Page 99 of The Perfect Nanny

I guess I should let them know I’m leaving and that the fire will likely burn out in a couple of hours. I jog back into the house and unlatch the basement door. I flick on the buzzing light and head downstairs. “Sorry, I forgot the curtains.”

“What’s on fire?” Dad asks.

“You can smell that down here?” I glance at his wrists first because the glaring red abrasions from the zip ties are starting to bleed again. I should probably switch the ties over to ropes so I don’t have to keep cleaning the wounds. “Is that still buggingyou?” I lean toward his lap to get a better look at the oozing blood.

“You told us you wouldn’t keep us tied up if we came down here,” Dad mutters.

“I lied.” I huff. That was before it took me three days to figure out how to get them down here without physically maneuvering them. The pistol might have been enough of a threat to get them to walk down here, but I couldn’t take the chance. I had to get creative.

I made a little rope zipline, attached it to the oil tank outside of their bedroom window, then weaved it through their bedroom and down into the cellar where I secured the other side of the rope to the electrical box. I then gave them a new pair of zip ties that were attached to the zipline rope to help them stay on the right path while heading down the stairs. I was honest with them about how I secured the zipline. So, they knew if the rope was pulled the wrong way, the oil tank and/or the electrical box could break. Nobody wants an explosion, obviously.

“The fire, Haley, what is on fire?” Mom rasps.

“Willa,” I say with a shrug. “I’m almost done.”

Mom cries out. “Oh God. What have we done?”

“You’re not burning in the fire, are you?”

“Haley, you can’t keep us down here,” Dad moans for the millionth time today.

“Dad, I’m protecting you and keeping you safe. It’s for your own good. You’ll thank me someday. Oh, keep an eye on the fire. I’ll come back to check on it soon. I have an errand to run.”

I walk past the burning barrel on the driveway and unlock my car door.

“Burning leaves over there?” our neighbor shouts from across the street.

“Yup, and some bodies too,” I reply with a chuckle.

“What?” he replies. “I’m sorry, dear, I’m hard of hearing in my old age.”

“Never mind,” I shout a bit louder.

“Oh, okay. Well, make sure you put out the fire before you go to bed tonight. There are too many trees around here, ya know?”

“Will do!”

“Good. Tell your folks I said hi and hope they’re doing well.”

I slide into my car and spot the manila folder filled with papers on my passenger seat. I grab it and step back outside toward the flames. This stupid case study has been weighing heavily on my mind and taking up space in my desk drawer. After realizing how close I am to being on my own in this career path, I’ve decided against using this particular case study in my dissertation.

My research, my knowledge.

I must stand out in some way to make my mark in the world. With my unique findings, I will, no doubt, be able to direct other misguided people toward a proper pathway in life.

The only trustworthy place to house this information is in my head—a place where lies will never exist and there is no such thing as a mistake.

I toss the case study into the fire, watching the black ashes of paper flutter around the orange glow.

What we burn can never be brought back—truths and lies alike. That’s what makes life so perfect.

EPILOGUE

Cigarette smoke laces the air as I walk through the front metal doors, my rubber soles squeaking against the damp floor. I shiver from the change in temperature between outside and in. The cement walls must keep out the heat. I wrap my arms around my chest, feeling as though the walls have eyes and every move I make is being watched with a magnifying glass. I don’t know why anyone would want to live here.

This is the first time and hopefully the last time I’m stepping foot into a state prison but there are some things I need to take care of here.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you here for visitation hours?” the desk clerk asks with a dead look in her eyes.

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