by Amy Cross
"Until he does it again," Lizzie says.
I take a deep breath. Why does she have to say such mean things right in front of Kenneth?
"Do you think you'll be able to sleep?" I ask as I settle him into bed. He doesn't reply, but he squeezes my hand tight and I can see that there's genuine fear in his eyes. I think he truly believes the claims he's been making, which makes me worry a little for his state of mind. "I'll come back and check on you in a while," I say. "Okay?"
He nods.
"Come on," Lizzie says, carrying the soiled sheets out into the corridor. "There are other residents, you know. We can't spend all night on him".
"Sleep well," I say, before switching off the light and leaving the room, pulling the door shut as I go.
"You wait 'til you've been here as long as I have," she says as we walk back toward the reception area. "You won't be so nice to them when they piss themselves in the middle of the night".
"He didn't do it on purpose," I say.
"Didn't he?" She smiles. "Sometimes they just want attention, and they learn how to get it. People are like dogs, Juliet. They pick up tricks, and they use them to get what they want. Just 'cause these residents are old, don't be fooled into thinking they've lost the ability to come up with nasty little schemes". She opens the laundry chute and shoves the sheets inside. "Kenneth Jenkins is a devious old bastard. If he wants some attention, he'll happily piss the bed just so he can spend some time with us. Frankly, I think he does it because he likes being sponged down in the shower. Don't tell me his little pecker didn't quiver while you were washing him".
"I'll go and check on the rest of the red ward," I say, turning and heading back along the corridor. I'm not a prude, but at the same time I really don't like the way Lizzie talks about the residents. She acts like they're a bunch of naughty children, and sometimes it seems like she treats them pretty badly. Sure, it's annoying when someone has an accident in their bed, but I don't feel as if scolding them is going to do much good; in fact, it's probably going to make things worse. Then again, I'm only a temporary employee here, and I'll be gone by the end of summer. I guess there's no point trying to change things. I just need to knuckle down, do my best, and try not to cause trouble. I'm not here to save anyone.
Chapter Two
Eleven years ago
The maggots are really busy this morning. Wriggling in and out of Gizmo's body, they're chewing on every last morsel of flesh. It's taken them a few weeks, which is a little longer than I'd anticipated, but they've finally reduced his corpse to little more than a collection of bones and fur. When they first appeared, the maggots were small and thin, but they're getting fatter and fatter. It's been fascinating to watch them develop, and to see the way they've used Gizmo's body; in a way, they've turned him into an entire world, but they're going to run out of resources soon and I can't wait to see what happens next. I just wish I'd been able to perform this same experiment on my mother's body, but my father had her cremated so I was never given the chance.
"Juliet!"
Looking up, I realize my father is looking for me. I told him I was coming out to the garden to look for frogs, but I've been out here for ages. I quickly put the lid back on the box and slide it back into its hiding place, before running around to the back door.
"Find anything?" my father asks, smiling at me. He's still wearing his dressing gown, even though it's almost lunch-time.
I shake my head.
"Maybe it's the wrong time of year," he says. "You want to come in and have breakfast?"
Reluctantly following him into the house, I glance over at the clock and see that it's almost midday. In my opinion, breakfast should be eaten much earlier, but at weekends my father has a tendency to run according to a different schedule. He likes to stay in bed for as long as possible, which means I have to find something to eat for myself and then wait for him to emerge from his bedroom. It feels weird to be eating breakfast so late in the day, and lunch and dinner both get pushed back much later than I'd prefer. I liked it when my mother used to get up early and boil some eggs. My father makes eggs too, but it's not the same; he always complains about the way I eat them.
"Martina's in the shower," he says as he butters some toast.
I stare at him.
"Did you hear me?" he asks, glancing over.
I nod. What does he want me to say? That I'm glad she's in the shower? That I'm interested? That I care? Anyway, I already knew what she was doing, because I can hear the shower running in the distance. I've tried really hard to hide the fact that I don't like his new girlfriend, but he's really pushing me to act like I accept her. My father's never been very good at hiding his feelings, and he's never been very subtle, and I hate the way he's trying to act like Martina's a part of our family. She might be part of his family, but she's nothing to do with me. She's just this woman who comes and sleeps over a couple of nights every week.
"You like Martina, right?" he says, bringing a big plate of buttered toast over to the table.
"Yes," I say.
"Good," he replies, tousling my hair. "There's no reason to be against new people coming into our lives, and Martina's really very nice. Give her a chance and I think the pair of you will get on really well".
I sit on one of the chairs and grab a piece of toast. My mother always used to burn the toast; I liked biting into the crisp black edges, whereas my father's toast is just lightly browned. I know I probably spend too much time thinking back to how my mother used to do things, but I got used to her habits. It feels like everything my father does is wrong.
"You know," my father continues as he checks the boiled eggs, "Martina isn't sure whether or not you like her". He glances over at me. "I think she thinks you're a little cold around her sometimes. Maybe you could try a little harder to make sure she knows that's not true".
I bite into the toast. It's soggy, and too buttery.
"Don't eat yet," he says, hurrying over and taking the piece of toast out of my hand. "Just wait a couple of minutes, Juliet. It's rude to start before everyone's at the table".
