Mean girl_A dark, disturbing psychological thriller

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  “Baby, are you all right?” Dad’s voice behind the door. “Your mother sent me to ask.”

  “I’m fine. I almost fell asleep.”

  “Okay. Good night then.”

  Corby approached the door and listened to the receding footsteps. The door to her parents’ bedroom at the other end of the corridor on the second floor quietly closed. Mom sent Dad to find out if she was all right and that was all. If she had guessed something, she would have knocked at the door herself. Maybe. No, they didn’t figure it out.

  “They could. What then?”

  Corby walked around the room again, looked outside the window. The street was empty, only cars passed occasionally in different directions.

  “What then?”

  Tomorrow Dad would open the store, wait for the salespeople and the butcher to come, and then he’d go home. What if he decided to go to the fridge and look into the little freezer? What if any one of them decided to do that? She knew that no one had opened the freezer in months; they probably wouldn’t even find the key, but what if someone got the idea to store something in there after all?

  Okay, maybe no one was going to check the freezer, but tomorrow Vera wouldn’t come to school and people would start looking for her.

  “No! They will start to look for her today, because she won’t come home!”

  Corby thrashed around the room.

  “She was in the store, but she told her mother that she was on her way home when she wasn’t. To her mother, she was walking home. Corby, calm down, calm down.”

  Somebody knocked on the door.

  “Yes!” Corby’s voice trembled. “I’m sleeping.”

  “The light is on,” Dad said.

  “I wanted to finish the book.”

  “Okay. Honey, tell me please, did Vera Bodroff come to the store today?”

  Corby nearly choked on her own breath.

  “Vera? Why? Why do you ask?”

  “Her mother just called. She’s panicking. She said that Vera went to the store to pick up her order and hasn’t returned home. She called the store and no one answered, so she found our home number.”

  Corby clenched her fists. She had to be very careful with her answer.

  “She was there, yes. She took her order, paid cash, we talked a little bit, and then she left.”

  “Did she go home?”

  “I don’t know. She left the shop, I closed the door, and that was all. I didn’t see her after that and she didn’t tell me anything.” Corby tried to speak slowly and keep her voice steady.

  “Ok. Her mom said that she spoke to her after she’d already left the store. Poor woman doesn’t know what to do. She thought maybe Vera told you something about her plans.”

  “I don’t know anything. She took her order and left.”

  “Is she one of those girls who hurt you?”

  “No one hurt me Dad.”

  “Is that right? Okay, I’ll tell her then ... Hello ... Yes, I asked ...”

  The voice faded away. Corby clamped her mouth with her hands and howled.

  “Oh God, oh God!”

  She ran around the room then fell on the bed, jumped off the bed right away, turned off the light, and climbed into the closet.

  “Oh, oh, oh. What should I do? What should I do? That’s it. I’m done. I’m going to jail.”

  The floor in the closet was littered with old plush toys. Corby grabbed the first thing that came to hand, by the feel of it, it was Dumbo the elephant. She pressed it to her chest and began to rock back and forth. Anything could happen. Even if no one opened the freezer, tomorrow the whole school would speak about Vera and of course the police would come. The police would talk to her and recognize that she was lying. They would arrest her and Sylvia and Jane would be happy. They would be so happy! No one would even ask her how it happened. No one would believe her that it was Vera’s fault and she just fell.

  “I didn’t do anything! And that stupid camera broke!”

  Corby started to cry again, wiping her tears with the toy.

  “It’s Vera’s fault! She did it to herself! I told her to leave! Because of her I’ll go to jail and Jane and Sylvia will be happy.”

  And Jacob? What about Jacob?

  Corby opened her eyes and stared into the darkness.

  What would he think? Would he think that she killed Vera, that she was a killer? Would he believe her? Would he believe that she didn’t do anything to help Vera die?

  “Who cares? What’s the difference what he would think? I’ll go to jail,” she said to Dumbo.

  Corby couldn’t stop her tears and suddenly she had an idea. Maybe she didn’t have to go to jail and no one would find out anything. She could get rid of Vera’s body, take her to the woods. She could watch some show on TV or read a book and learn how to do it from the mistakes of other people. She would take the body out through the back door, throw it in a trunk, and drive somewhere. Nobody would find out. Vera said she was walking home. She was alive when she left the shop.

  “I shouldn’t panic, right?” Corby asked Dumbo. She always talked to her toys from the time when she started to think consciously. In spite of everything, in spite of the presence or absence of friends, her stuffed toys were alive to her and were her best friends. She thought sometimes, even now, that they came to life when she fell asleep. Only now they couldn’t help her. Not now at home, not in school. She was alone and she must find a way out. “I have to pull myself together, relax, and get ready to talk with the police.”

  Corby wiped away her tears, left the toy on the floor, and got out of the closet. She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, wash her face, and change.

  “Tomorrow is Saturday,” Corby said, realizing that she didn’t have to go to school. But the police could still pay her a visit. She should think everything over and calm down.

  “Calm down. No one will think that a fifteen-year-old fat girl, an honor student, could do anything horrible and Vera had left the store. She left safe and sound.”

