"You ready?" Violet asks me as we take the final breath before she unlocks the door into a past that we have both entombed under many years of survival.
"Let's get it over with," I respond with certainty, mostly due to the fact that Taylor and Max have come along as our beams of support.
Apparently, Aunt Maggy died from a stroke in the backyard. Since she lived alone and had no friends or family, so her body wasn't discovered until three weeks later, when the neighbor's dog jumped over the fence and went digging in the snow to snag away one of her boots. The neighbor had tried to return the boot, and when no one came to the door after several days, she checked the backyard to find the body.
It's what they say; live a miserable life, die a miserable death. At least she had decided to give all of her estates to charity, so I guess one positive thing has resulted from her life and death.
We were told that there were some of our belongings left in the house and were asked to come pick it up. Violet and I had rejected the idea initially, but figured we should check to see if there was anything from our parents that was left behind.
Violet opens the door into the house of persecution. Not much has changed—the smell of old wood lingers, that hideous floral wallpaper is peeling from the wall in different spots, furniture placements remain unchanged, the stairway leading up to the forbidden floor stretching beyond us.
"Ok, so let's find our stuff and get the hell out of here," I command as we enter the doorway. "Violet and Max take upstairs, Taylor and I will be down here." We all agree and proceed to our tasks, wanting to complete it as quickly as possible.
Flicking on one of the light switches, I am glad to see the electricity is running, because these dark hallways still haunt me, especially when we reach a door on the left.
Beyond this door is the closet that we had called a room for many years, sharing secrets, playing pretend—pretending that we lived in a castle with a hundred rooms, sleeping in a different one every night on silk sheets and clouds that rained marshmallows.
I place my hand on the gold door handle, slowly twisting it to unlock the latch, pulling it open to reveal the four by four closet. It is completely empty now—the padded mat, blankets, and pillows are gone. It's so much smaller than I remembered, most likely due to the fact that I have been spoiled with the luxury of having a real bedroom these past few years.
"I can't believe Violet and I used to sleep in here," I admit.
"You guys slept in here?" His voice is deep and strained, and I notice that his jaw is locked tight, and I realize I have never told him this.
"Only until we were ten, then we moved to this hallway and only used the closet to store the beddings. Our clothes were hung in the bedroom closet upstairs in case the social worker showed up unannounced."
"How could you sleep in a hallway?"
"It wasn't as terrible as it sounded, because at least in the hall, we were able to stretch as far as our legs could reach. It had felt so good sleeping through the night like that, until Aunt Maggy came down and kicked us on her way to the kitchen, an alarm to wake up to. We eventually learned to hear her footsteps coming down the stairs and moved out of the way before she got to us."
He ponders on this for a second before pulling my head to his chest, not saying a single word, although his breathing had sped up.
"Hey," I say to him lightly, taking his face in my hands, "this is all behind us. Now we have our own bedrooms, and I even get to wake up to one of the most beautiful views of Chicago in your condo."
"Our condo," he corrects me, nudging my chin up to meet his lips, filling these dreadful hallways with newer, more ravishing memories.
"Jas! Come look!" Violet hollers from upstairs.
Hand in hand, we climb the carpeted stairs to the upper floor that was strictly forbidden beyond the retrieval of our clothes in the morning. Once at the top, I am surprised to see another set of stairs leading up to the ceiling—an attic.
"Up here, Jas, look," Violet calls out from the opening, already in the attic.
I climb up, as Taylor follows closely behind. The attic is very spacious, dusty, but an ample amount of light comes through the octagon window on the far end. Boxes are stacked all around, sheets cover an armoire and office desk, and two pink bicycles lean against the wall.
"Can you believe that bitch hid our bikes up here rather than letting us ride it to school?" Violet tells me angrily. I wish she wouldn't call her such a name, having some respect for the dead and all. But the truth is, she was a bitch.
There are boxes with my parents' names on them, Marieth and James, written in bold permanent marker across the front. Making a mental reminder to bring them back home with me, I wander around to examine other mysteries beyond the boxes.
There is an old photo album tucked behind a suitcase. I recover it, wiping off the webs and dust from the cover.
Flipping the rusty leather album open, the first picture is of my grandparents with two little girls, one of the girls I recognized as my mother. Even as a child, she was gorgeous, her blonde hair falling past her shoulders, green eyes light against the sun, smiling with the two dimples that had been passed down to her granddaughter. The other girl must be Aunt Maggy, shy and withdrawn, a frown plastered across her face, her beauty falling short compared to her sister's.
Turning the pages, the album consisted mostly of my mother's pictures—swimming lessons, apple picking, gymnastic competitions, carnival rides, Christmas shows, birthday parties. In the few photos that consisted of Aunt Maggy, she would be half hidden behind someone else, letting her sister take center stage.
"Jas, look at this." Violet hands me a pile of documents. "Apparently, Mom got almost everything when Grandma and Grandpa died, including the house we lived in and seventy five percent of their capital."
I remember our parents' house—a stunning five bedroom, two story, ranch-style house with a huge backyard holding an in-ground pool, where they would occasionally hold get-togethers with family and friends, to which our aunt never attended.
