The Night Girl: The Complete Series

by Amy Cross

"When you say that everything makes sense," Jennifer replies, sitting next to me, "what exactly are you referring to? What didn't make sense before?"

  "My whole life," I say, still staring down at the dirty tiled floor. "The way I've been feeling. The way I've been acting".

  "All the things you've done? The things you've done since you came here? Are you trying to blame your father for the fact that you killed those people?"

  I pause for a moment. "These pills are designed to change the way you think," I say, holding the bottle up. My hands are still trembling as I read the label. "See? The whole point of them is to change your hormone levels, stuff like that. He used them to get inside my head and rewire my brain. How do I know what I would have done, or wouldn't have done, without all those chemicals flowing through my blood?"

  "I thought you were proud of what you've done?" she continues. "I thought you'd justified those deaths to yourself. You killed Piotr Cymbalista because he was threatening Crestview. You killed Dr. Larson because -"

  "I know!" I say firmly. "But now I don't know what I really think! Even this conversation we're having right now, it could just be the pills making me think these things. Even..." I stare at her for a moment; it's as if all the illusions and lies are falling away from my pupils and I'm seeing the world properly for the first time.

  "Even me?" She smiles. "You think I'm not real? You think the pills drove you crazy, and that being crazy made you imagine me?"

  I open my mouth to reply, but I'm not sure what to say. The truth is, I don't know where Jennifer Mathis came from. Her presence in my life has been the big, unanswered question that I've been scared to tackle. I guess I'm scared to find out who or what she is, because it seems so absolutely certain that the answer is going to be something I won't like. Sure, she could be a concoction that emerges from my own drug-addled brain; equally, she could have existed before I ever came to Crestview, haunting the corridors and waiting for someone who'd be able to work with her. There's just no way of knowing, thanks to my father: he's left me in a condition where I don't know what's real and what's imagined.

  He did this to me. It's all because of him.

  "You don't know for certain that these pills -"

  "I do!" I say, raising my voice a little. "I know! He's been putting them in my food! He's been grinding them down or adding them to my drinks! Whatever he's been doing with them, he's been getting them inside me, changing me, turning me in to this!" I drop the bottle and it rolls across the floor, eventually stopping when it hits the door jamb. "He made me like this. He changed my head. He thought he could mold me and shape me and twist me until I'd become the perfect daughter". I take a deep breath. "The only way to know what's really happening is to detox completely. I have to get them out of my system. Even then, my brain might be permanently changed, but it's my only hope. I need to go online and find out what the permanent side-effects might be. I've had these chemicals in my head for more than ten years".

  "And then what?" she asks. "You think you'll change?"

  "Of course I'll change. I'll have to change".

  "And you want that?"

  I stare at her.

  "You want to change?" she continues. "What if you don't like the change? What if the pills have been a good thing? I mean, they've allowed you to reach this point in your life. Until today, you seemed happy". She pauses for a moment. "What if you stop taking the pills, and I disappear? What if the pills have finally got you to the stage where you can deal with the world, and then you throw it all away?"

  "What if I don't stop taking the pills?" I wait for her to answer. "What if I just carry on taking them like a good girl?"

  "Then life will carry on in the same way as now," she says. "You don't seem to have noticed any side-effects, so what's the problem? I'm not telling you to keep taking them or not to keep taking them. I'm not telling you what to do at all, but I want you to think very carefully about any decisions you make, because the consequences might not be reversible".

  I nod, knowing that she's right. I feel as if my entire existence is delicately balanced, and I have these conflicting desires that don't seem to make sense. I hate the idea that I've been secretly drugged by my father, but on the other hand I also felt - until I made this discovery - that everything was going well. I wish I knew what would happen to me if I cut the pills out entirely, and whether I'd be able to just start taking them again if necessary. Then again, maybe any kind of change to my mental balance would be dangerous. Jennifer might be right when she suggests that I should be happy with what I've got. Nevertheless, this anger isn't about who or what I am; it's about the things my father has done to me.

  "What are you thinking?" Jennifer asks.

  "I'm thinking that I need to punish him".

  "Him?"

  "My father".

  "I see. And when you say punish..."

  "I've wanted to do it for years," I continue. "Years and years and years. I've always hated him, even when I was just a kid. I don't even know why, but from my earliest memories, I've just had this really strong, visceral hatred of him. And now I've found out that he's been doing this to me, it's as if there's only one sane response".

  "How are you going to do it?"

  I shake my head. "I don't know. There are too many options. I'm not looking to torture him or anything like that. I just want him to know that I found him out, and then I want him to die so that I don't have to worry about him again".

  "And will this be the last one?"

  "The last one I kill?" I pause for a moment. "I don't know. But you'll help me, right? I mean, with the others, you were able to make sure that no-one ever went looking for them. You'll do that again. Right?"

  "Will I?" She smiles. "What if you stop taking the pills and I disappear?"

  "Then I won't stop," I say. "Not yet, anyway. I need to be in control of everything that happens. I've been thinking about this for a while, anyway. I took my driving test recently, because I knew I might need to kill him at home and then drive his body here". I pause for a moment. "I swear to God, that's the only reason I took that test. My father's been on at me for years, telling me I need to be able to drive, and then one day I said I was going to go for it. He was so pleased. I guess he thought his nagging had paid off. If only he knew the real reason I'd done it".

