Chapter 7
Turning over the eggs, Tina glanced at the clock; almost 7am. Soon, she would have to wake Gene. While the eggs continued to cook, Tina stepped over to the other side of the counter, moving an empty butter wrapper, and began making sandwiches. It was just part of her routine now. She couldn't stop herself from eating a few slices of cheese, as she packed hers and Gene's lunches, and another glance at the eggs told her that there was time enough to leave and wake Gene.
"Gene?" she gently knocked on the open door to her room. "Gene? Time to get up. Breakfast will be ready soon." She saw him roll onto his back, and open his eyes, and she lingered a moment longer. Gene still slept in her bed; Tina thought that he didn't want to be alone, and she couldn't blame him. It was nice to have some comfort. "Gene? Come on, Gene, it's breakfast time." He stretched and sat up, and Tina stepped back to give him some privacy to dress.
A burning smell reached her nose, and Tina ran back into the kitchen. "Crap! The eggs!" Luckily, they weren't too burnt, and Tina was able to salvage them. Putting some toast in the toaster, she resumed packing the lunches as Gene entered. She placed a plate of slightly overcooked eggs and slightly underdone toast in front of him, and left the kitchen once again.
Doing her best to keep quiet, Tina slowly opened the door to her parents' bedroom. They were both in bed, not asleep, but had passed out drunk late last night. At least, Tina thought they had passed out; they'd both been drinking almost constantly lately.
Tina observed the many, many empty wine bottles littering the floor, the bed, the dresser. It worried her; it had been nine days since they had buried Louise, nine days since Bob and Linda just couldn't deal with it any more. Tina had lost count of how many bottles they had drank between them; they did nothing else.
Now that she knew they were okay, Tina went back into the kitchen, and saw that Gene had finished his breakfast, putting his empty plate in the sink. "Gene, why don't you go and watch cartoons, until it's time to leave?" Tina suggested, and Gene only left the room. He still hadn't uttered a word, and Tina was now really worried, but she didn't know what to do. Last Friday, Mr Frond had called her into his office to ask how both she and Gene were doing. Put on the spot, terrified of saying the wrong thing, groaning for an uncomfortably long period of time, Tina had lied and said that Gene was talking, but only at home. To her relief, Mr Frond had believed her.
While Gene watched the cartoons, Tina took the opportunity to try and do a little cleaning. It seemed that no matter how often she washed the dishes, they just kept piling up, as if they were multiplying. Nevertheless, she began to wash them, kicking an empty Coke can aside, doing her best to make them as clean as she could while rationing the dish soap.
When she'd finished, Tina looked around the kitchen, while waiting for them to dry. The recycling and the regular bin were both full, so there was nowhere she could put the empty boxes, and cardboard containers; she just had to stack them on the side, hoping they wouldn't fall. She cleaned the sides, but the dirt and grime seemed glued on, and the dishcloth got dirty easily.
One thing she absolutely refused to touch were the dozens of condolence cards and packages piled up next to the little television. She could barely bring herself to even look at them.
Tina supposed the rest of the cleaning could wait until later, and instead turned to the washing machine, sighing in dismay when she realised that she had forgotten to turn it on last night, and their dirty clothes were still lying in there. Bending down, Tina turned the knob and pressed a button, but nothing happened, and she frowned.
Tina made her way back down the hall, and into the living-room. "Gene? You'd better go and brush your teeth," she said, and Gene rose from the sofa, and left the room. She remained in the doorway for a moment, resolutely refusing to look at the two fat condolence books that lay on the coffee table. No one had been able to look at those yet, either.
She was just about to move when the burger phone rang, as it had been doing a lot lately, and she answered it.
"Hello?"
"Hello, this is Oliver Jenkins; I'm a reporter for the Bog Harbour Express. Am I speaking to Linda Belcher?"
"No."
"Oh, okay. Are you her daughter? Could I speak to you, maybe ask you a few questions?"
Tina only put the phone down. Honestly, she didn't even know why she kept it plugged in; nobody else but reporters and journalists constantly called them. When were they going to get the message that she didn't want to talk? None of them wanted to talk.
When Gene was ready, Tina handed him his backpack, and ushered him to the stairs. Before they left, Tina decided to check on their parents one last time. "Mom? Dad? Are you guys okay?" she whispered, and Linda shifted. "Mom? I can't make the washing machine work. Can you do it?" She waited, but got no answer. "Mom? Mom? Mom, can you do the -?"
"I'll do it," Linda slurred, waving a hand lazily.
"Okay," Tina whispered. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. Love you."
Linda mumbled something that might have been 'love you,' and Tina closed the door, and headed off to school with Gene. She hoped that Linda wouldn't wash any of Louise's clothes; she would have to put them away somewhere when she got home. There was no time to do it now.
Their lunch bags were rather light, as Tina had decided to ration their food, just a little bit. She wasn't too worried about food; they still had plenty of the dishes they had been sent the previous week, and a weeping Teddy had dropped off a hamper yesterday, which she was grateful for.
The only problem was, in the nicest way, Gene; he had been comfort eating. A lot. (So had she, if she was honest.) And Bob and Linda had been drunk- and comfort- eating, so the snacks never seemed to last.
What nobody knew was that Tina had been hoarding food, hidden at the back of her wardrobe; cookies, apples, cans of tuna fish, potato chips, oranges, and more. That way, if they ran out, she had back-ups.
Cynthia, Tom, and Logan were sat at the table, silently eating their breakfast. Logan had his head down, looking down at his phone, while Cynthia tapped away on the laptop, hitting the keys with a little more force than was needed.
Logan hadn't been back to school since his assault; he absolutely refused, and Cynthia no longer fought with him about it.
As usual, Tom kept quiet, pretending to be absorbed in his phone, while drinking his coffee. The television was on, but not turned to the news, as none of them wanted to see something they weren't prepared for.
"Cynthia? What's the matter?" Both Tom and Logan had become aware that Cynthia had stopped typing, and was staring at the screen. She merely turned the laptop around to face them. They watched in horror as the security camera showed a small group of people wearing hoodies vandalising their home once again, throwing water balloons, spray-painting – obscenities no doubt – and smearing more dog excrement over their porch.
