genes

“How is it possible for these things to be genetic?”

“I don’t know but what other explanation is there?!” He ran his hands through his receding hair and slumped on the edge of our bed.

“Ssh. She could hear us.” Oh God, listen to me. Trying to be practical at a time like this. Practical. Me. After nearly two decades of this, this…

“Do you think it could be possible? Oh my god, what do we do now? She can’t know about me. Imagine how scared she must be.. and how stupid. How fricking stoooopid to do it so utterly stupidly. Shit. The cops came, Mary. The cops. She has no alibi, no friends apparently and we can’t back her up. Another few months, or even weeks, and they’ll put together a case and come and arrest her. What the fuck do we do?!”

“Send her away. Say she is pregnant and ran away.” The answer surprised even me by popping out of my mouth almost as soon as John finished his question. [No, our names aren’t actually John and Mary; what, do you think I’m stupid enough to tell you what my real name is?]

My husband of 24 years looked at me. “You know what.. I can do this. I’ve been doing this for 20 years. And nobody except you knows. I can help her.. teach her to disguise herself, keep us updated and not leave any clues behind… Hmm.”

I sighed and sat next to him. “I can’t believe… our girl.. just like you…”

“I know. Me too.”

“It’s all your fault, John. You should have just let me leave when I found out about you.. your.. your habit.” I spat out the last word. I never knew what to call it. I knew my husband was a psychotic closet murderer. Meaning not murdering in closets but murdering, period. I should have left when I got the chance. That was the only thought that kept running through my head. Strangely enough there was only silence from his side. I looked at him and his face was blank. A sudden shiver went through me. “John? Are you okay? I’m sorry.. I just..” He snapped out of it and frowned. He had seen that look before. But never on his wife’s face. “What’s wrong with you?! You really think I would hurt you?!” He got up and started pacing. “Christ. My own wife.”

“Well.. you never know.. I mean.. I don’t understand these things. I was just scared for a minute. Maybe you thought I was going to rat you out or something.”

“Christ, Mary.. anyway, let me handle Sarah first. What do I do? Just tell her to leave?”

“Yes. We’ll handle that in the morning. Go check on her first. She must be pretty tense after the cops grilled her today.”

While he checked on our 16-year-old closet murderer, I weighed our options. If she left, it would be even more obvious that she was responsible for the murder at her boarding school. And how could she leave without anything at all? We would have to continue providing for her security, but…

The phone rang. Wondering who the hell it could be, I picked up.

“Yes? Speaking. Who is this? Oh, okay. Uh-huh. Yes, I remember him. Oh were they? She’s never spoken of him really.” I could hear John walking back down the corridor towards our room. “MARY?”

“Okay,” I continued on the phone. “What? How could that possible be connected to…?”

John came back. “She’s gone,” he wheezed. I froze, listening to the woman over the phone from Sarah’s hostel. “I see. Alright. Could you call back later, please? Thank you.” I put the phone down.
“Gone?”

“Yes. And I found this…”

He handed me a little stick. “Is it what I think it is?”

“Where the hell did you find it?”

“In her bathroom. What does it say?”

“It’s positive. And the woman on the phone says a boy from her hostel has gone missing. They were pretty close in school. His name is Andrew.”

“So she’s run away. With her boyfriend and their baby.”

“Yes. Now what?”

“We have to find her. She could be carrying another little murderer.”

Obviously the thought had already occurred to my husband.

“She probably is. But if I know her, Andrew’s body will be found in a few days. And then there’s really going to be hell to pay.”

“Oh my God.”