Chapitre 11: Knitting the Sin
"Hey, beautiful girl," I stop munching my bread when I heard mother calling me like that. She glares with great anger, but hides it beneath her smile. No one will notice it, except the one that knows her true nature. I swallow my food, hardly. My throat is starting to get dry for no reason. I gulped my fear, trying my best not to be a cowardly bug that can be squashed.
"What is it, mother?" I ask calmly, though, I think it doesn't work. She understands me from head to toe. She knows that I'm in fear.
"Who accompany you three days ago? I thought you've always walked by yourself when I can't pick you up," mother is so calm, almost like a normal person. She smears the peanut butter on the bread and gives it to Alska. But she presses the spoon on the bread until it creates a hole in it. Yes, she is on a terrible anger.
"I don't know what are you saying," I avoid her question. I bite my bread and munch it slowly, in an attempt of acting normal in front of Alska. Fortunately, Alska doesn't suspect a single thing. Mother grits her teeth, still holding herself to not pick the knife and stab me in the face. I move my attention to Alska, I glance at her for a few times, I have to make sure Alska doesn't notice it.
Mother doesn't eat her breakfast. In fact, she doesn't even eat anything each time she arrives at home. She'll just call it a day and sleep peacefully. Strange, I say. She usually asks me to cook something to eat or buy something from the restaurant near our residence. She doesn't even bother to ask me buying some groceries. I just hope there is nothing ugly about that. What I mean ugly is, maybe she develops her cannibalistic trait and starts eating nothing but human flesh.
"See you soon," I kiss Alska's forehead and head to the car. I stop moving when I see mother glares at me with her blue eyes from the windshield. It looks sharper than a fine-crafted dagger. The bottled fear inside me releases itself, swarming my body as if there are tons of cockroaches walking around my skin. Shiver, shiver, and more shiver.
I open the car door, it's slippery because excessive sweat is soaking in my hand. The temperature inside the car is freezing, but I can't stop sweating. We drive off the residence. Mother uses the long route, the one Joseph and I used three days ago. This unusual behavior makes me so uncomfortable.
"Who's that boy?" she asks coldly.
"Who?" I try to play dumb. Silly me, it won't work on her.
Suddenly, I can feel her hand grabs my hair and pulling it behind. I don't fight her. It will give her incentive to be more violent. "Who. Is. That. Boy!?" she asks again, releasing a splash of her anger towards me.
"I don't know!" I shake my head.
"Who. Is. That. BOY!?"
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!!" I answer it, I did. With her hand still in my hair, she smashes my head to the dashboard, followed by a loud bump. I feel dizzy for a second. I can feel a lump in my head, probably because she hit me hard. But, at least she releases me after that.
Mother still looks dissatisfied, even after she punishes me. Maybe because I'm really strong headed, even go as far as hurting myself just for not leaking any information about him. "Listen, Andra Daslove," she points at me, "I told you to not going overboard, you will be VERY sorry."
I don't answer it. I don't react to it. I just want to go to school and avoid her as much as I can. She won't hurt Diana or Joseph since they're out of her reach. I just want her to leave. I won't mind her killing spree, but leave me alone. I realized it just now. I can't fight her with my strength, but she cannot hurt me more than this. Physical pain is nothing but ant bites for me. All of her words flying through my head, but nothing pierced my ear. I bet she is even more frustrated than before.
She drops me in front of the gate. I jump out of the car and breathe deeply, trying to steal all the fresh air around me. It's been a thirty-minutes of hell inside that car. I can feel the fear has been lifted out (not entirely, but at least I'm still alive). I rub the lump on my forehead. It'll take time to recover, but the worst thing is walking on the corridor with this clearly visible lump in your head.
"Oh my, what happened with your forehead?" Diana asks. I give a fake smile.