"I don't want to go check out the damage yet," she said, facing the laptop back to her. "What do we do?"
"What can we do, though?" asked Tom honestly. "Weren't you going to get that harassment thing?"
"Oh, I tried that; they said that as I don't know who's doing the harassing, I can't get the order. I can't exactly get it placed on the entire town," she said bitterly. "I mean, those women that harassed me at the store, they were only fined! I mean, what good is a fine?"
"Well, then, I don't know what else there is to do," Tom sighed. "Unless you wanna hire people to watch the house 24/7."
"I've been thinking about it, and I really think the only thing to do is move," said Cynthia, and Tom almost choked on his coffee.
"What? Move?"
"Well, what else do you suggest we do?" she snapped. "The vandals aren't going to stop, and neither are the people who insult us whenever we leave the house!"
"I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"What do you know?! You don't get insulted and assaulted every time you go out! You don't get nasty messages, and threatening letters and phone calls! This is just a walk in the park to you, isn't it?"
"How can you say that?" He stared at her, hurt. "It hasn't been easy for me, either! I've had to deal with patients cancelling appointments, and giving me filthy looks, and asking when I'm going to hand my 'murdering' son in to the police!" he hissed, keeping his voice down, for Logan had resumed staring at his phone.
"Then, we should definitely move; it's for our safety. We can afford it, so what's the problem?"
"The problem is this'll all blow over soon. This is our home, Cynthia; we've been here more than twenty years!"
"It won't blow over," Cynthia shook her head. "Have you seen the size of this town? Everyone knows everyone, and people aren't gonna forget this! I have to order everything online, Logan has to do his school online, and again, we get threatening letters every day! You've read some of them; they're absolutely disgusting! No, a fresh start is what we need."
Logan lowered his head even further, focusing on his phone.
"You don't think the same thing will happen, no matter where we go?" asked Tom. "You saw all those cameras when they were trying to get her out. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in America knows who she is!"
"Not everyone knows who Louise Belcher is!" Cynthia barely refrained from shouting. "We can find somewhere new to live. Florida, maybe."
"I can't afford to move us to Florida!" cried Tom. "God, what next? Dyeing our hair, changing our names?"
"To protect ourselves, yes; if it comes to that," said Cynthia sternly. "Well, we'll find somewhere else, then. You'd like that, right, Logan?" she turned to her son, and Logan quickly looked up from where he was watching Louise's tiny coffin being slowly driven through the streets, and turned the screen off.
"What?"
"We're considering moving away; it's a good idea, right?"
"Yeah," he said instantly. "We need to be able to live in peace. We can't do that here."
"Two against one, so we win," said Cynthia to Tom.
"All right; I'll think about it," he promised. "Now, I gotta head off to work," he downed the rest of his coffee, and stood up. "I honestly don't know what to do about the vandalism," he said. "Maybe in time, they'll stop. That's all I can say."
"Right. Bye, then."
When he had left, she turned to Logan. "You start thinking about what states to move to; I really think getting out of this place will do us a world of good."
"Okay."
"After you do your school work," she reminded him.
"Ugh, fine," he sighed. "Are you gonna look, too?"
"Yes, I will. But first, I have to get someone out to clean up the house. I can't do it myself any more. Then," her face fell slightly. "I have to print out all those horrible messages people have sent us; they'll come in handy."
Logan nodded; neither he nor Cynthia had been on Facebook, or any of their social media accounts, for almost two weeks, due to the vitriol that filled their inboxes and notifications. "And then I have to try and see if I can recognise anyone who was on the camera. But we'll get through this; you'll see."
Logan only nodded, and made his way upstairs, as Cynthia resumed typing.
Sitting at his desk, Logan opened his state-of-the-art laptop. But he didn't do his school work; instead, he opened up his Facebook page. He knew it was a stupid idea, but he couldn't help himself. Logan skimmed through his messages, but didn't delete them, as Cynthia had told him not to. They needed them for evidence, she said.
The Seymour's Bay Channel 6 News Facebook page had a video of Louise's funeral, and he clicked on the comments. As he read through them, he saw that a lot of them were about him, and his jaw dropped slightly; he'd never known a group of people to hate one person so much. He could feel the sheer hatred coming through the screen. It didn't feel good, getting these messages. It scared him a little bit; if someone wanted to hurt him, it would be only too easy for them. Luckily, he had a baseball bat, so at least he had some kind of defence, and he only hoped it would be enough.
Logan closed the laptop, and rested his chin in his hand. He didn't feel like doing school work, or looking for a new home.
He'd been so certain that Louise would have survived. She would have fought to the very end, with everything she had, to live, just to spite him. But what was worse; her living, or her dying? If she had lived, she'd still be annoying him, but she'd died, so now the world hated him. If she had lived, then that meant she could spend every waking moment irritating him, because of course she would have.
But now that she was dead, he was the target of online and real-life abuse, which she must have known would happen, right?
It wasn't his fault that she died, right? The fall didn't kill her, the having no water killed her, and he wasn't responsible for that. He didn't personally tell them not to give her any water, so why was he being blamed?
It wasn't like he'd pushed her from a rooftop building. He given her a little (okay, a hard) shove, and she'd not hurt herself during the fall, as far as he knew. What could he have done? He didn't know she was going to be buried in rubble, he didn't know it was going to take them so long to get to her, and he didn't know she was going to die.
Logan doubted that another public apology would do any good; people wouldn't listen. The only thing that he could do in order to ensure his safety was move.
Sighing, he opened his laptop once again, and began looking for a new home in a new state.
The fourth-grade class at Wagstaff were quiet as classes began. Only they weren't going to be doing lessons. The tables were all pushed together, with the kids sat around the outside. In the middle of the tables was a large scrapbook, the pages blank. Surrounding the book were several different types of craft supplies. There was lace, ribbon, felt, beads, jewels, stickers, among many other things.
