18. Ambrose—age nine
Ambrose—age nine
H eavy feet stomp above us. The assault on the floorboards is still easy to hear over Dollie’s wailing.
“Shh, he’s coming.” My eyes are on the moldy ceiling, following each step he takes, not Dollie at the bucket. “Dollie, please be quiet.”
“I’m in pain,” she sobs.
Pity pulls my eyes toward her. “Where?”
“In my tummy. In my lower back. Inside my?—”
The basement door yanks open, cutting her off as it hits the frame with a bang.
“Don’t let him come down here. I’m not done.”
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.
Just as my pants were starting to dry, the dirty water that makes me cringe splashes up to my thighs as I move to the stairs. Just as quickly, Colin, the clown, moves down them.
“We didn’t do anything.”
“I heard noises. Misbehaving children. You know that’s not allowed. Especially at this hour in the morning.”
“We don’t know when it’s morning.”
There’s no clock to watch time tick away, and the only window, sitting high at the far side of the room, is bolted shut and so dirty there’s no way of seeing through it.
“That isn’t good enough.” Colin’s eyes stray to Dollie, standing in front of the bucket.
Tears stream from her eyes as she bends, washing her grubby legs in water that will make little difference.
Chuckles steps around me and grabs her with a bruising grip on the top of her arm.
I know the exact shade of purple her bruise will be tomorrow. It’ll match mine. It pangs on my bicep as Chuckles squeezes her arm between his fingers until she squirms.
The urge to help her shoves me forward.
If you take another step forward, your parents won’t love you anymore, my cruel mind taunts me with something that doesn’t really make sense.
I saw Mom crying on the news. I saw Dad asking for information on Dollie and me. They’d want me to help her.
That was weeks ago.
Maybe months ago.
I lift my leg to walk, but those same words, repeated in a voice that sounds something like mine, sound again.
“Why were you crying, Dollancie? It makes me anxious.”
She says nothing, her eyes on me.
He nudges her, and she falls over.
Frozen to the spot in the cold water, I watch her lips tremble as she tries to stand and answer Colin.
“I’m hurting. I have Ulsative Coletus.”
I don’t really understand the condition that controls Dollie’s life, but I’ve heard Mom and Dad talk about it at home, and I’m pretty sure she’s pronouncing it wrong.
“And?”
“And it hurts my tummy.” She’s holding her tummy, and it’s rounder than usual.
“Oh,” Colin drags out the word. “Does it hurt like this?”
Before I can fight away the thoughts of my parents wishing I’m never found, my legs move, but not fast enough to jump into the path between Dollie and Chuckles’ fist. He lifts her into the air with one hand and the other balls and punches into her tiny stomach.
The shriek that leaves her has me moving through the water faster.
The sound of my mother’s voice overpowers the other one in my head.
Will you keep an eye on her for me? She’s your baby sister now, and you’ll love her one day.
She’d thought schoolyard bullies would be the worst we’d encounter.
She was so wrong.
My weight, as small as I am, slams into Chuckles. He and Dollie crash into the wall before he lets the water catch her.
Rushing to her side, with my limp worse than usual, I help her to her feet.
Tiny and trembling, she hides behind me.
Little fingers jab into my skin and pinch as she wraps my T-shirt, which was dry until around ten minutes ago, in her fists and starts fingering the material to soothe herself.
“Oh, you want to protect your sister again.” Colin laughs hysterically.
It stops instantly.
Bloodshot eyes land on me as my right foot tries and fails to lead us away because each time it hits the ground, that voice in my head screams that I’m not doing it right, and if I don’t, Dollie will die from today’s injury, leaving me alone.
“Oh, what are you doing? Is that one of your special dances? Mommy said you liked to dance. You know,” Colin sits with his ass in the water. Bubbles surround him and make me eager to get away.
If only I could get my foot down right.
“Your mom was on the news today. Daddy, too. They said it’s your birthday. Would you like a gift?”
“Happy birthday, Ambrose.” The whisper comes from my little sister, who’s lost all sense of her surroundings.
I ignore her and answer the clown sitting before me.
It’s my birthday. We’ve been here four months and twenty days. It’s been so hard to keep track down here, but I know I can’t take another night down here.
“I’d like for us to go home and see them.”
“That’s not an option.”
“Why not? You don’t like us. Why do we have to stay here?”
He says nothing about that. “They said you like to dance. Do you? Is that what that is?” He bobs his head at my repeated actions.
For once, Dollie stays quiet, and I do, too.
Each step strains my left leg for nothing because I’m still in the same spot.
“Or…” Colin giggles as I glance at the stairs that I could be running up if I could only move. “Is it your fucked up brain saying that if you move, something bad will happen?”
How can he know that?
“Mommy said you had a fucked-up brain, too. One that makes you do stuff over and over and over and over again.” He moves his head like he has some kind of twitch while he talks, and I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or if he actually has one.
“She said that you repeat a lot of stuff, repeat a lot of stuff, repeat a lot of stuff, to stop bad things from happening, happening, happening. I can’t say I didn’t notice it when you first got in my car and then out again and then in again.” He laughs. “You are one crazy kid. Do you know why?”
I don’t want his reasons.
I don’t want anything from him but for him to stop blinking those bulging eyes at me.
I swallow hard, once, twice, three times, and it’s obvious to me that my issues are worsening down here.
