Bile rises in my throat as I stand on the sidewalk, looking up at the five-thousand square foot house with a sense of dread. I barely escaped this place; Heather barely escaped this place. I don't think about Penelope, not right now.
“What are we doing here?” I ask as Oscar strides up the front walk like he owns the place. He gestures for me to follow him, pausing on the front porch and waiting for me to join him. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the key in my hand goes to this house. Swallowing past the memories, I reach out and unlock it. When I hesitate, Oscar opens the door for me and gestures with his hand to indicate I should follow him in.
I glance toward my right, finding a blond woman standing on her front lawn, one hand over her eyes as she shields them from the sun, watching me. Her kids tumble around her feet, one on a plastic tricycle, the other waving around a hose. If I stand here for too long, she'll call security on us.
I smile, resist the urge to flip her off, and then stroll casually after Oscar, like I belong here. After all, I used to be a part of this family, too. From my mother's clawed grip to the Kushners’ depravity to the insanity that is Havoc, it's no wonder why Vic referred to me as a beautiful nightmare. I've never been allowed to dream, after all.
Oscar closes and locks the door behind me. Not that it matters, considering we parked right in the driveway on Victor’s Harley. It's so fucking flashy, impossible to miss. I had no idea Oscar knew how to drive a bike, but I guess he’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?
“Someone in the neighborhood is going to tell the Kushners we were here,” I say, trying to resist the shiver of revulsion that comes over me as I stand in that palace of lies, as I think about Eric, pulling me onto his lap, his breath hot and stale against my ear. I was okay sitting there, at first, not like I was with the Thing. I wasn't afraid to sit with Eric; I was excited. He might've been a decade older than me, but he was my new brother, right?
“Does that feel good, Bernadette?” He'd asked, sliding his hand up my leg. I can't forget that moment, no matter how hard I try. I was wearing tights under my new dress, all gussied-up for a school play that both Eric and Todd had attended, sitting in the front row and filming me with their phones, beaming as proudly as the other parents in the audience. That's the part I can't forget, the way Eric smiled at me when I was performing, how happy I was. That, and the skim of his palm along my tights. “Would you like it if I touched you just a little bit higher?”
My hands curl into fists as Oscar takes in the place's mettle, making notes on his iPad. I'm just assuming he has all his work tied to the cloud. We haven't talked about the iPad I threw into the mirror, or the fact that I'm certain he still has access to that horrible video. How many times has he watched it? I decide I don't want to know the answer to that question.
“I'm counting on the neighborhood telling them,” Oscar says, smiling sharply. His glasses flash as he turns to look at me. “What are they going to say? Two kids on a motorcycle walked into the house and then left, but yet nothing was disturbed?” He pauses for a moment, like he's thinking. “Well, I suppose you could steal a few small things, just for fun.”
I narrow my eyes as Oscar continues down the hall, toward the gym and the bathroom that functions as a changing room for the outdoor pool. My nostrils flare. Pen and I had so much fun swimming out there. It didn't occur to me that Eric was filming us in our bathing suits for any reason other than posterity's sake.
Hah.
And at age eleven, I'd thought I was hardened to the world, that my experience with my father's suicide, and my mother's abuse, the Thing's rage … I thought those things had taught me to see evil. How wrong I was.
I wait for Oscar, standing in the open kitchen/living room area with