Hillary_Flesh and Blood

by Angel Gelique

  Feed her the soup....

  “Well, that was then, this is now,” Hillary said sprightly, bringing the bowl of tainted soup close to Caleigh’s mouth. She lifted a spoonful to Caleigh’s lips.

  “Open up, Lee Lee,” she said sweetly.

  Caleigh opened her mouth and ate what was on the spoon. It tasted normal at first, but had a sharp, acrid aftertaste. Caleigh wondered if it was spoiled chicken broth.

  “No more,” she said softly, shaking her head as Hillary prepared the second spoonful.

  “You have to eat, Caleigh,” Hillary said firmly, “you don’t want to get sick.”

  “I don’t like it,” she replied nervously.

  “What? I made it myself. Mom and Joshy both loved it. Why are you being so difficult? Just eat!”

  “Please, I—”

  Hillary rammed the spoon into Caleigh’s mouth. Most of the soup made it in, with the exception of the little bit that dripped down Caleigh’s neck.

  Caleigh coughed, gagging on what was forced down her throat.

  “You’d better behave yourself, Caleigh,” Hillary warned as she glared angrily at her sister.

  “No more, please,” Caleigh begged,

  “I went to the trouble of making this soup, the least you can do is eat it!” Hillary shouted, a little too loud. She lowered her voice as she added “and if you don’t eat it, it will be your last meal!”

  Caleigh’s heart raced as indecision plagued her. Should she just eat it? Should she scream for her mother? What if she screamed and her mother didn’t hear her? Would Hillary hurt her? There wasn’t much of her left that could feel pain anyway...should she take the chance?

  “Open up, Caleigh,” Hillary asked, her patience dwindling as her anger intensified.

  Caleigh opened her mouth and just when Hillary was about to spoon some of the soupy mixture into it, she screamed as loud as she could. The sharp, shrill sound made Hillary’s ears ring as she threw the bowl of soup over Caleigh’s head and cupped her hand over her mouth in attempt to mute the sound.

  “Shut up!” Hillary demanded as she fought Caleigh’s wildly thrashing head, desperately trying to keep her hand over Caleigh’s mouth. She lunged forward and pressed her knee down on the side of Caleigh’s face. Her head was trapped under the weight of Hillary’s leg.

  With her hand over Caleigh’s mouth, Hillary said, “if you don’t shut up, I’m going to dig through those bags and start stuffing parts of Dad’s dead body in your mouth...do you hear me? You know I will....”

  Caleigh knew she had to shut up. She had taken a chance and she had blown it. If her mother had heard her, she would have come running by now. She fell silent, once again wallowing in despair. Hillary slowly lifted her hand, keeping it inches away from her mouth in case her sister attempted to scream again.

  “I’ll make you pay for that, Caleigh,” Hillary threatened furiously, stretching to the side of the closet and grabbing the knife housed there. Placing her hand firmly over Caleigh’s mouth, she slashed at her sister’s face, leaving deep, long cuts all over.

  Caleigh’s pained cries were largely muffled by Hillary’s hand. Her tears stung the fresh, open wounds as they streaked down her face. She was wrong. Hillary could hurt her, and hurt her badly.

  “I’m going to walk away for a few seconds,” Hillary whispered menacingly, “if you even whimper too loudly I’ll run back here and slice your throat open.”

  Hillary pulled her hand away from Caleigh’s mouth and shook the spittle off as she frowned in disgust. She waited a few seconds for Caleigh’s cries to quiet down then ran to her dresser. She grabbed the duct tape and was back hovering over Caleigh’s body in just seconds. She tore off another strip of tape and placed it over Caleigh’s mouth. She placed the tape on the top shelf of the closet for the next time she would need it.

  Leaving the cuts seeping on Caleigh’s face, she slammed the closet door shut. She had had enough excitement for one night. She didn’t dare take any other chances. She sighed heavily as she crawled into bed. Without warning, her mother opened her bedroom door and stuck her head in.

  Hillary’s heart thundered within her chest. Had she heard Caleigh screaming? Did she call the cops?

  “What’re you doing here?” she shouted, as if annoyed by the intrusion.

