Divine Evil

board.
    When she caught herself staring out her window at the skeleton of her sculpture yet again, she swore and snatched up the sketchpad she'd tossed on the sofa.
    She would do it and do it now. Get it out of her mind.
    Her pencil in one hand and the pad on her lap, she sat with her eyes closed and tried to take herself back.
    She could see her father puttering around his roses. Tapping the stakes, the garden stakes, into the softened ground.
    She could see him lying on the terrace, impaled by them.
    Clare shook her head, gritted her teeth, and tried again.
    On the swing now, soft summer night. Gliding, her head resting on his arm. The scent of sweet peas and grass and Old Spice.
    “What do you want for your birthday, cutie pie? A girl deserves something special when she turns thirteen.”
    “I want my ears pierced.”
    “Why do you want to put holes in yourself?”
    “All the other girls have pierced ears, Dad. Please.”
    Further back, she had to go further back. Autumn. Planting tulip bulbs. Spicy smoke from leaves burning. A pumpkin on the porch ready to carve.
    “Clare Kimball!” Her mother's voice. “What are you doing outside without a sweater? For heaven's sake, you're eight years old. You should have more sense.”
    Her father winking at her, running a fingertip down her chilled nose. “You run in and get one. And don't track any of this mulch in the house, or your mother'll put us both in the doghouse.”
    Still further back. She could almost hear Dr. Janowski telling her to relax, breathe deeply, let her conscious mind surrender to her subconscious.
    “But I want to go. You never take me with you. I'll be good, Daddy. I promise.”
    “You're always good, cutie pie.”
    Crouching down to scoop her up and kiss her on the neck. Sometimes he would swing her around and around. She liked that, the giddy dizziness. Fear and excitement.
Don't let me go. Don't let me go.
    “This is just boring stuff, for big people.”
    “But I want to go. I like to see the houses.” Pouting. Bottom lip trembling. Sometimes it worked.
    “I'm going to show a big one on Sunday afternoon, and you can go with me. You and Blair, too, if he wants.”
    “Why can't I go now?”
    “Because it's too late for little girls to go outside. It'll be dark soon. Look at you. You've already got your nightgown on.” Carrying her into her room. Dolls and colored pencils. “Come on now, be a good girl and kiss me good night. When you're bigger, you can be my partner. Kimball and Kimball.”
    “Promise?”
    “Promise. Sweet dreams, Clare.”
    The door closing. Nightlight glowing. Getting up to listen. Daddy's talking to Mommy. Quiet, very quiet. Putting a doll in the bed and creeping downstairs. Out the side door and into the garage.
    Wouldn't he be surprised to see she was big enough? She was good enough? Hiding in the backseat and holding back giggles with her hands.
    The car starting, rolling out of the drive.
    They drive and drive and it's getting dark. Hunched on the floor of the backseat, she sees the stars begin to pop out of the sky. Daddy drives fast, like he does when he's afraid he's going to be late.
    The car slows, bumps. Stops. Daddy gets out of the car, opens the trunk.
    Holding her breath. Holding it as she pulls up the handle. Peeks through the crack. He's walking away. The house must be there, in the trees. Hurrying after, silent in her bunny slippers.
    It's dark in the trees, and he doesn't look back.
    But there isn't a house. Just a place. A place with no more trees where the men stand in their black robes. Daddy takes off his clothes—that makes her giggle—and puts on a robe like the others. They wear masks, so maybe it's a party. But it's not trick-or-treat. Scary masks, like bulls and goats and mean dogs. But Mommy told her that masks are just for playing pretend, so she isn't scared.
    They stand in a circle, like a game. Ring-around-the-rosy She giggles at that, the idea of the men dancing in a circle and falling down. But they stand very quietly, not speaking at all.
    A bell rings.
    Clare jolted up. Heart racing, she stared around the living room. Both pad and pencil lay on the floor where shehad dropped them. Maybe she was too good at this, she thought, pressing the heel of her hand to her brow. When the bell rang again, she bolted out of her seat before she realized someone was at the door.
    She blew out a breath, a long one, before she went to answer. When she opened it, she saw a woman starting back