As per Frond's suggestion, many of them had photos of Louise. There weren't very many; she had rarely socialised, be it in or out of school. Rudy had a few; some from his birthday party spoon puppet show, and some from when he spent Thanksgiving at her house. That was after that crazy Turkey Trot fiasco. Relieved that they were all alive, Linda had taken a few photos, and after dinner, the kids had had a little spaghetti sauce fight. There were no photos of just the two of them, but they were nice pictures, all the same.
Millie, of course, had lots of photos, drawings, and paintings of Louise, which would be able to fill several pages of the book. She was still so very distraught over Louise's death, and had worn a black armband every day since the funeral in remembrance.
"There doesn't have to be any kind of order," said Mr Frond. "Some of you can start writing your stories and memories, and others can make decorations with the craft stuff. Any way you want to do it is fine."
Rudy kept quiet, as he worked on cutting out bunny ears from pink felt, and little hearts from red felt. Every student would get two pages each, and Rudy decided that his first page would be his memories of Louise, and second would be a few pictures, and the little crafts he had made.
Over the past week, he'd found himself often looking over at Louise's empty chair. He couldn't believe that she was never going to sit there again. She would never shoot spit balls at the backs of students' heads, nor would she ever sneakily pass Burobu cards, or annoy Miss LaBonz.
She would never force him to watch her favourite Hawk and Chick movies again. He kind of liked them; they weren't his favourite kind of movie (although he never would have told her that), but they were entertaining enough.
He just couldn't believe he was never going to see her again. "While we're working, does anyone have any ideas for raising money for the memorial garden?" asked Frond from his chair at the front of the room. "No bad ideas; everything will be considered."
"Um, we could have a bake sale?" suggested Harley.
"Bake sale, okay," Frond wrote it down on the board. "That's a good idea; we could advertise it online, and everyone could bring something. Bake sales are always a good idea. Any other ideas?"
"It's not an idea, but, um, for the bake sale, we could use bunny shaped cookie cutters?" Rudy suggested, and Frond nodded.
"That's a good idea."
"Yeah," said Harley. "We could make them pink, and they can be Louise Cookies."
Frond nodded again, and wrote it down. Bunny shaped cookie cutters would be easy enough to find, and they would add a personal touch to the bake sale.
"How much will it cost?" Abby thrust her hand into the air. "Maybe we should know how much it costs, so we know how much to raise."
"Well, we would need to find what to put in. So far, we've got a bench, possibly with a plaque on it; flowers, and a little vegetable patch. The whole thing will cost us a couple of thousand dollars, so any ideas will help."
"Okay, so maybe a lip syncing competition? Like, we could get into small groups, and charge, like, five dollars to enter, and sell tickets to the audience."
"Great, another good idea," Frond wrote it down.
Soon, they had a plethora of suggestions, including a sing-a-thon, a memorial dinner, trivia night, a scavenger hunt, a colour run, among many others.
"How long before it's ready?" asked Rudy.
"It depends on how fast we raise the money," said Frond honestly. "It will take several months, maybe a year; it's still got to be paid for and built. But it will get done."
"Will Gene and Tina like the garden?" Harley asked, sticking a few rabbit stickers on her paper.
"They were okay with it, and so are her parents."
Harley nodded, and one by one, the kids quietened down, and continued their work.
As Rudy cut and pasted, he began to wonder. Why did Louise wear her bunny ears? Although he'd always been mildly curious, he had never asked her; it just didn't seem to be that big a deal, that he had to know. Honestly, when he had first met her, he'd thought she had just felt like wearing that hat, but then she wore it the next day, and the next day, and the next day...
It didn't take a genius to figure out that she liked the hat, but now Rudy was struck with this sudden, deep desire to know why.
"Hey, Harley?" he asked, and she looked up at him. "Do you know why Louise wore her bunny ears?"
"Uh, no," she admitted. "I always wondered, but I was always too afraid to ask; I was scared of her."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Rudy chuckled lightly. "Louise could be pretty scary."
"I do remember she used to wear a pink beanie, though," said Harley. "I remember because she didn't used to wear it all the time; this was when we were in kindergarten."
"Wow, so you saw her bare head?" Rudy didn't know why he was suddenly so fascinated by it. Maybe because now he would never get the chance to ask Louise herself.
"Yeah; it was normal," Harley. "I mean, it looked normal. I didn't see anything wrong with it."
"I remember that, too," Abby chimed in. "She wore the pink beanie a lot, but not all the time, but she was the only one in class who wouldn't let me braid her hair." To be fair, at the time, Abby had only just learnt how, and her braids were a mess, to put it nicely. Poor Bethany had ended up with a knot so big the teacher had had to cut off some of her hair.
"So, she just came in one day, and had the bunny ears?" Rudy asked, and the girls nodded.
"Yeah, and that's when she started freaking out when anyone tried to touch it."
Rudy nodded thoughtfully. Now, he was really curious to know why. But he assumed that if Louise never told anyone why she wore her bunny ears, then there must be a pretty good reason, and even now, he didn't feel like he had the right to pry.
Maybe, one day in the future, he would be able to ask Gene or Tina, but for now, he decided that he didn't need to know.
"Um, Mr Frond?" Tina, followed by Gene, entered his office at break-time. "I – I have something to ask."
"Sure, what is it, Tina?" Frond laid down the therapy doll he was making, Grievin' Steven, and looked at them. Tina hesitated, and looked side to side awkwardly.
"I don't know how to say it," she said.
"It's all right; take your time," he waited patiently. Tina ducked her head in shame, her face turning red. What was she supposed to say? 'I haven't cried over my dead sister yet.' She was afraid that Mr Frond would think she didn't love Louise. What if he thought there was something really wrong with her, like she was heartless? What if she had to go away somewhere? She couldn't let that happen; she couldn't leave Gene on his own.
"I – I just wanted to say thanks for helping me and Gene," she said, lifting her head slightly, her face still red.
"You're welcome. It's no problem at all; I'm here to help," Frond couldn't even begin to imagine what they were going through. He wasn't sure whether they were getting outside help, but he wanted to be there for them as much as he could. "If any of you ever need to talk, my office is always open."
