Becoming Juliet

by Paula Marinaro

  Lucy’s body slammed back on her heels and away from the bag. Her heart began to pound, and she struggled to keep her thoughts from turning towards the unthinkable. A strong suspicion filled her mind, pieces of the puzzle beginning to fit together. And then…No! Lucy shook her head because there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to tie her husband to this bag. Who knows what this could be? It could have been up there for months…years even. Maybe someone had used the things in there to bury an animal...a family pet that had gone missing. Yes…that was it…Lucy began to breathe easier. Whoever had rented the house before them must have had a family, and when a beloved animal had gone missing, the father had found it dead…an unfortunate instance of roadkill. The dad, being a well-meaning and loving family man, had not wanted to upset his children and had buried the…dog…in secret. It all made sense. Lucy would have to show Kenny the duffle when he got home, and they would have a good laugh over her initial suspicions. He had a great sense of humor about things like that. Lucy was a lucky woman, indeed.

  Feeling somewhat relieved, Lucy quickly gathered up the clothes, and began to stuff them back into the bag. That’s when the box came falling out and spilled its contents on the floor. Lucy looked on in growing confusion and horror as small plastic bags with dates written on them with black, permanent marker tumbled before her. With shaking hands, she picked up each small, sealed pouch. The dates spanned the last five years and each baggie contained something different. A half used tube of lipstick, a bright yellow thong, a pair of cutesy butterfly earrings, and a tiny gold cross whose chain was broken. Then with her heart hammering in her chest, Lucy examined the baggies marked with the most recent dates. She saw that there was a badge from the college cafeteria with Cassie’s name written on it, a gold diamond engagement ring, and the Romanian Martisor pendant that she had given to Annie.

  Lucy thought that she might die. She felt a searing pain in her chest as she struggled to catch her breath. A cold dread twisted and knotted deep in Lucy’s gut, her stomach clenched, her belly cramped as acid bile filled her mouth. As she looked down at the contents of the box, Lucy knew that she was seeing into the bowels of hell. Her features contorted, convulsed, and finally froze in an expression of abject terror and despair. Paralyzed with fear, she couldn’t move.

  Suddenly the loud shriek of a screech owl rattled the windows, and a strong breeze blew through her hair. An urgent sense of danger filled the air, and Lucy knew she had to run. Lucy knew that she had to take the bag and run for her life. If Kenny found her like this, he would stop her.

  If Kenny found her like this, he would kill her.

  Lucy looked out the window and peered through the darkness to see that there was still a faint glow through the trees. When she saw the distant light from the barn, she knew that she still had time. But Lucy also knew that first she had to conquer the paralyzing terror that filled her. She took a deep, bracing breath, and tried desperately to clear her mind. She began to shake violently as her system took its flight or fight response to a whole other level; Then Lucy found herself galvanized forward by the force of her own fear.

  With a pounding heart and racing thoughts she ran to the front door, opened it, and bent down to retrieve the house key from under the mat. Lucy’s cold hands were shaking so badly that she dropped the key twice before finally grabbing it. Once she had the key firmly in her hand, she shut the front door and turned the lock on the deadbolt from inside.

  Then, in an effort to buy herself more time, Lucy went upstairs. She cracked the window in the bathroom and ran the shower. Lucy often took showers when she woke up from the heat, and more than once she had forgotten to put the key back under the mat after using it. Kenny might be a little irritated at her forgetfulness, but he would not be surprised or suspicious to come home to hear the shower running and find the door locked. Lucy ran to the window again just in time to see the light turn off in the barn. Kenny was on his way. Thankfully, a thick fog has settled, and it would take Kenny a few moments longer than usual for him to find his way back home. Although he always used a flashlight to make his way through the wooded area, he had complained more than once that the cheap plastic torch did little to cut through the pea soup like mist.

  Lucy pulled some of her things together as fast as she could; her purse, her phone and her computer all went into her backpack. She stuffed her feet in boots and wrapped herself in a black hoodie. Because Kenny and Lucy had not known quite where they would end up, they had taken their savings out of the bank and had kept it with them in a locked box along with the money from their severance pay. Without giving it a second thought, Lucy shoved the box into the backpack and ran down the hall. She had seen far too many horror movies where the victim would take time to pack while the killer was beating down the door. She was not going to make that mistake.

  Lucy grabbed the keys to the jeep from the kitchen table and ran out the back door to the garage. She kept her head down and her body hugged tight against the jeep as she heard Kenny approach the north side of the house. It wasn’t long before Lucy heard him shout and begin to bang against the door calling for her to let him in. Lucy waited with a pounding heart and the key in the ignition until she heard him go around to the farthest corner of the house. She used the sound of his shouting to muffle the noise of the engine igniting. With a pounding heart, Juliet put the Jeep in gear and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. As she careened out the garage and down the driveway, she looked in the rearview mirror to see Kenny standing stupefied in front of the house. He cupped his hand to his mouth and bellowed out her name. There was a look of such pained confusion and worry on his face that Lucy’s mind was suddenly assailed in doubt; she almost changed her mind.

  Lucy almost went back.

