by Amy Cross
"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. "Go and do your work. Go and do your work".
"Get off me!" I splutter, starting to get really scared. 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 long 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 extinguished 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 minute 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 turn to find Lizzie storming 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, getting up from the sofa. "I've got something for you too, Juliet".
"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 human 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?"
I shake my head. Although I bumped my elbow a little, I don't want to admit that it was painful. I stare at the jack-in-the-box and watch as its head bobbles about at the end of the spring. I guess I was right in one way: there was a head in there, it just wasn't the kind of head I wanted. I feel so completely stupid for allowing myself to think that I'd be receiving my mother's head as a gift. There's no way Martina or my father would ever understand my need to get on with some interesting work. They don't understand me at all.
"Do you like it?" Martina asks.
"She loves it," my father says. "Don't you?"
I nod, and then I turn to Martina. "I love it. Thank you. Now open yours".
"I'm so excited!" she says, coming over and picking up the shoebox. A maggot drops out from under the lid, but I'm the only one who sees it as it lands softly on the carpet. I make sure not to step on the little creature as I walk around the table. "What is it?" Martina asks, shaking the box. "Whatever it is, it's not very heavy. Is it something you made, Juliet?"
"Sort of," I say.
"I think it's something she found in the garden," my father says, his tone of voice suggesting he's not particularly impressed by the prospect of my offering.
"Something you found?" Martina asks brightly. "Well, now I'm definitely intrigued. It's too heavy to be flowers".
"Maybe I should take a look," my father says. I'm not certain, but I think he might be suspicious. He probably thinks it's something disgusting, which I suppose is correct. From his perspective, at least.
"No," Martina says, setting the box on the table. "It's my present, and I'm going to open it". She takes the lid away. "If I can -" She stops talking as she stares at the contents of the box. I swear, I can actually see the moment her face goes white. "Oh," she says, looking ill. She steps back, and then without any warning she drops to the floor. I'd expected her to run away screaming, but instead she seems to have fainted.
"What the hell?" my father asks, staring into the box. "Juliet, what have you done?" He kneels next to Martina and checks to see if she's conscious. "Marty?" he asks. "Can you hear me?"
"It's her cat," I say, watching as more and more maggots come crawling out over the edge. "She wanted her cat back, so I got it for her".
"Go to your room!" my father shouts. I don't need telling twice, so I turn and hurry along the corridor. As soon as I get to my bedroom, I push the door shut and take a deep breath. I did it. I actually did it. I can't help laughing as I imagine my father gently trying to wake Martina up; when she's conscious again, they'll have to talk about what happened. It's pretty funny, really, to think about how easy it was to shock them. Looking down at my feet, I spot something white crawling over the top of my shoe, and I realize it's a maggot. I reach down and pick it up, holding it up to the light.
"Hello," I say. "I'm going to name you..." I think for a moment. "Harry!" I say eventually, feeling rather pleased with myself. "Good job, Harry. We really showed her!"
I wish it was possible to high-five a maggot.
Chapter Five
Today
"Stay here!" I say firmly as I drag Lizzie's heavy body past Kenneth's bed.
"Is she dead?" he asks, still holding his injured hand.
"No," I say, figuring it's best to keep the truth from him, at least for now. Given Lizzie's heft and bulk, it takes me a couple of minutes to drag her through the doorway and into the corridor. I check my watch and see that it's not 5am yet, so I have a few hours before anyone's due to turn up. Stepping over Lizzie's body, I hurry back over to Kenneth.
"I'm sorry you got caught up in this," he mutters.
"Don't be crazy," I say, crouching next to him. "Let me see your hand".
Cautiously, he holds out his left hand, and I can immediately see that his little finger is broken. "Why did she do this to you?" I ask.
"She was angry," he replies. "She thought I told you what she did". He pauses for a moment. "Did you tell her that I told you?"
I shake my head. "Maybe she overheard". I take a deep breath. I feel like I'm going to break down into a panicking mess at any moment, but right now I'm running on pure adrenalin. "Kenneth," I say eventually, "you have to wait here. You need to get your finger looked at, but I can't sort that out right now. Okay?"
He nods.
"Can you wait here for me?" I ask, glancing down at the bed and seeing that there's a fresh wet patch on the sheets. "Did she do that?"
He nods again.
"How long has this been happening?" I ask.
"A couple of years," he says. "She's always had a temper, but something changed a while back. She started doing things to embarrass us on purpose. Not just me. Everyone. It was little things at first, but it's got worse and worse. We're all scared of her, but no-one ever paid any attention. She's always careful to make sure it's little things; things that no-one's going to ask questions about. Most of the other residents are senile anyway, so they're ignored. I realized it'd be better to just shut up and take it, but tonight she seemed to have really lost control".
