Page 54 of Hell of a Mess
He frowned. “You spend much time with Wayon?”
He had no idea how little time I’d spent with anyone.
“No, not really, but more than anyone else outside the house.”
“That sounds shady. What do you mean by that? Don’t you have friends? A social life?”
I stared out the window, not sure how to answer this. The truth wasn’t something I’d ever spoken to anyone about. Even Wayon called me Dalia. He didn’t know anything about Lace or her existence.
“No, I don’t,” I replied honestly.
“And why is that?”
I had known he wouldn’t take the simple response and let it go.
“I never went anywhere to make friends.”
“What about when you were in school? College?”
Sighing, I thought about my diploma and the name on it that wasn’t even mine.
“I was homeschooled with a private teacher. I didn’t go to college,” I replied.
The truck came to a stop, and I turned to look straight ahead at a red building that wasn’t nearly as elaborate as the house. But the rustic yet well-kept appearance was picturesque.
“Lace,” Luther said, “what did you do every day? With no job or friends?”
Whatever I had been told.
I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I wanted forget it all.
“Lace.” He repeated my name when I remained silent.
I didn’t want to disappoint him. He might take me back to the house.
“I took care of her,” I said just above a whisper. Reading aloud her favorite childhood books, brushing her hair, changing her clothes, setting up her dolls just how she liked them.
“Who did you take care of?”
The image of her blank expression as she stared at nothing, the silence that greeted me morning and night—it all began to replay in my head. He needed me. He wasn’t going to let me go. I might not be his biological daughter, but I was the only one who knew the lies. He needed me to get what he wanted.
“Lace, who did you take care of?” Luther asked again.
I felt bile in my throat. All that I had tried to repress churned inside me like the evil monster that it was.
“Dalia,” I replied. “I took care of Dalia.”
Twenty-One Years Ago…
I stood in the corner of Dalia’s bedroom, watching as she twirled in circles and talked about the bunnies, with teeth and longpurple tails, that would come tonight. She said they had come every night this week.
“Moon goddess, rocks, and salt,” she squealed and began shaking her head in a strange way that scared me.
Dalia scared me a lot. She didn’t used to be like this. I wanted Mommy to come and make her better.
The bedroom door swung open, and Mrs. Lune—the nurse—came inside. She paused, watching Dalia, then turned to look at me.
“How long has she been like this?” she demanded.
