i think it’s implied nikki lives with her mom? maybe i made that up idk. wish nikki says she stepped into her house and just couldn’t be there bc of her dad, and she’s obviously lying, but it might be believable bc her mom being there would remind her of her dad? in the og script wish nikki claims her mom’s been telling her to go see him, too.
but for these purposes, just like… one night your daughter goes out for drinks with her friends and doesn’t come back/comes inside for one second before leaving again. she doesn’t come home the rest of the might. maybe a little odd considering that she did step inside, you heard the door creak open for a moment, but not that weird. she probably just needed to grab something. she is in her mid twenties, after all. there have been nights she hasn’t come home. maybe she’s seeing that ian guy again. you can never tell what’s going on with them. she comes home the next night after work and showers and spends an hour longer than usual getting ready. she tells you couldn’t decide what to wear. you frown, because she’s always been self-assured in that, and generally prefers a t-shirt and baggy jacket over the dress she’s now wearing. she tells you she’s going to meet her friend bear. it’s late. you’re confused. she’s talked to you about bear before; you’ve met him. it doesn’t surprise you that he likes her, and he seems nice enough, but she’s only ever seemed to think of him as a friend. she always wanted a sibling and in high school she told you she finally had a brother, and that hasn’t seemed to change until really suddenly, they’re dating.
she keeps working at the music shop though you know she planned to quit to focus on her writing. and you had your reservations about that but it’s so strange for her to drop it entirely when it’s something she really cared about. you see her less and less, and she starts spending all her time over at bear’s house. she comes over to get her tiger’s eye once and won’t tell you why. then you stop seeing her at all. it’s like one day you blink and she’s moved out, except so many things she cares about are here. she only texts sporadically, one sentences responses back to you. it’s all in response to something you sent first and it all takes a long time. except you get a text back once right away, a brief one, that makes you set down your phone and stare. Mom it’s not me. you send her a ?. you see the thought bubbles. she doesn’t reply a long time until it finally just says typo! didn’t mean to send! you try to call her. she actually answers this time. her voice sounds so different on the phone, like she’s pitching it up. soft and sweet and young. like she would have when she was five. you try to ask her what she meant to text you, but she doesn’t answer the question. just keeps talking in circles about bear. you try to ask about her job, about how her book’s coming, anything. but all she can talk about is how she loves him so much and she’s trying to be right for him and she doesn’t know why it’s not working, what she’s doing wrong. it doesn’t make sense. you’ve seen her with boyfriends; this has never been how she is in relationships. she’s not acting like herself, you tell her, and ask her to think about coming home for a while. you ask if bear is hurting her, if she’s okay. all her answers sound robotic and strange until she hangs up without warning. she stops answering your texts or calls at all. you think about calling the police, but what would you say? ‘i don’t like my daughter’s boyfriend’? you text her that you’re always around if she needs you. that you’d like to see her soon. then you go to sleep. then to work. rinse, repeat. you try not to worry.
and then one night, you check instagram, where you have a few of her friends added. you scroll through your feed until you pause and hear her voice, still so strange. someone took a video of their own smug grinning face while in the background as she recited some strange, violent, off-putting poem. the caption reads freaky nikki at it again at this party tonight. it’s been a while. you purse your lips, angry. you don’t know what’s going on, you don’t, she’s not acting like the daughter you know, but rage spools in your gut at that. you still remember the night she came home her senior year and sobbed in your lap why don’t they like me why why am i such a freak what’s wrong with me? you almost comment, but you don’t. you’re a grown woman, and anyway, your dms have caught your eye.
1 new dm from her friend ian. hi ms. f sorry to bug u, i’d text but i don’t have ur number. i’m pretty worried about nikki, she’s been acting p weird and she hurt herself tonight. p sure bear took her to the er. have u heard anything from her? you sit up. the words ‘she hurt herself’ twist unpleasantly in your stomach, but you’re almost relieved. someone else sees it. someone else is worried. so you thank him for reaching out. pour your heart about your worries. wonder if you should be concerned about drugs again. she went through a hard time.
you wait long past the time you should to hear back. you have work in the morning. ian never replies. you never even see a read receipt. and you have no idea if your daughter is even physically okay, now. you try to call the hospital. she wasn’t admitted.
the next morning, getting ready for work, you turn on the news. a triple homicide. her friends from the music shop. footage of your daughter, the only survivor, covered in blood and strange markings and wearing a dress she’d hate, being taken into custody, her eyes almost dead, lifeless. you don’t go to work.
next time you see your daughter, it’s through a glass door and a jail phone. you try to get her to explain. tell her you don’t understand. i don’t understand, either. her eyes water and she claws at the glass until a guard glares. all she can say is it wasn’t me, mom, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t—
you believe her. that’s the worst part.