  The bathroom door was closed and her parents couldn’t see the light and realize how long she was there. Corby considered her reflection in the mirror. She looked scared and that had to change. Her mother had some pills. Soothing. She took them sometimes after arguments with her husband, before her show, before meeting her friends, and during visits from Dad’s parents. They should help her daughter too. She had to find and take them before the police arrived.

  Just the thought of the pills, even without their presence in her body, had a soothing effect on her. Corby turned off the light in the bathroom and went to bed. Of course she couldn’t sleep. She needed to get rid of the thoughts of today and it was impossible. Then she was scared of the dark, because it didn’t matter if she closed or opened her eyes, she still saw Vera. As soon as light from the lamp illuminated the room, Vera’s image disappeared and Corby could relax and not think about the dead.

  She forced herself to stop thinking and sleep. She had never stayed up too late and didn’t know what it meant not to get enough sleep, but her mother talked about it constantly. Sleepless nights were the subject of conversations in the Mackentile house. Her mother often complained of fatigue because she didn’t get enough sleep. Corby couldn’t be tired and arouse suspicion. She should be relaxed and calm as always at the dinner table. The only time her parents would actually see her. Now she had to find the pills.

  “It’s Vera’s fault,” she muttered before mysterious animals and flowers started appearing in front of her eyes. They always filled up her mind before she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  When Corby woke up, she heard voices in the house and remembered that she wanted to get up first. Corby jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom to empty her bladder and rinse her mouth. She hated the taste in her mouth after sleep. After she did that and left the bathroom, she stopped.

  Get up first? Why? She looked around the room and saw Dumbo the elephant near the closet door and the closet door was open. Th
en she remembered.

  Vera. She killed Vera.

  Why did she wake up? How would she survive this day?

  Corby threw a bathrobe on her shoulders, made the bed, and left the room. The house smelled of eggs cooking, which Corby loved. That meant Dad woke up first and prepared breakfast. There was also the smell of coffee, which Corby couldn’t stand. The sound of the TV and Mom’s voice came from downstairs. She was talking about shopping, which meant she was having a conversation on the phone with one of her friends.

  “Not beige and not fifty shades of beige,” Mother said. “I understand that everything now is beige, but I disappear in that color ... Yes. Yes, I Am. You know what I mean.”

  Corby closed the door and went to her parents’ bedroom on her tiptoes. Her bare feet touched the unpleasant, cold floor. Why didn’t she put on socks or slippers?

  The door was open and Corby slid into the room and went straight to the bathroom. It was renovated a year ago because Mother hated what it looked like after a previous renovation. “Too old,” she had said. Now it had a long counter with two modern, square sinks, fancy faucets with water coming out of them like waterfalls, and silver and gray decorations. The bedroom and bathroom always smelled of lavender and for Corby this smell was what made these rooms “old.” On the counter that surrounded Mother’s sink, were dozens of jars of creams, perfumes, and makeup. Corby loved all of it and she often sneaked into her mother’s bathroom when she wasn’t home and explored everything. She opened every jar to smell what was inside and tried makeup on her face (she was awful at that). This time she didn’t even look at the jars and vials, but opened the cabinet that hung over the sink. There, her mother kept her medication. Sometimes Corby checked there too, but just out of curiosity and because she could, not because it was something she needed. Today she had a purpose. She needed medication that would help her to relax. After a night of restful sleep she didn’t shake and didn’t worry as much as yesterday, but she knew everything would return in a snap with the arrival of the police. She didn’t doubt they would come and they would come today.

  She saw a chaos of orange bottles and dozens of multi-colored boxes of vitamins that filled three little shelves.

  “I’ll spend the whole day here before I find what I need.”

  Corby turned all the bottles to herself so she could see all the labels at the same time.

  “Ambien, Ibuprofen, Valerian, Omega-3, Prozac … Prozac ...”

  “I’m always hungry when I take Prozac, but it’s the only thing that relaxes me at night,” Mother said.

  “It’s all in your head. Those pills are addictive,” Dad replied.

  “If you say one more time that it’s in my head…” Mom answered.

  “Prozac.”

  “Corby! Breakfast’s ready! Wake Up!” The voice came from below. Dad, of course.

  “Coming!” Corby yelled back and shut her mouth with her hand. What if her parents realized the sound didn’t come from her room? She opened the bottle and pills scattered on the sink and the floor. “Damn.”

  She collected everything as fast as she could, dropped five pills in her pocket, put one on her tongue, washed it down with tap water, mixed the bottles, and closed the cabinet.

  Before getting out of the bathroom, she looked in the mirror.

  “Everything will be fine.”

  Going down the stairs, she didn’t believe that everything would be fine, but when she sat at the table and her dad put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her, her view of the situation started changing. Thirty minutes later, just after breakfast, the doorbell of their apartment rang. Her confidence that everything was going to be fine became absolute. She knew who was there and she wasn’t afraid. The only thing that was wrong, she wanted to go to her room and get into bed. She had never wanted to sleep as much as she did now.

