“Ambrose wasn’t well.” My words are so cold for the boy who once gave me all his warmth… then took it away. But that doesn’t change his history. He’d spent years in an institution, battling demons and painful memories of clowns. “He had no idea what he was doing, clearly. He wouldn’t have hurt them if he did. He loved our parents. I know that. The only thing I don’t know is why he threatened me. We had always been a safe space for each other, and that changed everything.”
“You think it was completely out of character for the murderer to threaten to murder you?” One of William’s eyebrows climbs almost to the top of his bald head.
I keep my trembling hands under the table so no one sees just how edgy I’ve become. The thread on my glove keeps me in the moment as I talk, the soft feel calming me slightly.
“Yes. It was out of character.” But it still terrifies me, and it still created a void inside me that sucked away all my hope, all my dreams, and left me feeling vulnerable and lonely.
“You almost sound like you still care about him?” Shane asks this question too often, and ever since the very first time, it always straightens my spine with nerves because he never likes the answer.
“He isn’t someone I can hate, Shane. I’ve tried.”
“I just assumed you’d hate him after that letter.”
The one and only letter I ever got from Ambrose that warned he’d slit my throat when he got out if I ever contacted him.
“I don’t hate him. I’m just afraid of what he’s become in that place.”
“Before that place,” Shane corrects me. “He was scum before prison. A murderer, Lancie.”
Tears burn my eyes over both his words and his nickname for me.
Seeing my upset building, Shane pulls back.
But before I can relax, Miranda pipes up again. “Shane is right. He probably won’t even want the house. So, don’t worry about him right now. But if you have to contact him, outside of a lawyer?—”
“Which I will, because of money.” I swipe the tear that falls, remembering all the times someone else’s hand did it with a much gentler touch.
Ambrose.
“Then you won’t have to do it alone. It’s not safe for you. Now come on, no more talk about murderers or money when we’re out for a nice day.” Shane smiles a false smile.
I hate it, and I play with my ring again, those same thoughts and feelings rushing back for the third time.
“As I was saying, just tell him about all the vandalism. He probably won’t want to return then.” Miranda is literally just using Shane’s words to continue the conversation I don’t want.
And I can’t help but retaliate.
“Those are cruel taunts and will be gone long before his release date. I’ll be making a formal complaint to the town when we arrive. They don’t just affect Ambrose. They’re about me, too. And there is no one in that town who can think that what that creep did to us is okay. It wasn’t okay. What Ambrose went through daily was not okay. Me having to bring him back to life as a terrified seven-year-old was not okay, and by allowing that awful graffiti, the town is promoting our abuse. It’s a joke. And driving through that place and the idea of going back gives me chills.” I collect my wild emotions, reigning them in to prevent people at nearby tables from hearing my life story.
“What happened to both of you was terrible. And you use that as an excuse for his behavior. It shouldn’t be, but you’ve done it many?—”
Nope, she doesn’t get more opinions on this. “He’s a person who suffered a psychological break, Miranda, and he did something he’ll regret for the rest of his life. I know him enough to know that. And for that, he isn’t welcome home, but if you’re a child abuser, you’re celebrated with artwork all over town? Where is the sense? Tell me, in your professional opinion, where is the sense?”
She, who works with those with mental health struggles, stays silent. Finally.
“It all happened because of him. Without that freak, my parents would be alive, and I wouldn’t be terrified of my brother. I’m done with this conversation, and I’d appreciate it not being brought back up again.”
“Personally, I think some things shouldn’t be forgiven.” Miranda chastises. “And as I tried to say earlier, but you interrupted, trauma isn’t an excuse for his evil behavior. That’s my professional opinion.”
Well, that shows how much she knows.
I sit silently, with flaring nostrils showing my agitation, because I have no words.
I gulp my glass of water, mostly to avoid the urge to dump it over Miranda, and I look away from her over-washed sweater dress.
Birds chirp at the window, making me smile as I admire their pretty colors.
Staying silent, I sit back in my chair and try to relax while the others finish.