"It's over now," I say. "She won't do this to you again".
"Are you going to call the police?" he asks.
"I -" I pause for a moment. Sure, I killed Lizzie in self-defense, but would anyone believe me? After all, I've got a certain history when it comes to things like this. They'd have the handcuffs on me before I could even explain, and then I'd have no chance. "I'll sort it out," I continue eventually, my mind racing as I try to come up with some kind of plan. "Just sit tight and I'll be back to make sure you're okay. Just... don't panic. Everything's fine".
He nods, and I hurry out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me. Alone in the corridor with Lizzie's body, I take a deep breath and try to work out what the hell I'm going to do. I'm still fueled by adrenalin, but I'm worried I might crash at any moment, so I decide to start moving the body. Reaching down and grabbing her ankles, I drag her slowly along the corridor until I reach a junction, at which point I realize where I'm going to take her. While I work out what to do in the long-term, but best short-term option is to go and dump her in the abandoned ward. At least I'll have time to come up with some kind of solution, or an explanation, or some way out of this mess.
"Come on," I mutter, hauling her past the rec room. The last thing I need right now is for any of the residents to come out of their rooms, but fortunately it seems like they've slept through the disturbance. As I continue to drag Lizzie's body along the corridor, I try to figure out what I'm going to do. In normal circumstances, I could just explain what happened, and the self-defense angle would be fine; my history, though, means that my story would be met with skepticism. It's not as if Kenneth Jenkins is a very reliable witness; even if he gave a full account of what happened, there'd be doubts about his susceptibility to coercion. I guess I just have to find a way to deal with this on my own.
"Fuck!" I say, gasping as I trip on a loose piece of carpet. I land hard on the floor, hurting my elbow, and as I get to my feet I suddenly realize how hopeless this situation has become. How the hell am I ever going to get out of this mess? I turn and look at Lizzie's body, and I realize there's no way I can hide her. I've spent most of my life trying to prove to people that I'm not weird, and now they're going to think I killed Lizzie on purpose. With tears gathering in my eyes, I grab hold of her ankles once again, but I can't summon up the strength to drag her any further. Maybe I should just sit here and wait for someone to find us in the morning; maybe it's not worth fighting anymore.
"Problem?" asks a familiar voice nearby.
I take a deep breath. I should have known she'd turn up.
"Sorry," she continues, "I guess it's pretty obvious that something's wrong. You want to talk about it?"
Turning, I find Jennifer Mathis standing behind me, with a big gri
n on her face. "Didn't you see it all?" I ask. "I thought you were everywhere".
She shakes her head. "I've been leaving you alone. I thought you liked it that way. Judging by this mess, though, I'm starting to think I should have kept more of an eye on you". She walks over and looks down at Lizzie's face. "This woman was a monster. She deserved to die".
"I didn't mean to kill her," I say.
"Of course you did," she replies. "Everyone knows what you're like, Juliet. You're weird. You're dark and fucked up. You've done this kind of thing before. Do you seriously think that anyone's going to believe you?"
"They have to," I reply, even though I know I don't have much of a chance.
"So what's your plan?" she asks. "I can't help but notice you're dragging her my way. Do you seriously think you can stuff her body in the abandoned ward and forget about it?"
"I just need some time," I say. "I need to come up with a better plan".
"You think a woman's gonna go missing and no-one's gonna think to look for her?" she continues. "You think -"
"I don't know!" I say, raising my voice. "I don't know, okay? But I can't just leave her here, can I?"
"No need to get angry at me," she says. "I'm not the one who smashed her head in with a fire extinguisher".
"How do you know it was a fire extinguisher?" I ask. "I thought you said you weren't watching me when it happened?"
"Oh, yeah," she replies. "Sorry. That was a lie. I was watching. To be honest, Juliet, I thought you showed commendable resolve. I would've killed her much sooner".
"I didn't kill her!" I say, tears starting to run down my face. Damn it, I almost never cry, but there seems to be something about Jennifer Mathis that brings out my emotions. "I didn't do it on purpose," I continue, my voice cracking as I sniff back the tears. "She was hurting him. You saw that, right? She was hurting him".
"People hurt other people all the time," she replies. "Doesn't mean you can go around killing them".
"I know," I whimper, my bottom lip wobbling as I try not to break down. "I didn't do it on purpose," I say. "I swear to God. You must know that. I didn't do it on purpose!"