Lies We Bury

by Elle Marr

  With shaking hands, I bend down and grip the shovel. Jenessa can’t see my face, so I let the panicked tears fall freely. Images of a lifeless Bethel flash to mind, lying on our blood-soaked mattress after giving birth to Lily. Nora and Rosemary wrapped her in the bedsheets that were ruined and laid her on the floor until Chet agreed to remove the body. Five days later. I didn’t want to look, but as a child, I couldn’t help it. Or help the recalled images that struck in the middle of the night for years afterward.

  The shovel slides into the moist dirt with ease. I lift and remove that hunk of earth, then dig again. Repeat the same movement. Over and over. I wince at each dig, anticipating the moment when I strike a mass that’s unquestionably human.

  When I turn over my shoulder, Jenessa remains poised against the fence, gun in hand and out of the neighbor’s camera’s line of sight.

  The hole is four feet deep when the shovel hits something soft—softer than rock. I dig around it and discover the outline of a pale forearm, the process of decay well underway.

  Rodents long ago burrowed into the skin to take their meal, followed by worms and insects, from the looks of the still-wriggling larvae spread across the ashen flesh. I clap a hand over my mouth, but my stomach won’t be quelled. I vomit on all fours into the pile of dirt beside me, retching up the scone and apple.

  Nora. All this time, Nora had been struggling with the consequences of her trauma, while trying to raise Jenessa—ultimately, a killer. We should have done more to help Nora, to help them both. They each needed Rosemary, Lily, and me, more than I think anyone was aware. The way I, as a child, treated Jenessa in the past, wronged her, is what’s landed me in this position now.

  “That’s enough,” Jenessa says. “Get up. Inside.”

  Struggling to my feet, I don’t question abandoning the task, only partly completed.

  She laughs, watching me wipe my mouth; then her smile drops. Her head snaps toward the street. “Get in the house,” she hisses.

  When I hesitate, she grabs me by my bun of hair and yanks. I cry out, but her grip doesn’t lessen, and my only choice is to follow as fast as possible. I trip up the stairs and through the back door, but once we’re in the kitchen, she lets go. She raises a finger to her lips in the universal sign for quiet.

  “Marissa?” A voice calls from out front, and I stiffen automatically, so close to help.

  The cold metal of the gun against my head stifles the urge to answer.

  “Marissa, I know you’re here. I can see it on my geo-location app, remember? I think I’m having contractions.”

  Jenessa looks at me; we both recognize Lily’s voice at the same time. I plead with my eyes. Let me go to our younger sister—let me go. Her jaw pulses in response. “You always were her favorite. She can’t even go to the hospital without finding you first. Even though I’m the one who risked everything for us.”

  “Marissa?” Lily calls again.

  Jenessa hesitates, as if considering her options—whether to end me here and now or whether Lily already knows too much by having a record of my whereabouts.

  Jesus, Lily. Go to the hospital!

  I debate making a run for it, out the back door and scaling the fence, when we both hear it: the doorknob squeaks as it turns counterclockwise. Lily is coming inside.

  Floorboards creak at the front of the house. “Marissa?” she calls; then she gasps, no doubt spotting Chet’s body and the small lake of blood around him. Muffled noises come from the other room, as though she’s stifling a cry.

  Jenessa grips my arm with one hand and presses the gun to my temple with the other. “Not a word,” she whispers. The steel is frigid against my flushed cheeks, burning my skin.

  Slowly, Lily walks toward the butler’s pantry, the old wood announcing each step. Jenessa moves me past a small table and through the other archway into the living room. Floorboards moan beneath us as we step past the fireplace.

  Lily whirls back into the front room and sees us. Her eyes pull wide, and her face pales. Her hands fly to her belly in the dress she wears. “What is going on?”

  Jenessa stares her down like a dog poised to attack a wounded bird. “What are you doing here, Lily? Don’t tell me Chet asked you to meet, too.” Jenessa’s nails dig into my arm with each word she growls.

  Lily glances at the body, then back to us, torn between the two horror stories before her. “He came to my place, but I pretended I wasn’t home. What is going on? Why do you have a gun to Marissa’s head? Where are we?” Lily’s voice jumps an octave. She breathes in through her nose, and her chest rises and falls with a frenzy I haven’t seen since we were kids.

