Chapter 35

THIRTY-FIVE

Wednesday August 4, 2010

Dolly just ran down to the kitchen, brandishing another knife, screaming no one will believe her that Amy killed Charlotte.

As for Charlotte, her body is no longer in the house. I don’t know if Lyle put her in the basement, the garage, or the trunk of his car. She’s gone.

Dolly sliced through Lyle’s hand when he tried to take the knife. The blood splattered on the floor tiles made me double over and heave. Amy was safely locked in an upstairs bathroom with Heath, probably fretting for both of their lives.

My little girl has regressed since the last time she lost control. Before the summer camp, Dolly used to injure Amy, often breaking her skin. When Amy reported it to me, I would confront Dolly, only to find her with the identical injury. She claimed Amy did it, of course.

Back then, I didn’t know who to believe. Every time Amy would come to me with an injury, I’d rush to Dolly, only to find her in the exact same condition, adamant that Amy was the perpetrator. It was a cycle of accusations, injuries, bandages, and tears. And it never made any sense until the incident at the school.

It was a leather carving class, which required the use of specialized tools to cut patterns into the hide. Some snide comments were exchanged—the details are irrelevant. At the end of the class, as the kids were pouring out, Dolly carved a horizontal line into Amy’s stomach.

Amy’s scream alerted the teacher, who took her straight to the school infirmary. By the time she returned to deal with Dolly, Dolly had an identical gash on her own stomach. By then it was too late for her to create the illusion that Amy was the one causing harm.

The principal called us in for an urgent meeting and wasted no time in expressing her outrage at the horrific incident. I suggested taking them to a child psychologist, but the counselor recounted every incident involving the girls. They were inspiring their classmates to violence and needed to be expelled for the safety of the other students.

I was pregnant and already stressed with morning sickness. There was no way I could cope with the screaming, sabotage, and sadistic violence at home. That’s when Lyle suggested the Three Fates Therapeutic Boarding School, which came with therapists, psychologists, and everything we thought was needed to help Dolly.

We know people who have sent children there. Lyle has a colleague named Dalton who he invited over for dinner. During the meal, Dalton revealed that he recently discovered he had a son from a previous relationship with a woman who passed away from cancer.

The son was a little older than the twins, but so disturbed by his mother’s death that he struck out at another of Dalton’s sons, smashing his head over and over into a urinal! Dalton sent him to Three Fates, and the transformation was nothing short of miraculous.

The story gave me hope. Maybe this was what Dolly needed. A place where someone could get to the root of her issues and help her overcome this troubling behavior.

The morning of the tour, I was so crippled with morning sickness that I could barely get out of bed. Lyle had to take care of everything that day. I stayed at home with Amy, struggling through a whirlpool of nausea.

They both returned later in the day, smiling. The principal, Mr. Delta, suggested that both girls attend the summer session, which would be like a camp, so they would learn how to coexist in peace. I was reluctant at first, but Lyle reminded me that Dolly often complained of Amy breaking her possessions.

He convinced me that Dolly’s violent outbursts were triggered by Amy, and that therapy for one twin wouldn’t be enough to resolve the issue.

But it seems the school wasn’t enough, either, and my dream of a perfect family is drowning in blood and screams.

I don’t know what to do. Dolly is still raging about being framed by Amy, even though she was found with the murder weapon. Maybe it’s time to take her back to the Salentino family. They’re the ones who allowed a monster like Giorgi to reproduce. They should deal with the consequences.

If I left her there, Mother Salentino would welcome Dolly back with hugs and torta della nonna , but she’d grill Dolly until she revealed our aliases. The old bitch and a small army of mafia goons would return for Amy, then stick a knife in my throat for my betrayal.

Lyle just came in, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest and asking for permission to contact Mr. Delta. He promised not to mention Charlotte and swore that anything Dolly discussed with the medical staff was covered by psychiatrist-patient privilege.

As Dolly howled her murderous intentions toward Amy, I gave him a begrudging nod. There’s no denying it. She’s beyond help and is in desperate need of professional intervention.