“You locked my baby in a trunk and are going to stab at motherfucking make-believe vampires with red wooden stakes?” Mommy screeches. “I’m calling the cops—”
Crack!
I shriek inside the trunk and push against the lid. It opens just enough to allow a bit of light in. Mommy, with Jesse squawking in her arms, is sprawled out on the floor.
Did Laurent hit Mommy?
“What are you going to do with those?” an unfamiliar female voice purrs like a kitten.
“Get back,” Laurent threatens. “Stay the fuck away from my family. I know what you are. I know all it takes is a stake through your black, dead hearts.”
The woman laughs and it echoes.
No, there’s a man with her.
There are two of them laughing.
“Weston,” the woman says, “deal with the…thing. It’s giving me a headache.”
Laurent yells, but then there’s a loud crashing sound. Jesse screams from where Mommy lies on the floor.
“Did I hit you too hard, little lady?” Weston asks, crouching in front of Mommy with his back to me. “My sincerest apologies.”
Mommy wakes with a sob and then her screams are so loud they hurt my ears. Because the louder hers get, the more I notice the silence of my baby brother. Sloppy, wet sounds can be heard and then a thud.
Laurent says there’s music in everything.
Like the ripping of fabric. The slapping of skin. Begging and begging. So much crying from Mommy.
I don’t hear any music.
Just too many scary sounds.
“Please,” Laurent begs, but he sounds like he’s hurting. “Please.”
Weston grunts and that’s when I realize I can’t hear Mommy anymore. All the sounds stop at once.
Except one.
Me.
Crying.
“What’s in the box, lover?” the scary woman asks. “Hmm? Another treat for my brother?”
Weston laughs, slapping the top of the box hard enough to make me scream. He stumbles away, crashing into something, and then starts yelling. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, hoping it’ll all be a bad dream that I’ll wake up from soon.
“What the fuck is that?!”
“She’s protected,” Laurent rasps out. “You’ll never get to her.”
Weston growls and snarls again when he slaps the box. “It burns!”
“Then stop touching it,” the woman snaps. “Whatever’s inside isn’t important.”
“But I want it,” Weston whines.
“So does this one,” she purrs. “He’ll die trying to get at it, too. Won’t you, love?”
“Fuck you,” Laurent chokes out, his breathing ragged.
“How about this?” Her voice is icy and mean. “If you survive the next twenty-four hours, we’ll come back for you. I imagine you’ll never get what you want and will be quite…thirsty. Next drink is on me, love.”
Heavy footsteps thud through the house and all that can be heard again is my crying.
“Laurent,” I whimper.
“I’m s-so s-sorry.” His musical voice sounds like he turned down the volume. It quickly fades to nothing.
Just quiet.
I’m all alone.
Hiss.
Snarl.
Roar.
I wake from my nightmare only to find I’m trapped inside a real one. It smells like pee where I’ve wet myself and my stomach growls continuously from hunger. My hands and knees sting from where the splinters of wood have poked into my skin, making it bleed.
“Laurent?” I whisper. “Are you there?”
I push up against the lid to find him crouched so close his face nearly touches the box. His brown eyes seem to glow red like a monster. And his teeth…
“Get out of the box,” he roars, his voice deep and terrifying. I don’t recognize the sound of his voice. “Now, pet.”
Pet?
“I can’t,” I croak out, my throat so dry I can barely speak. “I want to, but I can’t.”
He reaches forward with one finger, but the moment his finger touches the box, it sizzles, and he yelps. “Get out!” he bellows. “GET OUT! GET OUT!”
I start to sob again. He surely won’t want me to be his daughter now. I can’t obey him.
“Where’s Mommy?”
“GET OUT!”
“Laurent—”
“GET OUT!”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block out his sounds. Hungry. Crazed. Furious. He throws things at the box and burns himself a whole bunch touching it. He never gets inside.
And when I think I might starve to death, Weston and the woman come back. They talk to him like he’s their friend. They make strange sounds and the bed squeaks. Eventually, they leave.
Laurent doesn’t even say goodbye.
I beg and beg for Mommy to let me out, but she can’t hear me.
There’s no music anymore.
Not in my heart.
Not in the box.
Not anywhere.
Castilla
Fourteen Years Later—Present Day
Rain in the city always floods my mind with nightmares from my past. With each pitter-patter of the rain, I’m forced to hear the musical soundtrack to the most horrific time in my life.
The day everyone I loved died.
You’d think, after fourteen years, I’d get over it. That I wouldn’t curl myself into a ball in the late hours of the night and sob until I’m wrung dry.
I can’t get over it, though.
I’ll never be done grieving until I bury Laurent with my brother and mother.