  I can’t see her face, but Jenessa scoffs in my ear. “So you came here, to this address, all on your own. When you’ve barely contacted me since you’ve been back for—what—a week?”

  Lily hesitates. “We—we spoke yesterday. I’ve had a lot going on—”

  I shake my head an inch to the side, but it’s too late. The gun barrel presses harder into my temple. Jenessa’s breath is hot on my neck, her own trembling shaking my arm.

  “Not so much that you couldn’t see Marissa. Right? You want her? Here!” Jenessa flings me across the room, and I shift at the last second to avoid crushing my pregnant sister. Lily falls backward, slumps against the wall, and I knock over a lamp from an end table. The electrical cord tangles at my feet.

  Lily moans and clutches her stomach. “Em, I think I’m—I’m having another contraction.” She tries to breathe through it on the floor while watching Jenessa, but her eyes clamp shut from the pain.

  “How sweet that you two have become—no, remained—so close. Since you grew up together. Since no one separated you when we got out.”

  “Jenessa, I was a child. I was selfish and stupid and jealous of your relationship with Rosemary. I had no idea what life would be like for you with Nora; I’m sorry.” I try to imbue my words with calm, stability—find some way to get both Lily and me out of here alive.

  Lily pants below me, the contraction subsiding.

  Jenessa hits a button on the wall, and the fireplace surges to life. Flames lick the iron screen before she kicks it aside, sending it clattering against the coffee table. “Wasn’t this always your favorite form of self-harm?” she simpers to me. “Come closer, Marissa. If you’re too scared to stand near me, why not approach your old friend?”

  The burns on my arms seem to light up like an arcade game under her gaze. “You don’t know what I went through, either, Jenessa.”

  “No? Poor little Marissa. My small-town neighbors think I’m dangerous. Just looking at you is aggravating. As long as you’re walking free, I’ll never be seen as more than a broken version of you. The media’s favorite fuckup and first person they harass until I can’t stomach a full meal from all the stress.” Spittle flies from her lips as her volume rises with each word.

  “When you began taking photos for the Post, I started planting evidence that pointed to you. I wanted to frame you for the murders, make you every bit the pariah I’ve been all these years. But maybe I was too soft in taking the longer route to get to the same place.” Her lips part, baring her teeth, as she raises the gun to my chest once again. “Maybe there’s room for one more on my list of victims.”

  Terror freezes my limbs and cements my feet—my body bracing for what’s to come. “Jenessa, please. Let’s talk about this. You don’t have to—”

  A scream rips through the room as Lily shoots up from the ground, launches herself at Jenessa, knocking the gun free and Jenessa to the floor. They scramble for it, but Jenessa grabs the gun and pushes Lily out of the way. Lily screams again—a deep, agonizing sound that claws at my insides.

  Jenessa hesitates, seeing Lily in torment, and I reach into my bag and find the orange I took from the Post. I launch it at her head and miss, and the fruit knocks a framed painting free from the wall behind. Jenessa startles, and I throw myself toward her and wrap my hands around the gun. I twist the barrel up toward the ceiling,
and a shot goes off, sending plaster and dust everywhere; high-pitched ringing erupts in my ear canal.

  Jenessa kicks my foot out from under me, and I land on my bad shoulder on the iron screen. I cry out, then roll to my side but still don’t release the weapon. Jenessa wrenches it this way and that, but I don’t let go. She thrusts my arm into the fire, and a banshee shriek tears from my lungs. Heat boils my hand and wrist; then I feel only cold, adrenaline no doubt flooding my limbs, before the metal begins to boil beneath the blue and yellow flames. I yank my arm back, and the force knocks her off-balance and into the jaws of the blaze. She arches at the last second so that only her long hair singes. The acrid smell instantly fills the room. I snatch the gun from her by the handle and crawl backward to where I knocked over the lamp. Lily lies propped against the couch, away from Chet, clutching her stomach and breathing hard.

  A siren wails nearby. Then closer. Closer. Before it slows outside the house.

