Hillary scanned Jax’s familiar pale blue-walled room. It even had the same smell that she remembered—vanilla. It was Jax’s favorite scent. She used to light those big vanilla-scented candles while they did homework together. It stirred feelings of nostalgia that Hillary quickly shrugged off. After all, she wasn’t here to rekindle a friendship. She placed the knife within the side pocket of her backpack.
Jax returned several minutes later carrying a full roll of duct tape.
“I had to go all the way to the shed for this, she complained, handing the tape over to Hillary.
“Thanks, Jax,” Hillary exclaimed eagerly, “I really appreciate it.”
She tore off a long piece. Jax frowned at the loud, foreboding sound the ripping adhesive made.
“What are you—”
The duct tape was over Jax’s mouth before she could finish her sentence. She never saw it coming. She looked both confused and angry as she began grabbing at the tape on her mouth. But she didn’t get far. Hillary’s fist connected with the side of her mouth with such speed and fury, Jax fell to the floor. Hillary could hear her suppressed cries of protest and outrage. She wasted no time in ripping off more of the tape and securing Jax’s hands together.
Jax’s protests grew more desolate. Jax was crying now, long tears dripping from her terrified eyes. It was a look that exhilarated Hillary—that look of sheer terror and desperation. She felt a surge of power. She felt strong and unstoppable. She could rule the world.
“Quit struggling,” Hillary warned Jax, who had been kicking her legs wildly and thrashing about. “You don’t want to get hurt, do you?”
Hillary stepped to her backpack and pulled out the long, sharp knife. Seeing the knife made Jax panic even more. She rolled to her side and tried using her elbows and knees to propel herself to an upright position. Just as she was using her right leg to stand, Hillary plunged the knife deep into the muscle of her thigh. Jax cried out in pain as she fell to the floor.
Hillary pulled the knife out of Jax’s leg and blood gushed out of the deep wound, turning the surrounding area of the pretty blue carpet a deep burgundy color. Jax was trembling and breathing fast. She knew that Hillary was going to kill her.
Maddie was right, she thought, panic-stricken, she’s crazy...she’s crazy...and she’s gonna kill me....
The sound of a baby crying caught their attention. Jax began flapping about like a fish out of water, despite her injured leg. Hillary grabbed the roll of duct tape, approached Jax and threw herself to the floor, right on top of Jax’s leg. Her body weight against the open gash sent blood spurting out like a small geyser. Hillary used her weight to keep Jax’s legs in place while she taped them tightly together from her knees down to her ankles.
She stood up and stared at her terrified friend, bound and hopeless. She laughed as she quickly yanked the strip of tape off Jax’s mouth.
“Your sister is calling me,” she said menacingly, clutching the knife firmly, “which one is it? Chelsea or Chyna?”
“Don’t hurt them,” Jax begged, “they’re just babies.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied callously as she began walking out of Jax’s room.
“Nooooo!” Jax called after her, “please Hillary, leave them alone, please Hillary, please don’t hurt them....”
The nursery was a picture perfect room complete with matching sets of white wooden cribs, changing tables, dressers, and rocking chairs. Beatrix Potter bunnies decorated the pale pink walls. Touching scenes of Mama Rabbit, clad in her dress and apron, lovingly tending to her fuzzy brown bunnies plastered all four walls, ad nauseam.
Hillary peered down into the crib where Jax’s noisy ten-month old baby sister fussed. Hillary’s family had received the birth announcement, but this was the first time Hillary had ever met the twins. They were identical twins. She knew their names, but didn’t know which one was which. She walked over to the other crib.
How can anyone tell them apart, she wondered as she stared down into the crib where an exact replica of the fidgety baby she’d just left slept peacefully. Hillary walked back to the fussy twin and snatched her up by one arm. The baby squealed in pain as Hillary dislocated her shoulder then dropped her back into the crib.
“Shut up, you little bitch!” Hillary screamed as the baby’s ear-piercing cries awoke her tiny sister. The other baby shifted and rolled to her stomach. She turned to her side and grabbed onto the wooden slats of the crib. She used them to pull herself up to a standing position. She held on to the bars as she smiled at Hillary.
