She Lied She Died

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  Maybe she’s senile, I had considered. Or maybe her vision’s gone bad.

  Or maybe she doesn’t like having neighbors, period.

  Tonight, her house was as dark as ours, giving the entire neighborhood the hush of an overgrown, forgotten cemetery. The empty houses were like looming headstones, a reminder of what could have been.

  I wonder where Fran is. She’s usually home, every night...

  Hell, maybe Fran is out on a date. I wouldn’t be surprised if her love life was better than mine, I thought, glumly.

  I locked the van, then followed the stony pathway up to my front door. I let myself in, clicking the door locked behind me and slammed into something tall and hard, yelping in pain.

  “Damn you!” I kicked the vacuum cleaner on its side, then stopped myself and took a breath.

  It’s going to be okay. Just stay calm, Ivy.

  Room by room I went, flooding the house with lights. The house came alive, instantly making me feel better, and more in control. I imagined how it would look from space, one glowing bulb in the center of a pitch-black ghost land.

  I shimmied out of my pencil skirt and too-tight blouse, then tugged on my favorite sweats and a raggedy old Bengals t-shirt.

  I hardly ever drank, but that amaretto had got me going, so I tracked down an old bottle of Moscato in the back of the fridge, then slid out a dusty old wine glass from the cupboard.

  I blew the dust off and poured, sighing as I did so.

  What am I going to do with that daughter of mine?

  The image on her phone came rushing back…

  I tipped the glass back, eager to taste the sweet cherry fizz.

  I swallowed, slowly, then squinted into the glass.

  What the hell?

  Just to be sure, I took a few more sips.

  Yep. No doubt. This is water, not wine.

  So, Laney was drinking. Enough to know that she had to cover her tracks by switching out the nearly forgotten bottle in the back of the fridge. Add that to my growing list of concerns.

  I turned the bottle on its side over the sink basin, watching as the long, slow stream chugged down the drain in splashy waves.

  Laney is drinking. But that is small potatoes compared to what I found on her phone.

  Angrily, I launched the bottle across the room. It landed with a hard clank on the floor beside the trash, but it didn’t break.

  Go figure.

  I only tear up things I want to fix. Never the other way around anymore.

  I stomped towards my daughter’s room. Her door was closed, which wasn’t unusual. Delaney was all about her privacy these days.

  Finally, I understand why.

  Weekends were the only time I was home alone in the house. I’d considered snooping in the past, but there was something about it that always made me uneasy, guilty, for not allowing her this one safe space she could call her own.

  And how would I feel if she was snooping through my room?

  But in reality, how smart is it to give her so much space and privacy?

  I wasn’t sure anymore.

  Not very smart, apparently.

  The light was off in her room. I flipped it on, giving my eyes a few seconds to adjust. I rarely saw the place anymore. Delaney slipped in and out like a phantom – a flash in the morning, a blip at the dinner table, a quiet little mouse at bedtime…

  It had been so long since I’d been in her room that I’d nearly forgotten what it looked like.

  I was surprised to find it neat and organized. The bed was made; the same fuzzy blue blanket with little curls of lace was tucked stiffly in each corner.

  Bob, the stuffed elephant, was perched in the center of her pillows.

  My heart swelled at the sight of him. I sank down on the bed, the springs squeaky and old, and I reached for the frumpy old toy. His short gray hair was coarser than I remembered – it used to feel so soft and smooth on my fingertips. I could remember packing Bob in the car and in her night bag on trips to Michael’s, because Delaney couldn’t go without him.

  Now, his fur felt stiff and matted. He’d gotten old. Just like me. Just like Delaney… She’s not a smooth little girl anymore; she’s coarser, rougher around the edges...

  She’s keeping a secret.

  I took her phone out of my pocket and clicked the home screen. Taking a deep breath, I clicked on the messages again. It felt wrong – so damn wrong – looking at this image.

  It was a picture of a naked boy.

  A boy, or was it a man?

  It was impossible to know for sure because his head and neck were missing. Only the space between his chest and thighs was exposed.

  He gripped his penis in his hand, crudely.

  It was hard to discern his age; he had some hair on his chest and the rest of his body, but there was really no way to tell. Was this a teenage boy my daughter hadn’t told me about? Or was this someone else … a predator? A stranger?

  My mom brain was spinning out of control…

  Luckily, from what I could tell, Delaney hadn’t sent any of her own pictures.

  But who knew what she had erased?

  If she is sending pictures of herself, oh my God… What if this boy became angry and shared naked pictures of her all over school? Or worse, all over the internet?

  There were no words exchanged, only the one picture. And it came from a number without a name, someone she didn’t keep in her address book.

  No name, no face, his identity a complete mystery.

  I scanned through the rest of Delaney’s messages, the guilt I’d felt earlier temporarily forgotten.

  I saw messages from Michael and a few from Samantha. Messages from me. But other than that, there were no messages from her school friends.

  Has she erased some of them? She must have, I decided.

  The internet history on her cell phone showed no results. I wasn’t so old that I didn’t understand what this meant: Delaney had either deleted her search history, or she was using in-private browsing.