  But then Kenny’s face lit with sudden realization. That veneer of humanity, that mask of deception had slipped away. Left in its place was an expression that was demonic in its murderous rage. To Lucy’s horror, Kenny began to run after the jeep at an incredible speed. His voice was unrecognizable as he shouted out obscenities in feral growls. Lucy’s husband charged after her with inhuman like speed. To her shocked surprise, Kenny was able to grab onto the bumper and somehow managed to climb from there to the roof of the jeep. His foot stomped over and over again into the moon roof. Lucy couldn’t believe this was happening, not to her, not to him. Before her very eyes, the man that Lucy loved with all her heart had turned into something bloodthirsty and bent on her destruction. With fear and sorrow, Lucy continued to accelerate with her foot pressed like a lead stone on the gas pedal. Kenny had almost broken through the moonroof now. He was so intent on smashing through the glass that he never saw the thick, low hanging branch up ahead. But Lucy saw it, and when she did, she drove full speed towards it.

  The impact of the hit flew Kenny off the roof of the vehicle and onto the jagged rocks of the ravine below. Juliet slammed on the brakes, got out of the car, and peered over the ledge. The moonlight took that moment to pierce through the fog, and she saw him. His bloody body was draped over a rock, his limbs bent, his neck twisted at a strange angle. She thought he was dead. By all accounts he should have been dead, but then he turned his head and looked straight at her. Kenny’s eyes glared red while he let out a bloodcurdling animal like howl. Lucy ran back to her car and drove straight to the police station.

  In the days, weeks, and months that followed, Lucy Brewster learned a lot about evil.

  She learned that evil was not a creature hiding under a child’s bed. It wasn’t a candied house in a grim fairy tale. Its secrets weren’t hidden in a dark, windowless closet.

  Evil was a mansion; one room after another with endless doorways that twisted and turned and were lit with the fires of hell. And Lucy was made to walk all the hallways, she was forced to climb all those stairs. The echoes of the screams of Annie, and Cassie, and all of the others haunted her days. Their cries slithered into her thoughts continually like an insidious poison insect that would not let her rest. The thought of
food turned her stomach.

  In her dreams, Kenny killed Lucy in a hundred different ways. Her nightmares began the moment she closed her eyes. Her stomach was twisted in knots. She was incapable of rational thought.

  Just the idea of taking a shower filled her with vibrant images of being stabbed to death by her husband ala Psycho style.

  So, Lucy did not do any of those things. She did not eat, she did not sleep, she did not shower. Instead, Lucy simply lay down in a warm bath on a bright and sunny afternoon. While the sound of children’s laughter echoed in the streets, Lucy Brewster slit her wrists and waited for death to take her. And when the building superintendent got a call that water was leaking from the ceiling, he broke into Lucy’s apartment, wrapped her wrists, and called for an ambulance. With the help of a good severance package that had included a hefty stipend for mental health insurance, Lucy was admitted into October Mountain Sanctuary.

  Just a pretty name for a fancy nut house.

  It had now been about a year and a half of what they called “intensive psychotherapy.” Lucy’s insurance had run out and she was ready to be released.

  Dr. Finkle’s appearance was manufactured friendly. The sleeves of his crisp, starched, colorful shirts were casually rolled. Levi Finkle’s ties could only be described as goofy with their pink elephants, dancing bears, and singing hippos. The lenses of his wire rimmed glasses changed daily from blue to green to rose, depending on his shirt color, and perhaps his mood. Khaki pleated pants were his friends, and Dr. Finkle had a very interesting collection of handmade Italian loafers. His eyes were bright blue, his skin was perpetually tanned, his capped smile was wide and sincere. The nurses on staff all called him Doc Hollywood behind his back.

  “How are you this morning, Lucy?”

  “That’s a complicated question, Doctor.”

  “Asueli tells me that you were up all night pacing in your room.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” She told him honestly. “I’m scared.”

  “You are ready, Lucy. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Dr. Finkle patted her hand. “I’m sure of it.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “Legitimate question.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Maybe it will help you to know that your therapists, your counselor, all of us who have been treating you for months discuss your case on a weekly basis. Your release has not happened before this because we didn’t feel you were ready. This is not cautious optimism we are practicing here, it’s a well thought out, and a medically sound diagnosis.” He treated her to his million dollar smile, which oddly enough, was not without sincerity. “Now, we can’t all be wrong, Lucy, can we?”

  Lucy gave this some thought. She ran a light finger on the long scars on each of her wrists and reflected on how far she had come. She was not the same woman who had married Kenny Brewster, but therapy had helped her to realize that she would never be that bright, eyed, naïve young woman again, and that was okay. Because in place of that starry-eyed girl was a survivor.

  So, Lucy gave him a small smile. “Thank you for everything, Dr. Finkle.”

  “You’ll do fine, you really will. Just put one foot in front of the other and carry on.” And there was that smile again.

  “Now, let’s get down to business! Special Agent Maddox will be here shortly to verify things but, in the meantime, you and I are going to go over the file just like we talked about. How about we go into the small conference room, have a cup of strong, hot, coffee and go over everything with a fine tooth comb. We can write down any questions or concerns you have so we will have them ready for the agent when he arrives.”

