Prologue
There is something severely wrong with the child.
There is something severely wrong with me, in truth.
The way I see it now, I have two options.
I leave with her and never come back.
I kill us both.
Either way, I think it’s safe to say this.
Things will never be the same.
Part I
2009
7 years old
September 1, 2009
6:47 p.m.
Dear Diary,
Last night was a weird night. I saw Daddy doing some strange things in the garage.
I will tell you about it, Diary. Daddy gave you to me so I could get my feelings out. He said it will be just for me and I can write anything I want in here. The doctor we see told him I need to let things out that are bottled up. Daddy told me over and over this is safe. No one will see.
I like having you to talk to. My teacher always says Ruby, you are a good writer. She told Daddy I’m advanced at writing, beyond my years. That makes me proud. I even wrote a poem for Grandma, and she put it on the fridge when I was staying with her. Writing is the only time I feel good about myself. Talking isn’t so easy. The words always come out jumbled-y. So you will be my friend. I will tell you my secret. Just please don’t tell. I don’t want Daddy being mad.
Here’s what happened.
Daddy tucked me in after reading Goodnight Moon like we always do. He kissed my cheek and said Goodnight, Ruby. I love you. I nodded like I always do. He pulled on the lamp to turn out the light. I heard him close my door.
Later I woke up. It was dark. I hit the button on my watch. Daddy gave it to me when I turned five. I love telling time, so he bought it for me. I’m lucky to have such a nice Daddy, I know. It helps me keep track of time because I’m not so good at it. Like when my teacher says finish in one minute. It’s hard for me. But mostly I just like looking at the numbers, saying them out loud. I never take it off. Sometimes I like to watch each number change over and over, right in a row, like magic. Perfect. It never stops. It just keeps changing, one right after the other. I like that. I especially like when there’s a seven on the watch. I don’t know why. I guess seven is my lucky number.
It was 1:04 in the morning. I sat up and looked out the window. I heard a noise outside. That’s when I saw it. The garage light was on. Why was Daddy in the garage? It was late. Really late. Daddy always told me never go in the garage. It’s dangerous, Ruby. Don’t go in there. Ever. I was worried. What was Daddy doing?
I knew he would be mad if he found out I snuck there. He would be angry if I was around the garage. The dangerous garage. But I put on my favorite yellow rain boots and tiptoed real quiet down the stairs.
Daddy’s truck was in the driveway. I heard noises from the garage. Was he building something? Daddy builds for his job. Maybe he was working hard on a surprise.
I didn’t want to ruin it. I crept so quietly like the cat I once saw in the woods, the one with the ear with a weird edge. Its ear was all chewed up, like a big bite was taken out of it. I crept quiet, quiet, low, low. Careful Ruby.
I snuck to the back of the garage. When I was playing out there once I saw a hole in the wall of the garage near the ground. Daddy didn’t know it was there or he would have fixed it. I liked the hole, though. It gave me a peek.
Real quiet, I got down and looked in. I didn’t want Daddy to see me. I was curious. Curious was on our word list this week at school. C-u-r-i-o-u-s. I can spell it.
Curiosity killed the cat. My grandma said that once. I think that’s stupid. That’s not what kills cats. Grandma is weird sometimes. She makes me brush my hair and says Daddy isn’t doing a good enough job. I get mad at her a lot.
Real quiet I got down and looked through the hole. Daddy had a saw. There was lots of red, splattered about. All around. So much red.
I saw a big spot of red on the floor. It oozed out, quickly joining with other red splotches. It was like watercolors that you put too much water in and they were leaking out over the edge, making a mess.
I stared and stared and watched and watched as Daddy did something with the girl he had in there. I saw her long black hair. It looked pretty. Silky. I scratched my own neck, my hair up in its ponytail. I hate hair on my neck. That woman had a lot of hair. Did it bother her? Who was she?
I didn’t know, but I watched. I watched Daddy work and work. I watched him for a long time. Sometimes, Daddy would move and I got a glimpse of his face from the side. Daddy looked happy. Usually, Daddy’s face is serious. I didn’t know why he was happy. I was glad.
I worry that Daddy is lonely. It’s just me and Daddy. Sometimes Grandma when she stops by. She’s Daddy’s mom. He says she is lonely since Grandpa died. She worries about us, too, since Mama died. But I think she comes around too much. Hovers. That was a word I learned this week too.
Daddy says he is happy with me. He always says he only needs me, just him and Ruby against the world. Sometimes I still think he is lonely. I heard Grandma say that once.
But Diary, he looked happy with all of the red.
I watched some more, amazed as a tool cut, cut, cut. It was so pretty, the way it chopped down.
My legs started to hurt. I looked at my watch. 3:05 a.m. Had I really been out there so long? Didn’t Daddy need to sleep?
I yawned. I needed to go to bed. Daddy would be in at 7:07 to wake me up. I love sevens. Times that end in sevens are the best, so I make Daddy get me up at exactly that time. He made sure his clock is set exactly to my watch so they match.
I knew I needed to sleep last night even though I was so curious about Daddy’s work in the garage. I crept back quiet, quiet, quiet to the house, careful not to open the door too loud. I went to bed, though, tucking myself back in. I thought about all that red, red, red.
Daddy made me cinnamon and sugar toast this morning before school. He looked tired but happy. I wanted to ask him about the garage, about the lady. I didn’t. I know Daddy is careful of the garage. He doesn’t like me asking questions about it. I can ask him about lots of things. But not the garage. And not Mama, either. Those are no-question zones. I still ask them—I can’t help it. But he just gets all weird about it.
I wonder if Daddy needs some space from me. I am difficult. I worry about how difficult I am. The teachers say it when they think I’m not listening. The kids say I’m weird. I don’t know. It makes me so sad. I wish I had friends, but people are hard. I feel bad, bad, bad because I am so difficult. There are too many confusing things about people.
Just Daddy. Just Ruby and Daddy against the world. That’s all I need.
School passed by quickly because all I could think about was the red, red, red. So pretty. Red. Red everywhere. I kept picturing that one perfect splotch running in the middle of the concrete floor. I wonder if Daddy will go back to the garage tonight.
Well, Diary, that’s all for now. I will see you tomorrow at the same time, 6:47 p.m. Daddy sits down to get ready for his favorite show that starts at 7, so it’s a perfect time to write.
I will have to let you know tomorrow if Daddy goes back to the garage.
Ruby
September 2, 2009
6:47 p.m.
Dear Diary,
I wrote a lot yesterday. I like writing though. My teachers always say how much I write. How I’m good at writing. I like it. It’s easy. I wish I could write instead of talking forever. I hate it when teachers and Grandma try to make me talk.