  No photos either – possibly stored on iCloud? I considered.

  Besides the photo messages from the mystery man/boy, there was nothing suspect on her phone. I shut it off and stood up, placing it face down on her dresser.

  Her dresser was neat, brushes and combs lined up evenly. An open makeup bag in the middle. I picked through it, fingers brushing over the new reddish-brown shadow I’d seen on her earlier. My heart ached.

  I want my daughter back.

  I stared at my own face in the mirror. My black hair was turning gray; the wrinkles on my forehead and between my brows were deepening by the day.

  Worries like these probably don’t help with wrinkles either.

  I imagined Delaney standing in this exact same spot, staring at herself every day in the mirror. She was beautiful, in that way that’s almost grotesque. Too perfect. Too unflawed. But she’d lost weight.

  Was she self-conscious? Was she hurting more than I realized?

  Monstrous beauty can seem like a blessing, but it’s also a curse. Sometimes the monsters don’t know how powerful their beauty is…

  So, what if she’s exchanging sexy pics with a boy? Is this really as big a deal as I think it is?

  Wasn’t I doing the exact same thing at her age? I considered.

  No, I wasn’t. Not because I wouldn’t have, but because I was so busy grieving the loss of my parents after their car accident, and the drama I dealt with in school…

  I mean, I have to talk to her about the pictures. And the alcohol. There’s no question about that.

  I couldn’t brush it under the rug and pretend I didn’t know.

  I had to make sure she was at least using protection if she was considering sex...

  What if she’s already had sex? I shuddered at the thought of it.

  But what could I do about it if she was?

  She’s not a child anymore.

  I couldn’t take her phone away – she needed it for safety.

  I loo
ked around the sweet, childlike room. It was in stark contrast to the girl who had that racy photo on her phone.

  But love makes you do crazy things.

  If anyone could understand that, it was me.

  If Michael had asked me to send him nudes back in the day, would I have sent them?

  I thought about the tickle of his words on my ear, the feathery kisses and the watery smiles and his rough fingers massaging my breasts…

  Yes, I would have.

  Because when you’re crazy about someone, you’ll do almost anything, consequences be damned.

  I opened and closed Delaney’s dresser drawers. I sifted through tangles of clothes in her closet.

  There was nothing – no pot, no pills, no whips or chains, no deadly secrets hiding between the sheets or inside the drawers.

  Just a picture of a boy, that’s all.

  I can handle that. After all, there are worse things a teen can do.

  I had to talk to her.

  Talk, not lecture, I decided. I wanted her to be able to open up to me. I never had that in a mother – a person to confide in – and I craved to be that person for Delaney. The person who made her feel safe, the person she could talk to and trust.

  But does anyone trust their parents at this age? I don’t know … it’s hard to say when I’ve never experienced it…

  I turned her lights back out and tightly wedged her door shut.

  Somewhere in the house, I could hear my own cell phone ringing.

  I ran for it, digging through my purse, desperately.

  “Laney, baby?” I answered, breathily.

  “Mom…” She sounded like my little girl again.

  “How’s Sam? Is she okay?” I closed my eyes, saying another silent prayer despite my ignorance on all things prayer related.

  “She’s going to be alright, I think. But her neck is broken. It could have been so much worse, Mom. She was this close to damaging her windpipe. And of course, if she’d damaged her spine…” I could imagine Laney on the other end, nibbling her lip and the flesh of her inner cheek.

  I wish I could be there to soothe her.

  “That sounds awful, but, like you said, it could have been so much worse. That must have been so scary for you and your dad.”

  “And the twins … they’re too young to understand, and Dad is going to need my help with them, and a babysitter, until she heals.”

  The twins.

  Something I would never get used to hearing. Unlike me, Samantha had given birth to two happy, healthy twin boys.

  “Will she have to have surgery?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed. Unlike Delaney’s bed, mine was unmade – a twisted tangle of sheets perched in the middle like a blobby white ghost.

  “No. But she will have to wear a brace for several weeks and possibly do physical therapy.”

  “Sounds like a long road ahead. Is there anything I can do for you all? Any way I can help?”

  I expected Delaney to snap at me like she’d done earlier, but she simply replied, “Thanks for offering, but I can’t think of anything. We’re going to stay the night here. They set us up with some cots and a play pen for the boys. Hopefully, she’ll get released tomorrow or Sunday.”

  “Do they know what happened? Who crashed into her?”

  Madison was a small town; most of us knew each other or knew of each other.

  Delaney was quiet on the other end for several seconds.

  “You still there, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Got distracted. Honestly, I don’t know who it was.”

  “Well, no worries. I was just being nosy. I’m relieved to hear she’s okay,” I said, and I meant it. I wanted my daughter to be happy, even if that meant she enjoyed spending time with another motherly figure that wasn’t me.

  “Happy birthday, Mom,” Delaney said, catching me off guard. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I guess … I don’t know … I’m just stubborn sometimes. And I should have said it earlier, but then this happened and … I forgot. I love you and I’m sorry I’m not home to celebrate with you. Remember those cakes we used to make?”

