Chapter 3

3

I got up, ready to go home, get my things together, and contact a lawyer, and officially start the divorce proceedings with Jake. He was the one at fault, and he should have to pay for it.

Before going home, I first went to the house where Jake and I used to live �C the house where Jake’s father used to live.

Jake's father had disappeared after he got out of prison. No one had been to the house in a long time. When I opened the door, dust rushed out to greet me.

My life was a bitter pill.

My parents died when I was 3, and I didn't have any other relatives.

Jake's mother was a friend of my mother, and she had taken me in to raise me.

And so, Jake became my brother.

She was a kind and gentle woman, but good people never seem to live long.

Two years later, Jake’s mom passed away from leukemia.

Rumors began to spread.

"That girl, she must be cursed, right?"

"Makes sense. First, she killed her parents, and then she killed the kind woman who took her in..."

"Tsk, tsk, that father better be careful, she might kill him too."

The adults took the gossip home, and told their children. At school, I became the “cursed one”, the "burden".

They would carve things into my desk, throw trash in my desk drawer, and they would corner me in the bathroom, drenching me in cold water to “exorcise the evil.”

And that’s why Jake watched over me like a hawk every day. He’d yell back at the people who called me names, beat up the ones who bullied me. He'd wait for me at the classroom door after school each afternoon, and if I didn’t come out, he'd go look for me, class by class.

But Jake was just a kid, too.

He was sad and scared, losing his mother, his father not even bothering with him.

I would often find him hiding in the closet. He would be huddled there, his eyes red.

I would climb in and hug him.

There were still a few of Jake’s mother’s clothes in the closet. We would wrap ourselves in them, as if we could still feel a bit of her warmth, a bit of her presence.

Late at night, he would softly sing nursery rhymes, hugging me to help me fall asleep.

"The stars at night can sing…"

“On lonely nights, it’s singing with me…”

Everything in the house was run down, covered in dust.

The large pieces of furniture were covered with white sheets, like dead bodies, silently standing in the tombs of the past.

I had hidden some of my parents' belongings in the closet.

But, right then, I heard a rustling noise coming from the closet.

It sounded like something was moving around in there.

I was worried that a rat had gotten in the closet and was messing up my parents’ things.

So, I whipped off the white sheet, and opened the closet door.

What I saw was completely unexpected.

I saw a small figure curled up in a ball.

It felt like the world was going backward.

We stared at each other.

8-year-old Jake crawled out politely, brushed the dust off his clothes, and asked,

"Hi, big sister, have you seen my little sister?"

"Her name is Amy, she's a little shorter than me, and kind of looks like you." He showed his height with his hand.

"We were playing hide-and-seek, and I’ve been hiding here for a long time. She hasn't come to find me. I’m… a little worried."

I vaguely remembered.

Jake's father had become an alcoholic after Jake's mother died.

When I was 8, he would come home drunk, searching all over the house for me and Jake.

If he found either of us, it was a mouthful of alcohol, followed by a slap.

We were just kids and we couldn't fight back. We would run and hide.

Jake would always hide in the closet, which was the easiest to find, and I would hide in the attic, which was almost impossible to find.

There was a hole in the attic floor, where I could see what was happening down below.

If Jake’s father left, or if he passed out on the couch, I would come down from the attic, and knock on the closet door, and pull Jake out.

We called this game - Hide-and-Seek.

Right now, 8-year-old Jake was looking up at me.

His eyes were shining brightly.

I reached out and took his hand, and led him slowly into the living room.

8-year-old Jake was staring at everything around him, looking really confused.

For him, it was like waking up to find the world completely changed: the empty living room, all the furniture covered in white sheets.

Even the father he was so afraid of had disappeared.

"Big sister, where’s my father?"

"He’s gone."

I looked at the clock in the living room.

It was forever frozen on the day that Jake’s father had been sentenced.

The face was broken and the hands were bent.

"He's never coming back."

8-year-old Jake seemed to relax a little.

“Then does little sister Amy still need me to protect her?”

I knelt down to look at him.

"No."

"She's all grown up now."

"She has the strength and courage to face those storms all by herself now.”

As soon as I finished speaking, I saw 8-year-old Jake smile at me.

And in that moment, the living room was empty.

8-year-old Jake was gone, too.