by Amy Cross
I nod.
"How are you this morning?" she asks, sitting opposite me.
"I'm good," I say.
"Did you sleep well?"
I nod.
"Don't you just love Sundays?" she asks as my father comes and joins us at the table. "No work to do. No hassles. No school. A whole day to just relax."
"Have you found your cat yet?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"No," she replies, taking a slice of toast and an egg. "No, I haven't. Gizmo's still out there somewhere, but I'm sure he'll come back."
"Why?" I ask.
"Why what, honey?" she replies.
"Why are you sure?" I stare at her. "Maybe something's happened to him?"
"Well, maybe," she says, glancing uneasily at my father, "but maybe he's just off having an adventure and he'll be back later today. He might be sitting on the doorstep when I go back to my apartment this evening."
"He might be," I say, forcing myself not to smile, "but I doubt it."
"Have some toast and an egg," my father says, putting food on my plate. I can tell from the way he's looking at me that he wants me to shut up. I guess they don't want to talk about Gizmo, since they both probably know that he's unlikely to return. There's a part of me that wants to tell them the truth, and bring the box in from the garden. I can just imagine their horrified faces if they saw all the maggots crawling through Gizmo's rotted corpse. Then again, I want to see the experiment through to the end, so it's probably best that I keep it to myself for now. Still, it's fun to know that I've got a secret, and to think that I've got this small amount of power over them.
"So what do you want to do today?" my father asks Martina.
"I want to relax," she says, smiling. "What else is there to do on a Sunday?"
My father grins. There's something sickening about the way these two behave. It's as if they're totally in love and they can barely think about anything else. Every weekend, Juliet comes and stays for Friday and Saturday night, spending the days just sitting around the house, watching films and typing on her laptop. In the evenings, I'm usually packed off to bed so they can do adult stuff. What's worse is that the house smells so weird when she's here: my father always smells of garlic and clarinet reeds, and Martina always smells of lavender and cigarettes. Even though she always goes out into the garden to smoke, the smell somehow seems to cling to her. I miss how my mother smelled: she just smelled of soap and hair.
"We could go for a drive," my father says. "Who's up for a little drive? Maybe we could go to the park?"
"We could," Martina replies, clearly not too keen.
"Maybe another time," my father continues, reaching over and touching her arm.
"I just feel like relaxing today," she says. "Maybe watch a few films?"
"Sure," my father replies. "Maybe something that Juliet can watch too?" He turns to me. "Or you can just play in your room if you prefer, honey."
I stare at him. "Can I play in the garden?"
"Of course," he says.
"I used to love playing in the garden," Martina adds. "I used to sit really still and quiet, and wait for butterflies to land near me, and then I'd watch them. And bees too. Do you like nature, Juliet?"
"Yes," I say, already thinking that maybe I could take a stick and poke the dead cat a little. I'd kind of like to see what he's like on his underside, although I really don't want to disturb the maggots too much.
"You're so lucky to have a nice garden," Martina says. "I bet there are so many little creatures out there."
"Yes," I say, before finishing my piece of toast. I remove the shell from my egg and take a bite.
"You really shouldn't eat the yellow part of the egg, Juliet," my father says. "It's bad for you."
"Let her eat it," Martina says with a smile. "It can't be that bad."
"It's full of carbohydrates," he says. "She only wants to eat it because it's yellow."
"It's okay," I say, putting the half-eaten egg back on my plate. "I'm not hungry. Can I be excused so I can go to my room? I want to get ready to go out into the garden."
"Of course," my father says, and I waste no time in getting up and hurrying through to my bedroom. As soon as I've got through the door, I jump onto my bed and try to calm down. I don't know why I let them get to me so much, but there's something about my father and Martina that really, really drives me crazy. I just want them to stop being around me all the time, but I have no idea how I'm supposed to get them to understand. What I really want is to be left alone so that I can get on with doing the things I want to do, but they keep getting in the way. One way or another, I need to get Martina to go away forever, even if I have to sacrifice my experiment in the process.
