Page 56 of I Will Mend You

“This way,” he says.

My throat dries, and I try not to consider how I know each of these metal contraptions used to contain corpses. Instead, I focus on the exit up ahead, where they used to transport the bodies outside for burial.

Xero takes a right turn through a door left ajar. Inside, it’s completely dark. I don’t ask myself how I can see him when there’s no light, but I take his hand and let him position me behind the door.

“Is this where we’re hiding?” I whisper.

“Yes. But don’t speak out loud. I can read your thoughts,” he replies.

I nod, certain I hid here before when I was a resident. Xero must be able to access my memories, but I still don’t understand why I only get tiny snippets.

“You can’t handle it right now,” he says.

I want to ask him if it could really be that bad, but then I remember all those polaroids on his crime board. Does Xero know how I ended up in this institution?

“That part is foggy,” he replies, “But I think it happened after the accident.”

My throat tightens. It’s no wonder memories of my childhood are so inaccessible. I can’t imagine losing my father to a car crash and then getting thrown into an asylum to suffer abuse.

Xero wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into a hug. We both lean against the wall, listening out for footsteps.

By now, the help Grunt called for would have noticed I’ve gone and tried to follow my trail. They probably expected me to take the fire exit, because hiding in a creepy abandoned asylum is counter-intuitive.

He nods behind me, his grip around my waist tightening. “They’ll waste time checking the grounds, expecting you to run toward the gate.”

I smile. With any luck, they’ll make Dolly take my place.

“At least we’ve bought ourselves some breathing space. While we’re waiting for the right time to exit, you should turn those sleeves into a pair of socks.”

“What for?”

He chuckles, the sound harsh and low. “You’re going to need something comfortable on your feet to hunt these bastards.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Monday August 2, 2010

We had our first argument yesterday, after I discovered that Lyle hadn’t fired Charlotte. He said I’d feel less paranoid after the baby and realize I would need her help.

Something inside me snapped, bringing up years of suppressed fury. When Lyle convinced me to leave the Salentinos, he said we would be together as a family. Instead, he left me alone in a small apartment with two babies. I spent the first few years alone, without help, without a means to communicate with the outside world.

It was like I’d entered another prison, with Lyle visiting sporadically to drain his balls. When he finally moved us to a real home, he would leave for weeks on end. By then, I had Dr. Forster to pick up the slack, but there were limits to how much I could share.

Lyle spent more time working on his adoption agency than on his new family. He worked long hours and was always stressed. He even lost interest in sex. So, I let loose a tirade ofaccusations, accusing her of seducing him and trying to usurp my position in this household.

For the first time since we got married, Lyle yelled back. What hurt the most wasn’t the fact that he raised his voice, but that he defended Charlotte. He told me she was doing a better job keeping my daughters from tearing out each other’s throats than I ever did. The house was spotless, the meals were on time, and she created the kind of home he’d imagined we’d have when he discarded an illustrious career in the FBI.

The words stung. He’s never thrown that in my face. My hormones were everywhere, and I burst into tears. Lyle watched me cry for several minutes before walking out. Out of the room, out of the house, and out of our lives.

He didn’t return to bed last night, and his car has left the driveway. I’m now alone with Charlotte and the girls. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where he’s gone. He won’t answer his cell phone or his office number.

I stayed in my room with Heath, expecting Charlotte to take Lyle’s absence as a chance to finish the job she started. She sent Amy in with food, but I refused to fall for that trick again.

In the evening, when I turned down dinner, Charlotte barged into the room without permission. Well, she knocked, but I told her to go away. She wanted to know why I wasn’t eating when I needed all the nutrition I could get to nurse the baby.

The girls stood at her sides, staring at me like I’d gone crazy. I wanted to scream at her to get out and take away her poison, but I didn’t want to frighten my daughters.

All I could think of to say was that I’d order something online. Her gentle smile, her contrived compassion, the way she wrapped her arms around my twins made me sick. It was all an act to groom my girls into thinking I was an unfit mother.

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