Page 107 of Alik

“I don’t think so,” I say, which is sort of a lie. The answer is no. I got a job working a hot dog stand at a kids’ indoor playground. Apparently, my lack of eye contact creeps some parents out. I made it a month before they fired me.

Before that, I was a dog walker, but I think some could sense the evil in me or something because I kept getting bit.

Before that, I stocked shelves at a supermarket until one of my coworkers found my sketchbook that had drawings of them in it. Which might not have been so bad if they’d been alive in the sketches.

You get the picture. I’m a fuck-up.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Mom says, but I can tell she’s just stalling. She wants to ask me the big question. The only one that matters to her.

“I’ll find something,” I assure her. “I’ve been clean for over a year now, so maybe I can handle something a little more high-stress. That would open a lot of options.”

Her lips part as she blows out a breath, looking dizzy with relief as she nods. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

“And have you uh…” She clears her throat. Here comes the big question. “Has your medication been working?”

Have you killed any more people, dear? Done anything that’ll add ten years to the bags beneath my eyes?

I’m sorry, Mom. Fuck, I’m so sorry.

“Yeah.” I point to where Dad went. “I mean, I’m sure Dad told you… I had a bit of a scare because I lost my memory one night, but it turned out to be a false alarm. I uh…” I sigh. “I’d been drugged. That’s how I ended up at that house, Mom. I swear to God, I haven’t gone near anyone from my old life, and?—”

“H-hold on.” She lifts a manicured hand. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. You were drugged?”

“That’s how I ended up in the hospital a few weeks ago,” I say. “Not like drugs drugs, but like a put-you-to-sleep type of drug. A lot of assumptions were made, but?—”

“You were in the hospital?” Her eyes widen, and she grips my hand as she leans toward me.

He didn’t tell her.

She stares at me, waiting for more, but I’m speechless. I will anger to rise at my father, expect it to, but instead, my eyes water.

She didn’t know.

It wasn’t because she doesn’t love me anymore.

She just didn’t know.

“Oh, honey,” she says, deflating when she sees my tears. She brings me to her chest and holds me the way I’ve needed her to so many times over the past year. I don’t deserve it. I know I don’t deserve it. And maybe that’s why my father kept it from her. Maybe he knew she deserved better than to hear my string of bad news. Maybe he knew she deserved better than me.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?” she asks, rubbing her hand over my back.

“I’m really happy to be home.”

27

ALIK

Istand outside Olive’s parents’ house, my hands tucked inside my jacket pockets. I told myself I wouldn’t do it, but I find my eyes drifting to the windows anyway, searching for Olive watching me the way she once enjoyed.

Those days are over.

Arthur Solace opens the door dressed in a suit like he’s planning on going into work on a Sunday. Or church, I guess.

Blood drains from his face, and his hand pats his side where his gun would be if it wasn’t eight thirty in the morning on a Sunday.

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