Lisa Miscione - Twice

The twins had different energies. While Lola’s face was cool and expressionless, Nathaniel’s was open and guileless. Lola sat upright, legs crossed like a little lady, leaning elegantly on the armrest. Nathaniel slumped, pumping his legs back and forth, fidgeting in his suit.

“Do you know why we’re all here today?” Irma asked the children, her voice light but firm.

There was silence for a moment during which Nathaniel looked at Lola. Irma waited, not pushing them along.

“Someone killed our daddy,” said Lola softly. Nathaniel nodded.

“I’m sorry, Lola,” Irma said, and Ford could hear the sympathetic half smile on her face, though she was mostly off camera, just a triangle of her shoulder visible on the screen. “Yes, that’s right. You’re both very brave to talk to me today even though you’re feeling sad. Is that how you’re feeling?”

“Our daddy’s with the angels,” said Nathaniel with a vigorous nod. Again silence, and Ford could imagine Irma nodding, a look of quiet understanding on her face.

Then, “Do you remember the night your father died?”

Nathaniel seemed about to say something when Lola spoke up, casting a look at her brother. “We were sleeping,” she said with finality.

“Okay,” said Irma. “Tell me what you remember about that night before you went to sleep.”

Again Nathaniel looked to Lola. “We went to a restaurant with Mommy, Daddy, and Grandma,” said Lola.

“That sounds nice. Where did you go?”

“Twenty-one. I had a hamburger and a Pepsi.”

“And Nathaniel, what about you? What did you have?”

Ford rolled his eyes and tried not to be impatient. He didn’t want a rundown of every item on the menu at 21. He reminded himself that his impatience was precisely why he’d called in Irma to handle this interview. He tried not to sigh as Irma and the children talked more about the dinner, about the story Grandma read to them before bed, and other inane details that were intended to relax the children, get them remembering and talking. Ford started to tune out, listening to the rhythm of Irma’s soft voice, the lighter, higher pitches of the children’s voices responding.

“Let’s try a little game,” said Irma, her voice bright. “Let’s see how many little things you can remember about that night.”

“Like what?” said Lola suspiciously. Something about her, the way she talked, even her facial expressions, made her seem so much older than her twin. She had a gleam of intelligence and a composure that Nathaniel lacked but made up for in a kind of lovable sweetness.

“I don’t know…” said Irma, her voice coaxing. “Just anything that comes to mind. Like, what stuffed animals did you sleep with that night?”

Nathaniel’s face lit up. “I had Pat the Bunny,” he said with a smile, then looked around as if to see if he could find it for Irma.

“I don’t sleep with stuffed animals,” said Lola imperiously, casting a disapproving look at her brother. Nathaniel looked at her with a sad shyness that made Ford’s heart twinge a little. They were silent for a moment, looking at each other, Lola frowning, Nathaniel with a little worried wrinkle in his brow. There was a dynamic at play between the two of them, something unspoken, a meta-communication. Ford noticed that Irma remained quiet, waiting to see what would develop. Even on the monitor, Ford could see Nathaniel’s eyes start to glisten.

“I want my bunny,” he said suddenly, his little face threatening to crumble into tears.

“You’re such a baby,” said Lola, disgusted.

“It’s okay, Nathaniel. We’ll get your bunny for you,” said Irma, turning and looking into the camera lens.

“It’s not here,” snapped Lola. “It’s in his room at home and we can’t go there.”

“That’s okay, Nathaniel,” said Irma again, her voice light and happy. Nathaniel looked at her and smiled at whatever he saw in her expression. He sniffled a little, but the threat of a tantrum seemed to pass. “We’re still playing the game,” Irma reminded him, “and you’re doing so well. What else can you remember?”

Lola was sulking now. He’d seen the look before-a frightened and sad child who used anger as a shield. Ford was reminded that, in spite of her composure, she was just a little girl who’d endured a shattering trauma.

“Ummm…” said Nathaniel, an exaggerated look of concentration on his face.

“I know,” said Irma enthusiastically, as if the thought had just occurred, “what were you wearing?”

“Oh! I was wearing my SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas,” Nathaniel said happily. “I wear those every night. Want to see?”

“That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to see them as soon as we’ve finished talking,” said Irma. “What about you, Lola?”

“I don’t remember,” she answered sullenly.

Nathaniel looked over at his sister and seemed to be affected by her mood. He reached out a hand to touch her leg and she took it in hers. Ford saw the closeness there that he’d seen the first night. Nathaniel slid in closer to Lola.

“I remember,” Nathaniel said. “You wore your red nightgown with the hearts. Remember?”

Bingo, thought Ford. Neither child seemed to feel that they had anything to hide about their attire. He’d half worried that Lola was smart enough to understand why they wanted that information. Ford cast a glance at Eleanor. But if she was having a reaction to what Nathaniel had revealed, she hid it well. She stood with her arms folded, her eyes fixed on the monitor. Her lawyer sat on the sofa watching, as well, and taking notes.

“So let’s go back to that night. Close your eyes and think hard for me, okay, guys? Your grandmother read The Night Before Christmas . Then your mommy put you each to bed. What’s the next thing you remember?”

At this, Nathaniel’s eyes widened. Lola looked over at him with a severe glance as he started to sniffle.

“What, Nathaniel? What is it?” asked Irma, her voice coaxing.

“Nathaniel” Lola said, her tone a warning. He looked over at her and his little mouth curled, his eyes filled with big tears.

“The bogeyman,” said Nathaniel. “The bogeyman came.” And he released a wail that raised goose bumps on Ford’s arm, that was at once heartbreaking and frightening.

“ Roaches, tunnels, curses, dogs-now ghosts. Give me good old hand-to-hand combat any day compared to this shit,” said Dax from the back of the Rover. The sky had turned to blue velvet outside and stars began to glitter in the night. They had the heat on full blast and Lydia still didn’t seem to be able to warm up after their visit with Maura Hodge.

“What’s the matter, Dax? Chicken?” she said.

“Not bloody likely,” he said, snorting his contempt. “But that woman and her beasts gave me the shivers. Who else was in the house?”

Lydia looked over at Dax. “She said no one. But I heard some movement upstairs, or thought I did.”

“Well, I saw someone in the window upstairs. There was definitely someone up there.”

“Man, woman? What?”

“What do I have, a fucking bionic eye? It’s dark; I couldn’t tell.” Then, “Where are we going now?”

“Haunted house,” said Jeff, looking in the rearview mirror. “No pun intended.”

“Naturally.”

They’d left the Hodge residence with the uneasy feeling that Maura was either crazy or deceitful or both. Lydia was unsatisfied with the interview; it felt like a tease and that they had left with more questions than answers. Lydia had the distinct impression that Maura had talked to them only because she knew they weren’t going to take no for an answer. And that she’d carefully evaded giving any actual information about anything. Or maybe she really didn’t know anything. Maybe she was just an old woman, alone with her bitter and crazy thoughts, and that was all she had to share.