Mean girl_A dark, disturbing psychological thriller

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  “I want to. It’s really hard to believe anything this crazy. You’re so ... good and innocent.”

  “Good and innocent. Thank you.”

  “Will you show them to me or not?”

  “Gaby leaves at six. You can come after that.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Corby intended to sit in her room until six and then go down to the shop. She wanted to be alone, without anyone interrupting her thoughts or sticking their nose in her business. As she expected, her parents weren’t going to give up. They were determined to rebuild their relationship with their daughter and didn’t ask if it was what she wanted. At four there was a knock at her bedroom door and when she opened it, both parents were staring at her. Both were still dressed up after work. Mom with wavy hair and bright eyes, Dad in a gray polo shirt and jacket.

  “Daddy punished you,” Mother began hurriedly. “He had to do it, Corby! We need to decide what to do and if punishment is the only way to change the situation we have to go for it.”

  Corby didn’t respond and didn’t shut the door even though that was what she wanted to do. But if she closed the door, it would infuriate them and they would ground her for real. They would probably do it for real, for the first time in her life. Not just limiting her candy or TV, but something serious. Like taking away her phone or forbidding her to go outside. Then she wouldn’t be able to go to the store and see Jacob.

  “Your behavior,” Dad began, but Corby didn’t let him finish.

  “I want to apologize,” she said.

  “What?” Mom asked, clearly not ready for a peaceful solution.

  “I was wrong. I’m sorry for everything. I have so much homework. I’m just tired.”

  “Well.” Mom looked at Dad. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Because I can’t control my emotions sometimes.”

  Dad also looked bemused. Actually he looked bemused most of the time. “You don’t have to work at the shop,” he said. “You’re getting very busy, I understand.”

  “No,” Corby said hastily and regretted it. They might suspect something. “It’s good for me. I relax while working there. It’s so quiet. I like to go there, let me.”

  Apparently, the expression on Corby’s face was miserable because her mother stepped forward and pressed her daughter to her chest.

  “How can I help you, baby?”

  “We. How can we help,” Dad corrected.

  By the way Mother stiffened, Corby realized that she wanted to say exactly what she thought about her husband’s correction, but said nothing. She only pressed her daughter harder to her chest and patted her back. “We’ll do what we can.”

  “I just want to be alone,” Corby muttered in her mom’s shoulder. “That’s all. I just don’t want to talk.”

  “I understand, I understand.” Mom continued clapping her on the back. “Dinner? You need to eat. You’ve lost a lot of weight. You don’t even look like yourself.”

  “That’s what you wanted.”

  “Not like this!”

  “I physically feel very good.” Corby pulled away from her mother. “I always feel good when I’m alone. That’s all I want now. It’s just a phase, I’m sure. It’ll pass.”

  “I understood everything,” Mother said and looked at her husband. “We understood. We just wanted to have some conversation. I talked to this woman at work, she has a daughter your age, and she said they have situations like this, but they try to work through them. She said we have to work together.”

  “If we can help with anything,” Dad said.

  Corby nodded. “I’ll tell you. I promise. I need time. I’m not ready to talk. Everything is fine, really, I’m just too dramatic, I guess.”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other.

  “Okay, okay,” Mother said. “Dinner will be on the table, as always. We will wait for you if you suddenly change your mind.”

  “Thank you.”

  Corby’s parents gazed at her for some time, then turned around and headed for the stairs. Corby closed the bedroom door, leaned against it, and smiled. Her mood shifted and she had a strong feeling that everything was going to be all right.

  She came to the shop as always, before the appointed time. Gaby was gone five minutes after her arrival, cursing with all her might at a customer who threw up on the fridge containing drinks and then she had to wash it off.

  Corby didn’t think about it for a second, while she was waiting for Jacob. She couldn’t think of anything or anyone but him and what she was going to show him. She wanted to wear Sylvia’s earrings or Vera’s pendant for courage, because every time she took the jewelry in her hands, she felt a surge of energy. She wanted to take her mother’s pills to relax, but in the end she didn’t do that either. Mixed feelings: one—that everything was going to be fine, the other—that everything was going to be wrong, attacked each other, creating panic in her head.

  When Jacob came, she closed the door and stood behind him while he looked around, as if studying the situation or looking for something.

  “How was school?” she asked, not knowing what to ask and unable to stay silent.

  “You should have come.” Jacob turned to her, taking off his scarf and unbuttoning his coat.

  “You don’t need to take off your clothes,” Corby stopped him. “It’s cold in there.”

  Jacob lowered his hands, still looking at Corby. She shivered.

  “How was Jane?” she asked.

  “She didn’t talk to me, I didn’t talk to her. Now is not a good time to mention her. Especially considering your plans for her.”

  “Are you sure you want to see … them?”

  “You could kill them, but I can’t even look?” Jacob cackled and Corby felt even worse, if that was possible. “You think I’m weaker than you?”