I look over at the door. In the distance, the shower is still running. If we wait for Juliet, everything's going to get cold.
"Did you hear what I said just now?" my father says. "I think it'd be nice if you could show Martina that you like her. Just smile a little more and talk to her. Is that something you think you could do?"
"Yes," I say, hoping to get him off my back. At that moment, I hear the shower being turned off.
"You want us to be happy, don't you?" he continues, bringing a bowl of boiled eggs over to the table. "Time moves on and new people come into our lives. It's how the world works, Juliet. You're too young to understand at the moment, but you'll just have to trust me. Martina's a very lovely person, and she's very interesting. Working at a funeral home is a pretty cool job, don't you think?"
I nod. That, at least, is true.
"Hey!" Martina says, coming through to the dining room wearing nothing more than a towel wrapped around her body. She does this every time she's here for breakfast, and I hate it. Why can't she get dressed like a normal person? Her hair's wet and there's something annoying about her bare shoulders, which still have little beads of water glistening on the skin. As she walks barefoot over to my father and kisses him on the cheek, I have to fight the urge to ask her to put some clothes on. I know I shouldn't get so easily annoyed, but it feels like she thinks she can do anything she wants when she's here, even though she's just a visitor.
"Perfect timing," my father says as he fills up two mugs of coffee. "Breakfast is served".
"You really spoil me," Martina says, laughing as she comes over to the table. "A girl could get used to this. Isn't that right, Juliet?"
I nod.
"How are you this morning?" she asks, sitting opposite me.
"I'm good," I say.
"Did you sleep well?"
I nod.
"Don't you just love Sundays?" she asks as my father comes and joins us at
the table. "No work to do. No hassles. No school. A whole day to just relax".
"Have you found your cat yet?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Er, no," she replies, taking a slice of toast and an egg. "No, I haven't. Gizmo's still out there somewhere, but I'm sure he'll come back".
"Why?" I ask.
"Why what, honey?" she replies.
"Why are you sure?" I stare at her. "Maybe something's happened to him?"
"Well, maybe," she says, glancing uneasily at my father, "but maybe he's just off on an adventure and he'll be back later today. He might be sitting on the doorstep when I go back to my apartment this evening".
"He might be," I say, forcing myself not to smile, "but I doubt it".
"Have some toast and an egg," my father says, putting food on my plate. I can tell from the way he's looking at me that he wants me to shut up. I guess they don't want to talk about Gizmo, since they both probably know that he's unlikely to return. There's a part of me that wants to tell them the truth, and bring the box in from the garden. I can just imagine their horrified faces if they saw all the maggots crawling through Gizmo's rotted corpse. Then again, I want to see the experiment through to the end, so it's probably best that I keep it to myself for now. Still, it's fun to know that I've got a secret, and to think that I've got this small amount of power over them.
"So what do you want to do today?" my father asks Martina.
"Relax," she says, smiling. "What else is there to do on a Sunday?"
My father grins. There's something sickening about the way these two behave. It's as if they're totally in love and they can barely think about anything else. Every weekend, Juliet comes and stays for Friday and Saturday night, spending the days just sitting around the house, watching films and typing on her laptop. In the evenings, I'm usually packed off to bed so they can do adult stuff. What's worse is that the house smells so weird when she's here: my father always smells of garlic and clarinet reeds, and Martina always smells of lavender and cigarettes. Even though she always goes out into the garden to smoke, the smell somehow seems to cling to her. I miss how my mother smelled: she just smelled of soap and hair.
"We could go for a drive," my father says. "Who's up for a little drive? Maybe we could go to the park?" He waits for one of us to reply. "It's a nice day," he continues. "We could spend some time in the sunshine, and then maybe go for an ice-cream. We could even go and have dinner somewhere".
"We could," Martina replies, clearly not too keen.
"Maybe another time," my father continues, reaching over and touching her arm.
"I just feel like relaxing today," she says. "Maybe watch a few films?"
"Sure," my father replies. "Maybe something that Juliet can watch too?" He turns to me. "Or you can just play in your room if you prefer, honey".
I stare at him. "Can I play in the garden?"
"Of course," he says.
"I used to love playing in the garden," Martina adds. "I used to sit really still and quiet, and wait for butterflies to land near me, and then I'd watch them. And bees too. Do you like nature, Juliet?"
"Yes," I say, already thinking that maybe I could take a stick and poke the dead cat a little. I'd kind of like to see what he's like on his underside, although I really don't want to disturb the maggots too much.
"You're so lucky to have a nice garden," Martina says. "I bet there are so many little creatures out there".
"Yes," I say, before finishing my piece of toast. I remove the shell from my egg and take a bite.
"You really shouldn't eat the yellow part, Juliet," my father says. "It's bad for you".
"Let her eat it," Martina says with a smile. "It can't be that bad".
"It's full of carbohydrates," he says. "She only wants to eat it because it's yellow".
"It's okay," I say, putting the half-eaten egg back on my plate. "I'm not hungry. Can I be excused so I can go to my room? I want to get ready to go out into the garden".
