Behind the windows

Daughter:

I don't know how I got here. To the cold grey room that grew smaller with each day I continue to rot away. One day I was home, and the next I was here. I lay staring at the blank ceiling drawing pictures of what could have happened but the pieces never quite fall into place, no matter how many tears do.

……

Mother:

I knew Kate hadn’t wanted to move there: to that town where the clouds never went away and the sun never seemed to be high enough in the sky. It was always cold but not in a soft kind of way. It was cold in a down-to-the-bones kind of way, where no matter how many layers you put on, it never seemed to be enough. Of course, I hadn’t wanted to uproot her again, drag her along on another one of my work moves. Our lives were messy enough without having to factor in the ever-changing location of our chaos. We as a pair seemed to attract corruption, I could never quite pin it down but bad things always seem to follow us, like a piece of gum you can't quite scrape off of the sole of well-worn shoes. 

I had thought that hopefully, a new town wouldn’t be too different than the rest, possibly even a positive, however, my hopes crumbled more and more every time the sun set in that dull town. 

As soon as we had arrived Kate had begun to unpack her bags, in the same trance she always seems to enter when moving in and out of houses. Never speaking or making eye contact in a way of showing me her dissatisfaction. Her first step was redecorating the houses we entered. Sometimes we weren't in a house for more than a few days, but without her own little house renovations, Kate couldn’t sleep. She would arrange her room, unpack clothes, get out a series of chipped picture frames, and finally, set up her mirrors, all around the house. I never completely understood her fascination with these mirrors, they were old, and you could barely see a solid reflection through them, but I always figured I had put her through enough, and it was better not to ask questions. 

Daughter:

All I hoped was that we wouldn’t have to stay in this dreary town for long. I was having the worst dreams. Nothing seemed real.

I quickly scoped out job opportunities as a means of saving up as much as possible. As soon as I could afford an escape from this suffocating lifestyle I was gone. There weren’t really any large shops or businesses in which I could duck away and remain unnoticed, so I turned to one of my fan favorites in small towns. I would babysit for the multitude of children that never seem to frown, whose numbers somehow seem to be at least equal to that of the adults. It was an easy job, and as I've found out, I'm quite a good actor: able to convince these children that their stories about breakfast mishaps were The Tempest and that their playground crushes were Romeo and Juliet. I set about town scoping out possibilities, each passing block increasing my wish of leaving as soon as possible. I passed my name out to several families, hoping for the best, giving my phone number to those who asked - which I hate doing. I hate feeling attached to a connection I know won't last. 

I reenter the cavernous house which I know will never be home and try not to make contact with my mother, who I know will try to make up for the move until it happens again. There were windows everywhere. I hate windows. They always seemed to follow me around, and expose me to those who had no business being in my life. Somehow these tall stained windows seemed to be a staple. Maybe my mother sought them out when searching for houses, I wasn’t sure. I tried to just keep my head down. I don’t really remember unpacking, but all my stuff was laid out. I didn’t have much that came with us every move. It was so frequent a lot of our stuff just stayed in storage. When I sunk into the moth-bitten sheets sagging around my bed I could finally breathe. I fell asleep with a blank mind, staring at the cracking grey walls. 

Mother:

In the following days, Kate began her new routine. She would stay away from the house as much as possible, searching for libraries or bookstores where she could hide away. When arriving home, she would keep her head down as much as possible, speaking only when she found it necessary. She had always baffled me. When at home she would instantly go into her own world. She avoided crowds whenever she could, but as soon as you put her in one, she was instantly loved. She was able to charm her way out of anything as soon as given an opportunity, but leave her to her own devices and she would never speak again. Her school counselor at her last school had recommended we do a couple of tests, just to make sure everything was okay with her mind. We had run them in our first days here, but our results wouldn’t be back for a little while. I hoped and prayed she would be ok. All I wanted was a daughter who I would always be able to reach. I would know where she was and know she was safe. Who would actually sit and listen to me talk, maybe talk to me too. 

Daughter:

One morning, a woman in the neighborhood reached out to me, asking desperately if I could watch her 3 kids for the evening. She had something come up at work she hadn’t expected and didn’t have anyone else available. I agreed because as it seemed, I had nothing better to be doing. They would be dropped off at my front stoop around seven and she would come back as soon as possible, but she wasn’t sure how long it would take.

Mother:

I was glad Kate was helping the town. I thought maybe it could mean this place would be different. I began to daydream, about a home where Kate loved her community, where I could help at her school bake sales, and where neighborhood kids would step foot in our home without grimacing. I blinked away from this daydream and continued my work, which would arch well into the early hours of the morning. 

Daughter:

The old car pulled into our slopped driveway, and the children hurried onto the front porch, trying their best to dodge the raindrops that had just begun to pick up the pace. I lifted the youngest into my arms, as she could barely keep up with the other two, and smiled at their frowning faces, frustrated from being sprinkled with the dewy drops. We waved to their mother as she slid back into the driver's seat and pulled away. We stood there for a minute, watching the car slowly shrink down the winding street, and as the wind began to pick up and the cold rain began to whip under our little shelter, I hurried them inside. 