Chapter Three
Today
The shout is short, and distant, but also very distinct.
Looking up from the logbook, I frown. The nursing home is usually completely quiet during the night; the residents are mostly asleep, and even when they get up and wander about, they tend not to make much noise. Nevertheless, I definitely just heard a brief, curtailed shout, as if someone was startled by something.
"Hello?" I call out, stepping into the reception area. There's no sign of anyone. Lizzie's off checking the wards, and I'm supposed to be staying here to do some paperwork. It's almost 4am, and there's a little over three hours left before the shift ends. It's tempting to just go back to the logbook and get on with my work, but I'm certain I heard that shout, and I'm pretty sure the person seemed to be in distress. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and call Lizzie.
"What's wrong?" she asks when she answers. She sounds a little breathless.
"I heard a noise," I say. "It sounded like -"
"It's nothing," she replies. "One of the residents almost fell, but I caught him. Don't worry about it. How's the paperwork going?"
"Fine," I say. "Are you sure -"
"Keep up the good work," she says, interrupting me. "Anything else to report?"
"No," I reply, a little surprised by how terse she's being.
"Okay," she says, "well, I'm busy, so I'll see you in a bit." With that, she cuts the call off.
"Huh," I say, putting the phone away. I stand and listen for a moment, but there's only silence all around me. I turn to go back into the office, but I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. The way Lizzie was talking to me, it was almost as if she was trying to shut me up and keep me busy. My mind goes back to the things Kenneth told me; although I'm sure he was just covering up for his embarrassment, I've got a nagging feeling that maybe I should double-check that nothing strange is happening.
Pulling the office door shut, I head through to the red ward. As soon as I get past the rec room, I realize I can hear voices nearby. When I get close to room 109, I realize Lizzie is in there, talking to Kenneth Jenkins. I edge a little closer, and it becomes clear that Lizzie's voice is angry. Although she's talking quietly, her voice sounds tense and harsh, and there's no reply from Kenneth.
"So that's why you won't call for help," Lizzie says. "You'll just stay here in bed, soaking in everything, until someone comes to get you up in the morning. And when they ask if you pissed yourself again, you'll just smile like an old idiot. Do we have a deal?"
There's a pause. With my heart in my mouth, I stay by the door, shocked by what I'm hearing.
"Don't think you can go running to that little bitch," Lizzie continues. "She doesn't believe you, anyway. Why would anyone believe an old fuck like you? In fact, give me your hand." Another pause. "Kenneth, give me your fucking hand. There. Now pay attention and try to get this through your thick, addled old brain. Whatever I do to you right now is nothing compared to what I'll do to you if you ever tell anyone about this, got it? Really, if you think about it, a little finger's nothing. What do you need it for, anyway?" There's yet another pause, followed by a dull snapping sound, and Kenneth cries out in pain.
"Hey!" I say, stepping into the room and hitting the light switch.
&
nbsp; "Get out!" Lizzie shouts, standing up as Kenneth clutches his hand. "Get the fuck out!"
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Get out!" she screams, barging toward me and pushing me out of the room. "Go back and do your work!" she shouts, her face flustered and red. "Right now! Go! Get out of here!"
"What the hell did you just do to him?" I ask, trying to push past her.
"Go and do your work!" she shouts, shoving me against the wall. "Do not interfere with my official business! Go and do your work!"
"I don't -"
"Go and do your work!" she shouts, leaning so close that I feel a fine spray of spit across my face. "Go and do your work!"
"I -"
"Go and do your work!" she shouts again, grabbing my arm and shoving me along the corridor. "Go and do your work!"
"You can't -"
"Go and do your work!" she screams. "Go and do your work! Go and do your work!"
I stare at her. It's as if she's completely snapped. She seems to be just stuck in a cycle, shouting the same thing over and over.