"Of course," my father says, and I waste no time I getting up and hurrying through to my bedroom. As soon as I've got through the door, I jump onto my bed and try to calm down. I don't know why I let them get to me so much, but there's something about my father and Martina that really, really drives me crazy. I just want them to stop being around me all the time, but I have no idea how I'm supposed to get them to understand. What I really want is to be left alone so I can get on with doing the things I want to do, but they keep getting in the way. One way or another, I need to get Martina to go away forever, even if I have to sacrifice my experiment in the process.
Chapter Three
Today
The shout is short, and distant, but also very distinct.
Looking up from the logbook, I frown. The nursing home is usually completely quiet during the night; the residents are mostly asleep, and even when they get up and wander about, they tend not to make much noise. Nevertheless, I definitely just heard a brief, curtailed shout, as if someone was startled by something.
"Hello?" I call out, stepping into the reception area. There's no sign of anyone. Lizzie's off checking the wards, and I'm supposed to be staying here to do some paperwork. It's almost 4am, and there's a little over three hours left before the shift ends. It's tempting to just go back to the logbook and get on with my work, but I'm certain I heard that shout, and I'm certain the person seemed to be in distress. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and call Lizzie.
"What's wrong?" she asks when she answers.
"I heard a noise," I say. "It sounded like -"
"It's nothing," she replies. "One of the residents almost fell, but I caught him. Don't worry about it. How's the paperwork going?"
"Fine," I say. "Are you sure -"
"Keep up the good work," she says, interrupting me. "Anything else to report?"
"No," I reply, a little surprised by how terse she's being.
"Okay," she says, "well, I'm busy, so I'll see you in a bit". With that, she cuts the call off.
"Huh," I say, putting the phone away. I stand and listen for a moment, but there's only silence all around me. I turn to go back into the office, but I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. The way Lizzie was talking to me, it was almost as if she was trying to shut me up and keep me busy. My mind goes back to the things Kenneth told me; although I'm sure he was just covering up for his embarrassment, I've got a nagging feeling that maybe I should double-check that nothing strange is happening.
Pulling the office door shut, I head through to the red ward. As soon as I get past the rec room, I realize I can hear voices nearby. When I get close to room 109, I realize Lizzie is in there, talking to Kenneth Jenkins. I edge a little closer, and it becomes clear that Lizzie's voice is angry. Although she's talking quietly, her voice sounds tense and hissed, and there's no reply from Kenneth.
"So that's why you won't call for help," Lizzie says. "You'll just stay here in bed, soaking in everything, until someone comes to get you up in the morning. And when they ask if you pissed yourself again, you'll just smile like an old idiot. Do we have a deal?"
There's a pause. With my heart in my mouth, I stay by the door, shocked by what I'm hearing.
"Don't think you can go running to that little bitch," Lizzie continues. "She doesn't believe you, anyway. Why would anyone believe an old fuck like you? In fact, give me your hand". Another pause. "Kenneth, give me your fucking hand. There. Now pay attention and try to get this through your thick, addled old brain. Whatever I do to you right now is nothing compared to what I'll do to you if you ever tell anyone about this, got it? Really, if you think about it, a little finger's nothing. What do you need it for?" There's yet another pause, followed by a dull snapping sound, and Kenneth cries out in pain.
"Hey!" I say, stepping into the room and hitting the light switch.
"Get out!" Lizzie shouts, standing up as Kenneth clutches his hand. "Get the fuck out!"
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Get out!" she screams
, barging toward me and pushing me out of the room. "Go back and do your work!" she shouts, her face flustered and red. "Right now! Go! Get out of here!"
"What the hell did you just do to him?" I ask, trying to push past her.
"Go and do your work!" she shouts, shoving me against the wall. "Do not interfere! Go and do your work!"
"I don't -"
"Go and do your work!" she shouts, leaning so close that I feel a fine spray of spit across my face. "Go and do your work!"
"I -"
"Go and do your work!" she shouts again, grabbing my arm and shoving me along the corridor. "Go and do your work!"
"You can't -"
"Go and do your work!" she screams. "Go and do your work! Go and do your work!"
I stare at her. It's as if she's completely snapped. She seems to be just stuck in a cycle, shouting the same thing over and over.
"Go and do your work!" she shouts.
"No," I say, trying not to let her see that I'm scared.
"Go and do your work!"
I shake my head. "Let me see him. I want to see what you're doing".
"Go and do your work!"
"No!" I say, trying again to push past her. She grabs my arm and twists me away from the door. I cry out in pain before finally getting away from her. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I ask.
"Go and do your work!"
"Stop saying that!" I shout. "Let me see him right now!"
"This is none of your business," she says breathlessly. "Don't make me write you up for poor duty. Go and do your work!"
"You hurt him," I say, panicking. I have no idea what to do. Lizzie's bigger than me, and I'm pretty sure she could hurt me, but at the same time I can't just leave her to continue hurting Mr. Jenkins.
"Go and do your work!" she says, stepping toward me. From the look in her eyes, I can tell that she's willing to hurt me if I don't do what she wants. "Go and do your fucking work right now! This is not your work! This is my work! Go and do your own work!"
I stare at her for a moment. "No," I say finally. "I can't just -"
