What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed

by D. M. Thornton

  “Don’t worry about it, Jaz. It’s been taken care of,” she responds. She turns her back to me and sulks into the kitchen, plopping herself down at the table and wrapping her palms around a steaming cup of tea.

  I take the seat across from her, noticing that one of her hands is bandaged, and stare at her in silence before I can’t handle the quiet anymore. “Are you going to tell me who did this, or am I gonna have to beat it out of you myself?” I ask with attitude.

  She glares at me from over her cup, one eyebrow cocked as if to say, “you can try to intimidate me all you want, but I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Don’t think for a minute that I won’t rearrange your pretty little face and turn those green bruises back to purple,” I bark.

  “There’s nothing to tell. It’s that simple.”

  I laugh. “It’s that simple? Don’t be a cunt. What happened? Clearly you’ve been avoiding all of us because your face looks like it was used as a punching bag. What the fuck? Spill it. Why is your hand wrapped up? Who did this? If it wasn’t Jett then who was it, and where—”

  I’m cut off by the abrupt crack of Gray’s teacup against the table top. It’s a wonder how the cup doesn’t shatter in her hand, but not only is it still intact, not a single drop is wasted. Her voice is stern but calm when she says, “Will you shut up. I told you, there’s nothing to tell. It wasn’t Jett.”

  I’m having a hard time leaving this one alone. If she’s in danger, I need to know about it, otherwise what good am I? How will I be able to help her? I’m her best friend, the one she tells all of her deepest, darkest secrets, and the one who doesn’t judge her even if she really is a whacko-jacko. We tell each other everything, so why is she not talking? “Are you okay? At least tell me that much.”

  She nods her head.

  My nostrils flare like a bull ready to charge. This fucking girl is so goddamn stubborn I wanna just slap her...maybe pull her hair. Better yet, walk around her house and start pushing things out of order. Yeah, that would get her going. I’ll start with the bookshelves and knock all of her hardcovers out of alphabetical order, then go into her hall closet and dump all of her color coordinated towel stacks onto the floor. Next, I’ll go into her room and start throwing her perfectly aligned decorative pillows in the corner of her room, and then I’ll head into the kitchen. That’s where she’ll be begging me to stop my tirade and spill the beans. Fuck yeah, I’m gonna shuffle her utensils in the dishwasher so they aren’t so uniformed. For the love of God, who loads the dishwasher with silverware grouped in their own compartment? Not all the spoons have to be together, and the knives and forks are okay with being intermingled.

  “Whatever your warped li’l brain is thinking, you can stop. It won’t work on me today. Go ahead, ransack my house. I still won’t have anything to say. But I warn you, if you want to play that game, you’ll be the one pleading for mercy,” Gray says. Her tone is as smooth as butter with not even a single thread of hitch. “If you push me too far, brat, you might end up next to the guy who did this to my face.”

  Whoa, motherfucker, did she just threaten me?

  Okay, we’ve had some heated moments in the past, because that’s what sisters do, and even though we’re not blood, she’s still my sister...but we have never taken it to that level. And how the hell does she even know what I’m thinking? Is my face that predictable? Probably.

  “Well, I guess that means you buried that asswipe under the flowers. And let’s make something clear.” I lean forward on my arms so I’m stretched across the table. “Don’t threaten me. You might be the killer in this three ring circus, but you know I can kick your motherfuckin’ ass.”

  We stare at each for a moment then burst out in a fit of giggles. Hey, call us nutjobs, but this is what we do. We can’t stay mad at one another for longer than three minutes.

  “You’re seriously crazy,” I say through a laugh.

  “Takes one to know one, brat. And you know that’s why you love me.”

  I nod, my face drawing back to a serious expression. “That I do, Gray. That I do. You sure you’re okay? We’re open books, right? No secrets?”

  “Yeah, brat, I am. I promise. No secrets.” There’s a pause before she asks, “How’s Andi?”

  “Fine, I guess. I haven’t heard otherwise.”

  Gray nods as her eyes stay focused on her cup. “She spending a lot of time with Drew?”

