"A shame, you know? That Mrs. Blankenship couldn't join us for dinner. "
Laurie hears her mother in the dining room as she closes the front door.
"Oh wait! I think she's back." Her mother says to someone, rushed. "Laurie?"
She is climbing the first couple of steps when a chair slides across the wood floor and her mother comes bustling after her.
"Oh, honey," her mother says softly, "You look so nice in that dress. What was the occasion?"
Laurie gulps back black flame, because God forbid she raise her voice to show that she's angry at her clueless self-centered mother.
"At a funeral," Laurie croaks, her throat still rough from unshed tears.
"Oh." Her mother replies curiously. "You mean that boy everyone's been talking about?"
"I think I saw his name in the obituary a couple days ago!" Her father states from the dining room. "Died in his car. That's why I don't want Laurie to have one. Kids nowadays don't know how to handle things so complex."
"Aren't you hungry, dear? Why don't you come join us?" Her mother asks.
"I'm not hungry," Laurie replies. All she wants is to cry. But, if she cries in front of her parents she'd only embarrass herself. Doing so in her room is for the best. That way, there's no mistaking that no one would see her or hear about how distraught she was over Ben Tramer, because if her mother were to find out, given that her mother has such an annoying penchant for gossip, the neighbor eventually would and then the neighbor's daughter, and then the entire school and then Laurie wouldn't hear the end of it.
"But I've already made a plate for you," her mother says beseechingly. "It's your favorite too. Spinach casserole and polish sausages. Remember when I packed you those for lunch in fifth grade? That nasty girl Tracy took it from you and you came back so sad that day."
With a heavy sigh, Laurie concedes, partially because she's touched her mother thinks of her for once.
"They said it was a damaged spark plug," Laurie murmurs as she enters the dining room. At first her mother has this look that questions what her daughter is going on about, until it occurs to her that she was still on about that Tramer kid. "But, Chief Brackett thinks that someone purposely sabotaged—"
The sound of her voice resonates and dies from the room as she spots Michael seated at the head of the table, his back ramrod straight. He brings the fork up to his mouth and eats like a machine operates. It hardly looks like he chews, his jaw barely moving. This marks his first appearance to dinner and Laurie wonders what may have prompted him to do so. Maybe he really is getting better at the social thing. While Laurie gets worse.
Laurie spots her plate on the table, filled with the food her mother promised, the product of a house wife's work. Silently, Laurie slips into her seat, opposite of Michael, whose eyes are fixed on his food. His acknowledgement of her could use some work.
"Sabotaged?" Her mother brushes past her and returns to her seat, left of her brother. "Well, if that's the case…"
"Bah!" Her father says and slams down his newspaper, rolls it up, and gets up to leave the kitchen. "In Haddonfield? Who has time to do that?"
Laurie and her mother watched him disappear into the living room, flick the TV on. He'd finished his plate, but it didn't mean he'd take the initiative of putting it in the sink because God forbid it takes ten seconds out of his life.
In a hushed voice, her mother says, "Dad's in a bad mood."
"Why?"
"Mr. Tramer was apparently promoted." She looks over her shoulder then at Laurie. "The old man there thinks it was a pity move from his boss."
"Is it too much for something good to happen to the Tramers?"
"I heard Ben got into a fight with one of the kids at school."
Laurie's fingers curl into her first.
"Because everyone wanted to be like him."
Her mother gives her a pointed look.
"If everyone wanted to be like him, then why would they want to fight him?"
"Because this town's too damn bored!" Laurie snaps and instantly slaps a hand over her mouth, shooting her mother a wide eyed look.
The fork in Michael's hand falls out of his grip and clatters onto his plate.
Her mother glares at her. "Go to your room, missy!"
She hadn't even touched her food and even though she originally wanted to so since she entered the house, having her mother order her makes Laurie retaliate.
"Fine!"
Laurie pushes back from her seat and pivots on her heel, marches out of the dining room.
"The one time your brother joins us for dinner, and you have to ruin a perfect family evening!"
If Laurie was having any difficulty holding back her tears, it is impossible for her now. By the time she slams the door to her room, her face is hot and the pressure behind her eyes is released with her pathetic cries.
