Esther

I am in trouble.

Danny, dear Danny, dead Danny, why couldn't he see me? Why can't he love me? Everything I did here, everyone I hurt, I did it for him. He should love me, why doesn't he love me?! I lost my temper, I know I did and now....

There's still hope. If I can lure Steven out into the woods, somehow, maybe I can pin this on him. Danny didn't tell people what happened, he dosen't even know, really, but people couldn't have missed my getting hurt the same day Steve moved out. Maybe that's what I can do.

I leave Danny at the campsite. It's hard to leave him, I didn't want to kill him, I really didn't, but... accidents happen. That's what I need to remember accidents happen.

With the knife still in my hand, I head out into the forest in what I hope is the direction of civilization. I need to find someone to pin this on or I'm ruined.

I am not going to end like this. I am not.

I'm barely holding myself together. No one has connected me to what happened to Coraline but I feel, I know, that there are those who will connect me to it no matter that no evidence is found. From what I hear, the annoying twit is recovering, but without memory of my attack she is no threat to me. Yet. At some point, something will need to be done in case her memory returns. I'm certain Rachel suspects something. I think at this point, she would blame me if a thunderstorm started at a bad time. I don't mind that, the more paranoid she is, the less people will take her seriously, but I try to avoid her all the same. Next time, I'll use more than a loose step to deal with her.

But it has me on edge.

And now this. I can't say I regret what's happened, and I really wouldn't have planned it this way, but the opportunity's presented itself. Steve should have known better than to be in my room, looking around at things, perhaps trying to find something wrong? I hide things too well for him to find them so easily, the floor-boards are fit very well, but there is enough in there to make me look very... un-child-like. But the fight we had has been worth it. We've been circling around it for long enough, I guess, even Danny's noticed that Steve and I don't exactly get along and despite his many, many attempts at getting us closer I've resisted. So has he, I think. And now we've had it out. It doesn't matter what started it or exactly why it started. What's important is how it ended.

I still can't believe he pushed me. Yes, I did push at him first, but he grabbed me and pushed me away and now I have everything I need.

Steve's disappeared, stormed off to who knows where. So long as Danny comes back first, I'll have what I want. I look at the tools available to me and I take a deep breath. This is going to hurt, but it will ensure that Steve is gone for good. I clench the towel between my teeth and bite down as I tighten the clamp on my arm. Tighter and tighter and tighter until I feel the bright snap as the bone breaks. I scream, but the towel catches it and as the first wave passes over me, I have to fight to stay conscious.

I work through the pain, putting everything away exactly where I found it. My arm is screaming at me, but the only concession I allow myself is some ice from the icechest to put on my arm while I read in my bedroom. I hear footsteps in the hut and I hold my breath until I head Danny calling out to see who's home.

Perfect.

"Daddy, Daddy! I'm hurt, please come!"

This isn't ideal. This place, these people, I don't feel in control, like I am in a car that has spun out of control. The only thing I am certain of is my ability to wrap the man walking with me around my finger. Danny Williams. Police man, but with a weakness for children that surpasses John's. Danny Williams. My new Daddy. But I don't call him that, we only just met. No papers have been signed, if that's what needs to happen here for adoption.

It doesn't change the fact that he's mine.

Reaching out, I take his hand as we walk, looking up to give him a shy smile. I can anticipate his reaction, he's an easy read for me, and the only thing that worries me now is his... partner? HE does not live alone, although he has not said much about his partner. He simply kept his promise and did what paperwork was necessary to take home. It doesn't matter. He's still mine.

"Thank you for not leaving me. Many adults just leave children behind, even if they promise not to."

Having to sign instructions to Max is a trial, especially in gloves, but I manage. It's a blessing, really that the Colemans have a little girl so desperate for a sister I can use the whining brat like a blunt object. She's annoying, but turning out to be a useful tool. Which reminds me, when we finish dragging the dead nun off the road, we'll need to hide the hammer. Details. Details. Maybe the playhouse? It's locked, we can find the key, John will have it in his office. And after I'll have to silence MAx. Ironic, since she can't talk, but that's not matter. It will be easy enough to keep the deaf brat in line. I just have to use the right story, convince her that this was the only way to keep the family together. And if that doesn't work, well, I'll threaten her, she'll go to jail to too. Devotion through fear. Devotion through love. Either will work now that the nun is out of the way.

And if Max still doesn't play along. Accidents happen every day.

I almost pull my back out, tugging the dead weight. Damn Sister Abigail and damn that bitch Kate. I like this place, I like my Daddy John. Kate thinks she's so special, with her dead-daughter roses and a husband that fucks her in the kitchen like a whore where everyone can see. But what does she know? Esther knows, Esther sees the way women throw themselves at John, like the oh-so-friendly neighbor with her talk of moving chairs and the way she practically stripped down in the snow for him. And the way he looked back at her. If he hasn’t fucked around on Kate already, he’s certainly thought about it. All those women he must know. But they don’t know, those women, any of them, that he's mine now. All mine, he just doesn’t know it yet. My Daddy, my beautiful Daddy John.

I almost panic when I hear the car, but we manage and I smile as Sister Abigail's body tumbles down the embankment. And when we go check her again, it appears she sin't quite dead yet. Easily fixed. Like the pigeon and a hammer's easier to manage than a rock. Barely worth mentioning, after all, skulls are such fragile things. With that done, I turn to Max, we need to get home before anyone misses us and I need to change from these clothes. But then everything lurches. There's a twist in my gut and and my vision blurs until I look up and see... a window? A window with water outside and it shouldn't be raining. If anything it should be snowing.

It isn't a window. The water is pressed against it, all the way to the ceiling and I stumble back.

I'm underwater. In some kind of (prison) aquarium. “Max!” I'm covered in blood in an aquarium and where is that brat?! What was this? Am I hallucinating, like when I was in chains and drugged until I couldn't see? Kate. Kate. Has she somehow... no. Kate's a dumb, alcoholic bitch who, holding onto the idea that she can still have a little girl to replace the one she killed in utero. She won't know about the Institute, about Leena, and Sister fucking Abigail doesn't know either, none of them do. They can’t. How can they?

I'm fighting to keep from banging my head against the window, from taking the hammer and smashing through it. I'm fighting the rising panic and fear. They don’t know, they can’t know, none of them ever have in the past. Stupid American women so desperate for children that they don’t look closely when one's available, too stupid to see that their husbands don’t love them anymore, they love me. They always love me.

“MAX!” I'm a fool, shouting for a deaf girl, but there's nothing but the echo of my voice and I have to stop. Whatever this is, I'm alone. I don't know how, I don't know why, but others will come soon. Always did. Men and women who will would try to make sense of it all. And I need to be calm for it. I need a story. A ruse. And some way to explain all this blood unless I can find other clothing. Wiping at my face, I head back to the wall of glass, stripping off my gloves so I can clean off my face. I'll would think of something, I always do and the “adults” always believed me. I'm just a little girl after all. They will take me in, take me back to my John or take me somewhere else. They will want to take care of little helpless me.

Maybe there will be a new Daddy to love me, a better Daddy. One who will love her back like John does. One without a bitch of a wife or more irritating children.

I actually like that thought and as I clean the nun’s blood off my face, I decide to sing a little in the strange silence around me:

“You’ve got to laugh a little, cry a little, let the clouds roll by a little. That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love....”