by Amy Lukavics
June stood in front of the bushes until she saw Robert emerge from the house, dressed in his work clothes. Only after he drove away, oblivious to June’s presence, did she go inside. She spent hours exploring every nook and cranny of the building, laughing at the mess, such an immense mess by a man obviously drowning in loss. She saw that he kept a photograph of them together on his nightstand and was truly surprised at the sight of it. Somehow, Robert still held on to the idea of being with her forever, even after everything that had happened. It baffled her beyond belief. She continued to search through the house.
After she had checked all the rooms and seen everything, she clapped her hands together and got to work.
When evening came and Robert’s car pulled into the driveway, June was ready. He opened the door, and June was standing right there, holding a fresh bourbon on ice for him, and even though he initially froze and tried to back away, June had him take the drink and sit at the dinner table, which was already set.
“I’ve been waiting for you to get home, darling,” June said, stooping to retrieve a whole roasted chicken from the oven, the juices bubbling, the skin browned to a perfect crisp. “I’ve been cleaning all day for you, made sure the house was spotless for our first night together.”
Robert sat still at the table, his eyes wide with terror, his body rigid with what June supposed was terror. She could feel that he was trying very, very hard to move, to scream, to run. She’d taken the time to wash all the blood from herself and find a fresh dress that showed a lot of leg, but dear heavens, she’d forgotten to do something about her exposed brain. No matter. Robert soon wouldn’t mind, she knew.
“What’s wrong?” June asked into the silence, as Robert’s eyes began to fill, tears streaming down his face. “Isn’t this everything you ever wanted, darling? Us, together, in our very own home? Me making you the perfect dinner? My mother is quite the cook, as you know, and of course she was happy to pass those skills along to me.”
June, still smiling and holding the steaming roasting pan, made her way over to Robert and leaned in close, making sure to hold his eyes with hers. “Fuck you for thinking that the world owes you something,” she whispered. “Fuck you for thinking that I ever owed you anything.”
There came a knock on the door then. Robert’s eyes turned desperately toward the sound.
“Now, who might that be?” June said playfully, rising and setting the chicken down on the counter to quickly tent it with aluminum foil. “I know you like to be the very center of my attention, Robert, but—surprise! After a moment to think about it, I’ve decided that you’re not actually going to be the guest of honor tonight after all.”
She went to the front door and opened it, where her brother, Fred, stood with a bottle of champagne in a twitching hand. “Right on time,” June beamed, taking the bottle from her brother’s hand. “Oh, for me? So polite, Freddie. You shouldn’t have.”
Fred said nothing. His face was red, and the veins on his neck and temples were bulging with effort as he tried to fight against the force that drove him. June had him step inside, had him hang his own coat up, had him pour his own drink before sitting at the table directly across from Robert.
“How long I’ve waited for a moment just like this,” June sighed dreamily, sitting at the head of the table. “I’ve got a few minutes while I let that chicken rest. Seems to me like the perfect moment for us all to have a little talk.”
She could see Fred and Robert looking at each other, neither able to move their heads or stand or run.
“One of you is a symptom to be treated,” June said. “And one of you is a cancer to be cut out permanently.”
She loved seeing them try to figure out who was who.
“You were controlling,” June said, starting on Robert first. “You were dismally boring, you only cared about yourself, and you only loved me because your mother was dead.” Her face darkened. “And you hurt me. You shoved me against a wall when I wanted to follow my whims, all because you believed that I somehow owed you something.” A painful nuisance of a lump formed in her throat. “You pretended to care about my feelings on marriage, but you lied. You let our parents play you like a pitiful little puppet. You let them try to force me into the wrong fate.”
June took a breath, realized her hands were shaking. “But despite all of that,” she kept on, keeping her voice steady, “I can’t help but harbor just a touch of pity for you. You see, Robert, I was just as guilty as being a puppet as you were. Live and learn, right, darling?”
June stood and went back to the kitchen, peering at the boys via the pass-through. She cut into the chicken with a sharp knife, made up plates for Robert and Fred loaded with thick slices of breast meat, as well as some mashed potatoes and scoops of a bubbling green-bean casserole topped with toasted cornflakes. She drizzled pan juices over the meat and added two piping hot rolls with fresh butter to the side. It was the first dinner she’d ever made on her own, and judging by the taste of the delicious meat juices on her fingertips, she’d done very well.
“But I’m willing to give you another chance,” June said, setting one of the plates down in front of Robert. “Let you discover what purpose lies in store for you. It’s much different than what you ever expected, I can assure you that. You’re going to find out exactly what it feels like.”
She allowed Robert to eat then. She let go of him completely for a moment, just to see what he would do, and when he lifted his arms and realized he was back in control, but refrained from running away and instead began eating, pale, sweating and trembling, June knew she had made the correct choice. He was learning to be obedient already.
June set the other plate in front of Fred, but he wasn’t able to move to eat it. “Not hungry?” June asked, crossing her arms over her crisp new dress. “Now, my dear brother, that simply won’t do.”
