Welcome Home to Hell

Eyes downcast, clutching tight to the orange backpack in her arms, Thea stepped off the bus. She knew she shouldn’t be here, knew she was going against everything they had warned her about, but her memories told a different story than theirs and she wanted to know the truth. She wanted to see for herself.

She knew the way to the house by heart. The neighborhood was loud with childish laughter and the bounce of basketballs. It smelt of freshly mown grass and the bitter scent of the blossoms on the big round trees.

The house was exactly how she remembered it, brick with a little green door and faded shutters beside the windows. The lawn was overgrown with weeds and the flowers she’d planted along the sidewalk were long gone, but it was just the same, down to the beaten-down, old, grey van in the driveway.

She felt herself growing faint at the sight of that house. Feelings stirred inside of her and they were so strong they swept over her like a storm. She took a step back to steady herself and her backpack dropped from her hands and landed with a thump on the sidewalk. She blinked fast, again and again, lifting her hands to cover her face, dropping her chin to her chest.

And then she was gone.

Phoebe dropped her hands to her sides. She lifted her head and her breath caught in her throat.

That house.

She hadn’t seen that house in four years.

Her heart beat too quickly. She couldn’t breathe. Her hands pressed into her chest.

What was she doing here?

She didn’t remember anything since yesterday when she sat down at her computer to work on her schoolwork. She was graduating this spring with her bachelor’s in linguistics. Everything was going just right. She’d left her past behind. She’d moved on, made a new home, a new family, a new life.

And now she was right back here.

She knew it had to have been one of the others, but she couldn’t fathom why any of them would bring them back here, to the place they’d fought so hard to escape from. Their DID wasn’t easy to manage, but it kept them safe. Until now.

Tears stung at her light green eyes. She felt like a small child again, lost and helpless, all alone in the world.

And then the faded green front door opened, and he stepped out. Broad shoulders and a growing beer belly with scruff littering his sharp chin and thick, dark eyebrows, her uncle hadn’t aged a day since she’d last saw him.

“Caroline?” He called out, confusion wrinkling his brows.

Phoebe took a step back. She shouldn’t be here. Why was she here?

Her uncle started down the porch steps toward her and she snatched up her backpack and walked quickly down the street away from him.

“Caroline, wait!” He yelled. “Please, I’m sorry! Can we please just talk?”

And against the urging of every cell in her body, Phoebe stopped. She turned around.

“Talk?” She practically hissed. “Now you want to talk?”

He winced. They stood a street apart, but it was still too close. She was never far enough away from him.

“I’ve changed, Caroline. After you left, I stopped drinking. I got it together. Please, will you just come inside and talk?”

Phoebe’s face was blank. “I don’t go by Caroline anymore.”

Her uncle looked startled, but then he nodded. “Of course, I’m sorry. What should I call you?”

Phoebe hesitated, then, reluctantly, she murmured, “Phoebe.”

Her uncle smiled. “Phoebe. It’s pretty.”

“Thank you.”

He gestured to the door, his eyes pleading. Phoebe bit down on her bottom lip. She remembered all of the good, all of the evenings spent baking cookies or catching fireflies in the backyard or laughing nonstop together on the floor of the living room. But she also remembered all the bad, the yelling, the arguments, her shock when he hit her aunt for the first time, the locked doors, and the crying that wouldn’t stop.

Seeing him was bittersweet. And that scared her.

But something urged her to take that first step forward, and she listened.

He’d changed up the inside of the house. Gone were the beige walls covered in crayon drawings and the dark brown stained couches. Gone were the shelves full of pottery and the landscape paintings lining the walls. It felt empty now, with dark burgundy furniture and deep tan walls. There were no picture frames, no trinkets, nothing. But the beer bottles were gone too, and so were the stains on the old carpets and the dirty dishes covering the tables. And it made her wonder, maybe he had changed?

“Would you like something to drink?” Her uncle’s voice shattered the awkward silence.

Phoebe shook her head. “No, thank you.”

He led her to the living room and sat down on one of the couches. Phoebe sat in the armchair farthest away from him.

“How have you been, Car—Phoebe?” He asked softly. “I haven’t heard from you in years.”

“I’ve been doing good.” She replied. “I’m almost finished with school, actually.”

Her uncle nodded along with her words. “That’s great, that’s great. Your aunt would be so proud of you.”

Phoebe glanced around the house and a pit formed in her stomach. “Where is Aunt Trina?”

Her uncle’s face fell. “She died. About eight months ago. Cancer.”

A lump formed in Phoebe’s throat. She swallowed it down and mustered up the courage to say, “I’m sorry.”

He waved her off. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know where you’d gone. I didn’t know if you were even still alive.” His eyes pressed into hers.

Phoebe looked away. “I know.”

He stood up suddenly and Phoebe flinched. He froze.

“I’m sorry, Caroline.” He breathed. “God, I’m so, so sorry.”

Phoebe stared down at her hands. “Okay.”