"Okay, thanks. Well, we should get going now," Tina said, before turning, and leaving the room.
After school, they came upon Linda in the kitchen, her head resting on the table, her arms stretched out in front of her. An empty wine bottle resided next to her head. Tina looked around, but couldn't see her father.
"Go watch TV," she said to Gene, and her brother obediently headed off to the living-room to do so. "Mom?" Tina hesitantly approached her mother. "Mom, Gene still isn't talking. Mom?"
Linda slowly lifted her head off the table. Her unwashed hair hung limply, and her bloodshot eyes were slightly unfocused.
"Wha-?" Tina gagged as the stench of alcohol overcame her.
"Gene – he hasn't spoken since.. Louise left. I don't know what to do," she admitted.
"He hasn't been talkin'," slurred Linda.
"I know. Please help me."
"I'll help you when I finish this bottle," Linda held up her empty hand. "Oops." She staggered over to the cupboard and pulled out a fresh bottle. "Ah, there it is," and she began drinking, stumbling out of the kitchen, leaving Tina alone.
She sat down at the table, anxiously playing with her fingers. She wondered if it would do any good hiding the wine, or would that just encourage her parents to go out and buy more?
A quick glance over at the washing machine told her that Linda hadn't done what she said she would, and that meant their bath towels were still dirty. Neither Bob nor Linda had done any cleaning today, as well, which meant that Tina was going to have to do it again. How did the house get so dirty when all her parents did was drink?
Her fingers slightly sore, she began tapping a rhythm-less tune on the table, repeatedly looking around at the messy kitchen. Her breath quickened and she bunched her fists in her hair, squeezing her eyes shut.
She was still like that a few hours later, when the doorbell rang. Tina stood and smoothed down her hair, before she opened it to Big Bob.
"Hey," he said quietly, pulling her into a stiff hug. "Are you ready to go?"
"Go where?"
"To bereavement counselling; I booked you in for a family session. Don't you remember?" he asked, and Tina shook her head. "Okay. Well, I think it will benefit you all."
"Okay," was all she said, really not wanting to go at all. She didn't want to go and sit with a group of strangers and talk about her baby sister. She didn't want to have to explain why her parents were acting weird, or why her brother was mute. And she certainly didn't want to get into a car with her parents behind the wheel.
"Do you wanna grab a jacket, or go as you are?" he asked, and Tina looked down at the floor.
"Uhhhh," she groaned. She didn't want to ride with her parents; even if they weren't drunk right now, Tina knew they were too upset to drive properly.
"It's all right," Big Bob assured her, and she looked back up. "There's enough room in my car for all of you."
"Oh." Tina only grabbed her jacket, and went to get Gene, and soon all of them were in the car, with Tina feeling more and more apprehensive every passing moment.
Big Bob didn't join them for counselling, but he promised to pick them up.
The session was being held inside the local hospital; not Ocean City Memorial Hospital, which is where Louise would have been treated, had she survived. It was a smaller hospital; a fancier version of a GP, really.
"Welcome," the counsellor smiled kindly. "Please, take a seat," and the Belchers did so. Tina was glad that Bob and Linda had sobered up a bit, and were now mentally coherent.
There were three or four other families sat in a circle; Tina didn't care enough to check who was related to who; she just sat down, staring at the floor.
Tina didn't know about the rest of her family, but she hardly paid attention throughout the entire session. She just felt too sick. She glanced up once at her parents; one look at their pallid faces and their baggy eyes was enough, and she spent the rest of the session staring at the wall ahead of her.
She heard the counsellor mention things, like the feelings of helplessness "will pass," and to "take baby steps," but she didn't see how any of this would help. After all, Louise was still dead, and that was never going to change. All the counselling in the world couldn't bring her back, and that was all Tina wanted.
She was sure the counsellor gave them something to work on, before their next session; a small, easily achievable goal – writing down their feelings, perhaps, or keeping a schedule for a day. She couldn't seem to focus on what he was saying, and before she knew it, she was outside, with Big Bob approaching her.
"How did it go?" he asked quietly, and she shrugged.
"I didn't like it," said Linda, a childish undertone to her voice. "He kept sayin' things about movin' forward and copin'."
"I think you should carry on with it," said Big Bob gently, "just give it a chance."
"I don't wanna do that," muttered Bob.
"Well, think about it? Please?" Big Bob got a half-hearted shrug in response, and he supposed that that was good enough for the time being. "All right, then. Come on, get in the car; I'll take you home."
Once outside their apartment, Big Bob hugged his family, before they went upstairs. When he got to Tina, he leaned down to her. "Listen," he said. "If you need me for anything, anything at all, just call me. Okay? It doesn't matter what it is; even if you just wanna talk at three in the morning, then you can. If you want me to come round, I will, night or day. Okay, sweetheart?"
"Yes, Pop-pop," said Tina.
"Promise you'll call if you need it?"
"Uhhh, I promise," Tina crossed her fingers behind her back.
"See you later, Gene," he embraced his grandson tightly, though he might as well have hugged a rag doll. "That goes for you, too. If you need me, just call."
The Belcher siblings watched him drive away, and Tina forced herself to wave back at him. She knew that, no matter what, she would never call. She couldn't. She didn't want her parents to be sent away.
Fighting an urge to pull on her hair again, Tina and Gene went back upstairs.
Bob was in the living-room, the photo album in his lap. He was staring down at the pictures, his face the picture of grief, and Linda was curled up in a ball on the sofa, hugging herself.
"Dad?" Tina stepped into the living-room. "It's Tuesday tomorrow."
"Tuesday," Bob repeated, not taking his eyes off of a photo of Louise.
"M-maybe we should go to the.. grocery store? Tomorrow?" she suggested, wondering why her voice quivered slightly.
"Why?"
"To buy food?"
Bob only shook his head.
"No. No. I don't want to."
"But... we should..." she tailed off.
