She Can Easily Kill You - Book cover

She Can Easily Kill You

Sanne W.

2: I Know It Is Messed Up

I was 10 when I heard my parents died in a car accident. I don’t exactly know what happened that night. But I know I never expected it, there was never any reason for me to think of losing them like that.

My parents were safe drivers. They never sped and were against drinking under influence. Even if my dad had one beer, he wouldn’t drive even if it was hours later.

My father used to say that a real man drinks, but a real man also brings his wife home safe.

I remember my parents needed to go to some sort of anniversary just a few kilometres away, it couldn’t have been more than 15.

My sister and I stayed home that night, it wouldn’t be responsible to bring us anyway since I was just ten years old.

My sister, Sabina would Always babysit me, and my parents had faith in her which they shouldn’t have to be honest. She never was a good babysitter often leaving me alone for hours in a row.

We never got along well mainly because even though I was just a child; Sabina didn’t seem to like me. I’m pretty sure she saw me as nothing but the annoying little girl who was the reason she couldn’t go out that night.

It was no surprise that I wasn’t ‘good’ at being home alone with my sister. I didn’t like it so I would spend my time staring at the door hoping my parents would enter any second.

But they never came home.

That night, the night that my parents died, I sat by the window as usual. It was the best place to see if the car came home. That night I was worried for some strange reason.

Call it a gut feeling but I felt, no I knew, something was wrong. Of course, I have the power of hindsight now, but that feeling of something terrible happening was as real as what happened to them.

As a ten-year-old I couldn’t place it or understand why I felt that way, now I do.

My sister told me I had to go to bed “they will be home any second, stop whining”. She wasn’t worried at all. There was no reason for her to worry.

At the age of 16 you know nothing happens when you leave the house. You just don’t expect something terrible to happen when you leave. Just like my parents didn’t know. They didn’t know they would die.

If they did, they would kiss me goodbye and say I had to be a big girl. They wouldn’t leave me like that.

Besides, who predicts a car accident? They never said goodbye because there was no reason to say goodbye.

There was no foul play involved, at least that’s what the police told us.

They just were at the wrong place at the wrong time.

The doctors said they probably didn’t even feel pain as the impact of the collision was enough to instantly kill all passengers in the car. That was terrifying but somehow comforting at the same time.

They hadn’t bled out, or died in excruciating pain, they didn’t have to fight for their lives.

They just died.

But I wonder about that moment just before. That one fragment of a moment before the collision.

That moment when you know ‘this is it, it’s over’. They must have experienced that moment there is just no way that they didn’t. They must have seen the wall; it was meters high.

They must have seen it right? But I’m not for sure.

It is possible that they were about to hit someone walking on the parking lot and had to turn right causing them to collide. I hoped they never saw that wall, I hoped they never had the feeling of being close to death.

Even though the police concluded there was no crime involved, it was treated as foul play in the beginning stage of the investigation. The biggest reason were the brakes. It seemed like the brakes were malfunctioning that night.

When investigating the car, it was concluded that the brake was stuck, it wouldn’t budge. As it was a suspicious situation, the police didn’t exclude the presence of foul play.

Meaning that they expected someone tampered with the brakes.

But there was never any proof so all I got as an answer was “the car malfunctioned.”

I wish I would just know what happened to them. I want to experience it.

Not that I want to step in a car and crash into a wall. I want to know what they experienced that night. Were they afraid? Did my father shout I love you! to my mother right before they collided?

I know that’s a little bit too farfetched, like a plot in a drama.

I was obsessed with this. I was only 10 and all I did was talk about death. I kept talking about it to the police when they took us to the station.

I kept talking about it when they placed me into a girl’s home for a while. I had to go to a therapist because of my ‘obsession’.

As for my sister, she didn’t talk at all.

She didn’t say anything the night they died, she didn’t say a word to the police, not even to me. No reassuring words, no shared hurt. We both went through it alone, something I just couldn’t understand back then.

I couldn’t understand why we had to go through it separately, we could have helped each other.

But my sister wanted to be left alone.

I never talked to her again and she never came to visit me but that didn’t mean that I ever stopped asking about her. Every person that talked to me would be bombed with questions. “Where’s my sister?” “Do you know my sister?”

“Her name is Sabina, she is 16. Do you know her?”

I got told that she went to ‘live her life’. As vague as that was, I figured out what it was when one of my caretakers at the home slipped up and indirectly told me.

Apparently, Sabina wanted to live by herself in our parents’ house, in our house. However, the police didn’t let her. Not only was she too young, she also couldn’t afford to live in the house.

How would a sixteen-year-old get that kind of money? Sabina never accepted the fact that she had to live somewhere else and left. She just packed a bag with some necessary items and just left and never came back.

