Chapter 10
“Get back in your seat!” Mom screeched from the front of the car, a puff of black steam escaping her mouth.
Cindy wished she couldn’t see those things. She would have closed her eyes, but they were too widened with fear to close.
“Back in your seat!”
She didn’t understand why her mother kept saying that because she was already in her seat and could only push her butt all the way against the back pad.
Mom turned to the front, black steam leaking from her ears.
Cindy swallowed hard and began shaking her head. It’s not true, she thought. I can’t be seeing these things. They’re not possible.
While Dad skidded through residential streets, she remembered the man at the park who fought her parents. She wished she had his courage.
At first, he seemed normal, but when she looked hard at him, she heard soft harp strumming. Then that light came from his hands and comforted her for a moment. She hoped her parents didn’t hurt him badly.
Just how did they hurt him? Black shadows had jumped off their chests. She shook her head, over and over again. That is impossible. Impossible. I must be wrong. Something else must have happened. She shook her head harder. This made her dizzy, but it was better than feeling like she was losing her mind.
Driving too fast into the driveway, scraping the bottom of the car, Dad screeched the brakes, barely avoiding crashing into the back wall of their garage, and then he used the remote to close the door.
No light was on, so the garage faded into pitch dark. With her loss of sight, Cindy’s other senses heightened. Now she could smell her parents: a scent of rotting meat. Also, they chittered amongst themselves. How are they making that noise?
She was going crazy.
She picked up the box from the seat beside her. The wood felt nice against her fingers. The texture was smooth. The box was like a security blanket for her, but she was also afraid of it. It was puzzling, but she didn’t dare find its answers.
She held tight to it as Mom yanked her out of the back seat and dragged her into the house. Cindy stuffed the box into the pocket of her skirt, afraid of it being discovered.
“You stupid, uppity bitch,” her mother growled. “Think you’re special. Think you’re better than us, trying to save that sick man.”
In the past, Mom made Cindy do most the house cleaning. Now she dragged her by the hair into the bathroom, flicked on the lights, and swung her over the toilet.
A thick brownish sludge floated in the water. Mom opened the cupboard under the sink and got out a container of powdered cleaner, a sponge, and a toothbrush. “I want this whole bathroom spotless. You’re not leaving until it’s finished.” She slammed the door shut as she left.
Cindy remembered her foster care social worker saying that her parents weren’t all that bad. Mom had been working with the court to eliminate her problems. She had begun counseling with Dad and individual counseling, and finished parenting classes. The court trusted them now. Grandma and Grandpa trusted them. The county social worker trusted them. Everyone trusted them.
Mom wouldn't bang her head again.
She flushed the toilet, but some brown crud was still stuck to the bottom. She got the powdered cleaner and shook it into the toilet bowl, then began using the toothbrush to scrub the sides.
Mom wouldn’t kill her while dad watched. They were better. If Cindy just did whatever her mother asked, everything would be fine.
Something burned against her right thigh. With her hand, she felt the box through the material of her skirt. She had forgotten about it. For some reason it had heated up. She felt vibrations from something eagerly moving within its wooden walls.
She sat up. She didn’t need any more trouble right now.
Her arms trembled as she struggled to pull it out of her pocket. As soon as she got it out, it felt hot in her palm, and she threw it into the bathtub.
The box echoed against the tub as it bounced before coming to rest.
She leaned back against the wall, watching the tub, dreading that something might pop out of it. Just who was that Black man who gave her the box? If the contents were good, why didn’t he keep it for himself? Who gives away valuable things?
After fifteen minutes, she began to feel tired rather than afraid.
Cindy slowly crawled back to the toilet bowl and continued scrubbing with the toothbrush, deeper and deeper, until she had to put her hand underneath the water to reach the brown crud stuck on the bottom. This made her feel sick, but she continued. She shook more powdered cleanser into the bowl and coughed from its dust. But everything was better now.
Just as long as her mother didn’t come back.