They say that twins as children develop their own language between them. Well, triplets are worse. It's like telepathy between them, hardly a whisper, and they are all off in one direction, or stare at me in unison like I've interrupted something. They're not badly behaved by any means, just, unsettling. I will never belong, which is ironic because technically they joined me.
"We'll be back tomorrow evening, Alice."
"We know you'll take good care of the girls."
"The phone number for the hotel is on the fridge. We'll call when we get there."
Our parents are always going off to conferences, they give talks together or something. I don't really know. They spend a lot of time talking about it at the table and it's boring. I'm supposed to practice piano but I can't play when they talk or they get mad at me. Which is fine because I quit two years ago and I've just been pocketing the money I'm supposed to give to my teacher. Twenty a week for 23 months. That's some sweet cheddar. I haven't spent any of it because then they would wonder where I got the money. It also allows me to get out of the house for an hour a week. At all other times, if I am not in school or doing homework, I have to look after the girls.
I like to walk in the forest by the house. It's not really a forest, just an oprhaned remnant of woods that was eaten up by our housing division and the neighbouring housing division. I think maybe it was supposed to be a golf course but then the crash or whatever came and no one had the money to develop it. Which is fine by me, only wealthy people play on golf courses, but anyone can wander a forest, especially since it's an orphan and there are no animals worth being frightened of within it.
But back to the triplets. They like to stare at me. And because I can't read minds like they do, I have to ask, "What do you want?" Like all the time. They look at me, and I ask them, and then they are silent for a little too long and then one of them will say something like, "Nothing." So like, why are you staring at me? "Go away." I have to make sure they get fed, are clean, and sleep on time, or I get yelled at. Other than that, I can leave them alone and I can do my homework.
Today I was supposed to have a piano lesson, my walk in the woods, but my parents left me in charge and I have to stay home.
"We want to go with you, to the woods." The middle one speaks. I can tell them apart, usually. The middle one has a slightly different voice, lower, more assured. I don't know why she is different in this way, since they all, you know, came from the same zygote, but she is.
"I'm not going anywhere, Caroline."
"You could."
"I don't want to."
"You do want to."
"You don't know what's in my head." I say this and then she stares at me. Is it body language, do I have a tell? But no my brain zips to 'telepathy' which I know is ridiculous. It's unsettling. "Go wash your hands."
"Why?"
"They look dirty. And I said so." That's the only benefit of this job, being able to be bossy. It's fun. It's not a lot of fun, but it's fun. She scrunches her nose up at me and leaves. I hear water running shortly after, but I can hear that she has only turned the tap on for show. It's fine. Her hands were indeed clean.
Then I feel the hair raising on the back of my neck. How did they know I went walking in the woods? Did they ever follow me? I knock over my glass of water on the floor because I'm so discombobulated at the thought and the water seeps into my socks and the glass is in two pieces and maybe a few little shards. I feel eyes on me.
I turn around and there is the youngest one. She is the most silent.
"We want to go with you."
My skin is crawling. "Debbie, go to your room." She scrunches her nose, and walks barefoot, nearly silently back to her room on her tiptoes. She always walks like that. Maybe it's for fun or maybe she needs to see the doctor. I don't know.
I need to get this cleaned up. God forbid it stains the wood floor; I'll get a stern talking to. I get up and take a step and I feel it, slicing into my foot. How did I not see it? It's not painful, but my sock is rapidly staining red. I rip it off. It's deep and weirdly fascinating. I'm going to leave a trail on the carpet in the hall, which is unacceptable. God they would hide me. The oldest is staring at me from the doorway.
"Get me a towel please?" She's just staring at me. "Come on, help me. Barb?"
"You'll ruin the towel."
"A towel is better than the carpet." A towel is better than a carpet. I've already destroyed two others and mother never noticed. But I realise that there is a witness who will definitely tattle. She's not moving. "Please?"
She reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out my wad of twenties. I stare at it and my muscles tense up.
"We want to go with you, to the woods."
"How did you get that?" I keep it in a cookie tin in the crawlspace in my room, and I lock the door when I'm not here. How did they get it? My head has gone foggy with mysteries and meanwhile my foot is bleeding, like a lot. I know I'm not going to get an answer. Barb shoves it back into her pocket. It takes her some effort to shove it back in and I realise I could just take it back while she is struggling, but the gap between us is too far and she'll just run down the hall and I won't be able to follow or I'll have a lot to explain. "Ugh, okay, will you give me that back if I promise to take you to the woods?"