"I don't care," muttered Bob. "I don't care about anything," and Tina could only stare at him. She understood; she didn't care about anything any more either; everything just seemed so pointless now. But she wanted her parents to do something; she wasn't sure how much longer she could do it all herself.
Tina managed all of thirty minutes inside the apartment. She heard the tell-tale clink of a wine bottle, and her stomach churned.
"I have to go," she went into the hallway, and grabbed her jacket. "Gene?" she poked her head into the living-room, "are you coming?"
Her brother wordlessly rose, and followed her, grabbing his own jacket. Tina knew her parents wouldn't miss them, and she guided Gene out of the door.
It was a little while before they arrived the cemetery, and it was still light enough that they could find Louise's grave easily, and they sat down at the foot. A lot of the bouquets had died, but there were plenty of fresh ones left, some of them looking like they had been left there recently. Tina felt bad that they didn't bring anything for her. "Wow, there's so much," she realised. "I never noticed all these before," she gestured past the flowers, to other little tributes that had been left. Someone had placed a little china rabbit ornament next to the headstone, and there were some small, framed photos of Louise resting on top of the bouquets. Up by the headstone were a few handwritten letters, weighted down by little stones. "We should have brought some flowers, shouldn't we?" she asked, but, of course, got no answer from Gene. "Next time we come, we will," she decided. She looked over at Gene, and saw that he was staring at what could be seen of Louise's headstone.
Tina reached out and gently touched a bouquet. It was sweet that all of these strangers cared about her sister; they spent their own money to bring her flowers. "Hi, Louise," she said quietly. "Sorry we haven't been to see you; things have been.. difficult. Are you mad at us? Please don't be. We didn't bring flowers or anything, and I'm sorry about that, too. I hope you like these flowers... I don't know what to do," she admitted. "Nothing feels right any more, and we all just miss you." Even now, she still couldn't cry; Tina hoped that moment would come soon. Maybe once she cried, she would feel a bit more normal. She looked back over at Gene, and saw that he was still staring at the grave, his eyes fixed on the marble bunny ears. "Come on," she took his hand, "let's go. Bye, Louise," she turned back to the headstone. "We love you. We'll bring you flowers next time."
When they arrived back at the apartment, both Bob and Linda had passed out once again. Well, Bob looked like he was asleep; in the chair, his head hanging back, and his mouth open, the photo album in his slack hand. But Linda had definitely passed out; there was vomit all over the floor, and she was face down on the sofa, an empty wine bottle lying on its' side on the dirty carpet. Tina held her breath as she cleaned it up, doing her best not to look at the mess. She couldn't find any cleaning products, and so she sprayed some of Linda's room freshener on the damp patch, before disposing of the bag of stinking, wadded up tissues. Well, she tried to; she couldn't squeeze it into the bin, and they were out of bin liners, so she just had to awkwardly leave it on top.
After thoroughly washing her hands, she found Gene in her bedroom. She honestly welcomed it; she didn't want to be alone, and he didn't either. He was sat on the end of her bed, staring at his knees. "Gene?" Tina sat down next to him. "Gene, please talk to me," she pleaded. "Please, just speak." She felt so alone, and frightened; if Gene would just say one word, then she would know that he was going to be okay. That would be one weight off her chest. Teachers were starting to ask questions; if Gene didn't start talking soon, what would happen? She wouldn't be able to cope without him; she felt like he was all she had left.
Tina began to groan, not her usual sound; this groan came from deep within, from her heart. "Gene, I can't lose you, too," she begged, her voice husky.
Gene blinked slowly, and looked over at her, like he was properly seeing her for the first time.
"Tina?" he said hoarsely. Tina's jaw dropped, and she froze, her eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Tina."
"It's okay," she gasped. She threw her arms around him, holding him tighter as he cried.
Tina still didn't cry, but she rocked her little brother as he sobbed, his nails digging into her back, his body shaking. She felt relieved; Gene was okay; he would be, soon, at least. She closed her eyes, resting her chin on his shoulder, and held him until they both fell asleep.
"Bob! Bobby! Linda!"
Tina was jerked from her attempts to do homework the following afternoon by the distressed yelling of Teddy outside. Getting up from the kitchen table, Tina went into the living-room, and looked out of the window. He was there, looking up at her. "Tina, open the door!"
"Why?"
"I want to come in and see you; I'm worried about you all."
"Uhh, you don't need to be," she called, unable to not groan when she thought about the state of the house.
"I really think I should."
"Hang on." Tina closed the window, and went downstairs. She opened the front door a little, standing in the doorway, blocking the entrance.
"Tina!" Tina allowed Teddy to hug her, though she did not let go of the door. "I just want to help you guys," he said sincerely. He felt so bad for them, and he truly believed that them being cooped up inside all this time wasn't good for them.
"I know you do."
"How's the hamper? You still got food?"
"We got food." It was technically the truth; while the fridge was empty, the cupboards still had food, and they still had more than half the contents of Teddy's hamper. Plus, Tina still had her secret horde, so they were good. Until the money ran out, and then... well, Tina didn't know what she would do, and she bit the insides of her cheeks.
"What about money?"
"Yes, we have money." Still technically the truth. Her stomach twisted at the idea of that running out, too, and she bit her cheeks again.
"Okay, that's good. If you need money, let me know; it won't be a problem."
"Thanks," she whispered.
"How are Bob and Linda?" he asked after a while. "I haven't seen them for ages. I don't care about the restaurant – well, I do, but you know what I mean – but I'd like to see 'em."
"They're asleep," Tina lied, gripping the door handle. She knew that her parents were both upstairs in their smelly room, drinking, and drinking, and drinking... She didn't want Teddy to see them like that. And if he saw what the house looked like... She couldn't bear the thought of having to go live somewhere else. "They haven't been sleeping a lot lately, and they're really tired." She gripped the handle even harder.
"Oh. Okay," Teddy looked disappointed. "Do you know when they're going back to work? Not 'cause I want a burger, but I think it'll be good for them, you know? I was reading about bereavement on the Internet, and it said that having a routine is really helpful. If you guys want, I'll help with the routine; I'll keep 'em on a schedule, and everything. Can I come tomorrow?"