Fred stared at her, pleading, and June remembered the false hope of protection that she’d granted him when they were young. He had failed her. She let her smile fade, dropped the bubbly demeanor and leaned over the table so that her face was inches from his.
“You made a horrible mistake the night the bus station called,” she said.
June knew now that it had never been her real fate to go to the writing retreat in New York and that she’d been meant for something else, and her story had simply been the vehicle that led her there chapter by chapter. But it didn’t matter. Fred wasn’t aware of any of that. For all he knew, he’d happily taken away the one chance June had to escape her miserable life without so much as a second thought. She remembered the disgusting glee in his eyes when he came into the living room, hardly able to wait to spill her secret to Dad.
You can’t train that sort of betrayal out of someone. June supposed that Fred had shown her his true colors in that moment all those nights ago. A sibling that showed such hatred, that was willing to inflict such damage, had no purpose being a sibling at all.
Despite feeling it so strongly, June was unable to articulate to Fred why she was about to do what followed. She wanted to so badly, wished that she could make him fully understand, wished that she could slow it down so he really knew, but in the end, June got so upset at the memory of the night her dream had been extinguished that she lost more control than she would have liked.
“My patience has simply run out,” she murmured to herself, defeated. “It really is a crying shame.”
Fred’s eyes stayed on June’s, at first anyway, but then the blood started to drip down his face and his eyes rolled back into his head, where they stayed.
June never allowed him to scream.
epilogue
June awoke in a bed of fresh sheets, with the sun cascading through the open window. She smiled and stretched, feeling more refreshed than she had in recent memory. The smell of bacon and coffee made her rise and dress, taking care to get her lipstick and mascara just right: it was a big day
for June after all. Before heading to the kitchen, she took one last glance at the mirror over her new dresser. Her face was happy and fresh, her dress clean and comfortable, the glass fixture that covered her exposed brain and the blinking piece of metal embedded in it sparkling clean.
She walked down the hall, toward the sound of clinking dishes, and stepped into the tiled kitchen. In the corner, Robert Dennings crouched on all fours, scrubbing the floor with concentrated intensity. He was wearing bright yellow rubber gloves and a filthy apron. His eyes met June’s for just an instant before fearfully moving away.
Eleanor stood at the counter, not noticing June at first as she concentrated on pouring cream into each of the steaming coffee mugs before her. June cleared her throat, and Eleanor looked up with a surprised smile.
“Good morning!” she said, and went over to wrap June in a hug. “I thought you were going to sleep forever.”
The embrace, for some reason, was especially comforting to June, although she couldn’t quite place why. “I did sleep in late, didn’t I?” she asked. “I think I was having a bad dream. But I feel great now that I’m awake.”
“Another bad dream?” Eleanor’s brow wrinkled in minor concern. “Geez, they’re really plaguing you lately, aren’t they?”
But June couldn’t remember if she’d been having bad dreams lately. She felt something pulling inside her head, like a magnet, but she dismissed the sensation. Both girls ignored Robert as he stood to pour the dirty water from his bucket in the sink, then immediately began to wash the dishes that were piled in the twin sink.
“Thanks for making breakfast,” June said, looking in delight to the two plates filled with bacon, fried eggs, and toast. “This looks delicious.”
“Yes, well...” Eleanor gave her a sly smile as she brought the plates to the table. “We need our strength for today. It’s a big day for all of us, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
They ate and talked and laughed, neither of them addressing the plate of untouched food at the other end of the table, in the spot where Fred had last sat. The plate had a molded pile of something that could have once been roasted chicken and potatoes and green beans but was now rancid and fuzzy. Only when Eleanor got up to clear their own plates did June let her eyes fall on the plate of rotting food. It wasn’t until then that she remembered in full.
“The hospital,” she said aloud without meaning to, the cloud of her own creation dissipating at last. “The monster nurse!”
And now she remembered everything else, including what had happened to Eleanor before June had realized she could bring her lover back, rewrite the world however she chose. She’d made the decision to make Eleanor forget the truth, to protect her from the pain of the memory. After everything Eleanor had gone through, she deserved never to feel afraid again.
June had simply made it so, and even let herself forget the full truth in between reminders like the plate of rotten food at the table or the ash on the chair before it, where a dead body had been blinked out of existence. Most of the time she even saw through the ever-working Robert, who never ate or slept or took a break from his work. It felt like he’d always been there, with no other purpose than to quietly obey. Whenever she remembered the truth, she remembered all her past reasonings, and they were always good. This was how it should have been.
Eleanor giggled from where she stood at the counter, refilling her coffee. “That hospital story again? For goodness’ sake, June, you have such an imagination in you. I wish you’d write it down like you’re always talking about doing.”
Yes, June thought. Someday she should certainly write a book about it. But her typewriter was at her childhood home, where her parents lived. She doubted she’d be able to catch them on the phone to ask them to bring it to her; surely they were already on their way to June’s and Eleanor’s house. She’d have to get it another time, if another time ever came.
“Your mom and dad just pulled up,” Eleanor said, looking out the window over the sink. “You packed our suitcases last night, didn’t you?”