“Aww,” Hillary cooed, “aren’t you a brave one? What? Don’t you like your sister?”
The quiet twin stretched out her little arm, gesturing for Hillary to pick her up. Hillary obliged. She gently lifted the little girl into her arms, careful not to let the knife cut her. She carried the smiling little angel to Jax’s room. Jax was still screaming and begging for Hillary to leave her sisters alone.
Hearing her big sister shouting and seeing her cry made the baby upset. She began to pout. Her tiny lips quivered for a few seconds and she whimpered quietly before it erupted into a full-blown wailing sound just like her twin in the other room.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Hillary shouted to Jax, “you had to go and upset the good one.”
“Put her down, Hillary,” Jax begged nervously. The bloody knife in Hillary’s hand was nearly as long as her baby sister’s body.
“Which one is this anyway?” Hillary said, bringing the baby closer so that Jax could get a good look at her.
“Please, put her down....”
“Who is this? Chelsea or Chyna?” Hillary demanded angrily.
“Ch-Chelsea,” Jax cried.
“How can you tell?”
“Her pink earrings,” Jax whimpered, “Chyna has blue ones. Please…can you please put her down now?”
“If you insist,” Hillary said haughtily.
Hillary lifted Chelsea up over her head as high as she could as Jax’s eyes grew wider and she held her breath in fear. Hillary swung the baby down rapidly to ground while Chelsea fought to catch her breath.
“Just kidding,” Hillary said teasingly, as she placed Chelsea on the floor beside Jax, “I wouldn’t drop her.”
As Jax attempted to slither toward Chelsea, Hillary squatted down and sliced through the baby’s delicate throat with the knife. Chelsea’s crying became a sickening gurgling for just seconds before she became still and silent. The only sound now was Jax’s hysterical screaming and crying. Chelsea was motionless, clearly dead.
“One down,” Hillary said tauntingly, “one to go....”
“Noooo,” Jax cried loudly, “Noooooo...NOOOOOOOOO!”
Hillary could hear her begging all the way in the nursery, even over Chyna’s frantic hollering.
“Yuck,” Hillary said as she lifted Chyna’s wet body and held her at a distance. “Your nasty little sister peed through her diaper.”
“Hillary, please…please don’t hurt her....”
Hillary carried the squirming, hysterically crying baby over to Jax and dropped her on the floor beside her. Her head struck the carpet with a loud thud. She was silent for a couple of seconds before she began wailing again.
“So babies don’t bounce!” Hillary exclaimed sneeringly.
“Oh my God, please, please Hillary....why are you doing this?”
“Because I hate you Jax. You and your stupid little snotty-nosed sisters.”
“Why? Why, Hillary?”
Jax was distraught. One of her baby sisters was dead and the other one was suffering beside her. She was taped-up and helpless to do anything but watch the horror unfold. Her cell phone chimed.
“Ooooh you have a message,” Hillary said, dropping beside Jax to fish the cell phone out of her pocket.
“Let’s see who it’s from....”
Hillary read the message from Maddie. Apparently, she had changed her mind about going on a picnic with a “freak.” Hillary became incensed. She lifted her hand t
o launch Jax’s phone but stopped herself. She placed the phone in her pocket. She would need it tomorrow.
“Your slutbag friend says she can’t wait for the picnic,” Hillary lied.
“Is that why you’re doing this? Because I’m friends with Maddie now?”
“Screw you and screw Maddie, I don’t give a crap about either of you. You’ll both be dead by tomorrow.”
Jax broke down again and began sobbing heavily.
“Look at your stupid little sister trying to flip over,” Hillary said, mocking Chyna.
The baby was on her back and rocking to her side as she cried. She kicked her feet in frustration.
“What a little weakling,” Hillary sneered, “a failure...a real loser. She must take after her big idiot sister.”
Jax ignored Hillary’s insults as she squirmed a bit so that her upper thigh—the uninjured one—was in contact with Chyna’s body. It was as if Jax was offering comfort or support to her distressed sister. Hillary found it contemptible. She waved the knife above Jax and the baby, placing it first over Jax, then Chyna.
“Your choice,” Hillary said coldly, “you or her?”