"Uh, no. Sorry. We're, uh, busy." Her knuckles were turning white.
"Busy?"
"Yeah, we've, uh, got some stuff planned."
"Okay. What about the day after?"
"We're busy, then, too."
"What about -?"
"Look, we're just really busy, all right?!" Tina snapped, and Teddy looked taken aback. "Sorry," she said. "But we are just very, very busy. My dad will call you when he's.. ready," and without saying goodbye, she shut the door, and went back upstairs, feeling the overwhelming urge to hit something.
Teddy remained where he was, looking even more worried. He wanted to help so badly, but it wasn't like he could force open the door, and make Bob talk to him. Even he knew there was a line, and he wasn't going to cross it.
The windows were still closed, and he couldn't hear anything coming from the apartment.
"Teddy?"
The handyman turned to see Mort approaching.
"Hey, Mort," he said, fixing his gaze back on the living-room window. "Have you seen them yet?"
"Not since the funeral," he said. "How about you?"
"The same," Mort sighed, also looking up at the window. "It can't be good for them, you know. Isolating themselves. I mean, I get it, I get what they're going through, but I think having people around would help them."
"Me, too," Teddy admitted. "None of them will return my calls. I can't imagine what's it like for them; losing their kid."
"Yeah," Mort nodded, "especially when they were.. so close," he looked down at the ground. "I don't know whether they're getting help, but I hope they are."
"Couldn't we do something?" asked Teddy, "maybe one of those support circle things?"
"It's a nice idea, but I don't think us doing it would work," said Mort truthfully, and Teddy slumped.
"Why not?"
"Because we can't understand what they're going through; we haven't lost a child," and Teddy nodded, understanding. "I mean, I was working with that doctor, and he put them in touch with a counsellor, but unless they want the help, there isn't much anyone can do."
"This shouldn't have happened," Teddy murmured, his face twisting.
"No; it shouldn't have," was all Mort said, before he saw Teddy staring at him, pain written all over his face.
"There was nothing that could have saved her, was there?" he asked, and Mort shook his head.
"The only thing that would have helped was the diggers getting there faster."
Both men knew that they would never forget that morning; being so excited, and then hearing the devastating news. It still seemed like such a cruel joke.
"Well," Teddy straightened up a bit, "when they are ready, for whatever, I'll be there for them."
"I will, too." For a moment, they stood there in solidarity outside the Belcher home. They kept their gazes fixed on the window, hoping that any one of the family members would open it, perhaps stick their head out, maybe wanting some fresh air. But nothing happened, and Mort sighed. "I'll see you later, Teddy," he said, making the short walk back to his own home.
"Bye Mort," and Teddy began to walk home, as well. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and kept his gaze on the ground. He felt very helpless; he was certain that if he could just talk to Bob and Linda, then maybe he could help them. Maybe he would be able to provide some comfort to them. He understood what Mort was saying, but the Burgers really shouldn't be alone right now. They needed someone.
Teddy had been lucky enough to have never lost a child, or any member of his family member (that he knew of), but he knew that if such a thing had happened to him, he doubted that he'd want to be alone. Teddy was sure he'd prefer to have friends and family around him; it would surely make him feel better. Neither Bob nor Linda had answered any of his phone calls, or replied to his messages, and if they wouldn't let him inside, then he could do nothing but wait until they wanted to talk.
Once at home, he sat on his sofa, his gaze falling to a framed photo on the side table. It was of him and the Belcher family, taken at Bob's birthday party, which consisted of the Belchers, and Teddy. As per usual, Bob looked annoyed, and Linda and the kids were grinning widely. Teddy picked up the picture, a sad smile crossing his face. It still didn't seem real. Even after three weeks, it didn't seem real. That bright eyed, maniacal little girl he loved like his own was gone.
He couldn't keep from imagining what it would be like if she was still alive. Would she still be in hospital? Or would she be at home, bossing everyone around, as she was waited on hand and foot, because of course Bob and Linda would have lavished her with love and attention. He knew she'd had a broken ankle, and something wrong with her back, and he knew she'd had internal injuries, but he believed that she wouldn't have been hospitalised for too long. Louise was tough, and she would have recovered quickly. It hurt, it hurt so much to know that she wasn't at home, she'd never be coming home.
Teddy's gripped tightened on the frame; this was the one thing he couldn't fix, and he'd never be able to fix it. If he could just – just do something, anything, to make the Burgers feel a tiny bit better, then it might ease the ache in his own heart.
CRASH! CRASH!
Logan awoke with a start, and sat up, his heart pounding. He got out of bed, grabbing his baseball bat, clutching it tighter as he heard footsteps. His door burst open, and he about jumped out of his skin, assuming a fighting stance.
"Logan!" It was his father, and he sighed in relief. "We gotta go! Come on!"
Logan just stood there, frozen. "Come on!" Tom stepped forward, and Logan found his feet, and they both ran out of his bedroom.
"What's happening?" he cried, as they bumped into Cynthia in the hallway.
"I don't know; it sounds like our windows have been smashed," said Tom honestly, peeking around the corner and looking down the staircase. He couldn't see anyone. "So, we've gotta get outta here."
"Wait, what about clothes and stuff? I don't even have shoes on," Logan looked down at his bare feet.
"None of us do!" Cynthia hissed, "but we need to go right now!"
"All right, now keep quiet," Tom began to lead his family down the stairs, gesturing for them to be quiet. Cynthia was holding his hand tightly, her phone in the other, and Logan was still holding his bat, his eyes wide.
At the bottom of the stairs, Tom stopped, and slowly peered around the corner. He could just about see the living-room. There were two bricks on the floor, with shards of glass scattered everywhere. He heard running footsteps outside, and he stiffened.
"What? What is it?" Cynthia whispered frantically, her grip on his hand even tighter, if that were possible.
"Shh. Just wait," he whispered, angling his head toward the front door. He waited and waited and waited, but heard nothing, but he still didn't move. He had to be sure they were gone.
"I thought we were leaving?" Logan whispered.