  She sat at the table even though her mother said to put all the dishes in the sink, and listened to her parents and a heavy male voice she hadn’t heard before, talking in the hallway. His voice fell on Corby’s ears like concrete blocks and she couldn’t make out his words.

  “Corby?”

  She raised her head and looked at her father when he entered. Colored circles danced in front of her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Corby nodded. “I just ate too much.”

  “Okay. Two cops are here … I mean, the police investigators, and they want to ask you a few questions. It’s about Vera. She never came home.”

  “Let them ask,” Corby smiled. She felt good, very good.

  Dad frowned then went to the hallway, and came back with two strangers. One was wearing a gray coat and the other was in a jacket. One was with a mustache and the other’s face was clean. One was thin, the other was overweight.

  “Good morning,” the thin guy with the mustache and wearing a coat said.

  “Morning.” Corby nodded then remembered that her mother asked her to clean the plates from the table and jumped to run the errand.

  “What are you doing?” Mother asked as she entered the room. She stood behind the men and then stepped forward. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No, thank you,” the fat one said.

  “Mom, you asked me to clean the table,” Corby said. She didn’t care, she felt good. She was a little bit wobbly and sleepy, but overall she was in a state of flight.

  “You can do it later,” Mother said.

  “Corby,” the man with the mustache said, “my name is Detective Herring and this is Detective Dodge. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  “No,” Corby said, looking into the policeman’s eyes. He was serious and silently demanded the right and honest answer. He didn’t smile, he penetrated her soul with his eyes, and she suddenly realized that the drug had stopped suppressing her fear. It started coming back. Her head was still foggy and she wanted to sleep, but fear seeped through an armor of sudden fatigue and apathy. What if they guessed? They were grown men and they came to arrest her for Vera’s murder. Maybe it would be better for her to confess? They would take that into account as well as the fact that Vera had bullied her in school, and also that she was still a child.

  While she was considering her possibilities, looking at the glass table dappled with bread crumbs on the surface and cluttered with dirty dishes, the two detectives inspected the room and gazed at Corby.

  “We want to ask you about your schoolmate,” Dodge said.

  Corby nodded. Her mood changed faster than a spinning top. Now she wasn’t afraid. Or was she? She couldn’t distinguish her condition. The pill mocked her brain and her thought process. She couldn’t think fast and couldn’t think clearly.

  “Vera Bodroff,” the detective continued. “When she came to the store yesterday, you were the only one there?”

  “Yes. Last night my dad said that her mother called and asked if I knew where she was,” Corby said what she thought to say before. She was glad that she didn’t forget anything and suppressed a smile. The pills tried to play tricks on her, but she still controlled her mind.

  “Yes, yes, it’s true. I told her that before she went to bed.” Dad came forward.

  “Okay,” thin Herring said. “Can you repeat what happened when she came?”

  “Nothing,” Corby said. “Vera came to pick up her order because her mother asked her to.”

  “Why did you stay in the store so late?” Dodge said.

  “She always does,” Father said. “She’s our ...”

  “Let the girl answer,” Herring said.

  “I always stay in the store after closing to help with the cleaning. I earn my pocket money.”

  “It’s legal,” Dad said. “She doesn’t work more than two hours per day.”

  “We’re not talking about that now,” Dodge said. “Let us hear from your daughter. She’s old enough to answer most questions.”

  “Patrick, seriously,” Mother said.

  “I just wanted to help,” Dad shrug
ged.

  “Did she come after hours?”

  “Yes,” Corby said. “She knocked and I let her in. She told me about the order, I found it in the refrigerator, gave it to her, and she paid for it. She went home after that.”

  “Did she tell you she was going home?” Dodge asked.

  “No, but I assumed. She had a package of meat with her.”

  “Anything else?” Herring said.

  “We talked for about two minutes. It was late, you know. She said ‘see you Monday’ and left.”

  “Did she take the order?” Dodge asked.

  “Of course. That was why she came.”

  “When she left and you closed the door,” Herring said, “did you see anyone on the street? I mean a person who looked like he or she was waiting for something?”

  Corby pretended to think, looked at the ceiling, then shook her head.

  “I didn’t even look at the street. It was dark and cold at that time. I closed the door then decided to play this game before going home.”

  “You told me you didn’t play.”

  “Sorry Dad.”

  “Don’t interrupt,” Dodge said.

  “I’m sorry,” Patrick said.

  Corby knew she was in trouble now and blamed Vera for it. If it weren’t for her, Dad wouldn’t have found out about the games. Why did she say that anyway?

  “Sometimes I do my homework in the store after hours, sometimes I play. I’m alone there at that time and I like it.”

  “I understand,” Herring said. “So you shut the door and haven’t heard anything from Vera?”

  “No. Just what my father said. She didn’t come home last night?”

  “Are you close friends?” Herring asked. Both detectives ignored Corby’s question, they had to ask theirs. Vera’s mom probably raised hell when her daughter didn’t come home. That was why the detectives came so early in the morning.

  “We have a few classes together. That’s all.”

  “Do you exchange texts, phone calls, are you friends on social sites?”

  Corby shook her head. “No and no. Yesterday we talked more than ever. She left pretty fast.”