  I look at Jenessa, cradling my hand. The tips of her hair still smoldering, she seems wild, plucked from hell and bent on spilling more blood. Her eyes scan the room, then pause on the coffee table. The scissors on the coffee table.

  She lunges for them, and I get to my feet, preparing for her redoubled attack, but she pivots toward Lily. Grabbing her by the arm, she yanks Lily upright, then opens the scissors and presses a blade to Lily’s neck. I raise the gun instantly, mirroring her stance. Blue veins visible under Lily’s pale skin beat furiously for two.

  “Give me the gun,” Jenessa says to me, each word a threat. “Or I’ll do it.” She presses the blade into Lily’s throat, but Lily is mute, fear crippling any sound.

  I keep the barrel trained on Jenessa’s head and try to remember what I learned and never mastered at the gun range. To ignore the orange’s juicy insides smeared across the wall and the memory of Oz’s face when I threw the dart in the bar and missed the target by feet.

  This is not a good idea.

  “Marissa. Give me. The gun!” A bead of red appears on Lily’s skin. “Now.”

  Voices travel the walkway leading to the door. The police. Lily’s eyes widen to the point of resembling blue discs. Seeing my sister in this state, at the hands of our other sibling, panic swells in me and threatens to take over—shaking my frame and dissolving my strength into sobs—before the emotion shifts. Changes shape. Trembles into the fury I’ve worked to subdue my whole life.

  The sweat on my fingers makes my grip slippery, and I readjust both hands. “You can’t do this to us. I won’t let you after everything we already survived.”

  “You deserve to rot in prison for what you did to me. I’m only settling a debt.”

  Hearing Jenessa speak the words I believed for most of my life—recalling the shame that always surfaced when I thought about the day that we escaped, never realizing that guilt was due to my betrayal of Jenessa—I consider whether she’s right.

  Consider it, and yet finally know in my bones she’s wrong. “I don’t deserve prison, Jenessa. I’ve messed up, and I’m deeply, deeply sorry for hurting you. But this is not how you move forward. How we move forward together.”

  Footsteps climb the porch steps.

  “Marissa. The gun! Now!” Jenessa’s voice shakes, but the scissors remain steady on Lily’s throat.

  I could shoot her. Shoot her and be done with this nightmare, be justified in the act, and no one would judge me for it or say I had bad blood. Everyone would understand.

  “Em,” Lily whispers. “Please. The baby.”

  Someone knocks at the front door. “Police! Open up!”

  Another moment passes in which no one moves. Then I slowly bend my knees and lower the gun to the floor. Jenessa’s eyes fixate on my face. A mixture of stunned and hurt. She watches until I release the gun.

  “I always wished you had done that,” she says. “Chosen me over yourself.”

  Wooden splinters explode from the doorway as two police officers crowd inside. “Police! Drop your weapon!”

  Jenessa whirls, keeping the blade pressed to Lily’s neck. She inches Lily in front of her body, and the younger cop sucks in a breath at seeing Lily’s pregnant bulge.

  “I said, drop your weapon! You won’t get another warning—”

  I snatch the gun from the ground, aim for Jenessa’s foot, and pull the trigger. A shot goes off, and the police shout something, many things, and train their guns on me. I drop mine and blink hard—again—before I take my eyes from my sisters.

  Lily flew forward onto the couch, thrown by Jenessa’s momentum, while Jenessa fell sideways into the armchair. She stares at the gaping wound in her thigh, the trail of blood dripping to the ground, before lifting haunted eyes to mine.

  She never really left the basement, not in the sense that the rest of us did. Granted, she stayed behind—risked herself in an act of love and generosity beyond her seven years of living. But she’s been in a prison of her own ever since, believing what I often struggled with—that she wasn’t loved. That she would never be enough.

  I toe my messenger bag under the watchful glares of the police officers barking words I don’t hear. The scene of my two sisters in such physical and emotional pain is almost too much to bear up close. The intense urge rises in me to withdraw my camera from its case. To angle the lens and position the viewfinder. Instead, I close my eyes and imagine the comforting release.

  Click.