"We are," he looked back at his son. "But I wanna make sure they'll all gone."
"They're still out there?!" Cynthia couldn't keep from shrieking, and she clapped her free arm over her mouth, and they all pressed themselves against the wall, as if they could be seen. Her hands were shaking; she knew she should be calling the police, but it was like she couldn't move.
"I heard footsteps; it could have been them running away, but I just wanna be sure," he whispered. He waited a few moments longer, and still heard nothing. Maybe they had all gone. "Right, come on and keep quiet and stay together."
Slowly, they tiptoed down the remaining stairs, holding on to one another. Tom gently picked up his car keys from the side table, when several more loud crashes were heard, and Cynthia screamed. More bricks had been thrown through the dining room window, and the kitchen, too, by the sound of it. "This way!" Tom pushed his wife and son down the hall toward the back door. There came a frantic thudding at the front door, along with hateful shouting. "Get – go out the back door!" he ordered, as more thudding sounded from the front of the house.
They ran outside, barely registering the cold, damp ground as they headed to side gate, and went as quietly as they could through the alleyway. Tom had his car keys primed and ready, and he lead his family toward the garage, heart thumping as yet more bricks were hurled at their home.
Once at the car, they closed the doors as quietly as possible, before Tom slowly drove down the alley. The mob – the largest one yet – stared at them as the car appeared from the side of the house. Tom waited long enough to see that the street was empty, before quickly driving away, and headed to the police station.
As it was, they ended up in a hotel, after Cynthia had spent the last hour arguing with a policeman. There wasn't really anything for her to argue about, but it was what she did when she was under stress.
Naturally, as it was too dangerous for them to return home, they'd had no choice but to find a hotel. Perhaps the biggest challenge was finding a hotel nice enough to please Cynthia. No cheap motels for her.
"Is this really worth worrying about now?" Tom sighed, as they searched online for nearby hotels, while still sat in the police station.
"I think getting a peaceful night's sleep in a clean bed is worth it," Cynthia retorted, rubbing her arm.
"It's just for one night, though."
"I know, which is why we should at least stay somewhere decent, somewhere that isn't crawling with roaches."
Tom, too tired and worried to fight with her, continued looking until they found a hotel that looked nice enough to please his wife.
"How are we gonna pay for it?" asked Logan. "We don't have any money with us."
"The officer said that he'd explain it to the manager, and we can pay in the morning," Tom explained, and Logan's brows raised.
"We have to go back to the house?"
"A policeman will come with us," Tom assured his son. "We can grab a few things, and we can find somewhere to stay."
"Where?"
"We can stay with my brother," said Tom. "He won't mind."
And so, they were escorted to the "Life's Simple P-leisures" hotel, and got a room. Cynthia and Tom fell asleep almost immediately, but Logan stayed awake. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, before his restlessness got the best of him, and he got up, and headed to the window.
Logan drew back the curtain, and looked out of the window. He knelt down, and rested his elbows on the windowsill. He wasn't too sure of what time it was; it was around 1am when they'd fled, and he didn't know how long they'd been at the police station.
He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. A small part of him was wondering if the group of vigilantes could possibly follow them, and what would happen if they did. At least here, there were witnesses, and it wasn't like the mob knew which room they were staying in, or even which floor. That made him feel slightly better, but knowing he had to go home in just a few hours made him feel sick.
He gave a small sigh as he rested his chin in his hand, looking out at the sleepy town. The only sources of light came from the street lamps, the few 24-hour businesses, and the occasional car. It seemed so peaceful. He never knew that these small-town people were capable of such things. How had it come to this, when they were literally being fleeing their home in the dead of night, like fugitives?
Were the vandals gone now, or were they just waiting for him to come home, so they could resume their attack?
There was really no option for them but to move. This was getting too dangerous, and if they didn't take control of this, then he was going to end up getting very hurt.
Chewing on his bottom lip, Logan double-checked that the window and door were locked, before climbing into bed, dreading the following day.
That feeling of dread was only heightened when he and his family made their way back home, squashed together in the back of a police car.
The two officers pulled up outside the house, and stepped out, keeping watch. When the family saw the house, they could only stare. Every window had been smashed, and the front door had been kicked in. Graffiti was scrawled on every available surface; this time, there was a crude, cartoon spray-paint picture of Logan with devil horns. Buckets of paint had been thrown at the house, and it had also been egged.
"Oh, my God," Cynthia whispered. She turned to the policemen. "Are you going to find the people who did this?"
"We will review the CCTV footage, and see if we can identify them," said one of the officers.
"What if you can't?" asked Logan.
"If we can't, we will put out an appeal, and hope that the public comes forward."
"What if they don't?" Logan asked.
"Well, there was a large group, from what Mrs Bush told us, and we can always question people about their whereabouts."
Logan couldn't imagine anyone would own up to vandalism, but he was too focused on what the inside of the house was going to look like to argue.
Fortunately, the interior had not been touched, and none of their possessions had been destroyed. That, at least, gave them some small comfort. Splitting up from his parents, Logan headed to his room, and began packing. Clothes, shoes, money, his laptop and phone, and their respective chargers were hastily placed in his suitcase. As he didn't know when he would be able to come back, he also grabbed his headphones, his Xbox, his Apple smart watch that he never used but now really wanted for some reason, and a handful of his favourite video games. Hey, he needed something to do while he was to be stuck inside.
Soon enough, he was done, and he rejoined his parents, the both of them with their own suitcases, and they went back downstairs.
Before climbing back into the police car, they turned, and gave a final look at their once beautiful home, the home that had given them so many memories, before they got in the car and were driven away.
A continuous knocking drew Tina from her room, and she went down the hallway, with Gene following her, sincerely hoping that it wasn't anybody who wanted to come inside.
Instead, she opened the door to Mr Frond.
"Hello, Tina, Gene," he said.
"Mr Frond?" she was confused as to why he was there. It was Saturday, right? She was pretty sure it was. "Um, are we supposed to be in school today? Because if we are, we can get ready, and go. I mean -"
"No, Tina; it's Saturday," he told her, eyeing her with concern. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she lied, "it's just.. you don't usually come here; I thought there was maybe a Saturday class or something." She again gripped the door handle in an attempt to keep from groaning.