  "Sounds like you've got everything worked out," Jennifer replies.

  I nod. "All I need to do is work out the method, and I'm ready to do it".

  "Today?"

  I nod again. "There's no point waiting. He deserves this. The longer I leave it, the longer I'll have to maybe make a mistake. I need to just dive straight in and strike as soon as I've made the decision".

  "And you're sure you're not missing anything?"

  I stare at her. "What do you mean?"

  "Just that you're focused so firmly on this one, overriding objective, that I'm worried there might be something else you've overlooked. Something that's happening, something important, that might have slipped your eye completely".

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. I'm just... throwing the idea out there. You need to keep an eye on the bigger picture, Juliet. If you just focus on individual elements, you might lose control of what's really happening".

  "There's nothing," I say. "I'm good. I've got a plan, I just need to execute it properly. This time tomorrow, my father's gonna be dead, and I'll be sorted. Then I just need to focus on..." I pause, as I realize that my father's death would free me up completely. I'd have no problems, no hassles; I'd be free of his influence forever and I could make my own choices. "I can stay here," I say eventually. "Charles Taylor's living on borrowed time. Trust me, he won't be around much longer".

  "Are you going to kill him too?"

  "I won't need to kill him," I reply, feeling a new sense of determination. "The guy's been cooking the books for years. Don't you remember all that stuff Piotr Cymbalista was ranting on about? He might have been an asshole, but he was right about one thing: Charles
Taylor has been taking money from the facility's budget and using it to finance his personal life. All I need to do is gather the evidence and make sure he goes down. It's all there in the accounts. They'll need someone to take over, and I'll be the most obvious choice. I don't have to go off to college or do any of that crap my father wants me to do; I can just stay here and work at Crestview for the rest of my life".

  "Doesn't sound very ambitious," Jennifer points out.

  "I like it here," I say. "It's the only place I've ever felt comfortable. Why do I have to be ambitious? Why do I have to want to save the world? I'm fine here. If I stay, I can make it even better. I can treat the residents like they're real human beings, rather than just numbers to be fed into a machine. I can give them better activities. If I take a course in medicine, I can get rid of all the other staff and run this place completely on my own".

  "We'll see," Jennifer replies. "Just make sure you're seeing the wider picture, Juliet. Make sure there's nothing you're not seeing".

  "You keep saying that as if you're trying to hint at something".

  "Not at all. I just want to give you a little advice".

  "There's nothing I'm missing," I say. "For the first time in my life, I actually know what I'm going to do". Taking a deep breath, I realize that it's true: I have a plan, and I'm going to stick to it, and everything going to be okay. The first part of that plan, however, is going to be the most difficult: I have to go home, tell my father that I know what he's been doing, and then end his life. It shouldn't really be too much of a challenge. I just need to work out the best way to kill him; after all, I hate blood, so I don't want anything too messy. Something neat. Something clinical. Something easy.

  Chapter Two

  Eleven years ago

  Every morning, I go through the animals one by one and check on their progress. I'm keeping extensive records, marking down the date when each of them died, as well as the circumstances of their death and any other relevant factors. It's important to take these things into consideration. After all, the seagull was found dead by the side of the road, whereas the neighbor's cat had to be stabbed, which means they have very different types of injuries. So far, they seem to be rotting at different rates, and in different ways, and they have different-colored maggots. I'm looking for patterns, but so far all I see is chaos.

  "Juliet!" my father calls out from the back door.

  Ignoring him, I grab the magnifying glass and train it on the cat's neck. The wound is dry now, and little yellow maggots are crawling through the flesh. This is exactly what I wanted to see: in fact, if I had the time, I would just sit here all day, every day, even during the night, and try to catch the changing of the different states. The maggots are getting bigger, slowly, and I'm curious to see what will happen when they've finished devouring the cat's corpse: they'll have to go somewhere, but what is the next stage of their life? When they've used up all the resources at their disposal, will they just die? Although I'm trying to focus on the scientific aspects of this study, I can't help thinking that it'll be a little sad if I come out here one day and find that all the maggots are dead. They've got a whole world going on, wriggling and squirming through the meat and between the bones, and it's a world I gave to them. It's not like I think I'm their god or anything like that, but I definitely feel kind of protective.

  "Juliet!" my father says, standing right behind me.

  "What?"

  "I just wanted to see what you're doing".

  "I'm doing my work". I turn to look at him. "Why?"

  "I just wondered". He peers past me, and I can see the slight look of disgust as he stares at the dead animals. He obviously hates to see them, but at the same time he's started to keep quiet about his thoughts. It's as if he's made a conscious decision to tolerate some of my behavior; he probably thinks I'll grow out of it eventually, and that there's no point pushing me any further. "Any developments?"

  "No," I say, looking back down at the cat. "It's the same as yesterday. I think the cold weather has been slowing them down quite a lot".

  "Do they work faster when it's warm?"

  I nod.

