[They are absolutely minding their own ding dang business, being surly and unsociable as hell, when a void RUDELY and WITHOUT EXPLICIT CONSENT comes to SWALLOW THEM WHOLE.
Alan loosened some cash to enroll Amma at the Bell School—$22,000 a year, not counting books and supplies—just nine blocks away. She made quick friends, a little circle of pretty girls who learned to yearn for all things Missouri. The one I really liked was a girl named Lily Burke. She was as bright as Amma, with a sunnier outlook. She had a spray of freckles, oversized front teeth, and hair the color of chocolate, which Amma pointed out was the exact shade of the rug in my old bedroom. I liked her anyway.
She became a fixture at the apartment, helping me cook dinner, asking me questions about homework, telling stories about boys. Amma got progressively quieter with each of Lily's visits. By October, she'd shut her door pointedly when Lily came by.
One night I woke to find Amma standing over my bed.
"You like Lily better than me," she whispered. She was feverish, her nightgown clinging to her sweaty body, her teeth chattering. I guided her to the bathroom, sat her down on the toilet, wet a washcloth under the cool, metallic water of the sink, wiped her brow. Then we stared at each other. Slate blue eyes just like Adora's. Blank. Like a winter pond.
~*&*~
On October 12, Lily Burke disappeared on her way home from school. Four hours later, her body was found, propped tidily next to a Dumpster three blocks from our apartment. Only six of her teeth had been pulled, the oversized front two and four on the bottom.
I phoned Wind Gap and waited on hold twelve minutes until police confirmed my mother was in her home.
I found it first. I let the police discover it, but I found it first. As Amma trailed me like an angry dog, I tore through the apartment, upending seat cushions, rummaging through drawers. What have you done Amma? By the time I got to her room, she was calm. Smug. I sifted through her panties, dumped out her wish chest, turned over her mattress.
I went through her desk and uncovered only pencils, stickers, and a cup that stank of bleach.
I swept out the contents of the dollhouse room by room, smashing my little four-poster bed, Amma's day bed, the lemon yellow love seat. Once I'd flung out my mother's big brass canopy and destroyed her vanity table, either Amma or I screamed. Maybe both of us did. The floor of my mother's room. The beautiful ivory tiles. Made of human teeth. Fifty-six tiny teeth, cleaned and bleached and shining from the floor.
[ oh. messed up. you know, ashlyn is kind of accustomed (not numbed, but accustomed) to violence and monsters. even humans doing bad things. but it's kind of more abstract. people in suits doing things behind big glass windows. not... outright murder.
this explains more about what camille is afraid of. it's scary, seeing someone has done something and feeling afraid that you might be capable of it too.
anyway ashlyn continues to be fucking terrible at expressing sympathy correctly so: ]
[She works her jaw. Huffs under her breath and pulls her sweater sleeves lower, nearly to the knuckles.]
Amma told me she liked to hurt once. I thought she meant cutting. And there was the way her she and her little friends behaved. Conversations I overheard. The brother of one of the girls suspected. I could have chatted him up more.
[Though it hadn't been productive when she did. Not in the way that solved the case.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WEEK 2: Monday (1/2)
Unacceptable.]
2/2 (TRANSCRIPT) ((SPOILERS, CW: child murder, teeth extraction))
She became a fixture at the apartment, helping me cook dinner, asking me questions about homework, telling stories about boys. Amma got progressively quieter with each of Lily's visits. By October, she'd shut her door pointedly when Lily came by.
One night I woke to find Amma standing over my bed.
"You like Lily better than me," she whispered. She was feverish, her nightgown clinging to her sweaty body, her teeth chattering. I guided her to the bathroom, sat her down on the toilet, wet a washcloth under the cool, metallic water of the sink, wiped her brow. Then we stared at each other. Slate blue eyes just like Adora's. Blank. Like a winter pond.
On October 12, Lily Burke disappeared on her way home from school. Four hours later, her body was found, propped tidily next to a Dumpster three blocks from our apartment. Only six of her teeth had been pulled, the oversized front two and four on the bottom.
I phoned Wind Gap and waited on hold twelve minutes until police confirmed my mother was in her home.
I found it first. I let the police discover it, but I found it first. As Amma trailed me like an angry dog, I tore through the apartment, upending seat cushions, rummaging through drawers. What have you done Amma? By the time I got to her room, she was calm. Smug. I sifted through her panties, dumped out her wish chest, turned over her mattress.
I went through her desk and uncovered only pencils, stickers, and a cup that stank of bleach.
I swept out the contents of the dollhouse room by room, smashing my little four-poster bed, Amma's day bed, the lemon yellow love seat. Once I'd flung out my mother's big brass canopy and destroyed her vanity table, either Amma or I screamed. Maybe both of us did. The floor of my mother's room. The beautiful ivory tiles. Made of human teeth. Fifty-six tiny teeth, cleaned and bleached and shining from the floor.
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this explains more about what camille is afraid of. it's scary, seeing someone has done something and feeling afraid that you might be capable of it too.
anyway ashlyn continues to be fucking terrible at expressing sympathy correctly so: ]
Where did the rest come from...?
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Ann Nash and Natalie Keene. Two little girls from Wind Gap. Our hometown.
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cw: mention of self harm
[She works her jaw. Huffs under her breath and pulls her sweater sleeves lower, nearly to the knuckles.]
Amma told me she liked to hurt once. I thought she meant cutting. And there was the way her she and her little friends behaved. Conversations I overheard. The brother of one of the girls suspected. I could have chatted him up more.
[Though it hadn't been productive when she did. Not in the way that solved the case.]
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[Camille stares into the distance. Then presses both hands to her face, holding. Breathe deep. Don't fucking cry.
She's so tired. It would be nice to wash it all down with something stiff and cool, hear that shot glass clink as it hits the counter.
Vanish. Vanish. Vanish.]
Best I can do now is wish the juvie facility the best. Maybe they can sort her out. I'm done.
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It's not like one person can handle anything that gets thrown at them.
[ is what she thinks. probably. ]