“Don’t hurt her anymore...please,” Jax whimpered.
“So you’re choosing yourself?”
Jax nodded nervously, shutting her teary eyes tightly as she braced herself for the sharp piercing of her flesh. She trembled and sobbed, waiting...waiting...but felt nothing except the pain from her existing stab wound. She wanted to open her eyes, but she was too afraid. She could feel her heart thumping fast, pounding away as she continued to wait.
Chyna was still crying, howling incessantly as she had been for the past several minutes. Unnerved by the anticipation of pain and likely death, Jax opened her eyes…and dropped her lower jaw.
Hillary was sitting with Chyna in her lap. She had cut off the baby’s fingers and toes and had them in a neat pile next to Jax’s feet. There was blood everywhere, all over Chyna, on Hillary, on the floor.
“It’s much easier cutting through baby parts,” Hillary said matter-of-factly.
“She’s gonna bleed to death,” Jax squealed, when at last she could speak again.
“She wishes!” Hillary joked.
Hillary pulled off the little girl’s romper then tore off the sopping wet diaper, throwing it across the room. The naked baby flailed her arms and kicked her legs on Hillary’s lap, crying so hard that Hillary feared she might pass out.
“You won’t wanna miss this one, Jax,” Hillary said mischievously.
Jax knew she should shut her eyes, turn her head away and do everything in her power not to witness Hillary’s cruelty. Yet, she felt so badly for Chyna. How could she cower in fear while her baby sister suffered so brutally? She was compelled to watch, to be strong, for Chyna’s sake. She would sing to her. She would make her feel better.
With a shaky voice, Jax began softly singing “Hush Little Baby.” Hillary admired her spirit. She doubted that Chyna could hear it over her own high-pitched crying, but still, she had to respect Jax’s attempt to soothe her anguished sister.
Holding the knife firmly in her right hand, Hillary parted the baby’s thrashing legs, securing them down with her left hand and right forearm. In an instant she had the blade of the knife fully lodged within the small opening between the baby’s legs. Chyna let out a final shrill cry as Hillary twisted the knife and jabbed it in and out of the girl’s ruptured, bleeding hole. Her little body briefly writhed in pain.
Chyna wasn’t crying anymore. The knife had pierced her vital internal organs, blessing her with a quick death. Nor was Jax singing any longer. She was throwing up violently.
“What’s the matter Jax? Your little sister was too good for that? I had to go through it.”
Jax, still heaving and hurling uncontrollably, didn’t even hear her. Hillary tossed Chyna’s butchered little body aside and dropped the knife. She walked around Jax and grabbed the puking girl by the hair. Jax gagged on her vomit as Hillary yanked her head back and began dragging her slowly toward the closet in her bedroom. Jax was considerably heavier than Caleigh had been. It was an exhausting effort that took more time than Hillary had patience for. Midway there, Hillary kicked the coughing girl in the ribs.
“You fat, disgusting pig,” she yelled, “you think this is fun for me?”
Jax, just two sizes bigger than Hillary, was certainly not fat, but her dead weight was trying Hillary’s patience.
Between her coughing fits, Jax sobbed heavily. She had no idea what Hillary was planning to do to her, but she knew it would be just as dreadful and painful as what she had done to her sisters. She cursed the day she met Hillary. Why did Mrs. Donovan have to ask her to take Hillary’s backpack to her? Why did she have to agree so willingly? Why didn’t she have her mother just leave it on their front porch? Why did she try to befriend Hillary after all the times Hillary had made it clear that she wanted to be left alone? Maybe she deserved this fate, for being so stupid...for being so foolish...for inviting a horrible murderer into her home.
Taking a deep, labored breath, Hillary dragged Jax’s body to the closet and pulled open the door. As expected, it was another picture-perfect sight, with Jax’s expensive shirts and outfits practically color-coordinated on cedar hangers. Hillary sneered at her tidy row of shoes then at Jax as she grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled and tugged laboriously until she had her in the closet. Without uttering a word, Hillary slammed the door, leaving Jax engulfed by darkness.
Hillary knew that Jax was claustrophobic. It took all of three seconds for her to start freaking out. Hillary could hear her screaming and begging all the way from the staircase she was descending. With all that thrashing about, she bet Jax’s shoes were no longer in a neat little row. She laughed out loud.