  “No.” Corby shook her head. “It’s not about strength. I don’t know. I just said it, because ... I don’t know.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Corby nodded, stood for another two seconds before moving to the refrigerator. She studied the tiles under her feet, black and white, and when they passed the butcher’s room, she considered if she could really kill Jacob.

  She stopped again before the refrigerator.

  “I didn’t kill Vera, only Sylvia.”

  “You told me that already.”

  Corby nodded again and opened the refrigerator. They walked past the shelves of meat, listening to their soft steps. She didn’t look at Jacob in front of the freezer box. She just opened it and stepped aside.

  “Jesus!” She heard behind her. “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”

  “What’s not to believe?” Corby unexpectedly felt anger. “Believe it or not—here they are. You wanted to see them. Enjoy.”

  “I was still hoping.”

  “Are you going to barf or call the police?” Corby turned to him. Jacob gaped in the box. “This is Vera, as you can see. The one down on her stomach, obviously, is Sylvia.”

  Jacob didn’t answer and didn’t move.

  “Should I bring you water?” Corby asked. She realized that her voice sounded indifferent. Suddenly she didn’t care what he would do or say. Her mood changed instantly. Perhaps this was what her mother meant when she talked about teenagers and their constant mood swings. Not that her mother complained about it until recently, but she always spoke about it with Dad. Even when Corby just didn’t want to finish her food or requested a second helping on two different evenings, she would say that “somebody” was moody today. “Are you going to say anything?”

  “I’m sorry.” Jacob glanced at her and looked back in the box. Corby had a feeling that he didn’t see her and didn’t understand what she said. Maybe she had to pour cold water on his head or hit him with a sledgehammer.

  “Jacob?”

  “I know,” he muttered.

  “Jacob?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Fuck, Jacob! Wake up!”

  He turned to her and after a few secon
ds his eyes became clear. He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled through his pursed lips.

  “I didn’t think you would react like this,” Corby said.

  “I didn’t think a lot of things.” He viewed the box one more time and closed it. “What did you do with Sylvia?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I axed her.”

  Corby was amazed at how easily she uttered those words. There was no road back. What happened—happened.

  Jacob touched his hair again, now looking at the closed freezer. “Was it hard?”

  “Not easy.”

  “But you still slashed her?”

  “As you see, I turned the blunt side of the ax to hit her, but somehow it turned at the end and I chopped off a part of her face.”

  Jacob grimaced as if in pain and then wiped his nose. It turned red.

  “Are you cold?” Corby asked. “Do you want to go back to the shop?”

  “Didn’t you feel any regret or remorse?” Jacob asked, instead of answering her question.

  Corby never thought about it. She was scared, but did she feel regret? Did she feel any remorse for Sylvia? Sylvia, who terrorized her this whole year. Who called her names, laughed at her, broke her phone, and even threatened to kill her. Did she threaten her or had Corby made it up? She couldn’t remember.

  “I understand she was a bitch, but still?”

  “I know not everyone is capable of murder,” Corby said. “I understand that it is not right.”

  “Not right?” Jacob laughed and stopped as abruptly as he began. “It’s quite wrong, all right.”

  “You learned about it yesterday, but you didn’t tell the police. Now you came here to look at the corpses. Is this right or wrong?”

  Jacob stared at her for a few seconds.

  “You continue to amaze me,” he said.

  “I’m happy to keep you amazed!” Corby couldn’t stop. She wanted to be sarcastic. She wanted to be confident. And she felt it. Confidence. Something she had wanted for years—came naturally or started to come. She didn’t know how much of this confidence was real and not artificially created under the circumstances. She didn’t know if it would disappear under any adverse conditions. She didn’t know, but she cheered it now.

  “But how? How can you live knowing what you’ve done? Knowing they are here, in your fridge? Two corpses of the girls being searched for by the police and maybe the FBI?”

  Sometimes I talk to them, Corby thought, but didn’t say it.

  “They’re already dead. Why would I think about them?”

  “Are you serious?” Jacob’s eyes bulged.

  “Does it look like I’m kidding?”

  “Did you want to kill me?”

  I did, Corby thought. I seriously considered it.

  “No. Why would I want to kill you? No reason.”

  “Judging by your voice, you were considering it.”

  Corby shook her head.

  Jacob licked his lips, then abruptly leaned over to the box, opened it, looked inside then shut it with all his strength and went to the door of the refrigerator.

  “You didn’t have to slam it,” Corby muttered, locking the freezer and following the guy. She closed the fridge and went to the shop, expecting Jacob to leave by the time she got there, but he was waiting for her, standing in the middle of the floor and considering the camera.

  “That.” He pointed his finger at the camera. “It should have footage of when Vera fell and Sylvia came here.”

  “Doesn’t work,” Corby said. “For a long time.”

  “Okay.”

  They stood silently facing each other: Jacob intently studying the camera and Corby intently studying him.

  “Now are you going to the police?” she finally asked.

  Jacob looked at her.

  “I should.”

  “Great! You will become a national hero!” Corby turned to go away, but hoped he would stop her.

  “I won’t call anywhere!” Jacob yelled and Corby stopped, smiled, but made a serious face when she turned to him.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I just don’t know how to live with it. Now that I’ve seen.”