"I fell off my bed," I lie. Well, I hope it is enough to cover it. I'm not good at lying, though. Diana seems to swallow my raw lie perfectly. But Joseph stares at me, suspicious. I try to avoid any eye contact with him. Well, not only because I don't want him to discover my lie. But also because his astonishing black eye melts me every time we look at each other.
The school ended so soon. Probably, because I can't stop thinking about my action before, how foolish I am, thinking to fight mother and riding the cloud with a cotton candy in my hand. Both Diana and Joseph offer me a ride to home, which I deliberately refused. Mother will pick me up with a sour face, ready to spout acid to my face.
A car stops in front of me. Mother's sour face is intimidating, but I braced myself, and then open the car door. Mother drives slow, really slow. I can feel the clock ticking and my heart pumping like crazy. Mother doesn't say a thing, but she is just mad. What will she do to me? I keep guessing. I just hope she doesn't do something crazy. She'll leave a visible scar to me, and I don't want Joseph to see it.
Surprisingly, she drives to home without doing anything, but I won't let my guard down. I follow her to the house. As usual, Alska greets us with joy and bright smile. But mother doesn't even smile, and she just proceeds to go inside her chamber. Yes, that chamber full of dead body and dried blood on the floor.
Alska stares at the chamber door. She holds her Mrs. Branna tightly. She might wonder about what happened to mother. Since that woman just ignored her without saying anything. "She is just tired. Alska, I bought a lollipop for you," I try to distract her. She looks at me with her starry eyes. She nods and then eating the lollipop I gave to her. We leave mother in her chamber. This night, I only hear the high-pitched cry and her screaming about dad and Dio, her ex-manwhore. She calls them a traitor, jerk, cheater. I take two sleeping pills to deafen my hearing.
Sunday morning, I use my bicycle to go to Mrs. Dowle's house. As usual, she waits for me in the terrace. I park the bike near the old car that has never been used after Mr. Dowle's disappearance. Mrs. Dowle seems to be in a great focus, she didn't hear me when I called her. Soon, I notice that she is busy with her knits. She can't thread the needle, her hand keeps shaking, and her eyesight is getting worse everyday.
"Mrs. Dowle," I tap her shoulder gently. She looks at my direction, but keep squinting to recognize my face.
"Is that you, Andra?" she asks.
"Yes, and you forget your glasses," I said, I go inside the house and take the glasses on the cabinet. Mrs. Dowle has glasses, but she always forgets to wear it. Maybe because of her habit, usually, Mr. Dowle is the one who reminds her to use the glasses. She misses her husband so much, thus, her old habit never dies out.
Mrs. Dowle tries to stand from the old creaking wooden chair. I help her of course, because it looks like her leg will crack if she tries too hard. She slowly makes her way to the kitchen. She takes a cold almond pie from the refrigerator.
"I'm sorry, Andra," Says Mrs. Dowle. She put the pie on the counter. "I couldn't make a fresh almond pie for you. My body is not as good as usual."
"It's fine," I take the pie and put it on the dining table. "I just want to spend my weekend with you," I don't really mind about any food she serves, though. It's still more human than anything mother ever cooks for me.
We do the same thing like usual, eating a cold almond pie, honey and milk, chatting and watching Mrs. Dowle knitting a new doll. However, she notices my bright red cheek when I talk about school. I talk about many things in school, but not mentioning Diana and Joseph. I keep talking without even thinking how much I had shared. Mrs. Dowle touches my hand. She stops me from talking too much.
"Andra, are you in love?" she asks. I want to nod, but I shake my head. "Dear, no need to hide it from me. My eyes might be bad, but I can tell from your blushing cheek."
"Yes… a little…" I answer.
Mrs. Dowle nods. "I'll make a couple scarf." She says. "Dear, you and your boyfriend, will look cute using the scarfs together!" she says excitedly. Though, her trembling, low voice doesn't match the excitement. She clears her throat after that.
'Oh… gross.' I want to decline her offer. But I think it'll be rude since Mrs. Dowle loves to knit anything for me.