  My brows pull together. Gray’s a lot of things, but nosey isn’t one of them, so why is she asking questions about Andi and Drew? “I suppose. She was going out of her mind last couple of weeks, though. I guess he had to work late every night so she couldn’t see him. I thought she was going to have a coronary. She was having some serious withdrawals. She has it bad for the man.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Gray mumbles.

  “Mmhmm.” I’m watching her closely, curious as to why she has a sudden interest in them, but her face remains deadpan, giving me nothing to go on. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yep.”

  Without warning, Gray scoots back from the table and takes her cup to the sink where she washes it and puts it away then heads into the living room, plopping herself down on the couch.

  All right then, I guess we’re moving spots.

  While Gray curls up on the couch, covering up with a cozy blanket, I sink back into the big comfy chair. We stare at each other for a long pause, sitting in awkward silence. Something has happened that has created an odd shift that I can’t put my finger on. Whatever it is, though, has Gray in some kind of funk that I have never seen her in. Not even when Blue died. Come to think of it, she’s been acting strange for a while now, which is not like her. Gray’s the calm, rational one. She’s the one that enforces order and keeps chaos to a bare minimum. When Andi or I have a problem, we look to Gray to smooth out the kinks, because that’s what she does—a black and white with little shades of gray, no frills, down to business, put you in your place killer with a heart of solid gold. If you’re in the circle, there’s nothing that she won’t do for you, but if you cross her, watch out—you’ll be drowning in a six-foot deep hole of dirt. At this point, I don’t know what to say, because what I want to say she won’t answer anyway. So, when she finally breaks the silence, I release the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding onto.

  “What about you, Jaz? How are things with Cole? Get jackhammered yet?”

  A smile spreads wide across my face. “Well, as a matter of fact, I have.” I giggle like a giddy little toddler.

  Gray kills my thunder when she doesn’t reflect the same kind of excitement that I have, but I don’t let her sourpuss mood pull me down. Nope, I’m riding the wave. I’m as high as the North Star. I’m drunk on the man that has given me my first orgasm in over a year. Nothing can rain on my fucking parade...not even Debbie Downer Gray.

  “Are you going to give me details, or continue to sit there looking like you’re a goofy clown?”

  I roll my eyes. “It. Was. Amazing!” I squeal. “Holy shitballs, it was the best sex I’ve ever had. Like, ever.”

  Gray gives me a pitiful excuse of a smile. “That’s great,” she says.

  “That’s great?” I ask, my voice rising an octave. Has this girl gone mad? Do I need to have her committed, because she’s really starting to worry me. “It’s not just great, Gray, it’s a-m-a-z-i-n-g. The guy hit a home run, a grand slam. He hit the jackpot, the mother lode. His cock is gold, and I’m the pot at the end of the fucking rainbow!” Thank God. I have the bitch laughing now. “I’m the fuse to his dynamite, the ship to his rocket.”

  Gray’s hand flies up to stop me. “Good lord, stop, I can’t take anymore. You got pounded. It was a-m-a-z-i-n-g. I get it,” she mocks me with a giggle.

  I puff a dramatic sigh. “Thank fuck! I thought you’d never crack a smile ever again. Jesus, you’d think that once you got laid, you woulda been a little less of a twat. You better tell Jett that he needs to up his game. If he doesn’t give you a body-shaki
ng orgasm, and quick, you’re sure to turn into a raging lunatic. Oh wait,” I giggle, “you already are!”

  She tosses a pillow at me that nails me square in the face, and while she’s too busy laughing her damn head off, I leap from my seat and jump on top of her. I tickle her until she’s almost in tears and, because I’m a crazy ho, I reach between her flailing arms and give her a nice little titty twister.

  In a fit of giggles that has her snorting, Gray screams, “Bitch!” She attempts to push me off her, but I have all my weight on her, squishing her into the cushions of the couch.

  “Say it!” I yell at her. She gives me a good shove, causing me to lose my balance, but I catch myself and land back on top of her with my shoulder.

  “Get off me, you big oaf!”

  “Say it!” I yell again, pinching her other nipple.

  Gray’s giggles explode out of her body in short, quick chortles until she finally cries out, “Mercy!”

