Experiment Number One
CHAPTER ONE

I’ve been pondering where the story starts for a while because, if I were honest, I could go back to the day I was born. We could even go as far back as my mother’s birth or trace the lineage that dates back thousands of years. But you would get tired of me talking by then, wouldn’t you? Regardless, you probably know more about my heritage than I do.

So, where do I start?

I could begin in the morning before the incident, but that’s a lot of useless information I could sum up in a few words. I can’t skip to the compound because that doesn’t give the information required to understand what got me there. However, I didn’t understand much at that time either.

So, I concluded that jumping right into the action is best. The beginning of the end, as the poets say.

It all started when I received a voicemail from my sibling’s school. I work a nine-to-five shift at Beatrice’s Antiques, and although we didn’t get many customers, I prided myself on my work ethic. I kept myself busy stacking shelves, reorganizing, cleaning, going through files, and whatever else that kept me from having idle hands. It was common for me to not check my phone. In fact, I kept it in my bag, in the office, on silent to keep the distractions at bay. Despite that, I had a gnawing feeling when I went to lunch to take a peak at my phone, and boom, Amilio and Mariana’s school called. I kind of knew it was going to happen since Amilio had been sick all morning. I insisted that he stay home, but he was afraid of our father. I was, too. So I sent him to school and told him he could not come home because I couldn’t miss any work, as I had bills to pay. But, of course, he still called.

I sighed and redialed the school’s number, prepared to get yelled at by the nurse who always deemed me incapable of caring for my siblings because of instances like that. When they answered the phone, I spoke sweetly despite my irritation. “Hi, this is Emerye Mendoza. I got a call a bit ago?”

“Oh yes, Miss Mendoza. We called because Amilio wasn’t feeling well.”

“Really?” I played dumb. “Well, I’m at work right now and can’t leave. Can you keep him in the nurse’s office and I’ll pick him up after school?”

“There’s no need for that. His mother picked him up along with Mariana, so it’s all taken care of.”

I threw my phone somewhere to the side and sprinted out of Beatrice’s Antiques. I never dulled my pace on the three-mile journey home; I actually sped up as I started to think about what my mother picking up Amilio and Mariana entailed. Drugs, neglect, death. And if my father was there, I couldn’t fathom the unspeakable horrors my siblings could be going through.

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Never in my 19 years of living had my mother had the inclination, the sympathy, the tendency to actually care about me enough to pick me up early from school whenever I was sick. She was either too busy tending to my father–back when they actually talked to each other– hyped up on some drug to the point where she couldn’t even hold herself up, or, which is the recent debacle, she was too busy working. What she did with the money, I don’t know. Probably bought more drugs. So why did she randomly answer the phone and agree to pick up Amilio and Mariana? It’s a question that still haunts me to this day.

My feet pounded against the cracked pavement as I sprinted back home. I could feel my lungs start to fill with the thick grim that hung in the air of Lusha, my hometown. See, it wasn’t the nicest town in Volent, in fact it is entirely diabolical. It’s pretty dirty, and the crime rate is high. The school systems suck, the police suck, the people suck. It’s a pretty sucky town all around.

Finally, I arrived home at our corner lot on South Street. Our house was considered “fancy” to the average Lusha resident unless you were the few minority that lived upstate. It was one story, boxy, with white siding painted in layers of dirt. We had a porch, which was a novelty, and the grass in our front yard refused to grow because of all the abuse it had received from our feet over the years. Believe it or not, many houses in Lusha looked worse than ours; we only had it that good because it was passed down to my mother after her parents died. If that had never happened, we would’ve been out on the streets with the income I used to make since, you know, I paid all the bills all by myself. But whatever, I pushed myself up the steps, swearing the boards shifted out of place, and busted through the front door to be met by a sight straight from my nightmares.

That is what a true Mendoza household looked like; the secrets behind those peeling walls. Anyone could see the poverty, even the absent parents, but no one knew about the rage. In front of me was my father pressing my mother against the wall with a secured hand around her throat. Amilio and Mariana stood not even five feet away, folding into each other’s arms as they screamed at the sight. I remember how their eyes were stained red and their cheeks streaked with tears. And my body felt small- so timid and weak. It started to cave with each curse my father’s voice rang out. My mother’s face swelled as she choked on air. She clawed desperately at my father’s unrelenting hands, trying to prevent the end.

This part of the incident was a blur. My body was lifted from the corridor into a space I couldn’t recognize. The sound around me was replaced with a faint ringing. I remember how my heart hammered in my chest, and my skin melted into a burning itch. My blood rushed in my veins, igniting my nerves to be set on fire. All of those sensations is why I was paralyzed staring at my father on the verge of killing my mother; it shook me out of the trance of peace I had been in for far too long. It transported my being into a time when I was younger, more critical to the danger. More afraid of it.

The memories were far from forgotten; they haunted me in my waking hours. Whenever I looked at my mother’s drugged state or my father’s drunken body, I couldn’t help but have a flashback of the fights between my parents. I still have night terrors about them. In public when something small takes me back to those moments, I break down. I fall to my knees, feeling heat creep up my throat and a weight binding me to the ground. They are memories of feeling weak, and powerless against my parents. The feeling of weeping in the corner, too scared to do something– afraid to move.