"When I was young, I made a couple scarfs too… me and him holding hand together, on the bench of a park. The winter was cold, but the scarfs and the air around us was warm and calming."
Mrs. Dowle looks up at the ceiling as if she struggles to reach the husband she lost. She is overwhelmed by a pleasing nostalgia. She might be worried or lost faith to find her husband, but it doesn't fog the pleasant nostalgia she has, the memory that refused to go, or trying to hide. I also have it, an agonizing nostalgia.
Mrs. Dowle wipes a single drop of tear from her eye. She tries to hold her voice, but the shrieking grief inside her lashed out by its own. She starts crying, like a reasonable person who lost the loved ones. She closes her face with a handkerchief. I can hear sobs. Of course, I can't console her, I KNOW where exactly Mr. Dowle is. He is just a head now, safely hidden in a bottle.
She still covers her face with the handkerchief. I leave her with the cookies I brought from home. I close the blue door and head to home with the bicycle. How wicked, how certainly wicked I am. I meet her, I hug her, I spend my time with her, but I don't tell anything to her. Nothing except my fake woeful act. I leave her alone with confusion, and false hope to find her husband.
How can I be this wicked?
****
Raining.
It's a heavy rain that turns to be a small storm, just like at that time. Mother and Alska stay in the living room, reading a book about Snow White and how the prince punished the Evil Queen with hot dancing shoes.
After the clock ticking at nine, mother knocks my door. I knew it was her, the slow, three-knocks is always her. I open the door, only to find mother with barely-covering sleepwear. She smiles at me, while I hide behind the door.
"I've found a great punishment for you," she says. She grabs my hand and pulls me out from the room. She drags me to the first floor. I notice a small gun on the table. This is bad, something bad will happen tonight.
"What will you do?" I ask cautiously.
"Not me, the real question is, what will YOU do?" she replies back. I can't answer that, simply because I don't know what does she mean. What will I do? If I have a choice, of course, I want to throw the gun away and stop her from harming another people. But this is mother speaking to me. Of course, I don't have any choice.
Mother drags me to the car. She enters the car shortly after, with a knife in her left hand, and gun in her right. "We'll start your punishment."
She drives through the heavy rain. I sit there, watching her smirking few times. This is bad, really bad. I can feel my hand start sweating, cold sweat. I hope, whatever punishment I'll get, it won't hurt that much. She stops the car in the heavy rain. I raise my head. My eyes widened.
We stop in front of a blue house.
"M—mother, why do we stop here?" I ask. Panic, I try to hold her from exiting the car. "We—we should go, you can do anything you want, killing, anything, but not in here!" I beg. She smirks. Mother leisurely walks under the rain. She purposely drenched herself. I run to stop her, but it's too late, Mother knocks the blue door with her slow three-knocks. Not long after, a middle-aged man opens the door. At a mere second, mother points the gun at his head.
"Can I come in?" Mother asks.
The gun that pointed at his head astonishes the middle-aged man. Me too, I'm dreaded by mother's extreme behavior. I stand behind her, not knowing what should I do.
With the gun still in his head, he leads mother and I inside the house. I can hear Mrs. Dowle voice calling him from inside. "Simon, who is our guest?"
Simon, her son, glances at us nervously. He gulps. "It is Andra… and her mother," he says. Mother glances at me, checking if I'll do something stupid to her. But I won't. If I push her now, she'll be overpowered by Simon and might be thrown into jail or worse, get killed. No, I don't want that. I just hope miracle would happen and no one gets killed.
"Oh, my! Andra? And Alenna too? What do they do in heavy rain like this?" Mrs. Dowle asks continuously. "Come in, Andra, Alenna! I will make hot chocolate," she adds. She sounds really happy, and I can hear a footstep to the kitchen. The sounds of the microwave and Mrs. Dowle's rasp hum echoing in the kitchen.