  I hop off of her, triumphantly tossing my arms up in the air, and jog around the living room like I’m Rocky. “Take that, biatch!”

  She sits up on the couch and begins to massage her nipples. “I can’t believe you just gave me two purple nurples. You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

  “And that’s why you love me, brat,” I remind her.

  “Mmhmm. I’m not sure why, but I do.”

  Chapter 33

  Gray

  There’s one thing for sure in this life, besides death and taxes, my bitches are always there to make me laugh. Jaz comes on a bit thick, but I can count on her, for anything. And she’s never failed me...ever. Even when we were kids and I needed a place to hide out, she’d let me crash at her place. When I needed food because my mother was too high to remember to feed me, or when she chained me to the pipe in the basement and refused to nourish me, Jaz always stole food out of her pantry, knowing that she would get in trouble had her parents found out, in order to supply me with enough to survive. Jaz was the first person I called after I killed my mother’s boyfriend, and she is the one I’ve called for everything since.

  Except this.

  I can’t tell Jaz about Brian or Drew. No matter how bad I want to, I can’t. When I give someone my word, I never go back on it and this is no exception. Believe me, I want to call Andi and tell her how Drew saved my life. How he killed someone in order to protect me. I’d love to give her that gift. Maybe you can’t see what kind of gift that is, but for Andi, that would be a huge sentiment. She doesn’t have a very good track record when it comes to men, so to have her finally meet a guy that thinks with his head and his heart rather than his dick, she needs to know. But, I can’t.

  Just as Jaz has a part of me, Andi has the other. We haven’t known each other as long as Jaz and I, but that will never discount our friendship. This girl would give her soul to you if you merely asked. She’s the one that has helped me channel my inner demons, giving them a path to follow. And if I fall off course, she’s there to redirect me. When I didn’t think there was another insane-in-the-membrane member such as myself, there was Andi, hiding in her corpse’s shell.

  Some years back, roughly six or seven—I’ve lost count now—I was on a mission in search of a victim. I spent a few hours in a local dive bar, one that I’ve since stopped shopping at, and watched as Andi and her boyfriend at the time proceeded to argue at a table in the far back corner of the bar. There’s something about squabbles that draw my attention, and I quickly honed in on the bickering between Andi and...I believe his name was Chris. There was something in the way he spoke to her, and how she stiffened in her seat when he moved his hand to grab his drink. The look in his eyes has branded my memory still to this day, and I remember clearly how he stared down at her. And when I say stared down at her, that’s because he wasn’t just looking at her, but glaring down at her with evil, soulless eyes. It wasn’t only his eyes that were expressive, but Andi’s too. The look on her face when Chris pounded down his drink was one of wishful drowning. Yep, she was hoping he’d choke on his alcoholic beverage so she could watch him die right there at the table. Needless to say, I’m quite familiar with that look. So, the moment he yanked her from the booth by her forearm, I slipped out of the bar after them and hid behind a nearby car.

  With no one around to bear witness besides li’l ol’ me, Chris used the opportunity to manhandle Andi in the parking lot. Now, she tried to fight back, but he overpowered her with ferocious blows. I cringed with the first slap across her face, but when he threw a punch at her was when I began to shake uncontrollably. I wanted to rush at him at that moment, but there are times when you need to assess the situation before you react, and that was one of the situations. Even right now, as I’m reliving this moment, my hand is clutched tightly as if I’m holding on to my trusty syringe, and my head is spinning with anxiety.

  It was raining that night, so every slap Chris made to Andi’s face echoed loudly across the parking lot, which only ignited the flame in my body. The zipper of his jeans sounded like a hundred metal cranks tearing at a seam, and the tangy iron smell of Andi’s blood dissipated through the air like a heavy fog. It seems that when anger hits you, all the senses are heightened, making each movement, noise, smell...clear and painfully sharp.

  Have you ever been so mad that you can feel your blood literally boiling in your veins? Have you ever experienced your flesh beginning to burn from anger and your brain swelling inside your head as if it was going to explode? I have...more times than I would like to admit. But when those feelings begin to surface, there’s no calming them unless they’re put to rest. And when Chris shoved Andi to her knees, pinning her down by a clump of her hair from the top of her head, and pulled out his cock, I ran full force through that parking lot and knocked him to the ground like a linebacker, stabbing him in the side of the neck with my needle.