  I pinched my eyes shut, fighting back tears.

  “Yes, of course I do,” I said, unable to hide the shake in my voice. “I miss doing that.” Tears tickled the corner of each eye. It felt so good to hear my daughter, my Delaney, again.

  “I wish you were here, too, but your dad and Sam and your brothers need you now. We’ll have our cakes later.”

  “Love you,” Delaney said again. I thought about the picture on her phone, the inevitable conversation we’d have to have when she got home...

  But for now, I just wanted to enjoy my daughter not hating me.

  “I love you too, Laney Bug. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I clicked end and clutched the phone to my chest. Finally, I could let the tears spill over, but then my phone buzzed, vibrating against chest.

  This time it was Pam.

  Don’t forget to check out the dating site! I want all the deets when you do!

  I groaned. The irritation I’d felt earlier fluttered back, but then instantly dissipated. Maybe it was the high from Delaney’s call or the traces of liquor…but, for the first time, I wondered if joining the site might be fun.

  It couldn’t hurt, could it?

  And I’m sure they had good intentions when they set me up a profile on the site.

  Michael had moved on with his new family. And Delaney … Delaney was getting older and developing love interests of her own.

  Apparently.

  I have to start dating again some time. Maybe there’s no better time than now.

  Inside my purse, I found the crumpled piece of paper with the username and password on it.

  Should I?

  I could imagine Pam beside me saying, ‘Hell yes, you silly bitch. Do it!’

  Delaney had swiped the wine, but she didn’t know about the stash in my bedroom. I unlocked the tiny metal safe in my closet. Beside the handgun and cash, there were two miniature bottles of whiskey. I grabbed a cold Coke and tumbler from the kitchen, then sat down at the computer with my drink. Nervously, I added the whiskey and logged onto the site.

  After a few long swigs, I mustered up enough courage to click “publish” on my new dating profile.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  The One Night Stand: Chapter 5

  NOW

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  Well, I’ll tell you what. Dead bodies. Two of them. And not a clue what to do with either.

  At the kitchen table, I gripped my glass of whiskey, swishing it round and around in my hands. This time, there was no Coke. Just me and the glass and the whiskey.

  Although a stiff drink was highly needed now, it wasn’t a good idea – I had several tasks to complete, and one involved driving.

  The dead man’s car was still parked outside. I couldn’t see it from the kitchen in the dark, but I could feel it there – a warning pulse, sending shivers up and down my spine.

  I must get rid of that car.

  For once, I was glad that Delaney was staying the night with Michael.

  Which means I have all night to fix things.

  I still hadn’t located the man’s ID, but I’d found the keys to his sleek ride tucked inside the visor. The registration and insurance in the glove box identified him as Robin Regal, a name that meant absolutely nothing to me.

  But there was an address—and that itself was slightly familiar. Robin Regal lived on Grant Street, in what I guessed was an apartment in the business district of Madison.

  I know his name now, but who is he exactly?

  I’d never been to his house, but I knew the area.

  How did he get here, and why did he come?

  I’d gone on several dates over the last few weeks, but not with this man, and not with anyone from my own town of Madison.

  He wasn’t a friend of Michael’s, not someone I knew from work.

&
nbsp; There was nothing to connect us.

  Nothing except for the fact that his body’s here and his car is sitting out front.

  If it was just him, maybe I would have called the cops, but the other body. That was the one that really troubled me.

  That is the one I’m responsible for, I know it.

  I peeked through the side of the blinds. My neighbor Fran usually went to bed around nine or ten which meant I had about an hour to make plans.

  It had been years since I’d gone down to the grimy old cellar underneath our house. But slowly, I descended the steps, the slaps of my bare feet echoing grimly in the hollow space. Using the flashlight app on my phone, I shone it around in the dark. The dank space smelled earthy and was filthier than I remembered. Cobwebs clung to the corners, glistening eerily in the dark, and my heart skipped a beat as a cockroach scuttled across my bare foot.

  I held the phone out, looking for more creepy crawlies. I had no doubt they were there, those beady eyes and fat, bulging bodies hiding in the rafters, watching me from the musty black corners of the room…

  My light hovered over three black shapes in the corner.

  Three long bags were propped against the wall – Michael’s old golf bags. There was a time when he just had to have them, but just like his interest in me, his obsession with golfing waned, then fizzled out completely. Now I was stuck with his clubs, taking up space, collecting dust in every crevice of my life...

  One by one, I laid the clunky, black bags on their sides, and started unloading the clubs. They clanked on the concrete floor, hopefully scaring away any nearby critters.

  When all three bags were empty, I tugged them up the stairs, one by one. Even empty, the thick, glossy leather was heavy. Back in my room, I laid the bags on the floor beside the bodies.

  What seemed like a good idea at first now seemed silly. Each bag was over five feet, Robin Regal was nearly six.

  This isn’t going to work.

  Nice plan, Ivy.

  My face paled, my stomach twisting in knots, as the realization kicked in: if I wanted to fit the bodies into the bags, I’d have to cut them into pieces to do it.

  * * *

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