  Thirty-Four

  MISSY

  THEN

  Outside it’s nighttime and hot and I’m so tired and scared but Mama won’t let us go home. And this is not how Mama Rosemary described nighttime in the outside. I ask Mama why it’s so hot and she doesn’t answer.

  We should be in bed. Mama should be reading us a story like she always does when we can’t sleep. I ask Mama if the man is still in the basement with Jenessa and she doesn’t answer again.

  We walk fast. Harder than we ever did during exercise hour and I’m carrying Sweet Lily’s baby blanket. When I lose my shoe that’s too small Mama Rosemary says to leave it. And she says stop asking so many questions.

  We pass houses and big tall light-trees too bright for night. I cover my eyes and hold on to Mama’s shirt. We walk harder and longer than ever then get to a new road. Mama Rosemary puts Sweet Lily to the ground to rest and Sweet Lily starts to cry. Mama makes soothing noises and picks her back up.

  “Mama Rosemary? Is Jenessa okay? Why did we leave? We’re supposed to be out front of the house.”

  “We will be, honey, but we need to get the police first. Jenessa is a good girl. She’ll wait out front like I told her. Making the rope will take at least ten minutes, and he won’t get free before she does. We’re close. We’re so close.”

  “But why, Mama? Why can’t we stay? What about Twin?”

  “She’ll be safe. She’s fine, honey. She’ll be safe.”

  “But how do you know?”

  Mama doesn’t saying nothing. We go left—no, right—on the new street and Mama darts her head back and forth.

  “What are you looking for, Mama?”

  But she hushes me and looks behind us like she’s scared. She mumbles something starts to cry. She says Alefter Alefter Alefter.

  “Speak up,” I say and she shoots me a look. Not mad. But like she’s surprised to see me.

  She makes a throat-noise and stops crying. “Pouch Street. We’re looking for Pouch. Remember geography lessons?”

  I nod then start using my eyes, too. Plant-trees are brown in this outside world. Not like the green ones I see in the television or in books. Shadows are everywhere between the tall light-trees. An animal barks. A dog. And I remember that Jenessa’s favorite cartoon has a dog in it. A penguin and a sea lion.

  Row row row your boat. Gently down the stream.

  “Mama Rosemary? Is Twin okay? Are we okay?”

  “I hope so, baby. Girls, look!” Mama Rosemary sets Sweet Lily down on the ground again and Sweet Lily leans on her good foot. Dirty cheeks are stripy from tears.


  She points with her whole body toward more light-trees. “Do you see it?”

  Me and Sweet Lily shake our heads. “No, Mama.”

  She swings Sweet Lily up into her arms and begins running. I follow her in my one shoe so I gallop like a horse but I’m running. I keep holding the blanket. “Mama, wait for me, Mama Rosemary!” My voice is all high. I couldn’t be left here in the dark I can’t not like Jenessa all alone with the man.

  “Mama!” I scream.

  “Hurry up, baby!” she yells back but doesn’t stop. Just keeps running running past one light-tree then past another until I see a road that’s full of them. And a building. And cars on both left and right. There’s a—a train ahead moving as fast as us.

  “Hey, Mama Rosemary, a train! Are we gonna get on the train? Are we leaving? Where is it going?” In my favorite show Mister Rogers there’s a train that takes you to magical places, away from his home.

  Then a scary thought slows my feet. Are we gonna go without Jenessa? Without Twin? “Mama, we can’t!” I catch up to her. She slowed down now again with Sweet Lily and Sweet Lily walks as quick as she can on her own. “Mama, we need to go back for Twin.”

  “I know, honey; we will. Almost there.”

  “No, no, no!” I stomp my foot in the middle of the darkness road in a place with no light-trees. My face gets hot my cheeks start to shake.

  “Missy, listen to me.” Mama Rosemary gets down real close to my face. She grabs my arms and I think she’s gonna hug me but she doesn’t. That makes me cry harder.

  “Missy, we’re so close, baby. We’re so close to getting out and home free, but I need you to be a big girl for just a little bit longer, okay?”

  “But we are out. And we left our home with Twin inside—”

  “I know we did. You’re right. I just need you to be brave a few minutes longer, okay? Can you do that?”