The crack of my mother’s skull against our tiled flooring was what brought me back to reality. She sat there, hunched over, grasping her throat as she fought for air. My father kicked her in the ribs, and she collapsed to the ground. I was still stuck in the position I came in, but then I heard the screams. The screams of my siblings and I realized I wasn’t that little girl anymore. Suddenly, I was older, wiser, stronger. The meaning of my life was no longer to protect myself but rather my siblings. I couldn’t teach them to stay still.

I rushed up and pushed them in the opposite direction, praying my father wouldn’t see us scurry and pounce. Amilio and Mariana were startled by my presence as if they didn’t see me bust through the door. Before they realized who I was, their bodies were stubborn to move. But I had to get them out, so they tripped over their feet as I pulled them into their room.

As we made our way, I heard another smack against the floor and my mother’s sharp scream. I looked over my shoulder. I remember how her face was contorted, begging me to save her. Her eyes were sunken and blood was splattered across her face. Her nose was crooked, probably broken, and I could see the bruises that were beginning to form on her neck. I just looked away. I had to. My siblings had become my top priority since my parents dumped all their responsibilities on me at eleven. My mother never cared to save me from the abuse of life, so why would I put myself in harm’s way for her? I hate myself for thinking that.

When we finally reached the room, I tossed the kids inside. I slammed the door so hard that it shook the house’s frame, which could’ve killed us all at that moment because of how weak the foundation was, but I wanted to keep any unwarranted forces out. I turned to my siblings when I realized we were safe, or as safe as one could be in the Mendoza household. Their chests were rising at a fast pace, their eyes were wet and swollen, and their faces were foreign. I recognized the look– the face after losing innocence. All I wanted to do was to wrap them in my arms and protect them from the dangerous world. They were never supposed to see any of that; it was supposed to end after Amilio was born. They didn’t understand what any of it meant or knew what to do in situations like that. They shouldn’t had to.

Throughout my life, I never asked for much. The only thing I ever wished for was to have someone there for me. Someone to comfort me when I was sad, congratulate me when I achieved, trust my deepest secrets, and let me know they were glad that I was alive. But I never had that and believed that I never would. And if I couldn’t have that, my siblings could. Because I remember moments like those when my parents disregarded me and how those situations affected me. So I went up to my siblings, sunk down to my knees, and grabbed them both by the napes of their necks.

“Whenever you feel scared like that, you have to hide.” These are wise words that I wish I had been told when I was their age, but they didn’t respond. They stared at me with slightly gaped mouths, like a fish out of water. I needed them to understand. They were lucky I got there the time I did because if I had shown up even a second later, my father would have directed his anger toward them. I could’ve never let that happen.

“Do you hear me? You have to hide. Promise me you’ll hide.” My grip on their necks tightened as my heart pounded against my chest.

“Promise.” Amilio sniffled and looked at Mariana. He gripped her hand to give her the courage to respond. “I promise,” her voice squeaked out. I let out a breath of relief. “Good.” I pulled them into my chest. “I’m always here for you, but when I’m not, just remember what I said.”

I pulled away and moved my palm to their cheeks to scan them over. Amilio looked like he was on the verge of death. His tan skin burned hot upon my touch, and snot leaked from his nose. I regretted ever allowing him to go to school. He was throwing up all morning, and he could barely breathe from how congested he was. I should have just taken off from work. If I would’ve just sucked it up and saw it that morning, none of what happened would’ve happened. None of it.

A scream broke out as I was wiping Amilio’s nose with the sleeve of my mustard toned crewneck. I immediately recognized it as my mother’s. Still, the sound was different than all the other times I heard the noise erupt from her mouth. No, that one was a warning call; something horrible had happened.

The alert caused our heads to spike up and turn towards the door like a mob of meerkats. We listened intently, waiting for something– anything to happen. But the house grew silent; the only sound I could sense was the heavy breathing of my siblings beside me. They looked at me for the next move, analyzing my reaction to modify their own. I slowly stood and faced the door as I tried to think about what the alarm could entail.

I knew it wasn’t anything good; come on, a banshee scream in the Mendoza household being a gift? Yeah, right. But even though I knew that, I just couldn’t help but navigate my way towards the door. A tinge of guilt flowed through me, like everything happening was my fault. I let the kids go to school. And now, my mother could’ve been seriously hurt, and it’s my fault because when she reached out to me, I left her. I just… couldn’t stand there and not see what was wrong. I may have despised my mother for the way she abandoned me, but I’m not her nor my father. I just couldn’t leave it behind.

I crept towards the door.

“Emerye, don’t!” Mariana cried out.

I had a force pulling me in the opposite direction, away from the uncharted realm. I should’ve taken my own advice, to stay as far away from the scream as possible. But I can’t lie and say I wasn’t curious about what was happening behind the door. I just couldn’t leave it behind.

“Stay here. If you hear me scream, call for help.”

“Rye,” Amilio choked. I looked back at my siblings to find them sobbing again. My heart tugged me toward them, but I stood at the door with my hand on the handle. They were safe if they didn’t get in my father’s way. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

I turned the handle and walked out into the dark hallway.

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