't want you and dad to get a divorce. You can't get a divorce!"
"Er-bear," her mother wraps her arm around her daughter's shoulders, pulling her in to place a kiss against the top of her head, "me and your dad aren't getting a divorce. Why would you think that?"
"…because you guys always argue. Annie's parents got a divorce because they always argue."
Camille brushes her fingers through the long brunette hair resting along her daughter's back, comforting her with a mother's touch as she replies, "Er-bear, no matter what happens between me and your father, you and your brother will always be loved and our priority," she leans over and pecks her daughter's dimple after she manages to get a small smile.
"Why do you guys always have to argue though?"
"Sometimes your dad and I can be very passionate about what we believe and that comes out in the wrong way. We shouldn't argue so loud and so much but it doesn't mean I love your dad any less and it doesn't mean he loves me any less. You know how sometimes I might yell at you and your brother," her daughter nods, "do you think that means I love you any less," her daughter shakes her head no, "the same applies with your dad and me. That's just how we express frustration with one another. Kind of like you and Justin, when the two of you bicker and yell at each other, it doesn't mean you love each other any less, right?" That comparison Erin fully understands so her nod is a bit more eager, "it's similar to that. I'm sorry we woke you. I'm sorry you had to hear all of that. I'll try to do better, okay?"
"Okay," Erin whispers. And a smile is brought back to her face when her mother whispers I love you. Erin says it back before her mother can get the whole statement out.
"Alright," Camille hops to her feet, clasping her hands together, "Er-bear, it's almost three in the morning and it's way past your bedtime. I know school is out for the summer but you do have summer camp bright and early in the morning." She reaches for her daughter's hand and pulls her up to her feet, bringing her in for another hug, "you're going to regret staying up so late when I wake you up in the morning," she can already hear the groan of annoyance when Camille has to pull the covers off her daughter in the morning to wake her up, "let's get you off to bed and-"
She abruptly stops talking when she thinks she heard something. It sounded like a thump but it was muffled. It could have been anything. It happened so fast she couldn't determine where it came from and the direction where it originated. Maybe something had fallen over? Maybe it was Justin walking down the hallway and she'll have to deal with two wide awake kids? And before Camille could question it further, wonder aloud whether her daughter heard the same noise, there's a loud bang, a crash of some sort that happened in her bedroom closet, forcing Camille to jump into action, reaching for the nearest sharpest weapon -a pair of scissors- to defend herself against the loud noise, the sudden smash of her closet door hitting the wall as it's pushed open.
Erin jumps, startled.
Camille shoves her daughter behind her, taking a protective, mama bear stance in front of her cub as she tightens her grip around the scissors in her hand.
"Mom," Erin's voice wavers. Her hands clench onto the back of her mother's gown, holding on tight as she cowers in fear behind her nervous mother.
"Erin, stay behind me."
The intruder stands there. Smirking. A chill ran down Camille's spine because even though she's never seen him before, she knows exactly who he is, "Ash."
And suddenly he moves into action, tackling Camille to the ground and ripping the scissors from her hold just as she screams at the top of her lungs, "Erin, go! Run!"
Erin struggles to snap out of it, watching her mother try to fight against the man twice her size, three times Erin's size. Her mother is grunting in pain. Ash remains silent. Her mother isn't giving up and when Erin snaps out of it, she scans the room for something to hit him with to help her mom, "Erin, I said go!" The tone of her voice left no room for debate. Erin took off. Running down the hallway, not knowing where to go with her mother just down the hall fighting for her life. She hears her mother plead for the lives of she and Justin. Erin doesn't know where to go. The fear coursing through her body fogs her mind, she can't think. She's blanking on what to do so she hides. She runs into the furthest room, the bathroom, and she hides in the bathtub, cowering in the corner, knees drawn to her chest and face buried in her lap to muffle her tears.
