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Laura Sunderland just turned nine when her six-year-old sister Heather showed the signs.
She was having dreams. She always woke up screaming into the night. Dad and Pop would always be there in their room to wake Heather up, with Laura lagging behind, terrified, wondering what the hell was going on, and she would look at her sister’s small, scared face burying itself into Dad’s arms. She always said something about a bunch of people coming for them, only to wake up the next morning not remembering anything at all. The screaming terrified Laura, but more than anything, it was the not-remembering that absolutely frightened her the most.
Heather always cried the most gut-wrenching cry every dream. The neighbors heard. The neighbors asked. But Heather never remembered and the neighbors’ questions were often answered in whispers — whispers that Laura was never lucky enough to catch.
The nightmares didn’t come every night. Not at first. They were pretty sparse. For two whole months, it was just one dream. For three months they became two. For the next few months, the nightmares came every two weeks. It confused her. Laura often wondered if this happened before she and Pop came into their lives, but whenever she asked Dad he only smiled and said, “It’s fine, buttercup. It’s all just bad dreams. It happens now and then, but everything’s going to be all right.”
She knew Dad’s answer was bull. There were times she tried to force it out of him, then from Pop when nothing worked, but over time Pop had learned to become stern enough to warn her that insulting him wouldn’t squeeze any answers from him either. Laura gave up in frustration because she couldn’t exactly ask Heather what was happening to her. She cared about her so much that she didn’t want to push her away by prying and asking her things she didn’t even know were directly affecting her. So Laura stopped.
For a time.
~
Laura was eleven when things went suddenly quiet. Heather stopped having nightmares, never had them once in the past two years, and Laura believed her because Heather always remembered the good dreams. She often dreamt of a pretty lake, spinning horses (Laura was pretty sure it was called a merry-go-round), and a dark-haired girl playing with her. They were rather boring dreams, which was better than having to see her wake up in the middle of the night tearing her throat out, but to hear her sister play with somebody else in her dreams was something that made Laura a little sad. It was weird, given the fact that none of them knew any dark-haired girl that wore a midnight-blue school uniform, but nothing was weirder than Dad’s reaction when he heard about the unknown girl.
When Heather talked about the dark-haired girl (again) one evening during dinner, Dad suddenly yelled that she stop. Heather had been so hurt that she cried, but Dad never told her why she should stop talking about the girl and those other good dreams. Pop, Laura noticed, was so quiet that time she almost expected him to become invisible, but when she buggered him once more for answers the next day he still did not yield. Nothing made him want to talk, which angered Laura for she knew Heather was not just having dreams. They couldn’t be just dreams, because then her parents wouldn’t act like flustered nuns whenever something bizarre happened to Heather.
“You’re too young for this, Laura,” Pop used to say, whenever he had to evade Laura’s rather disrespectful interrogations.
I was too young to know you killed Mary, Laura never said. She regretted she ever thought of that at all.
~
Laura was thirteen when she got suspended for attacking Heather’s classmates who were picking on her. Heather had told her teachers that one of her classmates had been cheating during an exam. The proof was a piece of paper found in that classmate’s jacket sleeve, and Heather, to Laura’s shock and horror, admitted later that she never once saw nor heard of the cheat sheet. She never even knew that this classmate had the guts to cheat; she only felt it. Laura demanded an explanation to which Heather offered nothing, for she didn’t know how and why she knew. She wished she didn’t. Laura then embraced her and dropped the questions at once.
The classmate and her friends ganged up on Heather after school, and when Laura found them shaking her sister by the scruff of the neck, she assaulted every single one of them and punched the perpetrator across the face. Dad and Pop never yelled at her but gave the both of them a heartfelt talk about not wanting either of them to ever get into trouble because they only wanted their daughters to be safe. Heather asked Dad what was wrong with her but all he did was hug her as she cried. None of them talked about the suspension and its cause after that. There was simply no point talking about it anymore, anyway.
Laura heard her parents once in the kitchen, though, when they thought she was asleep. They’d been talking about Heather. About all the other things happening before the cheating incident happened. Heather, she… she sensed things. Felt things. Knew what people thought of her. She sometimes made guesses about the future — not exactly the future, but little things that would happen two minutes later. The fall of a pencil, the slam of a door, a car honk in the distance. She loved to draw. She always drew the dark-haired girl she used to dream of and showed Laura. The girl was beautiful, but sad, incredibly sad. Heather never showed it to Dad and Pop for fear of Dad freaking out as he did two years ago. She drew birds, lions, woodmen, scarecrows, fairies, dogs, pretty girls in pretty dresses, butterflies—
She really liked drawing way too many butterflies. Dad caught the sketches once. Laura noticed he had gone a little too pale because of some random drawing of butterflies.
