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Some people talk, some others don't.
Allison does. She cannot help sharing her feelings, pouring her heart out, not to lose her sanity. She has tried to keep her dreams, visions, and perceptions to herself, she has tried medication to shut the voices invading her mind, she has tried alcohol to numb the pain and forget, and then she met Joe.
He didn't believe her at first, which she knew he wouldn't. He listened, though. Sixteen years later, he still does, patiently, with suggestions, soothing words and a scale of 'I'm sorry' and 'nothing's gonna happen', whether heartfelt or half-sincere. Never did she admit to him she could sense the difference, but she does not care – she finds her peace in the arms of her skeptic, loving husband, who despite his rational brain, keeps her afloat.
Allison wants to be an attentive and present parent. The girls don't hesitate to share their emotions with her, maybe knowing their mother's great insight helps. Maybe it doesn't. They know they can trust her with the strangest sentiments, for Allison sees strange, lives strange, knows strange.
Calm and levelheaded, Ariel has never been much of a talker or a loner. She enjoys both her family and her friends' company. The occasional clash – a black cloud on the Dubois sky – soon disappears to let a shiny smile illuminate her face again.
Loud and enthusiastic, Bridgette speaks, discovers, asks questions, and Allison revels in her daughter's curiousness, trying her best to quench her middle child's thirst for knowledge, and to encourage her in all her special projects.
Baby Marie, the happy, smiling one, seems to share Bridgette's curiosity about life, and doesn't miss an opportunity to make herself heard, direct, fearless, and intuitive as her mother and sisters.
When Allison and Joe wed, they talked about the education they wanted for their brood, and the values they wanted to pass down. Years later, after beginning to work for the district attorney, Allison realizes the importance of a family she sometimes takes for granted, but when faced to human nature in its most evil form, a mother tends to grow more concern, and more aware of the harsh realities of life. The self-preservation instinct gets the upper hand, and time becomes more precious than ever.
What happens when a child becomes a burden to neglecting parents who barely pay attention, preoccupied by other ordeals, unfocused, unconcerned? What happens when kids don't have the chance of living a well-regulated life?
Allison knows what happens. It almost happened to her. Her mother didn't believe her and refused to listen, to trust her.
After a few investigations with the police department, Allison can recognize them. Most of the time, they fit the victim's description, reserved, a few friends and acquaintances, relatives all over the country, a simple job in town – the average Joe with no previous convictions.
The victims become the criminals.
It is about vengeance, and the desire for attention.
It is easy to talk when an attentive ear listens.
It is easier to shut up when no one pays attention, and believe 'I am not worth listening.'
They retrieve in their silence and better world. Parents believe they are taciturn, the solitary type, refusing to see the reasons behind.
One day, they kill.
One night, Allison dreams.
Allison doesn't dream about the murder or the murderer, she dreams about the child who, too many times ignored, started plotting a revenge he didn't even know would take the form of a parricide.
Scanlon questions, Devalos asks for precisions, and Allison observes: low-key personalities, shy handshakes, barely a smile, yes/no answer.
They don't hide, don't lie, don't pretend, don't gloat either. Some show remorse.
All confess with details as if they were telling a story.
For once in their lives, someone listens.
The End