Linda + George
Adrienne + Irene
Niharika + Irene
Thursday
Friday
Mystery Story
Wired Forecast
By Irene Lin
By Irene Lin
“She’s gone.”
The door swings
shut and with a soft click the latch falls into place. James slows to a halt in
front of the gate and watches as his stepmother’s red wrinkled mouth falls
open.
“What? How? I gave
Elsa the day off, I told Lilly I’d take her tonight!” Melissa, with shopping
bags hanging along her arms, has always been better at juggling credit cards
and love affairs than children. James knows of her indiscretions and it’s no
secret from his father either (who is likely doing the exact same thing half way
across the country).
“Her class
started at seven. I took her two hours ago.” James flicks through the music on
his phone, flying by one song after another. Seven years ago, Melissa was the
shameless mistress James’ father paraded around during his separation with
James’ mother. Now she’s his wife. Worse than anything, James knows she’s the
reason his real mother won’t see him or his sister. He knows that this
poisonous woman is to blame.
“James! You should have waited for me!”
“If you wanted
to take her then you should have been on time,” James spits back.
“You just don’t
want me spending any time with your sister!” You don’t deserve time with her. “I know you don’t want me to.
Every time I suggest we go out you find some way to stop us! I am your mother!” Stepmother. “ You give me no respect!” You’ve earned none. “I work day and night to make this fami–”
On that note,
James tunes out Melissa completely. He diverts his full attention to his music
player and chooses a recording of rain. The pitter-patter of the droplets –repetitive
and predictable– fills him with peace. If James could have his way he would
never have to endure Melissa’s voice again.
The pavement
moves beneath him and he begins to float away with the sound of water in his
head. So much peace. He doesn’t hear
Melissa call to him from the gate, or her screams from inside the townhouse.
• •
•
Riiiiing. Riiiiiing.
Click.
Click.
“Hey, Lil! I
know I’m running a bit late, but I’ll be there to pick you up in a minute.”
“James!”
“Lil?”
“James! James,
oh God. You have to hurry back, oh God. God, oh God, oh God.”
“… Melissa?
Melissa, how are you– ”
“I didn’t do
anything! I didn’t do anything! I
didn’t do anything!”
A sharp click
sounds.
The line is
dead.
• •
•
From a block
away, James sees flashing blue-red lights of police cars flickering on the side
of buildings and crowds of people gathering behind a bright yellow tape. It
unsettles him how excited they all look.
As he approaches
the line, a man steps out to greet him, “Hey, kid. Are you James Rester?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Alright, you
come with me, kid. Your mom’s over by the ambulance.” And as if right on cue, Melissa
lets out a high pitch sob, turning all heads her way. The policeman beside him
sighs, “Poor thing. She’s shaken up bad. They must have been close. Your mom
and sister, I mean.” James remains silent. “My name is Officer Bill. I’m in
charge of your sister’s case, so if you need anything come look for me, alright
kid? We’ve contacted your dad. He says he’ll be flying out to see you two in
the…” The man continues to ramble, but James is no longer paying attention.
Instead, his focus is on the door of the townhouse. Two paramedics carry out a
stretcher. On it, a slender body rests, covered by a white sheet. Tight little knots
form in James’ lungs.
• •
•
“Carl!
Carl, be nice. I’m sorry, officers. He’s a good guide dog but has always been
on the feisty side.” Phillips laughs nervously before dragging in a wheezy
breath and coughing. “Yes, I was here the night Lilly died. I knew her you
know. Nice girl. Always has lots of friend always stopping by. ‘Had’, yes. I’m
sorry. I remember the day she and her brother moved in. Nice people. What? Oh,
yes! I’ve lived here almost my entire life.” He pulls his wire glasses off the
bridge of his drooping nose and wipes them down with his sweater. He misses a
large black spot, dead centre of the right lens, but his glossed over eyes
don’t register it. The two officers sitting on his sofa scrutinize his every
move.
The Gullan family,
to the right of the Resters, has been away on a Church retreat and isn’t
scheduled to return until Sunday. Phillips, to the left, was nearest to the
scene of the crime as it happened.
“I had planned
to visit the pharmacy that night, ahem, for something to help with my cold. Ack, aaackk.” A wet wad falls into
Phillips’ napkin. He clears his throat one more time before continuing again, “Ahem.
Pardon. Uhhh. Yes, medicine. I reconsidered at the last moment though, when I
heard the rain. It was coming down heavily. So loud! I could hear it through
every wall in the house! Any sound from next door? Even if there was someone
running about I wouldn’t have been able to make it out.”
