Daedalia is a serialized novel, with a new chapter released every Monday morning. The story is designed to unfold slowly, the days in between, a space for it to settle into your imagination. Each chapter is a 10–15 minute read/listen. Check out the Table of Contents if you want to jump to a specific chapter. Want something to binge while you wait? Three novels, complete with audio narration are ready for you to dive in.
Previously…
Fiodor held Marabelle for six days, feeding her a private mythology about Daedalia while he spiraled between obsession and instability. On the sixth night Marabelle fled the motel, was found by police, and returned home to parents who were physically there but suddenly unfamiliar.
The following text is transcribed directly from Kelly Ann Mudd’s journals. There are fifty-three volumes in the collection that was donated to MoMA by her estate.
June 18, 2005
I don’t really sleep anymore. We haven’t left the house except to shop for groceries in almost three months and when we do, the three of us go together. Maribee has regressed a bit, which the therapist says is to be expected, but otherwise, she seems fine, certainly better than me and Lefty.
He sleeps on the floor in her bedroom and I lay awake in our bed, staring at the ceiling when I can’t stand to look at the TV anymore. We don’t really talk about what happened. I know we should, but talking about it brings the full force of it back and that feeling is like a balloon swelling in my chest that just keeps expanding until I can’t breathe. Lefty is so angry at me and I don’t blame him. That lunatic would never have entered our lives if it wasn’t for me. I can deal with it though. I can deal with Lefty’s coldness and pent-up rage. I can deal with just about anything now that we have Marabelle back. When she was gone, I went into a kind of raving, animal madness where I would have chewed off my own arm if that was the price to get her home.
This morning she was sitting at the breakfast table and I was standing over her when I discovered a bald spot on her scalp where she’s been pulling out her hair. I touched the bare spot and started crying. She swatted my hand away and said to leave her alone, then she ran from the table. Lefty just stared at me so hard I felt his eyes were like spikes and I collapsed on the floor, sobbing. Pathetic. I don’t know how to get back to where we were and then I think that’s wrong because where we were is what caused all this to happen.
June 30, 2005
I don’t know if I ever want to work again but I don’t know what else I’m good for. Lefty took Marabelle to North Carolina to visit his parents. He thought a change of scenery would be good for her. When I told him to go without me, I think he was relieved. So here I am alone, staring at a blank canvas.
Who am I kidding? I have nothing but a cold, burning hatred inside me. All I want to do is see the man who took Marabelle burned alive or fed to alligators. But that’s not going to happen. It doesn’t matter how much money we have. The state moves at a snail’s pace to administer justice. I guess I should be happy that at least he’s in a jail cell and didn’t get away. I badger the Albuquerque DA’s office every day. The latest is that Mr. Barkowski will likely plead insanity, which is most certainly true. This doesn’t help my case for wanting him put to death.
Last night while he was packing, Lefty asked what I planned to do while they were gone. These questions used to be gentle nudges to get me to work but now they feel more like interrogations. He no longer trusts me. The thing I was doing online wasn’t exactly sexual, but this fact doesn’t matter to him. Maybe he would be able to forgive me if it was sexual. At least he would be able to understand it.
We’ve not spoken about it since that massive fight after Marabelle was back home and the investigators came around asking questions about my messaging history with Barkowski. It was all there. Nothing goes away on the fucking internet. What was just anonymous fun, a way to blow off steam, ended up blowing up our lives and doing damage to my sweet girl that can’t be undone.
If he wasn’t being such an asshole, I would almost feel bad for him for the way he had to dance in front of the detective’s questions about this artist, DAY DALLIA. I no longer give a shit, but he insisted on preserving our secret, even under these circumstances. I played along because I always play along. He says he’s afraid of what other nutjobs will come after me if the truth gets out. I want to believe that’s his reason.
After the detective left, Lefty made me log into the message board so he could read everything I had written.
I’ve never seen him so angry. Why was I playing around with these trolls in their parents’ basements with their conspiracy theories? Was it thrilling to titillate them with my expert insights into the great Daedalia? Did I get off on it? I told him no, but it was the closest I would ever get to getting credit for my work. That shut him up.
None of it matters. What matters is that Marabelle is safe, at least for now, as long as that motherfucker is in jail. As for Daedalia, her days are numbered. Even if she’s not completely exposed during the trial, which seems likely, I don’t think I’ll ever want to draw again.
