One Last Scream

“No, honey, I’m sorry. They’re both dead.”

“Were they dead when the Faradays adopted me?”

“No, they were alive at the time. Amelia, I’ll explain it all when I get there.”

“Do you know why they gave me up?”

“I have a pretty good idea, now,” Karen admitted. “But I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Besides, I’m just about to get on the freeway. I need to hang up. Just stay there and wait for me. We have a long drive back to Seattle. I’ll tell you everything then.”

“Karen?” she said, a sudden urgency in her tone.

“What is it?”

“Earlier just now, you asked if I had any premonitions about something happening at Uncle George’s house….”

“Yes?” Karen said, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Well, I’ve had this awful feeling most of the night that someone’s in danger. But it’s not Uncle George, or my cousins, or Jessie. I keep thinking something bad is going to happen to you, Karen. Please, be careful. Okay?”

“Well, I–I will be. Thanks,” Karen managed to say. She swallowed hard, and then started onto the highway on-ramp. “Just stay put and I’ll see you soon.”

“All right,” she said. “Good-bye, Karen.”

Standing in the booth outside Danny’s Diner, Annabelle hung up the phone and started laughing. She loved screwing with Karen’s head like that, warning her of the danger ahead. And yet Karen was rushing here, probably speeding all the way to her demise.

It was unfolding perfectly, even better than she’d planned. Looking back now, if she’d killed Karen in the basement of that rest home-or in her bed last night-her death just wouldn’t have had the proper impact. It was important for Amelia to see Karen, her therapist, her confidante, her last remaining friend, dead. It was important for Amelia to realize that she had no one left but the twin sister she’d forgotten she had.

Amelia had run away by herself that Sunday morning in November nearly fifteen years ago. She hadn’t said a thing to her about it. Amelia had just disappeared, leaving her alone to deal with their angry father. And when he was riled, it never mattered who had misbehaved, he lashed out at whoever happened to be around at the time. The only way she and Amelia had survived up to that point had been by sticking together and being there for each other. They had their own secret language. They could read each other’s thoughts. They protected each other. And it wasn’t just because they loved each other. No, it was more than that. Whenever Amelia got a beating, Annabelle felt it, too, and vice versa. Amelia only made things worse for both of them when she incurred their father’s wrath, which she frequently did. Their father may have beaten Amelia more often and more brutally, but Annabelle still felt every punch, slap, and kick.

One of the worst sessions had been after their dad had gone out to punish a bad woman. It had been one of those nights Uncle Duane had come along to help their father with his “work.” They’d brought Amelia. Apparently, she’d done everything they’d told her to do. But as soon as they’d put the bad woman to sleep in the car, Amelia had started screaming and crying. She’d even tried to jump out of the car. Their father and Uncle Duane had been furious with her. She’d almost ruined everything. It had been a night of agony for both twins. Amelia had bruises all up and down her back. But Annabelle had felt every blow, too. The next day, Annabelle couldn’t get out of bed, she ached so much. But even with all her pain, Amelia had snuck off to that Indian’s house. She didn’t tell Clay why she’d been beaten. She only showed him the marks on her back. “Clay took pitchers of me,” Amelia later told her. Annabelle never got to see the “pitchers,” but after that, they weren’t allowed to go anywhere near Clay’s house.

Weeks later, on that chilly Sunday morning in November when Amelia ran away, Annabelle knew where she’d gone. So did their father. But he didn’t find Amelia hiding over at Clay’s. However, Annabelle knew her sister was there, hiding from both Clay and their father. Even though Amelia hadn’t told her about her plans to run away, and even though they would both get in trouble for it, Annabelle kept silent. She didn’t want to betray her sister.

Sure enough, a few hours later, Mrs. Getz called from down the block, saying she’d spotted Amelia in Clay’s backyard. Their father asked the old woman to come over, and tell him exactly what she’d seen. Annabelle got scared when her father announced he was taking her with him to the police station. She thought she and her sister might end up in jail or something.

But once Annabelle climbed into the car with her father, he told her, “You’ll have to be your sister for a while. It’s pretend.”

She’d been only four years old at the time, but Annabelle remembered everything about that day. She recalled feeling relieved the police weren’t going to arrest her or Amelia. Her father drove around the block, and parked in back of old Mrs. Getz’s house. They cut through her yard. He kept telling Annabelle if she said one word, cried, or even coughed, he’d smack her.

They crept through the bushes and into Clay’s backyard, past the little playhouse that Amelia loved. The windows at Clay’s house were too high for her to see, but her father got a look inside. At the risk of making him mad, Annabelle kept tugging at his shirtsleeve. “Is she in there?” Annabelle whispered.

With a sigh, her father finally lifted her up to the edge of the window so she could see. Inside, Amelia sat at Clay’s kitchen table, eating a cookie and drinking orange juice. Clay was on the telephone. He hung up the receiver, then moved over to the table. “C’mon, pumpkin,” she heard him say, his voice a bit muffled through the glass. “I want you to lie down and take a nap. I need to talk to some people. They’re going to help you. They’ll make sure he won’t ever hurt you again.”

Annabelle kept waiting for Amelia to say, “What about my sister? Can you make sure my sister doesn’t get hurt, too?”

But Amelia didn’t say anything. She just finished her cookie.

Annabelle’s father set her back down on the ground. Crouching along the side of the house, they moved over to another window that Clay had just opened a bit.

Annabelle tugged at her father’s sleeve again. She wanted to know what was happening. “Stop that,” he hissed. “Want me to crack your face?”

She kept very still and said nothing for several minutes.

“Goddamn redskin, he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with,” her father muttered, almost to himself. “Well, I’ve already planted something in there for you, Cochise, and it’ll fix you, but good. Smug, uppity son of a bitch.”

He turned to Annabelle. “Take off your clothes,” he whispered.

Aghast, she just shook her head. It was cold out. And besides, she didn’t want anyone to see her naked.

“Do it!” her father hissed. “You can leave your underpants on if you want. I need to put your clothes on Amelia, so Mrs. Getz thinks she’s you. I told you, you’re going to be Amelia for a little while.”

Her father explained how she would have to sit and wait on the bed in Clay’s house until she heard a police siren getting close. That was her cue to climb out this window and start screaming.

Trembling, Annabelle nodded obediently and started to undress.

Her father pushed the window up, then gave her a boost to the ledge. She crawled into the bedroom. Gasping, Amelia sat up in Clay’s bed. Annabelle put her fingers over her lips and shushed her. She could hear Clay on the phone in the kitchen: “Yes…I’ve been on hold for five minutes now. Is there anyone in that office? Yes… yes…I know it’s Sunday, but I have a situation here…”

When their father climbed through the window, Amelia recoiled. She looked like she was about to scream. Within seconds, he was on her, stuffing a handkerchief in her mouth. She struggled as he started to undress her. “C’mon, help me put your clothes on her,” he whispered to Annabelle.

“Well, all I’m getting are these damn recordings,” Clay was telling someone on the phone in his kitchen. He sounded so frustrated. “But I don’t want to leave a message, damn it…. No, I need to talk with a person….”

Annabelle wanted so much to put on Amelia’s clothes, but her father had insisted she run outside in her underwear. Humiliating as that might be, it was better than a beating. She helped her father smuggle Amelia out the bedroom window. Then she crawled into Clay’s bed and waited. It seemed like forever.