There was a gas leak and they sold the house, renting an apartment that was supposed to be temporary, until the accident happened.
"This must be why Aunt Maggy hated us so much. Mom took almost everything from her and she wanted us to feel her pain," I spoke wistfully.
Taylor steps beside me and takes the documents from my hands. "This," he holds it up, "is not an excuse to beat and torture two little girls their whole lives. And it was a decision made by your grandparents, not your mom."
"He's right, Jas," Violet agrees. "Stop trying to justify her actions. She is made of evil."
Leaning back, I notice a plastic bin with the date September 3 written on it, the day my parents died. Anxiously running over to fetch the items within, I tear the tape open and flick the lid to the floor.
A newspaper reveals itself on top of a stack of folders, dated September 3, 1999. I skim through the pages, finding a picture of a car accident, the car accident, remembering the blue sedan we rode in that morning, on that day.
I suddenly feel ready—ready to read their accident—knowing that I am strong enough to bear the truth now.
Reading the short article beneath the picture, I feel as if my soul have detached from my physical body, and my brain is no longer sending signals between my synapses, red the only color visible through my eyes. This cannot be true. There has to be a mistake!
Deadly accident killing 4 people in total. The driver and passenger of vehicle one, Marieth Belrose, 42, and James Belrose, 45, were hit and killed by another vehicle with driver, Thomas Leonard, 40, who had three other passengers in the car during the accident. He and his son, Taylor Leonard, 9, were taken to the hospital in critical conditions, but have been reported to be recovering. Amelia Leonard, wife, 39, and Ava Leonard, daughter, 6, died at the scene. Reports state that the Leonards couple were having a dispute, when Mr. Leonard lost control of the vehicle and swerved to the opposite lane, causing a head-on collision. No other injuries were reported.
"No!" I scream, throwing the newspaper as far away as possible, as if it's a flesh-eating bacteria, trying to devour every part of my sanity. Taylor runs over to pick it up, reading the same section that I had just so horridly uncovered.
"Jasmine," he speaks without looking at me, "let me explain."
"You knew?" Of course he did. He knew all along, and I was the only nitwit who was blinded from the entire setup. My incompetence had truly made me believe this man had somehow fallen for a girl like me, when in reality, he was playing a role in this nauseating story.
"How could you?" I lunge at him and shove his massive body against the wall with all my strength. Max and Violet, stunned, wedges themselves between us. "You sick fuck. Was this all a game to you? A charity case? Some sort of self-help steps you were performing?"
"Jas, what is going on? What happened?" Violet is trying to block my throws, but I manage to push past both her and Max, pounding against his chest—the chest that I have dropped endless tears on, the chest that I had laid on to confess my most tragic stories, the chest that I have grown to love and rely on, only to find out it was filled with all lies and deceptions.
He says nothing, does nothing, standing like a stupid statue against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.
"I told you everything," I bawl, tears so hard, the blurriness blinded me from everything surrounding, burning as they fought to escape. "You watched me cry, you watched me suffer, and you said nothing. You had this setup since that day at the hospital. You are sick. SICK!"
"Jasmine, what are you talking about? It has to be a misunderstanding!" Violet shouts as she pushes me off of him.
"Then read it for yourself, Vi, and see what you think of the man you look up to so much. The man that you thought was going to swoop in and save your sister."
She retrieves the paper, as Max wraps his arms around me, holding me back. I watch as her eyes follow the words, yet no shock or bewilderment appears in them. She places the newspaper down and looks up at me. "Jasmine—"
"You knew, too." How could she do this to me? She knew and she had teamed up with a stranger to keep this monstrous secret from me. I thought I felt alone the day I lost Daisy, but even then, I knew I had my sister, the person that felt every pain, every joy, every disappointment through each minute of each hour of every day in my life.
This is what true loneliness feels like, dark and cold, falling infinitely through loops of anguish and torment, no one there to stop or rescue you.
Pushing Max off of me, I back away from the faces that appear unfamiliar to me, masks hiding darkness beneath, hearts that I know have no place for me. One of my feet gets caught on the floorboard, sending me falling backwards, as my head slams on an old television set behind me.
I can see Taylor coming for me. "Are you alright? Jasmine, please listen. It's not like that. My feelings for you—" Taylor says as he rushes to me, but I refuse to listen to anymore of his fabrication. Putting my hands to cover both ears, I'm screaming at him in agony, using my feet to push myself away from him.
"There's no feelings! You lied to me! Get away. GET AWAY!!"
"Damn it, you know it was real! Everything was real, Jasmine! You can't tell me we faked any of that!"
"Your father left us as orphans, beaten and tortured, living through agony every day for fourteen years! But none of that compared to how his son pretended to be the hero of a fatal story that his father caused! No, you don't get to tell me how you feel, you freak!"
Stumbling to my feet, I race to the opening that reveals the steps which will lead me out of this atrocious attic. Climbing down until I've reached the floor, I run across it to fly down the flight of stairs towards the front door. Throwing it open and taking a last look inside, I'm doubtless that this will be the last time I step foot in this house; the house that has been cursed with privation, greed, mistreatment, pain, and lies!