Laura once asked him what he thought of Heather’s drawings. He gulped and only muttered, “They’re pretty.” Pop had smiled and said the exact same thing. The smile never reached his eyes.
Now that Laura thought about it, Dad didn’t seem particularly happy about his youngest daughter taking an interest in art. Whether or not it was because of the butterflies, she’ll never know.
~
Laura was fifteen when she learned Dad’s real name wasn’t Christopher.
It happened right after Heather’s nightmares returned. There she was again, screaming into nothing, fighting Dad and Pop, begging for mercy and begging for her ‘mother’ to stop burning her. Dad stopped for several moments, then completely froze as Heather struggled against his arms, and so Pop had to do the heavy lifting and forced Heather back to herself again. She’d been into the nightmare so much she’d forgotten who everyone in the house was and even her own name, muttering something else that Laura swore she heard was “Claudia”. Heather fell back asleep two hours after the ruckus but it left everybody else so shaken that Laura had to witness Dad cry in the kitchen. Pop had been there to comfort him and wipe the tears away from his face. Even though Dad had been so distraught, Laura had had enough of everything, so she asked one more time, rather angrily. Watching her sister lose herself constantly was scary. Watching this little twelve-year-old girl lose the brightness in her eyes so early killed Laura.
It was time she knew everything. The truth. Even if it hurt her.
Her parents had looked one another in the eye then, and when Dad began to explain everything, Laura herself had ended up in tears.
She was much too old to learn that Dad was named Harry Mason, and was never Christopher Da Silva at all.
~
Laura was eighteen when she discovered the cigarettes.
It was three years since Heather requested that she use the small guest room as her new bedroom since nobody was using it anyway. It hurt Laura but she understood that both of them needed some space since they weren’t kids anymore, but when Heather began shutting everyone out as soon as she got the room, the rest of the household grew increasingly worried. She had already lost her friends, her grades, and the trust of everyone that wasn’t a Sunderland or a Mason. Once, she was called the ‘snitch’, but then it eventually changed to ‘witch’ because of the many things Heather swore she never did. Small accidents happened whenever she was around. Tripping down staircases, slipping on floors, and falling bookcases — these made everyone so wary of her that even the teachers had to be careful around her. She was forced to switch schools, but it didn’t work either so as the days passed, she also passed, slowly fading away from life because of all the things she didn’t know were happening to her. Laura understood, but Heather could not. Dad had strongly warned her to never tell Heather a thing, and even though Laura knew why, she hated the burden of knowing and not telling.
Her sister was falling apart after all, and for all those years, what had she been doing?
Watching.
Observing.
Waiting. For what, she didn’t know.
But that was where she found the cigarettes, in her room. Heather had yelled at all three of them during dinner when Dad asked why she got into a fight with one of her classmates and all she wanted was silence. She walked out, left Dad and Pop heartbroken and Laura was determined to have the mess fixed. She was lucky Heather forgot to lock the door that night. She was about to light up a stick when Laura barged into the room. They argued. Hissed and fought in the quiet because Dad and Pop shouldn’t know. Heather gave in and cried.
She tried the cigarettes three months ago, she’d said. It made her feel normal. Made her feel like one of those rebellious teens you see on TV. Made her feel like she had normal problems, that she didn’t wake up in the middle of the night begging for some nameless mother to not cook her alive. The cigarettes made her feel cool, like she was in the know. But she also knew it was wrong and wanted to stop. But she just couldn’t, so Laura listened.
A week later Heather revealed the cigarettes to their parents and they all worked together to help.
~
Laura was twenty when she went home to visit her family after university exams. She missed Heather’s simple 17th birthday celebration but came just in time to celebrate Pop’s. She had not seen them in months and reuniting with them was a little more emotional than she liked. Dad and Pop looked a little older. Heather looked a little more tired, but happy to be with her sister again. She was still the same old, stubborn blonde Heather, but after all these years she grew enough to not stay angry anymore (at least not very much so anymore, anyway). Cake was served, a song was sung, and Laura had all summer to spend with them. Dad and Pop were as disgustingly sweet and in love as ever, which was wonderful and cringe-worthy at the same time. Most of her classmates came from broken families, so she wouldn’t have hers any other way.
