shuhaige
Chapter 21
Chapter 21
#Chapter 21 – Bath Time’
Tires screech as Victor swerves into his driveway, throwing the car into park and jumping out the door almost before it stops.
“Victo-“ Amelia says, just starting to unbuckle her seatbelt. But he’s already moving around the house, heading for Evelyn’s cottage out back. Amelia slumps back in the seat, watching him go. He didn’t say a word to her the entire ride back. Instead, he made a thousand calls, shouted at Betas, ordered more security for the house. He didn’t even look at her.
f**k.
Amelia crosses her arms over her chest and stares silently out the windshield, planning her next move.
Victor bursts into my house through the back door, coming into the living room where I’m working to wrangle two sobbing boys into their pajamas. They cried the whole way home and, while I don’t blame them, my head is pounding.
“Are they okay?” Victor asks as he approaches, looking over the boys. NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.
“They’re fine,” I say softly.
“Boys, what happened,” Victor asks, staring at the twins who lay on the carpet sobbing their little hearts out.
“Victor, I think we should –“
Ian crawls over to Victor and raises his arms, asking to be picked up, still screaming with tears. Victor complies, cradling the boy in his arms. Alvin sees this and works his way over too.
“Ian, tell me what happened, who took you?!” Victor insists, turning Ian’s head to face him while Alvin screeches, demanding without words to be picked up like his brother.
Ian doesn’t reply, just cries harder. “Boys,” Victor says, his voice deepening with command. “You must tell me what happened.”
“Victor –“ I start, but he shoots me a glare. This sends me over my tipping point. I lose my temper, raising my voice to say “Victor, they can’t right now –“
“Don’t tell me how to talk to my sons,” he growls.
“Would you look at them, Victor!?” I demand, getting quickly to my feet and gesturing towards the two red-faced boys from whom an endless wail sounds. “They’re so freaked out, they’re not going to be able to tell you anything like this! We have to calm them down!”
“Well, how do we do that?!” Victor snaps at me. I shove forward my hands, which are clutching two sets of footie pajamas.
“I was trying to get them in pajamas, and wrapped up, and into bed. But,” I admit, lowering my arms. “I don’t think it’s working.”
Victor nods. “Baths,” he says, decisive. Then he turns and, holding Ian close to his chest, carries him upstairs. I pick up Alvin, following.
In the twins’ bathroom Victor turns the tap and plugs the drain, letting the tub fill slowly with water. We put the boys on the floor and let them cry it out as we silently go through the calming routines of bath time.
Victor helps the boys off with their clothes while I run some soap into the bath to make bubbles, adding a little lavender to soothe them. I check the water temperature – a little too hot, I turn up the cold –
while Victor pulls down some towels from the rack and tosses a few toys in the tub.
While we do this work, Victor begins to hum a song – an song that I remember from my childhood, and haven’t heard since then. An old song, about wolves running under the night sky in starlight, about freedom and wind and home.
As they watch and listen, the boys soften, their cries lessening to whimpers, their eyes drying up. Alvin brushes his tears away and stands to watch the tub fill. Ian presses his face to the porcelain basin, watching us work almost without blinking, like he’s afraid we’ll disappear if he closes his eyes even for a moment.
When it’s finished, and Victor’s song is done, I put out my hands to Alvin. “Up and in,” I say softly, lifting him and sitting him gently in the water. Victor gives Ian the same treatment, and we kneel by the side of the tub, watching our boys.
Ian and Alvin sink into the water. Ian dunks his own head, but Alvin asking me quietly to use a cup to wet his hair. I do so, and begin with the shampoo.
“I liked your song, daddy,” Ian says quietly, looking up at Victor.
Victor blinks at him for a moment – I’m not sure he even knew he was humming. He laughs softly and says, “thank you. My grandmother used to sing it to me when I was little, and when I was scared. Do you know?” He says, beginning to rinse the suds from Ian’s hair. “When I was a boy, I was very afraid of the dark.”
“Noooo,” says Alvin, laughing, unbelieving. Victor nods.
“But you have wolf’s eyes!” Ian says, circling his own eyes with his fingers like spectacles. “You can see in the dark! And bite whatever is coming!”
“That is true,” Victor says, nodding sagely. “But it doesn’t mean I wasn’t afraid. Sometimes we are afraid even when we know there is nothing to be scared of.”
The boys nod along with Victor, his little clones. I smile a little, watching all three, my own fear finally starting to leech from me. I think I needed this too – the normalcy of an evening routine after this horror of a day.
After a moment of silence, Alvin quietly says, “I was scared today. But I think there was something to be scared of.” Ian nods in agreement, pushing a boat along through the bubbles as he does.
“Do you think you could…tell us what happened?” Victor says, organizing the soap and shampoo bottles so that the boys don’t see how intensely he is focused on their answer. I can see it in him, though – fear and rage and horror still showing in the tenseness of his shoulders, his back.
Ian shrugs. “We went with Beta Frank to get cotton candy, Amelia said we could.”
“We went ahead of Frank because we were hungry,” Alvin continues. The two tell the story together, each picking up seamlessly where the other left off.
“And then we heard Frank shout, and we turned around, and someone had hit him, and was dragging him away –“
“That’s when they grabbed us” Alvin says, looking up at us. “And they smelled like her,” he growls, “Like stupid Amelia.”
“They did,” Ian says, his eyes narrow. “We could smell her on their clothes.”
“And they put their hands over our mouths so we couldn’t yell –“
“It was hard to breathe –“ Ian’s eyes fill up as he relives it.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, leaning over the side of the tub to put a hand on each boy’s shoulder. Victor grabs the waistband of my skirt, stopping me before I tilt into the bath myself. I shoot him a short, grateful smile as I find my balance.
“How did you get away?” Victor asks.
“We bit them” Ian replies, his face turning vicious as he shows us his teeth.
“Ian did it first,” Alvin says, his expression likewise fierce. “Then I saw, and I did it too, and we kept biting the hands they had over our faces until they had to let go, and then we kicked and squirmed,”
“Alvin got down first, and then he ran to my bad man, and he bit him on the ankle –“
“And Ian got dropped –“
“And we ran –“
The boys voices raise as they talk, getting shrill and threatening more hysteria.
“Okay, babies,” I say. “You did good, you were good, brave boys today. Mommy is so proud of you.”
“Yes,” Victor says, serious and contemplative. “I am proud of you, too, for being strong and resourceful, even when you were scared. That is courage. But,” he reaches out to put a hand on each boy’s cheek. “I don’t want you to be afraid. This is never going to happen again.”
The boys nod, their eyes full of love as they smile up at their father. I’m overwhelmed, a little, by the trust that I see there. In so short a time, they love him already.
“Back to bath time,” I say, grabbing the soap and the conditioner. “Come on, boys, before you get all prune-y.”
The boys comply and, uncharacteristically quiet for bath time, begin to clean themselves. Victor catches my eye and nods his head towards the door, indicating that he wants a word. I nod and finish up baths, wrapping the boys in towels and sending them scurrying off to their room.