Dark City

27.

Lacey Hart wasn't always a witch. Growing up, she had loved singing songs from church with her little sister Rachel. "Jesus loves the little children." They would take off their Sunday shoes and walk along the edge of the levy, collecting little frogs and naming them. Allison. Mabel. Elaine. The girls shared everything from their pretty dresses to their prayers before bed.

On Sundays, churchgoers fawned over the little angels. Lacey could recall being so beloved by the community. She played the angel in the nativity play and wore a crown of silver roses.

Things at home, however, had never been pleasant for Lacey or Rachel. In the Hart residence, Satan was a household name. A wooden crucifix watched over the dinner table and played the role of their absent mother. Daddy was always high or looking to get high. He owned the house, and didn't have to work thanks to the funds coming in from the VA. When Daddy got mad at the girls for acting out, he'd say things like, "This is why your mama left" or "Devil take your mama for leaving us here."

Mostly, when Lacey thought back on her childhood, she didn't remember the little songs or the nativity plays. She remembered sleeping on her stomach so her raw bottom wouldn't ache beneath her weight. She remembered Rachel crying herself to sleep in the bed next to hers. She remembered the darkness of the linen closet, a shallow space filled with shelves, with nowhere to sit or lean.

One year on the Saturday before Fourth of July, the people of New Orleans blew up the sky. A series of fireworks filled the air with explosions that shrieked and roared like dragons. When her daddy heard the commotion he leapt into action, throwing the couch over and barricading the living room window. Lacey screamed and her daddy threw her into the closet and slammed the door. She could hear the lock turn over; she could hear the china cabinet squeal as her daddy pushed it in front of the closet door.

"Let me out!"

"I need to assess the situation. Then we can talk."

In this vertical coffin, Lacey's legs wobbled. Her upper back ached where a shelf was pressing into her spine. Rachel cried outside the door as Daddy smashed things around the house. At first he was just moving furniture, but soon he started screaming nonsense, codes Lacey couldn't understand. Rachel snapped, screaming back at him to stop. The girl was in shock.

"Shut up!" shouted their Daddy. "Shut up. Damn gook brat. Shut the fuck up!" There was a gunshot, a shotgun blast. Something fell and shattered. In the silence that followed, she could not escape the horrors of her own imagination.

The sound of Rachel weeping came as a relief to Lacey. If only she could sit down and collect herself. Her legs trembled.

Only when my body rots will I finally be able to sit down.

She imagined spiders descending from the top shelves, landing on the back of her neck and creeping into her clothing.

Time extended into deeper and deeper waves of discomfort until she blacked out and awoke on the floor, drinking tap water from a plastic cup. Daddy said he was sorry. "You're just kids. You're just kids," he cried, rocking back and forth. Behind him, Lacey could see he'd shot the crucifix, shot Jesus right through the head.

Her daddy said he was sorry hundreds of times. Lacey forgave him. She always forgave him. It was the Christian thing to do.

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Music: "Madness" Muse