  Once seated the good doctor opened up the file folder and scanned the first document. He stared at Lucy with a twinkle in his eye and a puzzled look on his face.

  Your new name is …Juliet Wang?”

  “They said I could pick anything.”

  Dr. Finkle’s eyes passed over Lucy’s decidedly Caucasian looks. “Interesting choice.”

  “Wang happens to be the most popular last name in the world.” Lucy lifted her nose in the air because really, she had put a lot of time and research into picking out her new surname. “Do you see that as a problem?”

  “Wang is an established Asian name, and you look nothing like someone of Asian descent, I just think it might result in some speculation that you may not be comfortable with.”

  Since the last thing Juliet wanted was speculation, she decided to go with her second choice. “Okay, let’s make it Jones then.”

  Dr. Finkle nodded and made a notation.

  “And your first name… Juliet?”

  “Do you have a problem with that too, Doctor Finkle?” Lucy raised an eyebrow.

  “No, I’m just curious. Is there a rationale for the name Juliet, as well?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Juliet Capulet happens to be one of the most misunderstood characters in history.” Lucy told him. “Shakespearean scholars never give her enough credit as a woman in her own right. At the onset of the Shakespearean Tragedy, she appears to be quite naïve, timid, and subservient to the wishes of others. However, as the story progresses, Juliet’s strength of purpose, courage, resolve, wit and independence become evident.”

  Fascinated, Dr. Finkle leaned back in his chair and studied his patient. “And what about Romeo, where does he fit into the equation?”

  “In the end it was Romeo’s cowardice and lack of character that did Juliet in.” Lucy responded. “I have always wondered what would have become of Juliet if she had simply stepped over Romeo’s cold, dead body and kept on walking.”

  P.J. McCabe sat back in the Adirondack chair and lit up a smoke. He had been waiting almost forty five minutes for someone to show up. It was either going to be the landlord, Layla Dumont, or the prospective tenant. Both of them were late as hell.

  P.J figured he could bet good money on the fact that the new tenant was probably a female.

  Every one of them had that same annoying quality. No regard for time. Less regard for the poor bastards who were waiting on them.

  Damn women.

  And his friend’s wife was one of the worst offenders that P.J. had ever come across.

  Layla Dumont was as flighty as hell, always running late, always forgetting stuff and forever losing shit. If it weren’t for her husband, Reggie, who had the patience of a goddamn saint, P.J. figured Layla would be living under a bridge somewhere.

  Serious space cadet.

  But she had a big heart and a warm, welcoming way about her. She and Reggie had been among the first people that P.J. had met when he moved to Port Harbor. Reggie had been P.J.’s realtor. When Reggie had shown up for their appointment sporting a Harley, that had pretty much sealed the deal for P.J. The two rough and ready men had liked each other instantly. It hadn’t taken long before a strong friendship had formed. They rode together at least a couple of times a month when the seasons allowed, played cards on Thursday nights, and helped one another out when needed. Reggie Dumont was solid, took care of his woman, and was a no bullshit kind of guy. And because Layla could drive a sane man like that crazy, P.J. helped Reggie out when he could.

  It had now been about three years since P.J. had settled into Port Harbor, and he was still adjusting to his new life. It hadn’t been easy. No, easy would be a real goddamn stretch. It had been nearly impossible to put up with the demands of an ordinary life. A few months in, and P.J. had begun to seriously doubt his decision to straighten up his life. But he had still not gotten over the circumstances of Beast’s death. The last words that Beast had uttered to him in that tortured voice, the way his arm had flexed in the chair, the crackling, hissing sound of an electrical feed gone wrong…the smell of burning flesh. Deep in his heart, P.J. knew that he owed it to Beast to give himself a fair shot at an average everyday life. If it didn’t work out, it didn’t work out. P.J. had been determined to give it at least through that first winter before he bailed.

  But by then, George
Pappas decided to put his Variety Market and Gun Shop up for sale and move to Boca Raton. There he would spend the rest of his days in a senior gated community, driving his golf cart and playing bingo. The variety store had held zero interest for P.J., but Mr. Pappas would not separate the two businesses and P.J. had wanted the gun shop badly.

  P.J. used his lottery winnings to make a cash offer on the properties, and soon found himself to be the owner and operator of George’s Variety and Gun shop. The market part…P.J. hadn’t known anything about, but it had already been an established business and a staple in the community for many years. George Pappas had taken the phrase serving customers’ needs to a whole new level. The inventory pretty much included everything but the kitchen sink, and for that, there were catalogues. P.J. had decided to keep the small staff on payroll. They knew what they were doing and could run the place on their own. The gun shop was where P.J. spent most of his time. Surrounded by deadly weapons was P.J.’s happy place.

  P.J.’s thoughts came reeling back to the present when his cell phone began to buzz with a text message from Layla… almost there. P.J. looked at the time and shook his head. When the sound of an approaching vehicle drew his attention to the dirt road in front of him, P.J. let out a groan.

  A Prius.

  Why did the new tenants have to own a goddamn Prius?

  In his mind, the hybrid vehicle screamed politically correct and that was all he needed to know.