(But if they could just stop being so cuddly with one another for two minutes more, she’d be thankful.)
Heather, who stuck to not having any more friends, was content to tell Laura everything. Her grades were going up, but not enough to catch any bullies’ attention (said bullies learned to never get in her way again, however). She’d been drawing so much more (but seemed to have completely forgotten about the dark-haired girl who was seemingly absent from her sketches), reading books more, and watching movies more. She also mentioned a rom-com film showing in theaters at the moment, suggesting that she and Laura see it tomorrow. Heather always liked the lighthearted ones. Action-packed movies made her nervous, horror and thrillers never helped her sleep, and dramatic ones felt too real she could never find comfort in them. Laura loved the deep psychological ones no matter how pretentious it made her look, but she never made any recommendations due to the fact that Heather was already in a constant battle with herself every day. She happily agreed to see the rom-com film with her because all that mattered was they had fun. Dad and Pop wouldn’t come, saying the girls should have their own time together, so they settled for the next day with only the two of them. Both girls were excited, but for some reason there was this nagging feeling that ate Laura up whenever she looked at Dad.
He’d been looking at them the entire day with something like contentment on his face. She didn’t know if Pop and Heather noticed, but she could not bring herself to ask them because it felt wrong that whole time. The last thing she wanted was to worry them, because Dad…
…It was as if he had already made peace with himself or something.
~
That evening Laura caught Dad in the kitchen alone. He just finished washing his favorite mug and had set it down the dish rack when she entered the room. He’d turned, with reading glasses and a warm smile on his face. There were more gray strands on his dark-brown hair than she remembered. While she was glad he lived a long life, it was crushing to see him age over the years. She cut the thought off her head and leaned against the counter to watch him as he dried his hands.
“Buttercup,” Dad greeted. “Anything I can help you with?”
Laura shook her head, crossing her arms. “I’m good, Dad.”
“You seen James? I saw your sister go up in her room.”
“Living room. Watching TV. The usual.” Laura took a deep breath, avoiding her stepfather’s eyes before continuing, “Dad. About Heather. About you guys. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Dad paused, tossed the towel on the counter, and leaned in next to her. He stared at her, that same content look finding its way back to his lined face. “We get by. You know Heather. She’s still having those dreams sometimes, but… she’s a fighter. She’s… been learning to survive without us.”
“Are you ever going to tell her?” Laura asked.
“Am I ever going to tell her what?”
“You know.”
“I’ll need you to be more specific, Laura.”
“Dad, you know what I mean,” Laura said pointedly. “She… she can’t even remember your real name. She doesn’t remember why you moved to Daisy Villa all those years ago. Heather’s fighting and she’s so much stronger than all three of us now, but you’ve seen her. Not knowing is making her suffer. Me lying is making me suffer.”
Dad closed his eyes. With a shake of the head, he sighed. “It’s making me suffer too. It’s making James suffer too. But how am I supposed to tell her that — that she’s the mother of god?”
“I know you’re trying your best,” Laura said. “I do, Dad. I’ve seen everything you did, and still do. But I’m just saying that… you know. At some point she’ll have to know.”
“I know.”
Laura let the silence take over. Unfolding her arms she pushed them up against the counter to gaze down at her feet. With a glance back to him, she muttered, “They’re not coming anymore, are they?”
Dad turned up in her direction. He smiled. “I don’t think so, buttercup.”
There it was again, that little peaceful smile. It didn’t make Dad look ugly, and in fact, it brought back some of his good boy charm that surely captivated Pop way back when. Laura couldn’t pinpoint why she was feeling so unsettled even though soft smiles are supposed to mean good things. Haven't they gone through enough? Why did it feel like she was looking at one of her fathers for one last time?
“You’d better go to bed,” Dad said, patting Laura on the shoulder with a squeeze. “You and your sister have a long day ahead of you.”
“We’re just going to watch a movie, Dad.”
“Yeah, but you girls are about to have fun, so I’m betting you two wouldn't be too eager to go home.” With a grin, Dad pinched her cheek and sauntered off towards the living room. “Good night, buttercup. I love you.”
Something squeezed Laura’s ribcage. Forcing a smile, she said, “Night, Dad. Love you too.”
~
Laura never got to sleep that night.
She was twenty years old when her whole world fell apart.