  “You didn’t have to do it.”

  “Obviously.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I still don’t know how to take it all in.”

  “You know what, Jacob,” Corby said, though it was hard for her to say, “I think you should go home right now and think about it very well. You have to come to some conclusions. We can’t just stand in the middle of my father’s shop and discuss your shock.”

  Jacob didn’t answer.

  “I have to go home too. Do my homework,” Corby added.

  “You know what I’m thinking?”

  Corby didn’t know, but hoped it was something good. For example, he could think about her beautiful eyes and lips. Or about kissing her. She didn’t answer.

  “I’ve never imagined that I would know a person who ... who killed someone. Talk to her.”

  “Do you mean with a killer? You’ve never imagined that you would talk to a killer?” Corby pursed her lips. Something flashed in Jacob’s eyes. Did he think she could kill him too?

  “Go,” Corby said the word she wanted to say the least. “Go now. Because … What if I might kill you too?”

  “Corby, I didn’t say anything like that.”

  “Go.”

  “Okay,” Jacob said. “Will you come to school tomorrow?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Jacob didn’t kiss her before leaving and didn’t even hug her. He looked at her for a second or two after they said goodbye and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.

  Corby adjusted her jacket and five minutes later she also left the shop. She wanted to talk to Vera and Sylvia about her feelings, share, but she was too tired. She felt exhausted and all she wanted to do was go to her room and fall on the bed.

  CHAPTER 32

  Mom, of course, asked if Corby was hungry when she walked to the stairs past the living room, where her parents watched television, dressed in their bathrobes and slippers. Corby said she wasn’t hungry and thank you. The conversation ended, fortunately.

  Already in her room, she took off her jacket and checked her phone, which had received a message while she walked to the house. Unfortunately, the message was from Jane.

  Why did you miss school today? We wanted to see you.

  “Of course, you did,” Corby threw her jacket and scarf on the floor. “Bitches.”

  Taking the box out of her nightstand, she shook out the jewelry and put them on, walking up to the mirror.

  “What did you get them for?” she asked the silence, looking at her reflection. She spun in front of the mirror and stopped at the last thought. “Birthday or Christmas. I think Sylvia got her present for her birthday.”

  “Did you feel regret or remorse for them?” Jacob asked.

  “I don’t know,” Corby whispered, touching the earrings. “I don’t know.”

  Suddenly, without warning, Sylvia’s image appeared before her. It wasn’t the one she had always seen, a mean girl who bullied her, but it was the one who her friends liked. Sylvia, who always laughed and her laugh was contagious. Sylvia, who ran faster than anyone in her PE class and who climbed the rope better than the boys. Sylvia, who wrote an essay on what she would do with her life after school and who said that she had no clear idea. The only thing she was sure about was going to Mexico and taking custody of an orphanage. The teacher cried when she read Sylvia’s story about a girl who died in an orphanage from beatings. Corby remembered that Sylvia had a large family with four brothers: two were younger than Sylvia and two were older. However, her dad earned enough for all of them to go to private school. Sylvia once told Jane, who nagged her about her loud voice, that she was the loudest in her family and she was proud of it.

  “Christmas is not going to be the same for your family, Sylvia,” Corby said, knowing that something in
comprehensible bloomed in her heart. The bud of this incomprehension grew quickly and threatened to tear her body. She felt pity. Pity for Sylvia, whom she had killed without thinking twice about the family or the one life of which she deprived them. She didn’t think about it at all.

  “It’s not my fault Vera died!” Corby stamped her foot. “She fell!”

  “You killed Sylvia,” an inner voice whispered. A voice she had never heard before. It scared her.

  “It’s normal for all psychopaths,” her mind’s voice intervened again. “And you are a real psychopath.”

  “I’m not a psychopath,” Corby said.

  “Would any normal person kill another? What would our lives turn into if this were the case? We would all start killing because somebody yelled at us, called us names, bumped our cart in a store, or looked at us the wrong way.”

  “Maybe it would be better.”

  “You think there’s nothing to kill you for?”

  “What for?”

  “Well. You help your father to sell yesterday’s sandwiches as if they were freshly made today. That is one thing.”

  “It’s not my idea! We sell almost everything at the end of the day!”

  Corby looked in the mirror at her reflection, at her new, thin face and leaner body, listening to a strange, rough, unfamiliar voice in her head, which was nothing more of course than the voice of her conscience. Her suddenly awakened conscience. Or maybe she really went crazy? What if?

  “Get out of here. Go back to where you came from!”

  “I can leave, of course, but you can’t get rid of me forever. When I appear—it’s for good.”

  “Get out.”

  Corby returned to her bed and began to change into her pajamas. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to eat. Her stomach began to grumble. If she went downstairs, her mother would run after her and her dad would join them. They didn’t care about her before. She was like furniture, like a table. She didn’t interfere and was always in sight. Now they started to take care of her as if she were a sick person. They also awoke voices of conscience.

  “Exactly”