"Let me see him," I say, trying to stay calm. "I want to see what you're doing."
"Go and do your work!" she screams.
"No!" I say, trying again to push past her. She grabs my arm and twists me away from the door. I cry out in pain before finally getting away from her. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I ask.
"Go and do your work!"
"Stop saying that!" I shout. "Let me see him right now!"
"This is none of your business," she says breathlessly. "Don't make me write you up for poor duty. Go and do your work!"
"You hurt him," I say, panicking. I have no idea what to do. Lizzie's bigger than me, and I'm pretty sure she could hurt me, but at the same time I can't just leave her to continue hurting Mr. Jenkins.
"Do your work!" she screams, slamming me into the wall and wedging an arm against my neck. Barely able to breathe, I try to fight back, but she's too strong. "Go and do your work!" she says firmly, pressing her forehead against the bridge of my nose with such force, I'm scared she might break a bone. "Go and do your work! Go and do your work!"
"Get off me!" I splutter, starting to get really worried. It's clear that she's not just angry; she seems to be mentally unstable. I always suspected there was a nasty side to Lizzie, but I never expected her to blow up like this. As she stares at me, I can't help thinking that she's lost her mind. "Lizzie -"
"Go and do your work!" she says, shoving me along the corridor. "Go!"
Realizing I can't handle her on my own, I decide my only option is to go and get help. She's clearly too strong for me to manhandle, so I back away along the corridor, making sure not to turn my back on her. Eventually, she turns and heads back into the room, and I take a deep breath before turning to go back to the reception area. Fumbling in my pocket, I eventually pull out my phone. I'm just about to call Mr. Taylor, the facility's manager, when I hear another cry of pain coming from Kenneth's room.
I wait for Mr. Taylor to answer, but the call just goes straight to answerphone. I cut the call off, and I'm just about to call the police when I hear Kenneth shout out for a third time. I hurry back along to his room, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the wall before I walk through the door. At least this time, I've got something I can use as a weapon in case Lizzie tries to hurt me.
"Get out!" she screams, barreling toward me and shoving me against the wall. The fire extinguisher drops to the ground and rolls away. I wriggle free, but in the process I fall to the ground. When I try to get up, Lizzie slams her foot into my back, pinning me to the floor. I try to reach for my phone, but the pressure on my back is getting worse by the second and I'm scared she might seriously hurt me. Summoning up the last of my energy, I manage to roll out of the way; I grab the fire extinguisher and get to my feet as Lizzie storms toward me once again.
"Keep back!" I shout at her.
"Go and do your work!" she screams at the top of her voice.
"Fuck you!" I shout, swinging the fire extinguisher at her head. There's a dull thud, accompanied by a stark cracking sound, and she staggers backward. My first instinct is to be relieved that she's not bleeding, but after a moment I realize from the vacant look in her eyes that something's wrong. She stumbles toward me, and then she topples over, landing with a heavy thud on the floor. I wait for her to move again, but she stays completely still.
"Are you okay?" I ask, looking over at Kenneth.
He nods, clutching his hand.
"Fuck," I mutter, reaching down and checking to see if Lizzie has a pulse. I try a couple of places around her neck, and then I try her wrist, but there's nothing. Finally, I tilt her head a little. Her dead eyes stare back at me. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," I say quietly, sitting on the floor and staring at her body. This can't be happening. Not again.
Chapter Four
Eleven years ago
"I've got a present for Martina," I say as I walk into the front room. The shoebox, which I've spent the past half hour wrapping and decorating, is behind my back; I've tied a big red bow on top, to make it look extra good.
"You have?" my father asks, looking over. He and Martina are sitting on the sofa, watching a DVD. They've been like this for a few hours, watching film after film. I've been out in the garden working on my experiment, recording my final observations and preparing the specimen for its next stage. The job was a little icky, and I worked in constant fear of being disturbed, but finally I got it all done. Now I'm ready for the pay-off.