  “I thought I heard you scream,” her mom said, contorting her face, “God, Hillary, that’s not a healthy smell....”

  Hillary could hear Caleigh’s muffled screams. Her heart raced even faster. Her mother was standing at the doorway, close to where her iPad sat on the docking station. She hoped the sound would drown out Caleigh’s cries.

  “Is that blood?” Mrs. Greyson asked, frowning, as she pushed open the door further and began entering. With lightning speed, Hillary jumped out of bed and ran toward her mother.

  “I cut myself,” she said nervously, “that’s why I screamed.”

  She began pushing her mother out of her room and toward the hall.

  “Hillary, what—”

  “Where are the bandages?” Hillary asked quickly, anxiously.

  “What? Oh...where they always are...in the first aid kit in the bathroom…did you throw up?”

  “Can you show me?” she asked, ignoring her mother’s question and speaking so quickly that she sounded like she was auditioning for a job as an auctioneer.

  “Calm down...how did you hurt yourself?” Mrs. Greyson asked, looking at the blood on Hillary’s shirt, “where’s the cut?”

  Hillary turned and sprinted to the bathroom.

  “It’s okay...I’ve got it,” she said with a nervous smile and quickly shut the door.

  Mrs. Greyson stood just outside the door, perplexed. Nothing was adding up, which meant something was really, really screwed up. Or someone...and she knew who that someone was.

  Slowly, Mrs. Greyson crept toward Hillary’s room. She reached for the doorknob and slowly opened the door. She was about to walk in when Hillary yelled to her, “what are you doing in my room?”

  Mrs. Greyson stood in place as Hillary ran over to her.

  “Can’t I have my privacy?” she shouted in her mother’s face, “I’m almost fifteen years old you know.”

  She quickly pushed her way past her mother and slammed her bedroom door. She stood against the door, expecting her mother to come barging in. She stayed there for a full ten minutes until she was sure that her mother had moved on. Then she walked over to the closet and yanked open the door.

  “You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” she whispered hoarsely, then began repeatedly kicking her sister’s body. It was like kicking a sack of potatoes. No matter how hard Hillary kicked, Caleigh showed no sign that she could feel any of it. It was incredibly frustrating.

  Hillary dropped to her knees and began pummeling her sister’s face with her closed fists. At last Caleigh cried out in protest as she tried, unsuccessfully, to shield her face from the blows. Most of the cuts had begun to stop bleeding and were now oozing blood once again. By the time Hillary was done, her fists had as much blood on them as Caleigh’s face.

  Hillary stood up and took a step back. Caleigh’s face was turned away from her. She was whimpering quietly.

  “I’m gonna have lots of fun with you tomorrow,” she promised before shutting the door.

  She walked over to her bathrobe, hanging on a hook on the wall behind her door. She snatched it up and wiped the blood from her hands.

  Caleigh closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She had discovered that although her paralyzed body could no longer feel external stimulation, it could—and did—feel the aftermath of physical abuse. Her stomach clenched in pain and there was a pain on her side. She was pretty sure she had a broken rib. Her head hurt more than it had ever hurt in her life. She felt an enormous amount of pressure behind her eyes and within her sinus cavities. She imagined her head as a bomb, about to explode at any moment. She wished it would. She forgot all about her will to live. She kept her eyes closed and prayed that it would neve
r open again....

  ~9~

  Mrs. Greyson had tossed and turned all night. It felt as though she had only slept a few minutes when she awoke to the loud beeping of her alarm clock. She fought the urge to turn over and go back to sleep. But she had a busy day ahead of her. Today, while Hillary was in school, she would search her daughter’s room.

  As foolish as she had felt for thinking that Hillary might be involved in her husband’s and youngest daughter’s sudden disappearance, she could not shake the feeling that Hillary knew more than she was letting on. Not to mention the blood on Hillary’s shirt. And that God-awful smell in her room...like, like death. She shuddered at the thought. Still, she had to know for sure. Just what was Hillary hiding in her room?

