My parents’ room isn’t so dark though. There is always a small lamp on in the corner. My dad doesn’t like the dark, but my mom does, so she sleeps with an eye mask on. It’s creepy, I always thought. Because the eye mask has eyes on it. Green, not like my mom’s brown. And they stare at me now as I move through the room toward my dad, with Carrie at my side.
I look down on his face. This handsome man that I always thought was so gentle and kind. So caring and loving. He built trains with me, and we used to walk through the woods. He taught me how to ride my bike and helped me with my algebra. How could a man, a father, a husband, do all of those things and yet be so sick inside?
How is that possible?
“Do it,” Carrie whispers, and I nod okay, because I can’t find my words anymore.
I have the same knife that Carrie just used on Mr. Brown. And I hold it high above my dad’s chest. A drop of Mr. Brown’s blood drips onto my dad’s chest, and I expect him to wake because the sound is like a gong in the almost silent room. But he doesn’t; he sleeps on.
Just like Carrie’s fucking mom. Who should die too, for what she’s stood by and let happen to her daughter.
I look over at my mom’s staring fake eyes and then I look back to my dad’s tired face and then I stab him through the heart. It’s as easy as that. His eyes open wide and he sees me as he fades away. The blood bubbles up around the knife, and it is surprisingly quiet and peaceful, as far as murder goes. It’s nothing like with Carrie’s dad, which was brutal and bloody, I think. And maybe that’s fitting. Maybe that’s right. He had a bloody, violent end as punishment for the things he did, whereas my dad had a bloody, silent end to go with his sneaking, ugly ways.
He’s dead, and so is Mr. Brown, and both our moms are still sleeping on as if nothing has happened. It’s all so fucked up.
Carrie and I go back outside, and we sit on the back porch steps and we stare up at the moon.
There is blood on my hands and blood on my jeans and blood on my soul.
I’ll go to hell for this, I’m sure, I’m certain, but Carrie says not. She says God would be pleased about what I did. Because I ended her suffering and I stopped them from hurting others.
I think she may be right.
“What now?” I say.
“We leave,” she says, her gaze avoiding mine. “I’ll go pack my things and you can pack yours. I’ll meet you back here in an hour and then we’ll leave this place forever. Okay?” And she smiles, and even with the blood of her father on her face, she is beautiful. The moonlight glows down on her, and her hair shines, and for the first time in so long, I see hope in her eyes.
“I love you, Carrie,” I say.
And I do. I love her so much.
“I know,” she says as she turns away from me and starts to walk back home.
And I wish she’d say it back, just this once.
