Page 1 of Silent Count
PROLOGUE
TWELVE YEARS OLD
CHELSEA
The earliest memoryI have is of my parents fighting. I remember it because that was the first time I saw my daddy hit my mama. I don’t know why he did it. I just remember him hitting her, and then … she hit him back. This pattern became normal in my life, so I learned to stay quiet and get out of the way. I kind of liked feeling invisible, so that’s what I became during the times they fought. I’d hide in my room under the bed or in the closet.
Then my little sister, Torie, came along when I was six years old. When she was really little, my parents got along well—or at least as well as they could get along. But as Torie got older, Mama began drinking again, and the fighting resumed, so I sort of took over the role as my sister’s protector and caregiver. I made sure she was safe when our parents fought, that she was fed and bathed, and I also put her to bed at night because our parents were usually too busy getting drunk, fighting, or passed out.
Both of my parents drink a lot, and I think my daddy does drugs sometimes, but I’m not sure what. I’ve just heard themtalking about it. Like tonight. After we ate supper, Mama and Daddy argued about money, and she asked him where the rent money had gone and something about cocaine.
I’m old enough now to understand that not having rent money means we might not have a place to live. I really don’t want to switch schools, and my sister doesn’t adjust as well as I do, so I don’t want her to have to start a new school either if we have to move.
As soon as they hit each other, I grabbed my sister by the hand, and we went into our room. I locked the door, like I always do, and tried to get my sister to calm down. She’d held her tears in until we got inside, which I was grateful for.
After a while, we heard the door slam, some glass shatter, but then it was quiet, other than the loud sound of the TV. So, we tiptoed to the bathroom, took care of business, and then hurried back into our room. I put my pajama shorts and T-shirt on, then helped Torie get her Elsa nightgown on.
I finally got Torie to fall asleep after reading to her for what seemed like hours, but she’s still holding tightly to my hand across the space between us. Then just as I begin drifting off, I hear the door slam and my daddy’s voice.
My parents are fighting again, and this time, it sounds pretty bad. I can make out some of what they’re saying, but not all of it. They’re screaming so loud that I’ll be surprised if no one calls the police. That’s happened more than a few times, but the police never do anything because when they get here, my parents act like nothing happened.
“You fucking bitch, you won’t tell me how to spend my money! You sit on your ass all day, drinking, and expect me to go out there and work every day!” Daddy’s voice sounds like it does when he’s really drunk.
“I hate you! I hate you so much! You’re a useless piece of shit! Just go. We don’t want you here! Don’t come back! You ruined my life!” Mama yells back at him.
When I hear crashing sounds like glass and furniture being thrown, I recognize that it’s getting physical, and my hands start to shake. Then I hear hitting and more yelling. I squeeze my sister’s hand gently to try to wake her, surprised she hasn’t woken up yet.
“Torie, wake up,” I whisper.
I know we can’t walk out of the room, and I need to keep my sister safe because something about their fight tonight feels different. She stirs quickly once she hears her name because when you live in a home like this, you learn how to move fast when you need to. I help her off the bed and lead her into our small closet.
I pull back the clothes hanging off the rod and push her in gently. “Get in and be as quiet as you can be,” I say as softly as I can so she can hear me, but we aren’t making too much noise. I double-check that the bedroom door is locked and then follow her inside, closing the folding door behind me.
Other than the light coming through the small window in our room and through the slats of the door, it’s completely dark, so hopefully, he won’t remember we’re here.
My sister is leaning against the wall that is shared with the hallway, so I move her to the other side, just in case someone or something comes through the wall, and position myself in front of her. She’s being quiet, but tears are running down her face, and her hands are shaking, just like mine.
“It’s okay, Torie. We’ll be okay. Just sit still and don’t move until it’s quiet. Plug your ears.” I’m practically mouthing the words to her, but she does as I say. I’m trying not to cry for her, but my stomach feels tight, and I’m starting to sweat.
Trying to calm myself down, I begin to count in my head.One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven …
Before I can get to eight, I hear a loud bang. Torie gasps, so I slap my hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. I’m biting my bottom lip so hard to prevent myself from making noise that I taste blood in my mouth. Then another shot goes off, and another, then another. I pull Torie into my arms and onto my lap and cover her head as much as I can. We’re both shaking, and I feel warm liquid running down my legs. Still, I don’t move or say a word.
“FUCK! Motherfucker! Goddammit, why did you make me do that, huh? You couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut!” Daddy yells.
Then, a few minutes later, silence.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but I hear knocking on the door to the apartment. I’m frozen, and I’m afraid to move Torie anyway, so we just stay where we are.
The knocking comes again, and we hear, “This is the police. We received a call about a disturbance. Can you come to the door, please?”
I want to go to the door and let them in. I want them to save my sister and me from seeing whatever is on the other side of our bedroom door. But I can’t move.
When we hear the door getting kicked open, we both jump.
“Chels,” Torie whispers.
“It’s okay. Just stay with me.” I squeeze her tighter and kiss the top of her head.
