Girl From the Tree House, стр. 83
I push the tin away from me and gag. I want to be sick. I rush to the basin in the laundry. Bile rises from my stomach; its sour stench is lining my throat and taking away my breath.
“Oh, no!” I hear an agonizing cry, it must have come from my lips, but I’m far from being aware of what is going on. I’m floating, wrapped in a merciful cloud of semi-consciousness, half there, half not, praying to God—if there is one—to take me to where the other half of me disappeared to. But when did he ever answer any of my prayers?
Scott comes racing down the stairs and is at my side with a few steps.
“What?” He stops and stares at the pile of photos that fell out of my hands and scattered onto the tabletop.
“Oh, my God.”
He turns white like my bed sheets upstairs.
I don’t want him to look, don’t want to see the pity in his eyes. I told him about the abuse months ago, but this is different. Abuse is such a sanitized word. It covers a range of things and therefore nothing. Rape is much harsher. To see the humiliating circumstances of how we and other kids were raped, molested, and used to satisfy the primitive pleasure of a group of dirty pedophiles, is altogether on a different level of ugliness and disgust. I’m violently sick.
Some things you just can’t un-see. Those pictures fit into that category. I understand now how important it was for us to split into different parts just to cope and get by. I want to pull Scott away from the table, but my legs seem to have stopped listening to my commands.
“Do you know what you’ve got here?”
What a stupid question that is. Since when did he turn stupid? I want to punch him or push him away or both. Amadeus would be a good person to have around at this moment, but since Miss Marple visited us and worked with him, he lost much of his bite. None of my faculties are working, not my brain, not my legs or arms. I collapse onto a chair like a dead slab of meat.
“No, you obviously don’t. I’m sorry you saw the terrible images of the children. I’m very sorry. Are you aware, with these photos you can put all of these people into prison for a very long time? This is the evidence we were looking for.”
The idea of having these photos viewed by strangers is turning my stomach and I run for the sink in the laundry again. When I return, he’s shoved the photos together and put them upside down on the table. There they lay, innocent pieces of paper with the power to spread horror and terrible pain.
“It’s sickening, disgusting, repulsive.”
He nods, his face a grave mask. “Where did you find them?”
“One of my young parts had hidden the tin they were in under a loose floorboard beneath the cooking range.” I’m surprised I have a voice, even though it’s breaking up and choked.
“What a clever hiding place. If those police officers had found it when they searched your house, all the evidence would have been gone.”
He looks at the other papers in the tin.
“What else have we here? This is a letter from your mother to your aunt. Oh… wow.” Scott’s hands sink to the table and he stares at me.
“What?”
“You have 1,000 Apple shares from 1981. Do you have any idea how much they are worth?”
“No, how much?”
“Millions. You are rich, my girl.”
I roll my eyes. What does it take for him to get it? I don’t care about money. I would give it away if only I could get my peace of mind back, make the memories go away, and sleep without nightmares. What would I do with it? I hear Lizette giggling in the back of my mind, “I could think of a few things.” I’m sure she could. I reach for my mother’s letter. If we are making a clean sweep, I might as well get it over with.
Dear Mandy,
I know we haven’t spoken for a long while. I’m sorry for what I have put you through. I am too weak to stand up against Eugene. The Gateways council is launching disciplinary action against us. Me for not taking part and Eugene for not making me. I’m afraid. They won’t shy away from… I don’t know what to say. If something happens to us, it will be their fault. We wouldn’t be the first people to disappear. Everybody is too afraid to stand up to them. Hide this letter and the photos and documents - hopefully, someone has the courage to use it. Please look after my daughter.
Your loving sister Sarah
My head is spinning. My mother tried to get away from Gateways and wished us safely looked after. She didn’t have as black a soul as I always imagined. She wasn’t the most affectionate mother, but it looks like she tried the best she could.
Oh, mum. Unspoken words stick in my throat, making it hard to swallow. Tears pool in my eyes. Regret and a wave of unrelenting grief rise inside me, until I break down, sink to the ground, and hug poor befuddled Prince.
I weep and cry an ocean of tears.
It takes a while for me to notice Scott kneeling on the floor next to me and putting his strong arm around my shoulders. It takes even longer for my tears to dry up. So many lives destroyed. So much pain.
It takes a long time until we get up off the floor. I long to remain in his arms