“You do realize that you would have a better chance of bad things not happening if you made it out the door? Home isn’t too far away, you know. What’s stopping you? What’s the bad thing?”
I shouldn’t even be tempted to tell him, but the words crawl to the tip of my tongue. I force my mouth to close and my hand too, as I wrap it around Dollie’s smaller one.
“Oh… I see. You’re worried I’ll hurt her like I’ve hurt you.”
He’s already hurt her, but at least her body isn’t different colors of the rainbow, like mine. Red, where I bleed. Purple, where I’ve bruised. Pink, where he’s gripped me too hard.
That can’t happen to her.
I can’t let it.
Colin rises, and water drips from his clothes.
An ominous echo plays each time a droplet hits the water. Dollie hears it, too, always so sensitive to any sound she doesn’t make. She nuzzles into my side, trying to shield her ears against me and one of her shoulders.
“Dollie…” She isn’t safe here. And why should we both die down here if one of us can get away? “You gotta run!”
I spin, pushing her away, silently praying she doesn’t fall.
Her bandy legs splash through the water, and luckily, she stays on her feet.
“Now, I will fucking hurt her.” Colin storms around me, probably thinking I can’t move, but he doesn’t get far.
I break my routine by jumping at him and latching onto his leg. I wrap all my limbs around him and don’t let go with the first, second, or third kick to my stomach.
“No! You don’t get to touch her. You don’t get to touch her. You don’t get to touch her,” I repeat, but it still doesn’t feel right.
Three is my lucky number.
It should feel right.
But all I feel is pain.
“Keep trying.” Colin’s horrid, hoarse voice comes in and out of my consciousness. It’s even harsher and colder than before, laced with a kind of panic I thought only Dollie and I felt while down here.
A strange pressure thuds against my chest. A pair of trembling lips against my cold ones breathe air into my mouth.
“Harder.”
Water rushes up my throat, and I choke on it as it spills out of my mouth.
A tiny hand rubs my back as I roll to my side.
My fingertips turn white as I grip the edge of the dresser while I lie on top of it.
Splash, splash, splash. I blink my eyes at the sound, expecting Colin to be nearing.
My vision returns fully to see him stomping up the stairs. The words, “Thank fuck,” slip out before he slams the door.
Dollie’s tiny hand is still on my back, tormenting me with circles.
“Dollie, stop. You’re doing circles. Stop.” I push myself up and collapse against her, almost knocking her to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a whisper.
Somehow, her tiny body steadies us both while I struggle through shallow and painful breaths.
Flying arms wrap around my neck, making it more difficult to breathe easily, but her trembling makes it impossible for me to peel her away.
She needs me.
She confirms it with her words, “I thought you were dead forever. Chuckles said you drowned, and you weren’t breathing. I couldn’t get you to breathe. I tried for so long. Chuckles tried, too. He was breathing into your mouth when I came back.”
“Why did you come back? I did it for you to get away. I died for you to get away.”
Tears drop in harmony from both of our eyes.
“I don’t want you to die. I love you.” Her body starts rocking, nerves taking over.
“Dollie, you shouldn’t have come back.”
“Do you love me, too?” Her attention span always spins to the pointless stuff. Pointless stuff that’s so important to her.
“I…” I hesitate.
Do I love her, or do I tolerate her for our parents?
Could I lie?
“I care about you.” I settle on that. “And because of that, I wanted to save you. You shouldn’t be down here.”
“I got upstairs, but I couldn’t reach the door.
And I don’t want to go home without you.
What if you never woke up? What if I didn’t have a big brother anymore?
What would I tell Mommy and Daddy and Duggan?
They’d be so upset if you didn’t come home.
So, I came back for you, and you weren’t breathing.
The crocodile was here again, but I faced my fears. I was brave. I did it for you.”
And I gave up everything for you.
“You were brave.” I nod, tears dropping from my eyes.
“But I wish you were a coward, Dollie. I wish you’d have just run and gotten out of here, somehow. A window, anything.”
Her hand runs over my cheeks, her nails finally free of the polish she loves so much, as she wipes my tears.
The look on her face changes. The sadness is gone and replaced with a smile, which lets me know that the conversation is about to drift again.
And I don’t have the strength for it.
“He said it’s your birthday, and you almost died on your birthday! You’re so lucky. I’m gonna call you that forever.”
“Please don’t.” Because I feel so unlucky to be alive right now.
“Okay. I’ll just call you Ambrose. But in my head, you’ll be lucky Ambrose. Now, make a wish, Ambrose,” she drags out my name.
I almost tell her they don’t come true down here, but the hope she feels at this moment shouldn’t be stolen.
A heavy swallow follows a big breath, and I humor her. “I wish that on our next birthdays, we’ll be at home. Yours is next. What will you ask Mom and Dad for? Another Barbie doll? A house for her?”
“I think, maybe…” she ponders for only a second. “Yep, definitely, something for Duggan. He needs a new tie.”
“Yeah.” Her constant playing with it has it holding on by a thread.
“I’ll also share my cake with you. Because you don’t have one now.”
I turn away, not wanting her to see how hopeless I feel, how drained and scared I am. I say, “Thank you, Dollie. What color frosting?”
“Pink or yellow, of course. But I’ll ask for a little black. Just for you.”