  She knew she should just march right in there and demand some answers. She was the parent, after all, wasn’t she? What was she so afraid of? She didn’t know why, but Hillary made her just as nervous as Michael used to make her feel. She wanted to laugh out loud, call herself an idiot, yet, deep down, she knew Hillary was capable of the same horrors Michael had displayed. She would wait patiently. In just a couple of hours, Hillary would be on her way to school. Goose bumps covering her flesh, she slowly got out of bed and got ready to take a shower.

  After preparing breakfast, Mrs. Greyson caught herself before calling out to Caleigh and Hillary to come down for breakfast. She suppressed the urge to cry. She had done enough of that the night before during those long, sleepless hours. Joshua was almost done with his waffles. He had syrup all over the front of his shirt and on his hands, as if he were finger-painting with it. Mrs. Greyson handed him a blue plastic toddler cup as she looked over at the clock. Hillary should be up by now, yet she hadn’t heard any movement from upstairs, nor did she hear the usual slam of the bathroom door.

  Taking a deep breath, she slowly walked upstairs. She paused in front of Hillary’s door to listen for any sounds. Aside from music, she heard nothing. She could smell the stench of Hillary’s room from where she stood.

  What could cause a smell like that, she wondered fearfully.

  She was about to open the door and enter Hillary’s room, but stopped herself and knocked on the door instead.

  Hearing the rapping at her door, Hillary woke up and abruptly sat up.

  “I’m awake,” she shouted, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Dismissed, Mrs. Greyson walked back downstairs to the kitchen. She was relieved. Her instincts warned her to stay away from Hillary’s room. She was afraid of what she’d find in there. Later, she would muster up the strength and courage to find out.

  Hillary was seated at the table twenty minutes later, still clad in her nightshirt.

  “Why aren’t you dressed? You’ll be late for school,” Mrs. Greyson said as she turned to face her daughter after finishing the dishes.

  “I’m not going to school,” Hillary said bluntly. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Why not?” Mrs. Greyson asked, annoyed.

  “I’m taking a ‘me’ day,” Hillary replied, placing a thick, fluffy waffle on her plate.

  “A what day?” her mother inquired, her brows arched as she awaited Hillary’s response.

  “A ‘me’ day...you know, like a personal day,” she answered, without facing her mother. She poured syrup over her waffle.

  “I don’t think so, Hillary....”

  “I’m not going to school today,” she said firmly, cutting off a piece of her waffle with her fork and stuffing it into her mouth.

  “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t...you’ve missed enough days, you don’t want to be held back, do you?”

  “Actually, Mom, I don’t really care anymore. Things are going to be different from now on.”

  Hillary turned to face her mother, challenging her authority. For a few seconds they just stared at one another until Mrs. Greyson grew uncomfortable and turned her attention to the kitchen counters.

  “I don’t understand,” she said softly, as she wiped the counters with a kitchen rag.

  “I’m not going to school anymore,” Hillary said slowly and clearly, “I’ll just get a job.”

  Mrs. Greyson turned abruptly to face Hillary again. She was growing increasingly agitated.

  “What are you talking about, Hillary? You’re only fourteen years old you need to go to school.”

  “Dad’s gone, Mom, who’s going to pay the bills?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back,” she said uncertainly.

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

  “I already told you, Dad left with Caleigh.”

  “But maybe they’ll be back.”

  “Nope. They’re not coming back, Mom, so let’s get beyond it now and start thinking about how we’ll be living from now on.”

  Fear gripped Mrs. Greyson’s heart as her instincts again warned her that Hillary was involved in their sudden departure.

  “You have to tell me,” Mrs. Greyson begged with pleading, desperate eyes, “tell me what you’ve done.”

  “Why do you always blame me?” Hillary shouted angrily. “When I tell you I’m being hurt, you don’t do a thing to help me. I tell you Dad left and now it’s my fault?”

  “Well you seem to know more than you’re telling me, Hillary.”

  “I don’t know where they went,” she replied defensively.

  “Then how do you know they won’t be back?”

  “Really, Mom, what do you think? They pack up and take off without saying anything to you…you really think they’re just taking a day trip?”

  “Your father wouldn’t just take off like that.”