July 4, 2005
Lefty called yesterday and asked if it was okay if they stayed through the 4th. Marabelle is having a good time. She sounded happy and relaxed on the phone. A neighbor has a grandson visiting so she has a playmate, which she’s not used to. I miss her. I should have gone too but I’m afraid of bumping into my mother and Dennis. It happened a few years ago when we were there. She looked so hurt when she saw Marabelle with us and I felt guilty for not even telling her she had a granddaughter. How’s that fair? After everything she put me through. Better to stay here and be lonely.
In the distance I can see the fireworks downtown. I’m sitting on the patio with a glass of whiskey and an empty bag of chips. I used to enjoy time by myself but now I just feel manic. I can’t focus on anything. Tried to read, tried to watch TV, but I can’t get out of my head.
Ona feels like I’m punishing her by not working and maybe I am. I can feel her stronger than ever. But I refuse to go out to the shed. I’m not going to open the door again.
Is it weird that I’m beginning to believe all the crazy shit other people have been saying about my work? It’s made me think a lot about this question: If you were a monster, would you know you were a monster? Does a shark or a scorpion know what it is? Did I cause those men to fly into the towers? Did I invite Barkowski to take my baby?
I’m not that special. I cling to this notion when I feel like my brain is crawling with ants. Crazy people have delusions of grandeur. I’m just an artist. That’s all I know how to be. Nothing more than that.
I’m not even a good wife or mother. I’ve always been a disappointment to him in these roles, but now that I don’t want to be an artist, what good am I to him? What the hell am I going to do?
I gave the two security guys the day off. I would have done that even if it wasn’t a holiday. They make me feel like this place is a prison and honestly, I don’t trust anyone anymore, no matter how much they’re being paid to do a job. I think about Barkowski being in a cell and as much as I want that to feel good, it just makes me sad. He was once a Marabelle to someone.
A couple of weeks ago when I was sitting in her room while she played on the floor with her toys, she asked out of the blue: “Was Fiodor your friend or was he Daedalia’s friend?” I told her he was not my friend and that she knew Daedalia was just a name and not real. She stopped playing and just looked at me. “Why?” she asked. I didn’t have a good answer.
As the therapist recommended we do, I asked her in a non-judgmental way if she was thinking about Fiodor, if she wanted to talk about him. The therapist said it was common for a child to develop feelings for a captor, to even miss them, which is horrible to think about.
“He said he was supposed to save you. How can he save you now that he’s in jail?” she said. I told her I didn’t need saving. I wish to God that was true. I asked if she was afraid he would come back.
She changed the subject by asking me another question. “Why do you make those pictures?”
I don’t think anyone had ever asked me that question, even Lefty. Lefty had answered this very question on Daedalia’s behalf many times in interviews published in magazines across the world, but I have never answered it. And here was my little girl, seeing me, wanting to know. I froze. It’s like the work is the room I’ve always been in and it’s the only room I know. Her asking me implied that I have a choice, that there are other rooms to live in.
I told her I didn’t know because that was the truth and then I asked her if she liked the pictures I made.
I’ll never forget the pained look on her face. She was a child trying to take care of my feelings, trying to shove down a truckload of her own feelings to spare mine. I felt pathetic. She nodded slowly and said, “Can I play now?”
It wasn’t an invitation but I stayed in her room, even got down on the floor with her and tried to be absorbed in her world, to move the figures around on the carpet like she did. But I was distracted as I always am. I looked at her small, beautiful hands pushing trucks in circles on the floor between us and I imagined that man with her in that motel room as though he owned her, as though he was entitled to take whatever he wanted, as if all the beautiful and terrible things I made were made for him.
I was doing a fierce painting in my head, the strokes twitching faster and faster, like a million tiny cuts. My head felt like it was going to split open. I ran into her bathroom where I threw up.
They’ll be home tomorrow but that seems like an eternity from now. I’m going to focus all my energy on being a better mom. I’m going to read books about it. I’m going to study it the way I studied how to draw perspective, proportion, and depth. Maybe Lefty will be okay with the trade. Daedalia has given us far more than we need. Maybe we can be a real family now. I want that more than anything.
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