She looks at me in that enigmatic way and nods. I hold out my hand. "After." How annoying.
Caroline then appears with a towel. I take it and wrap my foot. They stare at me as I bandage it up in the bathroom. I guess the worst thing I'll be in trouble for is the broken glass.
***
It's a bit cold out. The leaves are very nearly off the trees, just a few stragglers clinging desperately on. I don't want to walk on my foot, but I guess I don't have much choice. The triplets follow behind me like ducklings. They don't speak, they don't laugh, and they don't look like they are enjoying this at all in the crisp wind. They've all just look like they've hunkered down into their down jackets as wind whips hair into their faces. Their noses and cheeks are pink and they look sort of adorable. I push the thought out of my head. It's bad enough I'm forced to mother them, I don't want to like it.
"We need to stop here." Barb has an air of authority. I thought she was speaking to everyone but it is just me.
"Why? Do you want to have a picnic here or something?" There is nothing special about this place. She shakes her head but says nothing further. The three of them huddle close for warmth. "So...what do you want to do?"
"Just wait," says Caroline. I roll my eyes. It's cold, and getting dark, and I think it might rain looking at the dark gray clouds above. "Close your eyes."
"No." No way. No way at all am I closing my eyes around them, alone in a forest. They all scrunch their noses at me, then huddle inwards to themselves.
Then I hear rustling off in one direction. When I look back the triplets are gone. Then I see a little hand from behind a tree bekoning me to join them. I do.
The rustling gets louder. It's not an animal, it's someone dragging something that keeps catching on dead bramble branches. I see a man hunched over in a brown parka, exhausted, sweating, panting. He stops to look as he's about to cross the path. He doesn't see us, somehow. I guess the tree is big enough. He starts dragging again and then the girls are gone. He screams.
And I see it, and I am frozen. They are on him, stabbing him over and over with steak knives from the kitchen. He's too exhausted to fend them off. Caroline savagely slices at his throat and he stops making noise. He holds both his hands to his neck and they get off him now that his fate is determined. I'm transfixed by the holes of blood seeping out of him and he looks at me in confusion and then he just fades, eyes glassy. The girls are each panting, and look sad.
I look at the body sized bag that he was dragging. Too short for an adult. I take Barb's knife and I stab into the bag and rip it open. It's a little girl that looks much like the triplets but naked. Same age, abouts.
"Do you know her?" They all nod.
"How did you know?"
They shrug. "We just do."
I stare at them for awhile. "You know murder is wrong, right?" They don't respond, they just look at me. "You can tell people if you think something is not right? If you think someone is doing something wrong?"
They look at each other, then Caroline speaks, "They did know. He was protected."
"But not from us," said Barb and then she sighs heavily.
"Right."
Debbie tosses the wad of twenties at me. "For your silence."
For my silence? Are you kidding me? Are these three reincarnated mafia bosses? I'm glad their first thought wasn't to stab me to silence. God, what will they be like when they are my age? I carefully take the other two knives. They will have to go back home with us otherwise we'll get in a lot of trouble that they are missing.
"I'm not going to say anything. No one would believe this anyway, and I don't want to get in trouble. Take off your jackets and put them on inside out." Luckily they the foresight to wear reversable jackets, but god knows how I'm going to clean them when we get home. They have a lot of blood on them, all over, but I figure I could rub dirt on their jeans and in their hair and it will just look like mud stains and then they can just keep their hands in their pockets. They are very compliant as I prepare them, like a tension has been released. God what is it like in their minds?
***
I've managed to get everything back in order by the time our parents return, except for the broken glass. The bodies in the forest made the local news. They family of the girl pleads for help on every broadcast, but there are few leads as the rain washed away our footprints. They know who their daughter's killer was, they just don't want to admit it because they were friends with him. Mother made pork cutlets for dinner, which is not my favourite. The girls cut into the meat as they usually do, put the pieces on their fork, into their mouths, and chew, chew, chew. I cannot. I don't want to touch the knives, let alone eat with one. They all stop chewing and look over at me for a moment. I push my plate away and make an excuse that my stomach is upset. I will go next week and buy a new set of knives of the same kind, from my piano money.
No comments:
Post a Comment