I can feel a painful bullet in my chest; my guilt hurts more than it should be. Why does she need to be so clueless? I bite my lip. God knows how much I want to scream. Mother smirks, she doesn't stagger by the sweet sound of an elder. For her, they all just the same, dead, or about to be.
Simon is too scared to scream for her mother. I think we both know it won't help. He whispers. "Please, just let my mom go," Mother answers his plea by drawing near him and aims at the temple. She pulls the trigger. I watch the gun, as it recoiled and shot a bullet to his temple. Blood scatters from the other side of the temple, and it splatters to my face and the floor. Simon's body falls like an axed tree.
The Loud noise of broken glass comes from the kitchen. I set my feet to rush to the kitchen. But mother grabs my hair. "My part." She says.
"No!" I struggle to no avail. Mother pulls my hair behind and makes me fall into the puddle of Simon's blood. Mother walk to the kitchen slowly, she finds Mrs. Dowle hiding under the counter, trembling in fear. Mother drags her out and kicks her body in the living room. Mrs. Dowle squeaks like an old dog getting stomped.
I run and shield Mrs. Dowle. "I beg you!" I scream out of frustration. "Let her go! I beg you!"
"You're supposed to know your punishment," she says coldly. She continues to kick Mrs. Dowle and me with her sharp stiletto. I keep hugging Mrs. Dowle. I want to cry, not because it hurts. But because I know Mrs. Dowle will die soon. Mother stops kicking and spitting at us. "This won't work, Andra, cut it!"
"A—Alenna…" Mrs. Dowle starts to speak. "You… killed my husband, didn't you?" She mutters. I hug her even tighter as this will be my last hug for her.
"You finally know it," says mother. "I thought an old hag wouldn't suspect a thing."
She spins the gun around her finger. "I killed him, with a knife on his fucking face," she throws a malicious grin. "Why? Because he is just another cheater. He kissed me, played with my tongue, touched my naked body, and guided by lust. What is the point of keeping a guy that only cares about sex?"
"I love him. I love him so much."
"You're an idiot for loving a cheater."
Mrs. Dowle ignores mother, she looks at me and let a wry smile. "You know how much I love you, you're the grandchild that we've always wanted," she combs my hair with her finger. "I'm sure my husband loves you too. He was the one who suggested me to made a kitten doll for you."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I say. "I never meant to hid it, I ju—"
"My husband will forgive you, so do I."
"But I—"
"I'm all right, Andra," Mrs. Dowle prevents me from speaking more. "I hope you can visit me again."
No. Not like this. This is just like grandpa's death. Why does the painful memory need to be replayed again? Mrs. Dowle closes her eyes, she is ready for anything, but I don't. I want to visit her more, I want to get more dolls, and I want to taste another cold almond pie.
"Let her go, Andra," ask mother.
"NO!" I reject and hug her tighter. Mother kicks me in the face with the stiletto. Again, she grabs my hair and separates me from Mrs. Dowle.
"Damnit, you make this harder. But, I will make sure you know your punishment," Mother grabs my hand and forces me to hold the gun. She forces me to put my thumb on the trigger, "Now, we two are the killer. Isn't it interesting, Mrs. Dowle?"
"NO! NO! NO!" I scream, thrashing violently. But mother is too strong for me. I'm powerless. "PLEASE, FORGIVE ME MOTHER!"
"You'll learn the thrill of killing, Andra." Mother chuckles. "Say hi to your husband. You old piece of shit."
I close my eyes after the sound of a bang comes out. I grit my teeth, hard, telling myself not to cry. I can feel the gun recoiled in my hand. I can't see what just happened, but I know for sure, Mrs. Dowle is no more than a lifeless body of a precious heartwarming soul. I let the parent who I've always wanted, die in front of me. Meanwhile, the malevolent biological mother of mine has been laughing for two minutes.
