Page 57 of Eldritch

Sybil rubbed her forehead. She managed to ask, “Is he alive?”

“Yes.”

Tears rushed to her eyes. Someone watching her, she knew, might think she cried tears of joy that her father had lived. But no. No, that wasn’t it. She put the phone on speaker and placed it in her lap and used both hands to wipe at her eyes.

“Sybil?”

“Yeah.” Sybil sighed and put her head in her hands. “I’m here.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Anger shot up inside her. “Well, there’s a lot I could say. But it doesn’t matter. I doubt you would appreciate it.”

“You’re not the least bit concerned about him?”

Sybil laughed, but it was a choked noise. “Why should I be? He’s right where he deserves to be. And when you’re a serial killer that means either you’ll command a lot of respect from other assholes, or people will want to kill you. Sounds like someone decided he deserved a little more justice.”

“That’s so cold.”

“You’re right. It is. I refuse to apologize for it.”

It came then. The sound that Sybil had heard dozens of times as a child whenever she said something outside the bounds of what her mother considered sane or reasonable.

Her mother sighed. “Oh, Sybil. Our lives weren’t that horrible, were they? I mean, so many people have had it worse than us.”

Sybil froze. How did she react to that? What did she say? “Yeah, that’s true. But the damage he did to you and me…well, it’s taken a long time for me to repair some of those things. I’m still working on it. I’m not ready to forgive him. Have you? Have you forgiven him for how he treated you? Me? For what he did to those women?”

Sybil waited. Silence stretched.

I haven’t forgiven you either. I haven’t forgiven you for going along with him on some days. For not protecting me from his emotional abuse.

Finally, “Mom. Are you there?”

Her mother’s long-suffering sigh came first. “Yes, I’m here. I think it is time for you to get over it.”

The usual plea to get over it.

An enormous lump formed in Sybil’s throat, and she realized its significance instantly. She didn’t want to address what her mother had said.

God damn it. Stop fucking saying that to me. Stop. Stop. Stop trying to put me back in my place and tell me how I should feel.

Sybil shivered. A full body convulsion of anger that tensed all her muscles.

She heard a creaking sound. A loud popping. She looked around but didn’t see anything that would cause it. Old houses did that, didn’t they? She swallowed again and tried to speak. Nothing came. Her mother hadn’t changed. Hadn’t owned up once for her part in enabling her father to treat them like shit. For not having made the decision to leave him and perhaps escape the abuse.

“You know,” her mother said. “They won’t let family members visit seriously injured inmates in their infirmary?”

Sybil leaned back in the chair. “You’d go and visit him if they allowed it?”

“Yes.”

Sybil wanted to scream but she wouldn’t say what she’d said so many times before. It never made any difference to this woman.

Why won’t you divorce him? You can’t possibly love him.

She’d asked her mother this question many times over the years, yet it never made any difference. Sybil understood her tone had turned official. She’d become an expert at analyzing herself, of understanding why she was saying what she said or didn’t say.

Sybil’s level of exhaustion decided everything for her. She’d spent far too much of her life expecting her mother to show love and support. She had to let go of the nagging need.

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