Page 16 of Witness 8

It was, by any stretch, a dream kitchen for almost anyone. Tasteful slate-gray marble worktops, ivory cupboard doors with bright chrome handles to match the faucets. Everything was showroom-clean and tidy. The refrigerator door served as the receptacle for souvenirs, and the only hint that the kitchen was lived in and used by a family. Magnets marking family vacations to Rome, San Francisco and Disney World pinned up hand-scrawled notes to order more oat milk and eggs, postcards from relatives, old Polaroid pictures, the rough plans for renovation work on the house, and some of Tomas’s artwork. A white page adorned with his little handprints in bright green and yellow paint, forming the stem and then the head of a flower. She remembered making it with Tomas one afternoon. She remembered Alison’s face when she saw it – the pride illuminating her eyes. It had been immediately pinned to the door with a magnet in the shape of the Eiffel Tower.

Ruby walked past the nostalgia-covered refrigerator and peered round the kitchen door. She could see into the hallway and directly opposite was the lounge. Alison, Tomas’s mom, was still talking on the phone. Even though Ruby couldn’t hear her conversation, she could see Alison, in her white silk blouse and tan pants, sitting on the couch with the phone pressed to her ear. She’d been on the phone all day. Althea faced the front door, just starting to sweep the machine over the carpet.

Ruby looked over her shoulder. Tomas turned the page of his comic book, picked up an apple slice and bit it in half.

There was no one else in the house.

Ruby had a lot of practice at moving silently.

When Ruby was seven years old, she’d been woken one night by a strange sound in the house. She didn’t know what it was at first. It sounded bad. Like something heavy falling and breakingdownstairs. She sat up in bed, wide awake very quickly, and listened. There was another sound. This time she recognized it. Ruby swept back the comforter, put her feet to the cold floorboards and padded to her bedroom door. Either the spindle on the doorknob or the latch bolt tended to squeak, but only if you turned it normally. She took hold of the knob, pulled down on it, because that helped, and then turned it very slowly until it could turn no more. Smoothly, she pulled open the door just enough for her to squeeze through. The upper hallway was in darkness, but light spilled up the stairs from below.

Ruby had made her way to the top of the stairs, counting the oak floorboards as she moved. Twenty-three boards to the stairs. Seventeen and twenty were loose and would creak if any weight came upon them. She stepped lightly over them as her lips moved silently, counting her steps. She approached the dog-leg staircase, and kept her little feet on the thick carpet that ran up the center of the stairs. She knelt on the landing, and peered down the next set of stairs into the hallway.

The lamp was burning in the living room. She could see shadows thrown onto the polished tile floor of the hallway. There were no voices.

Her father, Josef, came out of the lounge, holding his wrist. He marched into the kitchen and she heard him holler, ‘Get me some ice. Look what you’ve done.’

A few moments later, Mom came out of the lounge holding the side of her face. There was blood on her lips and in her other hand were the shattered remains of her favorite vase. That was the noise that had woken Ruby.

‘You see what you’ve done! I’ve hurt my wrist,’ called her father. ‘Hurry up – get the ice. And put some on your face. I don’t want any questions from the neighbors.’

As her mom moved unsteadily toward the kitchen, she glanced up the stairs. Ruby moved quickly, hiding in the shadows between the banisters.

Her mom shook her head. A warning.

Don’t come downstairs.

Ruby turned and went back to bed as quietly as she could. She closed her bedroom door, then pushed her bookcase in front of it.

Daddy was being bad again. Josef Johnson was born with every advantage and privilege it was possible to enjoy – loving parents, wealth, good looks, intelligence, contacts and power. By the age of twenty-five, Josef had thrown almost all of it away. He had a fire inside him that consumed his better nature, his habits, his mind and everyone around him. The only thing that could calm it down was the thrill of winning a poker hand, or a horse race. But he was not a good gambler. The losses always outweighed the wins. Soon the only thing that gave him peace was strong liquor – and eventually all that did was add flames.

As bad as her father could be, her mother was just as sweet. She protected Ruby from everyone, especially Daddy. She would take the insults, the snide looks, the punches, the kicks, even the burns – anything as long as Ruby was safe.

Ruby had grown up in a house with a sleeping tiger.

They are dangerous if they are woken. And so Ruby learned to keep quiet.

As the vacuum cleaner whined and Althea focused on her work, Ruby’s memories faded and she stepped into the hallway, heel toe, heel toe. She meant to move straight upstairs, but found herself pausing in front of the picture on the wall, to her left, just before the staircase.

The picture of the red priest.

She didn’t know who had painted it, or how old it was. Pretty old, she guessed. And expensive. A priest sat at a table,his left arm resting beside a goblet of red wine. The wine had stained his mouth, made it shine like a scarlet button on a puffy marshmallow face. Muddy eyes stared out below wisps of white hair. Red robes flowed from his shoulders to pool on the floor. His expression was hard to read. There was something wise yet feral in his look.

A big, fat fly landed on the painting. It buzzed around the curves of the oil hardened on the canvas.

The buzzing noise increased. What began as a hum, a low throb, became a roar, getting louder and louder, until it sounded like a buzz saw in her head. Ruby covered her ears. But it only made it worse. The noise built. Her head became a pressure cooker. The only way to stop her brain from exploding was to take her hands away from her ears, let out the steam.

She didn’t want to talk to the red priest today.

Ruby gasped, let her hands fall by her sides.

She heard his voice.

Rubbbeeeee . . .

Rubbeeeeeeeeeee . . .

She didn’t need to speak for the priest to hear her. He knew her thoughts already.