“I think so,” June said, tearing her eyes away from the plate of rotten food and standing. Sometimes, all the power made her mind go fuzzy. “I’ll go get them.”
Sure enough, there were two suitcases on the bed, which June didn’t remember packing, but that didn’t matter. She dragged them down the hall to rest by the front door, where Eleanor was greeting June’s parents with hugs and exchanges about how everyone’s morning had gone. June felt like she hadn’t seen her parents in a very, very long time. She hugged them extra hard before letting them go.
“This one slept late,” Eleanor said, teasingly motioning to June. “She almost made us miss our flight.”
“I’m just so excited for you girls,” Mom said, heading into the kitchen to pour herself some coffee. She patted the top of Robert’s head like he was a dog before turning away from him again. “Such an adventure you’ll have!”
Yes, June remembered suddenly. Today was the day she and Eleanor were going to have the adventure of their lives, going to be with them, the ones who had made all of this possible. June told herself that there was nothing sinister in store for them, or for the remaining humans of Earth. That the next step in whatever this grand plan was would allow Earth to stay just as it was, and also allow June eternal happiness in the stars. But deep in her stomach, a seed of doubt was germinating.
June self-consciously brought her hand to the glass that was protecting her exposed brain. Eleanor saw her do it and gave her hand, and the glass, a kiss.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, looking into June’s eyes with assurance. “And so are you.”
“I can’t wait to show you,” June answered and kissed Eleanor’s lips with deep gratitude. “It’s going to be wonderful, more awe striking than anything you’ve ever seen.”
“I believe it,” Eleanor said, then went to carry their bags outside.
“You folks have everything under control here?” June asked her parents, who sat at the table across from each other while Robert began to dry and put away the dishes.
“We’ll take care of the house while you’re gone,” Dad assured her, his grin warm and gentle. “Although, let’s be honest, who knows if you’ll ever come back?”
“Maybe we will,” June said, but deep down she knew they wouldn’t. “In either case, I love you both so much.”
“We love you, too,” her parents said in unison, each of them shifting their focus to the dissected newspaper in front of them.
“June!” Eleanor called from outside. “Hurry up, darling, or we’re going to miss our flight!”
They won’t leave without us, June thought, but hurried nonetheless. She hesitated for just a moment at the front door, looking through to the kitchen, where the plate of rotting food was squirming with tiny white worms. In it, she saw every detail of her previous life, all the ever-encompassing sorrows and the anguish, all of those awful years so neatly condensed in the mold and the rot and the worms.
“Goodbye,” she whispered to her old life. Then she bid her parents farewell.
She wondered how they’d fare without her, wasn’t sure what would happen to them or the house or Robert once she was far enough away for her influence to wear off. Regardless, it was no longer her burden to bear. June Hardie stepped out into the warm sunshine, filling her lungs with the fresh air, ready for the excitement of a new chapter to begin.
A better young woman, at last.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
The idea for Nightingale came to me fully formed and charged with inspiration, the greatest kind of idea. Writing it was one of the most enjoyable and creatively fulfilling experiences of my life. I am so endlessly grateful to all of the people in my life who helped me get through the process in one way or another:
To the ever-thoughtful Nicole Brinkley, who asked me one day i
f I wouldn’t mind sharing my feelings on what it was like to be a female horror author. My knee-jerk reaction was that the question was boring and maybe even irritating, because why should it matter if I am a female horror author as opposed to a male one? But while I untangled my thoughts on the subject in order to write a proper response, I realized that I had far more feelings about it than I’d previously allowed myself to really explore, and the more I thought about it, the more I had to say. Thank you so very much, Nicole, for sending me down the path of thought that would lead directly to Nightingale.
To my truly kick-ass agent Joanna Volpe, as well as everybody on the incredible New Leaf Literary team. It never ceases to amaze me how smart, passionate, and generally rad my agency is, and I am endlessly grateful for them. Jordan Hamessley, thank you so much for understanding my vision and thoughtfully helping me bring June’s story to its full potential. New Leaf rocks!
To Joya “Joya Destroya” Schmidt, who is not only my roller derby teammate but also one of my favorite women on the planet. You inspire me with your strength and tenacity and good humor on a daily basis—I am a better derby player and a better writer because of you. The Joya in Nightingale wasn’t originally intended to play such a pivotal role, but I realized very quickly that in order to properly honor her namesake, I’d need to roll my sleeves up and have myself some fun in creating an exciting, badass female villain. Destroya, I hope you love her as much as I love you.
Likewise, to my entire team at Northern Arizona Roller Derby, also known as The Whiskey Row-llers. The blood, sweat, and tears involved in training to become a better player have unavoidably affected every other aspect of my life, including writing. Thank you, my babes, for welcoming me and for pushing me to always do my very best in everything I do. They are: Juana Ash Kickin’, Joya Destroya, Capt’N Jack, Selethal Weapon, Holly Ween, Cleo Patricide, MuZack Morris, Swamp, Hot Tee, Buffy Vanderbush, Lil’ Kitty Split, Kaos Katalyst, Professor Pain, Baby Eagle, and DeeStroyer.
