Elisabeth Edley's father has three skeletons in his closet. One is aged taupe and named Olivia. The second has a dent in the skull and has been donned A.P. The third is a photograph of a blonde, dead girl.
~ A five part story that I wrote for my Cre...
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"I think that this will be very good for us," she said. "All of us."
I looked around the living room aimlessly. It was the same, but it was different, too. The piano still sat in the corner, unplayed for months. The fireplace still rested untouched as it always had, even before. Before I had known. Before I lost my father to his own insanity.
"Don't you think it would be better to move, Momma?" Rebecca questioned, biting her thumb. "Start new?"
Momma shook her head, "We can't leave the lives you live behind."
I scoffed, and under my breath, "You did."
Her eyes shot over to me, but they didn't hold the frustration I expected.
"I made a mistake, Elisabeth," she reminded me, taking my hand in hers. "A mistake I regret and have regretted. But you have to understand that I left for good reason. I was in danger."
"We all were," I snapped, but I didn't let go of her hand.
"I never thought-I never knew that he would..." Momma spoke solemnly, hanging her head. "I had never imagined he could be that way. I thought that he loved you two, very much. I thought he could care for you better than I could at that time."
I didn't reply.
Rebecca stayed silent. The house was full of the silence it had held for the past three months.
After Father had been taken to jail, after he was tried for three counts of murder and one of attempted murder, after the chaos, Rebecca and I had left to Momma. She lived in Portland, Oregon with her old friend from college. It was green, green, green, and felt unfamiliar and lonely.
Frances had returned to her home with her mother, and wrote to Rebecca and I with tons of questions about what life was like in the city.
Finally, we had come back home. Momma wanted to continue to live in the house. After all, it had been her dream home, and her and Father had broken their bank accounts to buy it when Rebecca was first born.
In some ways, I was happy to be home, but in others, I was terrified. It was a small town- everyone knew. Everyone knew that old, weird Mr. Edley was just as insane as everyone had assumed he was. I hated that they had turned out to be right.
I didn't see a familiar face after we had returned until late August.
One night, I sat on the porch in the humidity of the summertime and watched the lightning bugs pass. I wondered how it was possible that after I had left, everything managed to go on. It felt like the town would stay still, and when I came back, it would still be gray nighttime. Cold and eerie.
I heard him come up the porch steps before I saw him.
When I looked up, I was surprised by how tall he was. He had more freckles, too.
"Hey," he greeted. He sounded out of breath.
"Hi," I said quietly. I hoped that the shock and fright didn't show on my face.
"Your hair's longer," he told me.
I glanced down at my brown locks, shrugging my shoulders, "Yeah, I guess so."
Waylon cleared his throat, "Listen, I'm really sorry about-"
"You don't have to apologize," I interrupted.
He rubbed the back of his neck in nervousness, "Yeah...I know. I just feel like I'm supposed to say something."
"You don't have to," I told him.
"So...it's true, what everyone is saying?" he asked me.
I shrugged once more, "That depends. What is everyone saying?"
Waylon coughed, "That your dad, he uh...well they're saying that he killed Angela. And that girl in Montana, and another in Kentucky. They say that he tried to shoot you."
I didn't look up at him. I nodded my head.
He hurriedly sat down next to me, "Really? Are you okay?"
"I'm alive, aren't I?"
"I was real worried about you," he admitted. "Sara, too."
"I'm fine," I told him. It wasn't the complete truth.
