56. Ambrose—age nine
Ambrose—age nine
I t feels like I haven’t slept for days. It’s been a week of psychologist appointments, pills, and police questions that I can’t answer.
They haven’t found Colin Bannadosi.
There isn’t much to go on, I heard the captain of the department say that to her colleague.
Of course, there isn’t.
The only information I’d given them was that we’d been staying in a white house, with a flooded basement and ugly carpets upstairs. That was all I’d managed before something called separation anxiety kicked in, and I dropped my pen, refusing to write more until I saw my sister.
The police were sensitive to my feelings. To Dad, who brought in Dollie for a minute before I left.
We were pried apart shortly after in the doorway, and that resulted in a breakdown to get away from Mom’s touch. Bumping into the doorframe was rough on my burns, and I have more bruises on my back because of it.
Dollie had been too scared to say anything in that room, only that the man who held us wore clown makeup daily. She never saw what I did, the ugly features underneath.
The police tried their luck with the teens who’d picked us up, too. They’d given the road location and the direction we’d traveled from, but there were so many white houses in that area that the police made no progress with the investigation.
I could write everything down in detail, but shame prevents that. Shame, and the fear that if Mom and Dad get put in prison for being a part of this nightmare, Dollie and I will be separated.
That can’t happen.
I need to be close to her until the day I stop breathing because it feels so much harder to breathe when she’s not with me.
Because of that, Dad guides me into my new bedroom, respecting my wishes of not touching my skin.
The dark walls are something I appreciate as I step inside. The nightlight he turns on isn’t.
Today is moving day for me. It’s taken until darkness filled the sky for Mom to get the room perfect—her words.
I didn’t care what the room looked like.
I only cared that it was closer to Dollie, whose room I’d spent the day in while our parents moved all my stuff from my old room to the space behind the door opposite hers.
There are new things here, too, filling this bigger square.
Horror movie posters still line the walls, the glossy paper shining in the light. My bed is bigger. Like the one Mom and Dad sleep in, it has a huge headboard.
This is exactly the kind of room I’d have loved before that basement. A dark space where I could bask in my solitude.
But now, I can’t be alone without my blood itching.
I don’t even want my own room. I want to be in Dollie’s again tonight. I’ve been there all week, needing her tiny hands touching me because that’s the only thing that takes away the memory of Colin’s much bigger ones all over my body.
Those memories still make me want to die.
I take another step away from the door—away from Dollie’s door.
Already, that itch is present, and we’ve only been apart for less than an hour while I bathed in a concoction of gels, never feeling clean enough. My nails claw at the skin on my arm until it turns red, and my scars burn.
“What is it?” Dad asks, standing just inside the doorway that Mom appears in with a smile. She passes him, bending to me in the center of the room.
It’s weird to see her look anything but perfect, but here she is in a robe with her hair in a messy bun and paint on her hands. “Do you like your new room?
Where’s Dollie? I mouth.
“Your sister is in bed. She wanted to come and see your room, but I told her to let you get settled. You can show her it tomorrow. What do you say?”
I say nothing.
Mom and Dad share a glance before her eyes zone back in on me. First, my throat and the gash, then my face. I see them dance over every scar before she holds out her hands to me. Hope flashes across her face that I’ll take them, but it fades quickly.
I stare at her skinny fingers and the stains from decorating this room that have ruined her perfect manicure.
My hands don’t leave my sides, but I nod, knowing that’ll get my parents out of this room quicker.
“Do you still want space?”
I’ve wanted space from them all week.
It’s hard to be around them when I know they did something awful to us. Harder because of Mom and her constant, tear-stained face. Despite everything, I hurt when she cries. And I can’t take hearing her reasons for the tears, all the whispers of infection that she drops in Dad’s ears.
He walks toward us, taking big steps across my carpet.
“Come on, love,” Dad calls her away from me, his thick fingers around her shoulders. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Edging back and away from them, I pull back the sheets on my new bed, puff a pillow, and tuck myself in.
Both my parents stop in the doorway.
“Goodnight, champ.” Dad smiles.
The tears in his eyes are back again, matching the ones on Mom’s face that I have to look away from.
“I love you, Ambrose.” She sniffles.
Keeping my eyes away from her makes it easier not to let my emotions win. Not to let them confuse me, because I love her too. We’d become so close before my kidnapping, but I just can’t look at my parents the same way anymore.
They close the door, leaving me in silence, and I lie in my new bed, hoping that it’ll still be quiet when I fall asleep. That the voice in my head will still be dormant.
The little clock at my side tells me I’ve been here for an hour when it clicks past eleven.
I’m never going to be able to sleep in here alone.
I need Dollie.
I use my pillow to make it look like my body is still under the covers, in case someone comes looking, and step out of my bed from the same side I got in.
I shift to the bedroom door on quiet feet, and I turn the handle. Praying no one hears the squeal when I pull it open and close it behind me.
It’s five steps to Dollie’s room, her door making the exact same noise when I step inside.
Her frilly pink bedsheets are folded neatly, and her bed is empty. I expected it. We haven’t been sleeping there.
Spinning around, my gaze moves over so many toys until I stop on the ladder that leads to the glass dome. A small human’s head peeks up amongst all the pillows and stuffed toys.
My favorite human.
Trails of sadness glow under the moonlight. Her blonde hair looks a little brighter each time the stars from her nightlight travel around the room.
The loneliness inside me fades a little with each step, disappearing completely when I put my hands and feet on the ladder.
“Are you staying with me?” she asks, tiny hands giving me help I don’t need to get into the dome. That same hope on her face that Mom had when she held out her hands.
Unlike her, I don’t let Dollie down.
I nod my head.
“Really?” she squeals, excitedly. Pulling back the comforter for me to get under.
I push some toys out of the way, anything that isn’t Duggan. I let him stay between us and slink back, stretching out my leg. That ladder always causes an ache that takes a minute to pass.
“Why didn’t you wanna stay in your room? Mommy said you would.”
Another tear falls from Dollie’s eyes. With my thumb, I wipe it away, preventing it from landing on the pillow she rests on.
My new room is nice, I guess, I mouth. But you aren’t there. I missed you.
A huge smile lights up her face, and tiny arms lock around my neck.
While close to my chest, she asks a question, “You’re mad at Mommy and Daddy? You haven’t wanted to be around them since we came home. What if they send you to live with your other mom? I won’t have you anymore. I won’t know how to live without my big brother.”
I wait for her head to tip back so she can see my mouth.
You won’t have to. Even if that were an option, I wouldn’t go. I’ll never leave you.
“Because you love me, right?”
More than anything.