Year Walk

Chapter 3: Alicia

I watched my father and his dreadful face scan over his newest journal entry. I knew what happened to mother, and he was the soul purpose of it. When I was younger, we lived in Manhattan. A small, perfect family. We went to church every Sunday, and went out to eat all the time. We we're happy. Then my dad had to go and screw it up with all his silly stories full with demons and treachery. And my poor, gullible mother had to of course, believe his passion.
Although, a bit in me made me believe that she knew what was right and what was wrong, but she also knew she loved Ace and didn't want to hurt him.
So, when he brought up the idea of moving to Sweden, she jumped in excitement.
Moving to a foreign country was not fun, especially for a 9 year old girl.
And don't get me wrong, of course I was suspicious when we stopped celebrating Christmas, and New Year's Eve. We even stopped going to church. I saw the life sink out of my mother's eyes each day, and my father was the cause.
He taught her the folklore, instead of her going to her friends' houses, going to work, or even running errands. Our home eventually started to rot from spills not being cleaned up, and dishes not being washed.
When I turned eleven, I woke up on New Year's Day to an empty house. He said that she left him, and but I knew he used her as a lab rat for his new religious practice. He purchased a dog to help keep the house feeling like a home. I named him Charlie. 

While he is gone on errands, I "clean up" and read through his journals. I eventually became knowledgeable on year walking. That's how I discovered the true cause of my mother's disappearance. After reading day after day, life started to seem surreal, and my anger seemed to grow.

My father shuffled in his office chair, his back to me. I silently sat at the top of the stairs, patiently watching him and waiting. He looked over at the clock almost every five minutes I didn't see what time it was, but I knew it was almost time for him to go. Tonight, I am going to follow him to the church and bring back my mother.

My father stands up from his chair and walks confidently over to the coat rack to grab his dark green scarf. My father use to be decently attractive before my mother disappeared, shining almost everyday. Now he just hides away in our little cabin in the woods, writing about his research like a maniac. He use to be a kind man too, he would hunt animals for the town we live in and help feed families. Girls even started hitting on him once they discovered that my mother was out of the picture.
Now he has dark shadows under his eyes almost all the time, has barely slept the past few month, and doesn't speak to anyone except Charlie and I.
The funny thing is, I knew why the whole time. And I didn't do anything to change that, because I too, was preparing myself.

He started closing his books and tidying up his desk. I knew what I had to do.
I grip the wrought iron pan I've been hiding in my room from this morning and quietly sneak down the stairs, my knuckles turning white. He was focused on packing up, he slid each item hastily into his bag: his journal, a  a crucifix, a flashlight, and a watch. He was focused enough that he didn't hear the floorboards creak under my bare feet. I lift the pan behind me and with all my force, I hit the side of his skull with solid steel. I didn't feel anything in this moment, unless emptiness can be an emotion. I watch him stumble onto his desk, dazed, as he grips his head. His eyes were darting back and forth, looking everywhere besides at me. I wanted him to see me though- I wanted to see the same look that he forced my mother to go through. I push him around, assisting his confused body to turn towards me. He reaches out to me to grab at me, but it was not fast enough to stop me from hitting him again. This time he sees me- what he raised. 

This time,

he falls to the ground, his head bouncing off of the cold, wooden floor. My feet are cold. My hands are warm. His blood is warm. Gross. I wipe it on my gown. I look up to see Charlie licking my father's face.

"C'mon Charlie, let's go." I pick up a thin blanket from the couch, and I step into my slippers. I gesture Charlie to the door. He eagerly runs up to me with a innocent look in his face, his tongue sticking halfway out. Cute. I look up from Charlie and realize I still need my father's bag. Walking over his body, he begins to groan. I quickly pull the bag from his lifeless arm and wrap it across my chest, moving towards his old, heavy desk. I push it until it's against the bottom of his feet, and heave it over onto his un-expecting legs. It falls in slow motion until it landed on his mid-thighs. My father didn't scream at first- it took him for what felt like an eternity to realize the edges of his own desk was ripping into the fat of his thighs. I stood and waited until he did. I didn't know what I was waiting for at first, but when I heard his howl, I jumped. I fumbled the blanket around me and quickly grabbed the door open, stepping outside waiting for Charlie to follow- he does. I hear his howls drown out to silent sobs and heavy heaving as I pause, standing outside the door. 

He does this, every time before he leaves to go somewhere without me. He shuts the door and waits to hear me cry to myself. 

Now it's my turn.