He walked into the kitchen and made two glasses of lemonade. He brought her one and set his down on the glass coffee table next to a package wrapped in brown paper.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything, but you always loved lemonade.”

Phoebe set it on her knee.

“Why did you come back?”

Phoebe’s lips pressed tight together and her eyes flit to the gas fireplace. “I didn’t mean to. I—I don’t know why I—”

“It’s okay.” He reassured. “It was one of…them…wasn’t it?”

Phoebe looked up at him through her ginger hair that had fallen across her freckled cheeks. “They’ve been good to me. We take care of each other. We’re better now.”

His brows furrowed in suspicion. “I’m not sure—”

“Uncle, please, don’t argue with me.”

He sat back, nodding in defeat. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

Phoebe took a sip of the lemonade. It was bittersweet, just like this house, this room, that man. All of it was painstakingly bittersweet.

“You’ve grown.” He said with a small smile. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Phoebe replied, but her head was starting to grow fuzzy and she felt heavy. She leaned back in the chair and her eyelids fluttered. The lemonade slipped from her fingers and landed with a thud on the floor, splashing across her toes.

“I’ve been so lonely ever since your aunt died.” Her uncle murmured. His eyes were on the tv across from the couch. “Things just haven’t been the same. When you left, at least I had her, but now…”

His eyes turned to hers and there was something dark in his gaze.

“You never should have left me, Caroline.”

Phoebe struggled for words. Her uncle got to his feet and she tried to get up, but her body wasn’t cooperating. She felt so heavy, like her body was thick with tar.

“Wha—what’s happening—”

“Shh,” Her uncle whispered. He reached down and ran his fingers through her hair. “It’ll be different this time.” He smiled. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

She felt the fear stirring up a hurricane in her stomach and panic flooded her beating heart. Her body was growing limp, but her brain was alive.

The panic summoned him, and it was only seconds before he was taking over her body.

“You lying bastard!” Phoebe’s lips snarled, but it wasn’t Phoebe anymore.

Shark’s eyes were wild with aggression and Phoebe’s uncle took a step back.

“You—” He snarled.

“I’ll kill you!” Shark tried to stand up, but his arms shook as they gripped the chair’s arms and his legs collapsed under him, knocking him to the floor. He looked up at Phoebe’s uncle with burning eyes, but there was nothing he could do. He was helpless, helpless just like when Phoebe, him, and the others inside their head were kids.

“You’re never leaving me again, baby girl.” Their uncle knelt before them. He cupped Shark’s cheek. “I’m not going to make the same mistakes.

Shark twisted away from him and his grip tightened. The helplessness spun in his chest and soon it was him spinning away. Dalia blinked into focus and her eyes lifted to her uncles’.

“Uncle Jason?” She breathed.

He smiled. “That’s more like it. Which one are you, sweetheart?”

Dalia looked around confused, but his hand on her chin forced her eyes back to his.

“D-Dalia—” She whispered.

His grin widened. “My favorite little girl.” He reached down and scooped her up into his arms. “I kept your room just the same. I knew you’d come home one day. I just knew it.”

He walked up the stairs and into her old bedroom. Books were still stacked on every available surface, her textbooks still lying open on the white-painted desk. Even the curtains her aunt has sewn for her hung half open, just as she’d left them.

Her uncle laid her down on the bed. Fear thundered through her blood and curled tight in her throat.

She knew she had to do exactly what he said. She knew she couldn’t fight. She remembered everything he had done and was capable of doing. She had to obey. She had to be quiet. She had to be still.

But she also remembered those four years of freedom. She remembered working in that old barn with the horses, remembered going out shopping with their best friend. She remembered how she felt safe every time she closed her apartment door. She remembered not having to feel afraid.

She looked up at her uncle through blurry eyes. He had turned away from her to ruffle through the nightstand. Her eyes flit to the tall, pointed Eifel tower miniature on the nightstand’s edge.

She didn’t want to go back to this. She didn’t want to go back to that fear.

She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the miniature. Her hands shook, but it wasn’t because of the drugs this time. She dragged herself into a sitting position and as her uncle turned back around towards her, she fought to lift her heavy arm high. His eyes met hers and she grit her teeth and slammed the Eifel tower down into his neck. He jerked and gasped, and Dalia yanked out the miniature. Blood shot from his arteries, splattering across the bed, the floor, her clothes. Her uncle fell to his knees, eyes wide in disbelief. Dalia stared down at him as he collapsed, watching as his blood began to pool around his head, and the light in his eyes slowly flickered out.

But she didn’t feel relief. She didn’t feel any safer.

She felt nothing, numb as she waited for the drug he had given her to wear off, numb as she laid in her childhood room, with all her memories surrounding her, just…numb.

Then she slipped away, and Thea found herself staring down at her uncle’s body on the floor.

She didn’t move, didn’t scream, didn’t cry. She turned her head away and closed her eyes, whispering a soft thank you into the quiet of her mind.