XXX
There's a knock on her door as Laurie sits at her desk, brushes her damp hair. After her fallout with her mother, three hours had passed.
"Yeah?" Laurie mumbles.
The door opens and her father stands there, leans against the doorway.
"What's up kiddo?"
"Nothing. Just getting ready for bed."
Laurie says no more, and her father watches her in silence, looks at his feet, around the room.
"Y'know, mom's upset with you, but she'll get over it by morning," he says.
Her father would know. After all the times he's wronged mama, she'd opened her heart to him again and again without fail. Laurie doesn't know if her own heart is capable of such flexibility. If Ben Tramer were to cheat on her with someone who's perfume smelled more expensive than hers, Laurie wouldn't know if she could forgive him. If he died the day after in a tragic car fire, Laurie is almost certain she wouldn't feel compelled to cry over him either.
"Sure," Laurie says.
"How was the funeral?"
"Mrs. Tramer had a mental breakdown after."
"Uh-huh. Well, they always said she was a little…" Her father makes a rude gesture with his hand to his head. "Not sure how long she has left before they submit her to Smith's Grove."
"Her son died, dad."
Laurie has stopped brushing her hair, and she turned in her chair.
He puts up two placating hands. "I'm just calling it how I see it."
But, you weren't even there to see her at the funeral.
Laurie shakes her head but says nothing else.
"Can I ask you something?"
Laurie looks at her father expectantly. She nods.
This time, he looks out into the dark hallway, steps into her room, and quietly closes her door. He steps as close to her where his whisper is heard.
"I don't know if you've picked it up, but your mother is moody and she doesn't realize it."
Laurie blinks and frowns. It's signal enough for her father to continue.
"Ever since Michael moved in…" Her father says — the conspiratorial undertone isn't missed. It's funny how he brings up her brother. It's even more funny how he keeps his voice so quiet as though not to risk being heard by anyone else.
But the only people who would likely hear is her brother whose room is next to hers.
"What do you mean—"
"Quieter," her father commands in a hissed whisper.
Laurie furrows her brows and rises from her seat and steps toward the man who suddenly looks worn down.
"What's wrong, daddy?" she whispers.
He takes her hand and holds it gingerly between his own. When their eyes meet she almost wants to pull away in surprise. They shared the same eyes, her mother would say. Old eyes but always sharp. Sees everything.
And these eyes are filled with fear so contagious Laurie's take on a haunted dullness of their own.
Then, her father shakes his head, looks down. When he raises his gaze, the delicate emotion is gone, but Laurie doesn't let that calm her because a business man knows how to manipulate people as well as he is able to manipulate his own emotions. Her father is in denial of what he feels, but Laurie knows him better than that. He's scared.
Then, he pats her hand.
"Just watch your mother for me, kiddo. Can you manage that?"
"Are you going away again?" Laurie whispers innocently.
Her father's face flashes with guilt, but he's able to hide it yet again, schools his expression. Smile for the customer, it convinces them that you're as satisfied with the product as they will be.
"No. I'm not leaving you, honey. Never you." Her father says, placing a hand on her head. He smiles with boyish charm. It's no wonder her mother still loves him or has convinced herself she still does. Maybe Laurie would forgive Ben Tramer after all, if this is what love is capable of. Convinces you to take hurt from someone who's supposed to take the hurt away.
"But…" He steps back, a little solemn now. "Maybe, you and me, we can drive out of town. Maybe this weekend. I haven't taken you fishing yet, have I?" His voice raises in volume, reaching regular conversation.
Laurie shakes her head.
"Good!" His eyes crinkle. "This will be good, because your mom said she wanted to have more time with Michael."
Laurie almost rolled her eyes at that. It seems all of Michael's waking moments are spent mostly with their mother.
"Well, I'll let you go to sleep then," her father says and reaches out to her for a hug. Laurie is stiff at first when his arms come around her shoulders. Her father has never shown so much affection in one night, but then she remembers there was a man like this in her childhood. That man's retired now, having focused on different pursuits like his career, his car…
His mistress.