  “I know, he’s such an honorable, trustworthy man isn’t he? He’s the best, right? He can do no wrong....”

  Hillary was fuming. Her eyes were full of venom.

  “Done, Mommy,” Joshua interjected nervously.

  “One minute, Joshua,” Mrs. Greyson said sternly.

  Joshua fidgeted in his seat as he repeatedly opened and closed his sticky hands.

  “Down now,” he whined.

  “Look at Joshua,” Hillary said sharply, “he looks just like him.”

  It was true. Joshua resembled their father. Especially his steel blue eyes. Especially when he was pouting and complaining like now.

  “Don’t change the subject, Hillary,” Mrs. Greyson said irritably, “is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  “I won’t tell you anything ever again,” Hillary answered bitterly, “you don’t listen anyway.”

  “Fine, finish your waffle and get ready for school.”

  “I told you I’m not going to school.”

  Hillary glared at her mother. It was a challenge Mrs. Greyson knew she could not win. She turned around and grabbed a container of baby wipes she had off to the side. She pulled out a few wipes and walked over to Joshua without looking at Hillary. Hillary steadfastly held her malignant gaze on her mother. Mrs. Greyson could feel Hillary’s eyes on her, burning like lasers, as she wiped Joshua’s mouth and hands. She could feel her heart rate accelerate, thumping hard within her chest. She could see that Joshua was already rattled by the tension in the air. She didn’t want to cause a scene in front of him and further upset him.

  “I have to get Josh ready for nursery school,” she said softly, for Joshua’s benefit, “we’ll discuss this later.”

  “No, we won’t,” Hillary said resolutely, “there’s nothing left to discuss.”

  Mrs. Greyson sighed softly as she unbuckled the straps on Joshua’s high chair. She pulled him up and carried him up to his room.

  Hillary, content that she still had the upper hand, finished her waffles quickly, placed the dish in the sink, pulled out a bottle of water from the refrigerator then walked back to her bedroom. She knew that her mother was growing increasingly suspicious of her. She knew she had to find a way to dispose of the body—and soon to be bodies—in her closet. She would figure something out while her mother was at
work.

  A short while later there was a knock at her door. Before she could answer, Mrs. Greyson entered her room.

  “I’m dropping Josh off at his school,” she said blankly, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Aren’t you going to work?” Hillary asked, alarmed.

  “I took the day off,” Mrs. Greyson replied, and added, “a ‘me’ day.”

  Hillary was not amused. Her mother was going to interfere with her plans.

  “Besides,” her mother continued, “we’ve got to figure out what’s causing that nasty smell.” Mrs. Greyson crinkled her nose as she waved her hand in front of it suggestively.

  You have to get rid of her...she knows....

  “No!” Hillary yelled out to the voice in her head.

  Why would she react like that...unless.... Mrs. Greyson thought worriedly.

  “Hillary, it’s not healthy...” she answered, forcing her thoughts aside.

  “It’s my room,” Hillary argued.

  “It’s disgusting,” her mom said firmly, “and I’m starting to smell it out in the hall.”

  “I’ll clean up, don’t worry about it.”

  “Well when I get back I’ll help you. I’m curious to know what’s causing such a gross stench.”

  Mrs. Greyson turned and left the room before Hillary could argue any further. Joshua was waiting for her downstairs in front of the television. She walked down to meet him, shutting off the television before scooping him up in her arms. She carried him to the foyer and opened the closet. She put him down so that she could grab his zippered sweatshirt. She helped him put it on, grabbed her keys from the nearby hook on the wall then exited the house with Joshua’s hand in hers.

  From her bedroom, Hillary could hear her mother’s car start. Her heart raced. She knew she had to act fast. Thankfully, Joshua’s school was close to her mother’s workplace and would take about forty-five minutes to get to. Hillary estimated that she had about an hour and a half before her mother returned to investigate the odor in her room.

  She had thought about dumping the bags in woods but didn’t know if she would have enough time to accomplish it before her mother returned. What if her mother spotted her in the woods? Then she’d really be suspicious. And what about Caleigh? What was she going to do with her sister? Should she just kill her too?