Mother loosens her grip. I fall into the ground and trying hard to see Mrs. Dowle's corpse. Mrs. Dowle forehead has been pierced with the sharp bullet. She is still smiling, eyes closed peacefully, and a tear streaming down of her eyes. Her white hair has been stained by blood.
"This is your punishment," she says. "Now, you understand how much I hate a prick who tries to fight me." I nod. I nod. I nod.
Mother takes gloves from her bag and heads upstairs. "What are you—"
"I'm trying to make it looks like a burglary, it'll mislead the police," she explains, and then smiles. "You don't want your mother to go to jail, right?"
She leaves me with two corpses, one of them is my beloved one. I stare at Mrs. Dowle lifeless body. She is still beautiful and peaceful, even in her death. I sit beside her, motionless. I can't touch her body now. Police might be able to find my fingerprint and identifying the culprit. Even I couldn't say a proper goodbye for Mrs. Dowle, such an evil punishment.
Mother comes back from the second floor with a large roll of money. She throws it to me. "It is hers. You said you've always wanted a good phone, you can use that," she says. I look over the roll of money on the ground. I take it, just to make it as the last gift from Mrs. Dowle. But I won't use it. Also, to make mother's plan succeeded.
We leave the door open, just to make more realistic 'burglary' accident. The heavy rain camouflaged all the fuss perfectly. The air inside the car is cold, extremely cold for me. I stare at the window. I'll imagine my tears as the drops streaming down the window. The heavy rain is taunting me with all of those painful memories, dancing with joyful drops from its body, soaking me with sin.
Alska is waiting in the living room, watching a cartoon and happily mimic the silly face from the character. She welcomes me warmly. "Welcome back, Big Andra! Did you and mother go shopping? I want an ice cream!" she tiptoes to check the bag in my hand. I brush her off. I can't put up even a slight smile.
"I'm tired," I say. I head to my room as fast as possible. I lock the door. I put the money roll with kitten dolls I collected from Mrs. Dowle. That's it. The end of fantasy I lived on. The kitten dolls will be the warmest memory I've ever received. Sad? I feel it, but empty is more precise.
Mother has made her point, sharp one. And I learned it through the hard way.
The heavy rain has been long gone, but not in my heart. Police come to question us about the murder, which mother easily stirred in her favor. I haven't go to school for a week, mother let me skip the school, she said to the teachers that I was so shaken by the murder because Mrs. Dowle is a close acquaintance of mine. Which is true in that context.
The 'burglary' becomes such sensation in our residence. The neighbors begin questioning the security in this area. Since this is the first burglary and murder that ever happened in our residence.
The Monday morning after an isolated week is unnerving. I pack my books, I don't exactly know what kind of book should I bring, it is all jammed up, and I forgot about anything about the school. The shock hit my brain really hard.
I want to use my bike to reach the school faster. But I only use that bicycle to visit Mrs. Dowle during our days. I stand in front of a blue house with police line on the fence and door. I'll never see Mrs. Dowle in her rocking chair anymore. She usually swings the chair slowly just to wait for my arrival. I can't forget how she mumbles funnily when she couldn't put the thread into a small hole in the needle. She'd need my help just to do it.
I shake my head. Part of my heart died in this blue house, But, can't turn back the time, and my feet will be glued forever if I keep thinking about sweet memory. I was born with bitter love, I don't deserve the sweet memories Mrs. Dowle gave.
At least, Mrs. Dowle dies in peace. She knew about her husband's demise and followed him. I'm pretty sure Mr. Dowle waits for her in heaven. She said she wants me to visit her again, in heaven. I thought a human like me has a special reservation in hell.
I walk away from the blue house of perfectly blue door and perfectly blue terrace. The house with bluish memory of rain and tears.
'I'd love to visit again, Mrs. Dowle.'
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
ForeverPupa
ForeverPupa Hello! ForeverPupa here ^^
This is the new chapter, I hope you guys enjoy it
The next chapter will be on Monday
Comment/feedback is appreciated
Thanks for reading!
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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Power Stone 
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