Last time, Nancy was still trying to figure out where she was and what she was doing there. She had just met a woman, AMY, who asked her some questions about herself. Nancy has some inkling of what’s happening, although it’s buried deep in the back of her mind.
You can find the first 2 parts, along with all the other Serial Saturday posts HERE.
Now, onto today’s part #3…
“Thank you and goodbye.” I’ve got no time for this. I’m not sure what this woman thinks she knows, but I’m not waiting around to listen to her wittering. She grabs my wrist and spins me back round to face her.
“I’m sorry,” she says. The corners of her mouth are still twitching, and I would swear she is about to burst into laughter again. If she does, I’m going to hit her. Luckily – at least for her, she manages to keep the laughter to herself. “I think you should at least go and see what they want.” Her face is painted with a smug expression that makes me want to slap it from her face. “You can at least do that, can’t you?” Her voice now is like that of a parent convincing a child to try a piece of broccoli.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Where the hell do I go?”
“Let me show you.” The woman puts an arm around me, which makes me shudder. I’m not good with physical contact, especially not with people I’ve just met. She turns me towards one of the corridors, which is fine, as that was where I was going anyway. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.
“So,” I’m trying really hard to be polite, which is not easy, “what is it that you do here?” Like I care. It’s just better than an uncomfortable silence.
“Same as everyone else,” which is the least helpful answer she could have given me. “But, let’s not talk about me. I want to know about you. Exactly how much did those girls get to you?”
Who is this woman, and how does she know me? “I don’t really want to talk about that. I’ve moved on.” And I have. That is a long way in my past, and I don’t want to revisit those times.
“Nancy De’Angelo.” The voice echoes in the corridor. I did jump ever so slightly. I hope this woman didn’t notice.
“Well, I’m not sure they’re finished with you.” Amy smiles. “What happened?”
“You never told me what you know or how you know what you think you know.”
“I think you did something really bad. I think you regret it now. I think talking about it will help.”
“How could you know that?”
“Because it helped me.”
“Helped you how?” This woman has no clue. “Helped you with what? You don’t understand what I’ve done.”
“I had a sister.” Amy glances around. We’re still alone. “Even as kids, she was a bitch. If I had something nice, she wanted it: toys, food, attention. You name it. Only problem was that she carried that through into adulthood and now it wasn’t toys and ice cream, it was my husband. The day I came home to find them in bed together was like a knife in my heart.” She clutches her chest and closes her eyes. Very melodramatic. “So I did what any rational person would do. I bided my time. Just long enough to let her think she had got what she wanted. Then I killed her. Knife to the heart. Admittedly, there were thirty seven other stab wounds, but who’s counting, right?” Amy shrugs and smiles.
“You killed someone?” I step away from her. This paints her in a much different light. The ease with which she told me she had killed someone, is frightening.
“Yes. My sister. At the time, it felt like the right thing to do, but after, now that’s the kicker. It felt awful. Just awful. I should have killed him. That was my own flesh and blood. That should not have happened. It doesn’t matter what kind of bitch she was – and trust me, I called her every kind – she was my sister. It took me a while to realise that it was okay to let go of that guilt. And it’s okay for you too.” She touches me on the shoulder again which takes on a different meaning now I know she has killed someone.
“I haven’t killed anyone like you!” I brush her hand off my shoulder. I don’t know if she thinks telling me that will endear her to me more or less.
“No. You killed more.” That stings. I know what she’s talking about, but for some reason, I can’t call it to mind. It must show on my face, because she says, “I know it hurts you. I can see it.”
There is something there. It’s floating in the front of my brain, but it doesn’t want to come. I’m shaking my head and something comes back to me. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Yes you do,” says Amy. “You were thinking ‘these bitches need to die.’” She is laughing at me again. I don’t see anything remotely funny in this situation. “And they probably did.”
No, no, I don’t believe that. What is she saying? “No, no.” I’m not having it. But there is something there, like it has been buried deep.
“But they did.” She was speaking almost in a whisper now. I had to lean in to hear her. “Narn-See please,” she sang to me. It’s more melodious than the women on the shop floor but the effect is the same. I want to strangle her. To put my hands around her neck and squeeze. “Narn-See please.”
“They wouldn’t stop,” I scream. I promised myself I would remain in control, but it’s not easy. “They wouldn’t stop! It was every day!” Now she’s got me screaming. She tries to put an arm around my shoulder, and I let her. God damnit.