"Here," I say, holding the shoebox out.
"Is that for me?" Martina asks, a broad smile spreading across her face. "Really?"
"What is it, honey?" my father says.
"She has to open it and see," I say. I was hoping to remain completely impassive during this whole encounter, but I can't help smiling.
"Well, this is a surprise," Martina says. "Juliet, you really didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to," I reply.
"Wait right here," Martina says excitedly, getting up from the sofa. "I've got something for you too."
"You do?" I ask, watching her go. This wasn't part of the plan. In my head, I had it all worked out: I was going to come in, give her the box, and then watch her horrified reaction when she opened the lid. It never occurred to me that she might have something to give me in return. Still, I suppose it doesn't matter too much. As long as she ends up opening the box, that's all that matters.
"I didn't know you'd got Martina a present," my father says, eying the box suspiciously. It's almost as if he suspects that something might be wrong, although I doubt he's got any idea about Gizmo.
"I didn't get it," I say. "I made it. In the garden."
"You did, did you?" he replies. "Are you sure it's something you want her to have?"
I nod. At that moment, I see the very tip of a little white maggot emerge from under the lid. I carefully tuck it back inside; fortunately, it was on the side facing away from my father. I quickly turn the box around, just to double-check that there are no more escapees.
"Here!" Martina says, coming back through with a large box in her hands. To my surprise, her box is also wrapped, but it's bigger than mine. "I was saving this for later," she continues, placing the box on the table, "but I think I'll give it to you right now. I saw it in a shop window, Juliet, and I immediately thought of you. I had something similar when I was younger, and it gave me hours of fun."
"Don't I get any presents?" my father asks.
"Sorry, honey," Martina replies, patting his shoulder, "but you're a guy. Guys don't get spontaneous presents today."
"Huh," my father says, pretending to be grumpy.
"Okay," Martina says, clearly excited as she smiles at me, "who's going to open their present first?"
I stare at her, trying to stay calm. Things are rapidly spiraling out of control, and I'm a little worried that my trick's going to go wrong. As I stare at the box she's brought through for me, I suddenly realize it's about the right size for a hu
man head. Since Martina works at a funeral home, is it possible that... I take a deep breath as I realize that maybe, just maybe, she might have saved my mother's head for me. She'd have had plenty of opportunities to cut the head off the body and put it somewhere safe. My heart starts to race as I contemplate all the fun experiments I could carry out, and suddenly this mangy old cat corpse doesn't seem very exciting at all.
"Can I open mine?" I ask, almost shaking with excitement.
"Of course, honey," Martina replies. "Go ahead!"
Putting the shoebox on the table, I start pulling the wrapping off the box Martina has given me. My hands are trembling as I imagine what it would be like to find my mother's head inside. I keep trying to tell myself that I'm being crazy, and that there's no way my father would allow Martina to give me such a wonderful gift; at the same time, I can't stop thinking about the possibility. Even after a few weeks, my mother's head would still be in fairly good condition, especially if Martina had taken extra care to refrigerate it. Then again, why would she wait so long before giving it to me? Wouldn't she know that I'd want to get started with my work immediately? As I pull off the rest of the wrapping, I find myself staring at a brightly-colored cardboard box, and when I open the top I find there's a smaller box inside.
"Keep going," Martina says, smiling.
My heart sinks as I place the smaller box on the table. There's no way my mother's head could fit into such a small space. I guess I was stupid to think I might ever be so lucky.
"Open it," Martina says, barely able to contain her excitement.
Taking a deep breath, I start to lift the lid; seconds later, something shoots out through the top. I jump backward and trip over the leg of a chair, crashing down to the ground. My heart's pounding so fast now, I'm scared it might leap out of my chest. As my father hurries over and helps me up, I stare at the table and see a clown's head on a large, coiled spring.
"It's a jack-in-the-box!" Martina says. "Isn't it fun?" She pauses for a moment. "Are you okay, Juliet? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"