Page 4 of Traces of Her

Two

MAGGIE

Thirteen Years Old

I SIT UP IN A RUSH, taking deep breaths. My clothing clings to my skin from my sweat. I’ve had the same nightmare of the accident almost every night for the past two years. I run my hands down my face and then through my hair. My long, white-blonde hair is damp with sweat. I pull it back into a tight ponytail, squinting my eyes in the darkness, looking around the bedroom. The same sickening feeling that I experience every morning builds in the pit of my stomach.

It’s not my room.

The handle of the door rattles as it’s unlocked from the outside. I hear the jingle of keys as the other locks are undone, with the deadbolt being last. The door slowly opens, the bright light blinding me from the hallway.

“Maggie,” Janet says, flipping on the light switch. I cover my eyes with my hands, shielding them from the light. “Breakfast is ready. Get changed and come down to the kitchen.” She leaves the door open and walks back down the hallway; her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my feet barely touch the tan carpet floor. Maggie’s boy band posters still hang on the ugly purple walls. Her drawings are still hung around her desk in the corner. A picture of us sits on her dresser beside the T.V. Everything is in its right place. It’s as if she never left.

And that’s because she never did.

That’s why I’m here.

I became her ghost.

My days have been on repeat since they took me two years ago. It was the first anniversary of her death. My mom asked me to take flowers over to their house. It was late in the evening with the sun slowly beginning to set. Maggie’s parents invited me in. And they never let me back out.

I climb out of bed and grab clothes from Maggie’s closet. Every day I wear her clothes and every night I sleep in her bed. At first, I refused, I slept on the floor, refusing to change out of my own clothing. Quickly I learned that was not acceptable. After my third beating with a belt, I slept in her bed. After six bruised ribs, I wore her clothes. After two times of having my head slammed into the wall while being choked, I became Maggie.

I take Maggie’s seat at the kitchen table and wait silently with my hands on my lap. Janet sets a tray of pancakes and bacon on the table. She takes a seat across from me and smiles at me sweetly. “Phil,” she says to Maggie’s dad, turning around. “Could you grab the syrup please?”

He walks to the table, giving me a kiss on the top of my head. I fight the urge to cringe. He does the same to Janet and takes his seat at the head of the table, between us. He puts his hands on the table, palms up. Janet and I grab his hands, and they close their eyes, bowing their heads. Phil says some bullshit prayer that I don’t care about.

When we finish, I drop his hand and put my hands back on my lap. I look up to Janet staring at me. “You don’t look well, Maggie,” she expresses. Her eyes grow soft. “Are you thinking about Rowena?”

I’m always thinking about Rowena. She may have become a ghost, but she lurks in every corner of my being.

I slowly nod my head, not revealing the thoughts in my mind.

“I know it still makes you sad, sweetie. It was such a tragedy.” She gives me a sad smile. “But we just have to be thankful that it wasn’t you. God is always looking after you, and he protected you that night. You must remember, Maggie...” Her features grow serious. “We follow God’s guidance and hand him our hearts and our souls. If Rowena’s parents had been faithful to Christ, like they should, that would never have happened to her. They were immigrants, they never belonged here in the first place.”

I stare at the woman in utter disbelief. Janet and Phil are not good Christians whatsoever. My parents are good people. Good parents. What happened was an accident, plain and simple.

“I don’t think Rowena’s parents could have done anything differently to stop it from happening. They moved here to give their daughter a better life, not with any ill intentions.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I should have been silent.

I feel Phil’s eyes on me. I look away from Janet’s surprised gaze and stare at the table. The table and my body jump simultaneously as Phil slams his fist down on it. “What the fuck did you say?” he barks.

“Nothing, sir.” I glance up at him.

“God did not protect Rowena. If the Petrov’s did what they’re supposed to, he would have,” he pauses. “Do you fucking hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I confirm, nodding.

Janet breaks into the conversation. “Maggie, you need to watch what you say. We’ve been telling you this. We don’t want to have to punish you or ground you.”

Ground me? I can’t leave this hellhole as it is.

“I know, Mom,” I squeak out. She’s not my mom.

“Good,” she says, putting some pancakes on her plate. “Let’s eat this wonderful meal God blessed us with and then we’ll get started on your studies.”

We finish our meal that God, A.K.A. Bisquick, blessed us with and I meet Janet in the dining room for my schooling. She homeschools me since I’m not allowed any contact with the outside world. I’m not even allowed to go outside into their yard. The only sunlight I see or feel is what shines through the window panes. The windows in Maggie’s bedroom were covered with drywall, so there is no natural light in that room. I’ve been in here for two years now, yet I refuse to believe this will continue as my reality.

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