  In those few seconds while I was running and right before I plowed into Chris, I was another identity. It’s one that takes over my body when I focus in on a kill. I’m a wild animal on a hunt, and when I make contact, there’s no stopping me until the last bit of their blood has spilled from their body and their last breath has vacated their lungs. But that night, when I came to my senses after knocking Chris down to the ground, I looked up and saw the swollen eyes of a girl who wasn’t terrified, but electrified. And as I was about to apologize for startling her, her lips curved up in an elated grin as she said, “Whoa, that was badass. Thank you.”

  I asked, “Do you love this asshole?”

  She laughed and responded with, “More like loathe. That fucker can be fed to the animals, and I’d love nothing more than to watch them eat him alive.”

  By no means am I a lesbo, but when those words came out of her mouth, my heart fluttered in my chest and a warm tingle spread throughout my body and I thought, for sure, I met a missing piece to my soul. But then, when I took Andi with me to the compound, and she watched me do what I do, she never once removed her gaze from my table. At one point, she even asked me if she could slip her hands inside Chris’ stomach to remove his spleen. And that’s when I knew that we were going to be friends for life. But wait, there’s more! She excused herself for a moment, and when she returned, she held in her hand a spoon in the shape of a skull.

  “I, um, there’s something that I’d like to do. Would that be okay?” she asked, holding up the spoon and twirling it between her fingers.

  I waved my hand over Chris’ body, inviting her over. “Please, be my guest.”

  Needless to say, when she dug that spoon into Chris’ eye and scooped it out like it was a ball of cantaloupe...I didn’t shiver because it was grotesque or because it made a loud popping noise, but because my body had been overtaken with arousal. I very well could have had my first orgasm at that moment, if I knew what that felt like. Let’s just say that I was flushed and goosebumps had spread across my skin, leaving me twitching and aching in the nether regions.

  Call me crazy if you’d like, but I really don’t give a rat’s butt. I’ve got
my girls and they’ve got me. We’ve got each other, and that’s all I need. See, these girls think that I hold all the cards. That I’m the one that keep the pieces together. But what they don’t realize is that they’re the ones that hold me together. I need them. I need them for many reasons—to keep me grounded, to keep me laughing, to help me not be so uptight, to put me in check when I start having an OCD meltdown, but most importantly, to be the family that I’ve never had. And they have far exceeded that role.

  So, now do you see why I’m having such a hard time with not being able to tell them that Drew saved my life and, while doing so, took the life of another? It’s killing me, but I have no choice. I promised Drew that I wouldn’t say anything...and I won’t. All I can do now is go on about my business like nothing happened and pray that I’m not interrogated by Jaz anymore...worse yet, Andi. If Jaz opens her damn mouth, I may have to cut out her tongue. Okay, okay, I won’t really do that, but I will bitch slap her if she blabs.

  In order to get back to some form of normalcy, I decided that today was a good day to go back to work. The bruises on my face are light enough to be covered by makeup and, surprisingly, I woke up in a very chipper mood. So why not go share my prosperity with my students?

  You know, as a teacher, you aren’t too sure how much of an impact you’re making on your students until you’re gone for a few weeks. As the bell rings and my students begin to shuffle into the room, I’m bombarded with hoots and hollers, a few high fives and even a couple of hugs. It’s the first time in my teaching career that I feel like I’m visible for everyone to see. I’m wanted, and I’ve been missed, and all my students have made sure to tell me as they walk to their seats.

  And how do I reward such an awesome welcome? “Pop quiz!” I squeal with excitement. Of course the room is filled with whining and complaining, but there’s no Thomas here anymore to pitch a damn fit. Instead, they all take to their papers, their heads down and their pencils scribbling frantically as they write. The quiz isn’t one that I’m necessarily counting towards grades, more so for extra credit. I want to see how many students were paying attention to the sub while I was gone. If they get a passing score, then I’ll know that they were doing what they were supposed to be.