The kid, the eleven-year-old little girl bites down on her lip, trying to do everything in her power to control her breathing, to stay as silent as possible. She hopes her brother is okay. She should have ran to his room. She should have woken him up because he can literally sleep through anything. Erin looks up, red eyes burning from all the tears she's been crying and through the slight crack in the bathroom door she can see the hallway light turn on. She forgot to close the door in her haste to get away. She forgot to lock the door.
Erin chokes on her breath when she notices the silence in the house. The house is quiet. She doesn't hear furniture falling over, or crying or begging or yelling or screaming or anything. She hears nothing at all. So she holds her breath because if she breathes, it'll be the loudest noise in the house. She turns her head to press her cheek against her lap, staring at the shower curtains pushed off to one side, the side she's hiding on. She finds comfort in staring at the water animals decorated on the plastic of the shower curtain that Justin picked out because apparently his choice was more gender neutral than the one she had wanted. The memory of that calms her racing heart. She can breathe without breathing too loudly. She's calming down enough to relax her shoulders. And just as she lifts her head from her lap, the shower curtains, the one that sparked the memory that offered her comfort in the time she needed it the most was ripped off the shower rod and thrown to the floor, leaving the clear view in the dark bathroom of the man behind her parents arguing, her nightmares, the nightly news run, the city gossip and the city fear.
It's how calm he moves that strikes fear in her the most. He turns on the bathroom light with no haste whatsoever, it's like he knows how much time he has. He doesn't fear her father returning.
"Mom," she calls out. His back is to her. He opens the bathroom door all the way until its against the wall. He rolls his shoulders and turns around to face her.
"Call her all you want, she's not going to respond."
And before his comment could really register, he moves quick, in a split second he goes from such slow and relaxed movements to rapid and swift as he reaches into the bathroom and clenches the front of her pajama shirt to lift her up with one hand, pull her out the tub and slam her into the wall. She yelps. He pulls her forward and slams her again, finding pleasure in the sound of pain he heard escape from her mouth.
Erin's eyes widen in fear the second he looks up from the ground to meet her gaze, reminding him so much of her grandfather, the man that's been hunting him for majority of his crime spree.
"Please," she whispers. Her legs dangle in the air as he holds her pressed against the wall. Ash smiles at her, meeting her green eyes, pleading with him to let her go. Despite the smile on his face, the anger in his eyes stripped any words from her throat. One eye was brown and the other was green and she couldn't stop staring at it. Never seeing it before, it catches her off guard.
She's broken out of her concentration when he pulls her forward and slams her back into the wall, hearing the painful yelp that plays like music to his ears. She has no idea what he's doing. What is he going to do? But suddenly, when she notices his bottom lip bleeding, an injury most likely received from her mother, she starts to panic. She starts to move and swing her legs and arms forward, digging her fingernails as far into his skin as possible, breaking the skin beneath his left eye. It's the first time she hears him grunt in pain. And he drops her. Unprepared for it, she hits the ground and she tries to crawl away, crawl through his legs to run out of the bathroom, but he bounces back quick and grips her by the hair. She squirms. She screams out. She hopes her brother can hear her, can call for help. He holds her in place, pushing her onto her back as his free hand rips the scissors -the ones her mother pulled out to defend them earlier- from his pocket.
Erin sees his eyes again. She sees the marks from her nails. She sees the scowl painted on his face.
"Please don't kill me," she begs, she's crying, she's terrified out of her mind. He has the bottom of his shoe, a heavy black boot pressed against her stomach to keep her in place, lying on her back absolutely defenseless and with the scissors in hand, he leans over and whispers with a bright Cheshire grin on his face, "Not yet," before shoving the scissors into the palm of her hand, pushing them down so far and so deep it comes out the other side and begins to pierce the adhesive holding the tiles down on the bathroom floor. She screams in pain. She struggles. But the more she squirms, the more the scissors dig in and the more it tears into the tissue, the bones and the nerves in her hand. It hurts. And between the pain in her hand and the fear she feels because of the look on his face, she nods off, passing out with the two different colors of his eyes being the last thing her eyes see before they shut.