Hillary, feeling the now-familiar pangs of nausea, sat on the bottom step and lowered her head onto her lap, hoping that it would pass. It seemed that she had successfully warded it off until she stood and began walking again. Almost without warning, she was puking all over the Montgomerys’ shiny hard wood floor. Unlike all of the other times she had thrown up, Hillary’s stomach began cramping. She pushed down on it with her hand attempting to alleviate some of the pain. The pain intensified.
Hillary moaned softly as she lay curled-up on the floor. She didn’t know what was happening to her, she only knew that it felt as if someone was twisting a knife deep into her abdomen. Was she being punished for everything she had done? Hadn’t she suffered enough already?
Nearly on the verge of tears, Hillary cried out sharply as her stomach twisted in a knot, sending an intense pain throughout her lower back. She felt a gush of warm liquid leaking out from between her legs. She looked at the growing red stain invading the crotch of her mint green Capri pants.
She smiled in spite of the excruciating pain that she was in. She wasn’t pregnant...she was just having a monster period. Complete with monster cramps. And...and...something solid in the front of her underwear? She could feel a wet, rubbery mass against the tender folds of her labia.
Relief turned to fury. It wasn’t a monster period. It was a monster miscarriage. Hillary sat up, grinding her teeth to bear the pain. She unfastened the button on her pants, unzipped it and tugged it down to her knees. She pulled down her blood-soaked underwear and inspected the crotch. It was full of tidbits of blood and blood clots, but not what she expected to see until she put her hand over her oozing vagina. She pulled at the small, slimy lump she felt. She cried out in pain as a fibrous sac followed the small nub—her fetus—out of her. She held it in her hand and examined it.
There was no two ways about it...it was her unborn, undeveloped baby. It was only an inch long and had the shape of a shrimp. It was a reddish-brown color, like old blood. It had little buds where its arms and legs would have grown. It had dark, indented eyes within its bulbous, alien-like head. Hillary stared at it in awe, feeling a mixture of disgust, anger and of all things, sadness.
She had fully intended
to kill her father’s unwanted seed. Still, this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, this wasn’t on her terms. She grew bitter and resentful as she fought feelings of failure and inadequacy. She should have been the one to kill the nasty worm. It had no right to commit suicide within her body.
Hillary squeezed the tiny embryo like a piece of pulp. It disintegrated just as easily, shedding its layers within her fingers. She wiped her hand and the bloody bits that remained on her fingers on the leg of her pants. She was still experiencing cramping, but less frequently and much milder.
When her sadness and disgust had dissipated, Hillary was left solely with anger. Her anger escalated to full-blown rage as she dwelled on the fact that her baby’s death hadn’t been her choice. She felt cheated all over again. There was just one way she was able to maintain control...through inflicting fear, pain and death. She thought about Jax waiting upstairs for her. Slowly, her anger turned to excitement as her eyes grew fierce and manic and the corners of her lips curled up to form a broad smile.
Hillary ignored the lingering residual pain she felt as she pulled up her soiled underwear and pants and exited the house. She walked slowly to the shed in the Montgomerys’ back yard and threw open the door. On the lower shelf on the left, she spotted what she was looking for. She lifted the red gas container and carried it back to the house. She walked up the stairs, straight to Jax’s room.
Jax had finally stopped screaming. She was in a state of self-induced stupor, barely awake, but not quite asleep either. She was in denial, avoiding her dire situation. It felt like days had gone by rather than a mere hour. When Hillary opened the closet door and let the light in, Jax snapped out of her catatonic lull and panic set in once more. She resumed her screaming and begging.
Hillary ignored her as she lifted the container and began dousing Jax with the gasoline. Jax was fully saturated by the time Hillary was done. She reeked of the potent, incendiary fuel.
Hillary walked over to Jax’s dresser, set down the gas container and pulled out a cigarette lighter from her top drawer. Hillary was glad that she still kept it there. She used to use it to light her scented candles. Of course, under Maddie’s influence, she probably used it for less wholesome things now as well. Hillary returned to Jax with the lighter in her hand.
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