"Uh, no. No Saturday classes, but there is something I want to give you," and he held out a thick book that she hadn't realised he was holding.
"Oh, okay. What's this?" she kept her gaze fixed on the counsellor.
"It's a memory book," he explained, "from the kids at school."
"Oh." A lump formed in her throat. "Thank you." Frond looked at her, unable to keep the pity off his face.
"Okay, well, have a.. good weekend," he mentally slapped himself for saying that. "Remember, my office is always open, for the both of you."
"Okay," said Tina. If she heard him say that one more time, she might scream. "Well, thanks again."
"Bye," said Frond, and Tina nodded a reply, shutting the door, and heading back upstairs. She and Gene went into the living-room, where their parents were.
"What's tha'?" Linda rubbed her eyes, struggling to sit up.
"It's a memory book; the kids at school made it."
Linda tried to sit up again, but she was too drunk, and so she remained in the chair, an empty bottle of wine on the floor beside her.
Tina sat down on the sofa, and Gene sat down next to her. Neither of them made eye contact with Linda, because they didn't know what to do to help her, and pretty soon she was asleep. Instead, Tina opened the book. On the first page, they were greeted with a photo of a smiling Louise on picture day, pasted onto a cream background decorated with pastel butterflies. "Louise Belcher" was written at the top in curly writing with glitter pen, and the rest of the page was decorated with ribbon and little satin bows.
On the next page were a few photos from kindergarten; a four-year-old Louise holding a bucket and spade. In the next, she was on her knees, playing with building blocks, and in another, she was colouring, her tongue sticking out in concentration. Louise wasn't wearing her bunny ears in any of the pictures, and Tina had a vague memory of her baby sister wearing a pink beanie instead, which was what she had on in the picture. Underneath the photo her teacher had written:
'Louise,
You were only in my class for a year, but I never forgot you. I always believed that you would go on to do great things, and live a good life. You were one of my brightest students, and always such a ball of energy. You're always in our hearts.'
Tina and Gene bounced slightly as Bob flopped down heavily next to them, clutching a bottle of wine, as per usual.
"What's that?" he asked.
"The kids at school made a memory book," said Tina, turning the page. Bob leaned over, the smell of alcohol radiating from him.
Not knowing what to say, the three of them looked through the book in silence, finding themselves extremely thankful for the candid photos the teachers would take every time there was a class project. It gave them new memories. They knew that Louise's class had mummified dead fish last year for science; she'd been looking forward to it, but seeing photos of her stuffing her fish with sawdust and herbs, and wrapping it in bandages, it just – it made them feel so incredibly grateful. Photos and videos were all they had left, and whenever they saw a new one, it was like getting a new part of her.
When Tina turned to Regular-sized Rudy's page, she paused, taking in the craftwork. The photos were edged with lace, and surrounded by little gems. Shiny satin ribbon bordered the pages, and the stickers and felt decorations were strategically arranged around the pictures. At the top was a cropped photo of him and Louise, covered in spaghetti sauce and smiling. She remembered that day. It had been fun, aside from the whole Turkey Trot disaster.
Another photo was from Rudy's birthday party, and there was a photo of the two of them at some school function where they had been partnered up. Their Christmas school concert, which Linda still had the video of; the entire school stood on stage singing Christmas carols and holiday pop tunes, dressed in satin choir robes, of all things. Louise had been placed next to Rudy, and they were on the left hand side. Tina's mouth twitched when she remembered that Louise had refused to do any of the moves that Frond had choreographed; some clapping here, a gesture there. The students had been arranged boy-girl so that they could turn to one another at various points during "Last Christmas." Louise stubbornly remained facing the front, and also declined putting her arms up and waving during the finale song of "Merry Xmas Everyone." She could clearly remember Frond frantically gesturing for her to join in while he was conducting, and he had chewed her out during the interval. She'd never found out exactly why Louise refused to partake, but maybe her sister just didn't feel like it? Tina drooped as she realised that she would probably never know.
At least Louise looked somewhat happy in the photo, Tina tried to console herself.
Rudy was perhaps the only student who had pictures of Louise outside of school; Halloween, another one of Rudy's birthday parties. There weren't many, due to Louise's dislike of socialising, but there were new pictures, and for that, Tina was grateful. The photos of Louise that had adorned the house for the funeral had all been gathered up, and now resided in a large photo album, which Tina kept in her room. Sometimes, she and Gene looked through it before bed, and yesterday, she had organised the photos chronologically, from youngest to oldest, just to give her hands something to do.
"That's nice," Gene pointed to a photo of Louise in the middle of feeding the sharks at the aquarium. Miss LaBonz had had to take some pictures, as it was required for the class essays. Louise, in chum covered gloves that went up past her elbow, was beaming as she looked down at the sharks.
"That is nice," Tina agreed. "I remember how happy she was when she came home." It had been one of the best days of her sister's life; Louise had loved sharks ever since she was six.
"She watched 'Jaws'," said Gene, and Tina nodded. He had continued to talk, although not half as much as he used to; he either communicated using just a single word, or small sentences.
"Yeah, she did," the kids remembered that when Louise had come home, she had watched "Jaws", the movie that had kickstarted her obsession. As per usual, she had watched the second half twice; the interesting parts, she called it.
"I remember that," Bob's heavy finger fell onto the page. "Louise got to feed sharks." His head dangled very close to the book. "She loves sharks."
"Yeah," Tina whispered. She kind of had the urge to watch "Jaws", but she also didn't; it would just be too hard.
"These are nice photos," Bob said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "It was nice of them to give this to us."
"It really was," said Tina.
The three of the continued to look through the book, reminiscing with every new photo they saw.
~ x ~
Done. What did you think?
If you read "The Stuff You Were Never Meant to See", you might notice the inclusion of the Wagstaff Christmas concert. I really liked that scene, but it had to be cut out of the final draft, so I decided to sort of bring it back here.