Laurie almost wants to recoil from the hug at the reminder. If only Sheriff Bracket hadn't told Annie that her father was seen at the Rabbit in Red. Maybe, Laurie wouldn't resent him as much.
Laurie is about to pull away when her father holds her tight. The hug has lasted for ten seconds now, but his body hasn't relaxed. It's stiff, and this hug is starting to turn cold. Then, she feels his mouth hovering above her ear.
"Keep your door locked."
Then he releases her with a broad smile. Too broad. This smile is Mayday.
"Have a goodnight sweetheart. I know you're hurting after the Tramer boy. Honestly, don't like his father, but his son...well, seemed like a good one. I might have even said yes if he asked you to homecoming."
"Goodnight daddy." Then, she blurts out, "Thanks for cheering me up." She doesn't know what came over her to say that, it wasn't that he did anything spectacular or said anything particularly comforting, but Laurie feels like there's an unspoken role she needs to play.
With a half-hearted wave, her father leaves her room.
Immediately, Laurie shuffles to the door, closes it, and twists the lock.
XXX
The dream Laurie has awakens her. She isn't too pleased to want to go to the bathroom, but now that she's awake she can't ignore the urge. Reluctantly, she sways over to her door, unlocks it, and heads for the bathroom. As she navigates down the dark hallway, she uses the wall as her guide.
Thank goodness she'd overcome her fear of the dark otherwise she'd be crying for her mother for help.
When she made it to the bathroom, she hadn't bothered to turn on the light. It doesn't appeal to her to have her retinas burned out by a fluorescent light. After she finishes relieving herself, she returns to her bedroom. Closes the door. Locks it.
She stumbles into bed and buries into the blankets.
It's warm darkness that whisks her into sleep again and then she dreams. She hears a distant song from her childhood play in the background as her mother pushes her on the swing, laughing, giggling. It's her mother, in an unbothered time, and though the sadness is still in her eyes, Laurie knows she does her best to mitigate it around her. Because Little Laurie was the best thing to happen to them after Judith's death. Her parents lost one daughter, only to be given the hope that they can restart with a new one. It's why her mother was so protective of her. Strict as well. And Laurie stands as evidence to her parents' demands having been met.
Her father appears in front of them with his hands on his hips, and he gives Laurie an appraising look.
Right now, her parents are smiling. This is what Laurie defines as a good dream. Just mom, dad, and her. These are the simpler times she misses, even if her parents are still in mourning.
And then, the clouds fill the sky, blotting out the blue. Mama and daddy are gone, stolen from the existence of her dream. Laurie falls out of her swing, and is thrown to the ground. Her hands brace her fall, she doesn't feel hurt, because it's only a dream thankfully. But, the clouds darken the day until there is only black. Suddenly, Laurie feels too warm. Trapped in a suffocating embrace. She sees nothing even if she blinks for the blue skies to come back. For her mother. For her father. She finds it hard to kick with what is weighing down on her legs. The darkness is almost alive with hands of its own.
A flash of Tracy's sneering face appears in the darkness for a brief moment as she feels something brush between her thighs and heat flickers in her stomach. In the distance, an inferno burns bright, but the darkness comes upon it on all sides and extinguishes the light as something closes over her hip. A scent fills her nostrils that conjures a memory of a cold hostile room she once sat in waiting for the doctor to give her the shot she dreaded. The smell of a hospital.
Her spine quivers as what was on her hip marks it's heavy path below below her belly button
It is when she feels the hand digs its fingers into her flesh does Laurie jolt.
The sun peaks through her blinds and there's an incessant knocking on her door.
When she takes too long to respond and shake herself from sleep, her mother barges in.
"You'll be late for school, Laurie. What has gotten into you? First last night and now this?"
She ignores how her mother admonishes her with a threatening look and only says,
"I thought my door was locked."
Her mother narrows her eyes.
"What are you going on about? Hurry up and get dressed. You already missed the bus. Michael is already getting ready to take you to school."
Laurie stares through her mother. She doesn't panic over the prospect of missing school. Or that the woman in front of her is quite fed up with her behavior— not that Laurie is deliberately acting in any way.
No.
She just thinks.
Of a living darkness and a hospital stench.