For me it was different. I couldn’t just decide I wanted to live alone. I didn’t even think about that. But why should I? Who thinks about that at the age of ten?

I came to live with my father’s brother and wife.

It took the social services and the police to find them. My father hadn’t talked with his family for years, it seemed as if he had tried to erase any ties to his family. So, finding his brother almost seemed impossible.

After a while, they found him almost at the other side of the country. I expected my uncle to be a horrible man as there must have been a reason why my dad cut ties with him. I was terrified in the beginning, absolutely terrified.

I was terrified that he was evil, so I avoided him the first two weeks. We lived in the same house, but I never talked, never sat with them when they would watch tv at night. I only saw them when we had dinner.

Of course, they didn’t like that their ‘new child’ of just ten would spend as much time as she could all the way back in the garden where they couldn’t see her. That’s where I spend most of my times those first 14 days.

Hidden in the garden. I was there so often that I befriended the cat that seemed to have its hunting area there.

After those two weeks my new made furry friend wasn’t in his usual spot. He didn’t come up to me as he Always did.

I wanted to search for him but that would mean I had to get close to the house. That’s when I saw my uncle in the middle of the garden, he was petting the cat with a smile on his face.

The cat seemed very happy to see him, and not scared at all. I knew about animals sensing bad intentions in people so seeing the cat acting so loving toward my uncle made me rethink what I had thought of him.

“He likes you,” I had said. That was the first time I said something to him.

After that I quickly became daddy’s girl. He wasn’t the ‘monster’ as I had painted him to be, but actually the most loving person I had ever met.

He supported me in almost everything I did, he taught me how to play several sports, my favourite being fight sports. It was the first thing my new parents taught me, how to fight.

We bonded over it, it even turned into a ‘family thing’.

I didn’t know why they wanted me to learn how to fight. I liked it so I didn’t protest. I was pretty good at it too. It was mostly my uncle who taught me.

We practiced 4 times a week and I never really questioned it until I was 15. I had Always wondered why he could fight like that. Hell, not only him, my aunt too.

They Always told me stories of how they did all kinds of defence sports when they were younger, that it was even how they met. I believed them for a long time.

I especially believed my uncle.

He just seemed the perfect, protective ‘father’. He used to bring my friends and I food when we were having sleepovers in the garden shed.

He worried about us not eating enough because according to him a lot teenage girls “don’t eat enough”.

He would also criticize the boys I brought home, which had only been two as I was young.

But it was clear that he disliked both of them. It had annoyed me that he would dislike them before he even knew them, but I could understand it too. He was the protective type. Sometimes a bit extreme.

One time he said he would do something to the boy that would hurt me. A boy named Jake did hurt me when I just turned 16.

He cheated on me with my best friend and when I confronted him about it, he accused me of being the whole reason our joke of a relationship went downhill.

I was furious so I told my uncle. I think he was angrier than I was.

When Jake came to say sorry my uncle and ‘new father’ said he would shoot him if he said something that could hurt me because no one hurt his little girl. I told you he can be overdramatic.

Thomas, as stupid as he was, said my uncle would never. My uncle just laughed and had drawn a gun from his jacket. I never saw Jake that pale; I also didn’t know he could run that fast.

Even though that was unnecessary and a bit scary, I wasn’t afraid of my uncle. Not when I saw the gun, not when he literally showed it to a sixteen-year-old boy. Because I knew that with him as a father, I would be safe.

He wouldn’t just leave me behind.

I never asked about the gun. I didn’t ask about it that night. I just concluded that he had it because he was a protective man. A man who liked to protect himself and his family.

He Always was going on about not trusting governmental protection like the police, the army, every single body that’s supposed to protect society. He wanted to be the one to protect us.

A real man protects his own family without help. He used to say that. It must be a family thing. Saying a real man must do this and that.

I’m glad I’m not a boy. Then I would get to hear those sayings all the time.

The things I heard all the time were ‘don’t have sex’ and ‘boys will be boys so watch it’ and that kind of stuff. My uncle and aunt didn’t mean that too literally.

My aunt Sarah even gave me ‘the talk’ when I was younger, perhaps a bit too young as I was twelve. I told her I already knew everything, which was a lie. I didn’t know a tiny bit about it.

She knew it too because she asked me to tell the rest. Of course, I couldn’t tell so she just laughed it off and told me to always be honest with her.

Also, my aunt and uncle knew a crazy lot about the human body.

They had to; it was their job. Them both being doctors. No nurses, not doctors, which made them work quite a lot.

They worked most nights shifts. I didn’t mind, my babysitter was one of my favourite people in the whole world.

She Always let me watch Disney movies.

I trusted them when they said they were working in the hospital, saving lives. Why wouldn’t I? They were my new legal parents. I could trust them. They told me very thing.

Except for the fact that they’re assassins.

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