I had laid out a selection of board games across the empty room upstairs whose occupancy consisted primarily of a crusty carpet whose colors had faded years ago. We sat in a circle with our legs folded, the girl in my lap, smiling, just happy to be included. One of the boys selected a game from the stack and dealt the cards with clumsy fingers. We began to play, tossing cards into a messy stack and rolling dice, trying not to get them lost between the floorboards that surrounded the carpet. The wind picked up and the rain turned to ice, crashing against the roof. Just as the younger boy began to cheer for victory at the game, I heard a loud crash from outside and the lights flickered out. The boy sat down trying desperately not to look frightened as the girl broke into tears. I tried to seem calm as I handed the girl to the older boy. I told them to stay put while I searched for candles or a flashlight. I scampered down the creaking stairs and dashed outside in order to get the light from my car. I came back inside and rung out my dripping hair. As I stood, back to the door, something caught my eye from the kitchen. I snapped my head in the direction of the motion searching for what I had seen. I shone the flashlight in the direction of the motion and the light caught the outline of something. No, someone. A girl stared back at me through one of the windows. I approached the cloudy glass to get a better look as she continued to stare into the house. Her hair was wet from the hail, her eyes crazy in a way I couldn’t quite pin down. I called out to her. It appeared as if she may be hollering back but then she just stood there. 

“Are you lost, do you need something,” I said through the glass. She cast a quick gaze down at her soaking outfit and looked back up, laughing to herself. She looked up at me smiling, no not smiling. Her mouth was drawn out, lips curled at the sides, but her eyes just stared at me. Not a whisper of emotion clouded her eyes. A disgusting feeling seeped under my skin. I caught her eye one more time and raced upstairs, dropping the flashlight but needed to see the kids as soon as possible. I reached the top of the stairs and they were huddled together towards the back, not in the best state of mind, but all safe. 

I called out to them, as they crowded closer to the corner. They were all petrified as the hail poured over the thin roof. I heard laughter ringing around us, and all of the kids began sobbing, eyes red and puffy, tears falling in rhythm with the rain outside. I whipped my head to the base of the stairs and told the kids to stay put. 

Mother:

        I got a call from the doctors. I froze. Kate's lab results were back. My brain raced faster than my feet as I went to grab the keys. 

Daughter: 

“What do you want? Who are you?” I was shaking, trying to look as unaffected as possible.

“You’re sure those kids are okay dear?” She called through the glass in a singsong voice. 

I was hesitant to turn my back on this girl again, and I inched away slowly, trying my best to keep her in my field of vision. I grabbed the flashlight from the floor at my feet and finally allowed myself to turn up the stairs. I saw nothing different. I started to walk toward them, but just as I did a searing headache made my vision go cloudy. I bent forward, grabbed my head, and waited to return to a normal state. I turned towards the door, my back to the kids as I got up my nerve to wander back down those awful stairs. I needed to call the police. I slowed my breathing and edged slowly back down those awful steps whispering to the children to stay put. As I turned a corner at the bottom of the steps I saw her again. She was closer now I studied her as best I could in the few seconds I allowed myself, and as I did I saw her entire body was coated with dark red. I tried to look closer, allowing myself to close the gap between us a few feet. As I did she walked towards me as well, causing me to stop short in my tracks. My heart raced. I stared at her, waiting for some sort of lightbulb moment of how to do something. As I stood there a sudden movement caught my attention. My gaze dropped down to her left hand, where the girl had begun spinning something. All I could think about was how I used to love to do that. I would spin my pencils in between my fingers throughout all of the hours of class at school. I was that kid. I got so good at it, everyone was impressed with my ability to keep it in my hand, not letting it drop. But no: this was no pencil, it was hard to tell at first because it was spinning, but the girl was holding a kitchen knife. 

Mother:

I was in the car, but because of the rain, the streets were crowded. I began to cry. I needed to get home. I needed her to be safe, and I needed her to be with me. I laid on the horn of a car that had made no mistakes, but I just couldn’t do this. I needed to be home. 

Daughter:

How was this possible? I whipped my head around half hoping to see the children at the foot of the steps. They were not there. 

“What did you do?” I screamed, tears falling down my face, in pace with the rain outside. She giggled in response, white teeth slicing through her cheeks, rosy from the cold. 

“Oh sweetie,” she cooed, “No. The question is, what did you do?” She began to laugh, her terrible voice rattled through my ears as if each syllable held blades. My head hurt. Everything went cloudy. I fell.

Mother:

I finally turned sharply onto our street, but I had to pull off to the side of the street to let the ambulance pass. 

Daughter: 

I woke up sometime later to sirens blaring outside, flashes of red and blue lights filling my vision. I saw my mother first, standing in the corner, a look of complete horror written all over her sinking face. My heart started beating. What had happened? Were the kids alright? I gushed out my story, noticing as I did, the police filling the room around me. As I told my tale I slowly noticed the way my hands were held behind my back, cold metal around them. I screamed and cried, telling them they had the wrong girl. They needed to look for her, they needed to find her before she could do anything else. Were the kids ok? What was happening? I told them of how she stood so close to the window I could hear every word she uttered, no matter how quiet, and how her expressions told me everything she was thinking, almost as if I was in her brain. They needed to find her, she was evil. I screamed and kicked and cried and cursed my mother for not telling them they were wrong. As they escorted me out of the house I looked back, seeing nothing but my mother, looking completely destroyed, leaning against the doorway as if it was the only thing holding her up.

Mother:

Kate was unwell. She was diagnosed with DID, a sick Dissociative identity disorder. She was diagnosed with a delusional disorder. She was unwell. I pleaded with the court. Kate was unwell. She didn’t know what she was doing. They sent her to the psychiatric facility. 

Daughter:

Those windows were mirrors as it turns out. Well, at least my mother got her wish. She got her daughter who she would always be able to reach. She would know where I was, and know I was safe, or at least controlled. I would sit and listen to her now. Happily ever after.