  "Why's that?"

  "It's all about giving them the best conditions," I explain. "When it's warmer, they have more energy, so they work faster. It kind of makes sense, if you think about it".

  "And what do you think it'll be like when the weather changes? When it gets really hot, do you think they'll get a lot faster?"

  "When it's hotter, they'll have more energy," I say again, feeling as if he's not listening to me. "Most life forms like heat. To be honest, I'm not totally certain what'll happen, but I think they'll be a lot more active. There's not much flesh left on the cat anyway, so a good warm spell might really finish the job. They're all at different stages right now, though, so I'm not sure the acceleration will be uniform. I guess it takes time for the various cultures to get working". I hold up the notebook I've been using to record my observations. "It's all in here. When I've got enough data, I'll start trying to work out what's really happening, but until then I'm just having to make a lot of guesses".

  "Sounds good," my father replies. "How many corpses have you got now, anyway?"

  "Four," I say. "There's the cat, and the seagull, and the hedgehog, and..." I pause for a moment, trying to remember the fourth; I'm sure there's a fourth, but now I can't remember properly. The cat. The seagull. The hedgehog. And the... I try my hardest to remember the fourth, but I guess I was wrong. "No, sorry, just three. I miscounted".

  "They kind of smell a bit," he points out.

  "They're supposed to smell," I reply, feeling a little irritated by his stupid comments. "Death isn't safe and clean. If that's what you want, you can just burn the bodies like..." I take a deep breath, reminding myself to stay calm. Even after all these months, I'm still kind of annoyed at the way my mother's body got burned. It's as if my father wanted to deny the natural process; it's as if he wanted to prevent any maggots from using her meat. "I'm not doing this because it's pretty," I say eventually. "I'm doing it because it's interesting and because I want to know what happens to a body after it's died. I can put up with the smell. It's a hazard of the job".

  "I know," he says. "I'm just a little impressed that a few small animals could create such a stink".

  "It's not that much of a shock," I continue. "Don't forget, all the maggots are alive. All these smells are coming from the guts of the animals as the maggots move through them. There are lots of gases and things in there".

  "Seems kind of creepy to me," he says, "but I guess it's educational. As long as you're happy and busy out here, I guess that's the main thing. I mean, you're learning, right?"

  He waits for me to say something, but I'm trying to get on with my work. I wish he wouldn't come out here and distract me so often.

  "I've got to go off to work in a few minutes," he continues, "but you'll be okay at home by yourself, right?"

  I nod, peering more closely at the dead seagull. Doesn't he get it? I want to be home alone; I need to be home alone.

  "I should be back at around five," my father continues, "but there's a chance I'll have to stay behind for a couple of extra sessions. There's a new case coming in, so I think maybe I'm gonna have to deal with a load of extra paperwork. If that's the case, you might as well just eat without me. There are some burgers in the fridge, and some fries in the freezer, but you could always try the chicken salad if you -"

  "That's fine," I say, keen for him to just shut up and leave alone.

  "Okay," he replies. I hear him walking away across the grass, and then I hear him heading into the house. Finally I'm alone again, with the dead animals; this is how things should be, and I wish my father wouldn't keep interrupting me when I'm out here. My train of thought gets derailed, and it's always difficult to get back in the mood. For several minutes, I try to re-focus on the tasks at hand, but eventually I realize it's useless: my father's intrusion has done something to my ability to concentrate. Feeling an
noyed, I start packing the dead animals back into their boxes, and finally I stuff them next to the woodshed.

  Just as I'm about to go back into the house, I notice a couple of flies sitting on a nearby wall. Stepping cautiously over to them, I watch as they scurry along the surface: they're so big and fat, it's hard not to be impressed by the way they're managing to feed off the dead bodies. It seems like such a waste to just burn a corpse, when it can be recycled by other creatures. I mean, I might find the bodies disgusting, but those flies see them as a banquet. Why should I do something that would deprive other creatures of something they'd enjoy so much? It seems much more fair to just let nature get on with things, rather than trying to live in some kind of sanitized, death-proof human environment.

  "Hey!" calls out a voice. "Kid!"

  Turning and looking over at the fence, I see our neighbor, Mr. Harriman, staring at me. He's the kind of old busy-body who often seems to be sticking his nose into other peoples' business, and there's something kind of creepy about his eyes, as if they're too small for his head. As far back as I can remember, I've always disliked him.

  "Your father around?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "Well, when he gets home, can you ask him to sort out your yard?" he continues. "I'm starting to get a weird smell coming over the fence. I don't know what you've got going on in there, but it's making things real unpleasant around my back door".

  I stare at him.

  "I mean, it's a neighbor's duty to not do anything that causes bother to the people living nearby. You understand what I'm saying?"

  I stare at him.

  "Tell him I don't want to have to get the authorities involved, but he has to keep the yard clean. Whatever's going on over there, it's whipping up a stench that'd turn a demon's guts inside out. I'm having to keep my back door shut just so as my house doesn't smell bad. Can you tell him that for me?"

  I nod.

  He sniffs the air. "What the hell is that, anyway? It stinks like hell around here, like something died".