The two officers
look over at each other. Poor, old man. Their
eyes seem to say. On the night in question, the two of them had gone to Big Al’s
for a drink with buddies. The hostess had seated them on the roof, advertising
a good clear view of the city line. It was a lovely clear night.
After
a few more questions, they thank Phillips in unison, pet Carl and leave with no
usable information.
• •
•
“Sixteen. Yes,
sixteen... A few small bruises on the neck, but no other signs of struggle or
sexual assault.” The man on the other end of the line pauses for a second
before continuing with his questions, “… The machines found a high level for
potassium and chloride in her body, yes… No, ingested… Okay, I will. I’ll let
you know if I find anything, Bill.”
After a short
goodbye, the mortician returns his phone to its resting place and glances over
at the covered body of Lilly Rester on his examination table. What a mistake. Such a waste.
• •
•
“What
did you do?!”
“What
you told me to. I even left your rain player on so she could die knowing it was
you.”
“You
think that matters now?! I told you to switch the bottle in the cabinet –her cabinet– but you killed my sister instead!”
“Hey! I didn’t kill nobody. I did what
you paid me to do.” The phone line crackles for a second and threatens to
disconnect. “–ttle angel isn’t as lovely as you think she is. I was heading out
back when I saw her slinking up to some guy. If I knew she was so easy I would
have made a move on her–”
“Screw you!”
“–Myself. Someone
must have forgotten his condom, huh? Maybe sweet Lilly thought she could snatch
one of momma’s pills!”
James
recoils from his phone in disgust. He had wanted his stepmother gone from his life,
from his sister’s life, so badly that he hired someone to dispose of her –to
fight poison with poison. He never once entertained the idea of it going so
awry. Now Lilly is dead in Melissa’s place and James is left with no peace.
Journal Entry 2
Once inside, however, I can understand
why Adam makes the trip out to use this particular laundromat. With walls like
floors and floors like ceilings and ceilings like the back of Adam’s hand, I
can count more shades of blue than washing machines. Some shades are angry like
bruises, two days old, others are mellow. Everything, from
the benches to the single vending machine saddled up close to the back of the
store, seems tinted with the hue. The clerk behind the counter, though mostly
hidden by her stack of magazines, appears to be the only exception. Her uniform
is white, professional in gleam and almost clinical in its perfection (despite
being deeply creased from lack of movement). The combination of the owner’s
choice in decor and the strange sound of muffled rap music playing in the
background make for a surreal moment. I linger about, at the front of the
store, waiting for the clerk to notice and subsequently greet me, perhaps even
direct me to a certain machine like a hostess at a restaurant. (Though I am on
no date and the bag of laundry in my arms is no pretty, timid girl). After four
pages of POP WEEKLY, my eyes begin to wander, following soon after, my legs.
Lugging the sack of cloth with me, I arbitrarily choose aisle three and play eeny,
meeny, miny, moe to pick which washer to use.
Journal Entry 1
Sunday
Journal Entry 3
The floor bubbles and rolls. The tiles rise and fall, out
of rhythm as if heaving and gagging. The employee behind the counter quivers
and begins to seep into her uniform, staining everything as she turns to a
ghoulish purple. Her face transform from containing features to containing one
feature: her mouth. She has no teeth, no tongue, just a dark little hole surrounded
by tight puckered flesh that makes her look like she’s sucking at
nothing. Her clothing sinks into her and disappears within the thick substance
coating her body. Slowly, the goop renders her translucent and I peer inside.
Her
organs are riddled with tiny little holes, pores with rotten rims, deep enough
and large enough for me to see everything inside is trying to
get out. The acid spilling from her stomach looks clouded and white, like
watered down milk. It pools around her pelvis that is steady loosing form. Her
spine is the next to go. I watch as it softens, like caramel left between couch
cushions, and melts into the rest of her.
I tug on my dad’s hand. I want to leave.
He ignores me and fixes his eyes on the backlit menus
mounted above the oozing purple thing. “Do you want to share a large fries or get one of your own?”
My fingers tighten around his plump, calloused palms. I feel
myself wanting to sob and yell, to cower but also to flee out the door and with
my dad in tow; he can start the car and drive us all the way back home, away from here, and mom would meet us at the door and I can tell her how I am scared and how I have to sleep with her tonight.
"Hey, bud, ya’ there?"
A second passes, then two, then seven. My mouth remains shut and my feet remain planted. He doesn’t seem
to notice at all the blobs behind the counter or their decomposing bones, and
in a flash, no longer did I.
“Ahh, just give us a large.” Dad pulls
his hand from mine and ruffles in his pocket for a handful of bills neatly
folded in half. He pays the pimply brunette behind the counter and compliments
her on her glasses.
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