Mommy May I Page 6

  “Hey, no one at school knows about my family. You know, me being a cheerleader and all. They think I have the perfect life, but I got them fooled, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s why I like you. Everyone thinks you’re so weird, and you are,” she said, “but I feel like I can tell you anything.”

  Richard smiled. For once, being strange was good. “Are you close to your folks? I mean do you like them?”

  “They’re okay. Except when my dad gets mad, you know?” She opened a beer and handed it to Richard, and then took out one for herself. He’d never had any alcohol to drink before. The taste was bitter, but he swallowed it anyway, not wanting Janie to think less of him. His stomach warmed as the liquid fizzed on the way down. When it hit bottom, he belched loudly, and they both cracked up. She drank hers quickly, copying him.

  Once they’d calmed down, Janie brought up his family. “What about your mom? I mean, were you close?”

  Richard grabbed another beer from the bag. “Yeah, very. I loved my mother more than anything.”

  “Wow, so I guess you miss her?”

  “Yep. I don’t really want to talk about her, though.” The pain of losing his mother still haunted him. The mention of her, especially by his aunt, pained him. His chest tightened, and he turned away from his friend.

  “Hey, no problem. Do you still see your dad?”

  “Never knew him.”

  “No way.”

  “Never.”

  “God, that’s crummy. Do you know anything about him?” Richard hesitated here. Anytime he’d told the story about his dad, people laughed. “So? Do you know who your dad is?”

  “I never met him. He’s dead too.” Richard decided it was best not to reveal that his father was Mills Florence. He didn’t want anything to threaten their friendship, and if Janie accused him of making up stories, he’d hate that.

  “That’s tough.” Janie flipped back her fair hair. Her sweater slipped off her right shoulder; she wore a tube top underneath. Richard couldn’t help noticing her small breasts.

  “Well, did you bring the book?”

  “You bet.”

  She clapped her hands. Richard opened Edgar Allan Poe’s book of short stories. The book was old and the binding loose. Richard treated it with care, knowing how much it meant to his uncle. Tonight they planned on finishing “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” They’d been reading these stories together by flashlight for the past month. Richard was pleased that Janie liked them as much as he did.

  The night creature noises halted and silence descended upon them, almost as if each living thing in the woods had waited for the storytelling to begin as well.

  He read the gruesome sections in a scary voice, like Vincent Price. In the other sections, he imitated an Englishman, like his uncle did when he read. Janie listened, her eyes wide as she hugged her knees under her chin.

  “‘On a chair lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth were two or three long and thick tresses of grey human hair, also dabbled in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out at the roots.’”

  “Ooh, yuck. God, Richard you’re such a good reader.”

  Richard winked at her and continued. He loved her adoration, and went on, more enthusiastic than before. When he finished, Janie clapped.

  “Wow, that’s so spooky. Who would’ve ever thought an ape killed them?”

  “An orangutan,” Richard corrected her.

  “Right. Kinda funny how all the characters thought the killer was either the French guy or the Italian. They had no clue.”

  “I know. That’s how Poe hid who’d done it. My uncle says he was a master.”

  “His stories are pretty cool, even though they’ve got a lot of blood and yucky stuff. I’d hate to be killed like that.”

  Richard closed the book. “I like all the murder and gore.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Just gross.”

  “I’ve seen grosser.”

  “Working with your uncle?”

  “The other day a family was all bloody and broken up cause they’d been in a car wreck.”

  “Ooh, sick. I think I’ve had enough for the night. Doesn’t it ever bother you?”

  “Nope,” he said, almost shocked that death would bother anyone.

  “No wonder everyone thinks you’re so freaky,” she said.

  He didn’t like the remark, but since she’d brought up “everyone,” he felt it was a good time to talk about school.

  “Anyway, so….” He looked away from her. “I hope we get the same homeroom teacher this year.”

  Janie hesitated, then replied, “Yeah, I guess that’d be cool.”

  “Sure it would.” Richard saw her down-turned lip in the dim light, and that she wasn’t looking at him. “Don’t you want to be in the same class?”

  “Well, I said it’d be cool, didn’t I? It’s just . . .”

  “What?” Richard gulped down the rest of his beer. “I thought we were best friends.”

  “Sure. Kinda.”

  “What’s that mean?” Richard jumped to his feet.

  Janie’s eyes widened as she shrugged her shoulders. There was an obvious uneasiness about her that Richard had never seen before. “Oh, Richard, the thing is, well… I’m popular, and it’s harder there at Roosevelt, with kids being bussed in from all over. You’ll probably even meet people you like better than me there. For now, I’m kind of popular, you know. And, well everyone thinks you’re…”

  “A geek? So? We’re friends! Doesn’t that mean something? Popular? So what!” His head grew hot, as streaks of white anger blurred his vision.

  “We’ll still be friends, and we can meet like this on weekends—but not during school. It’s hard for me at home, and the kids I hang out with make it easier for me to go home and deal with my parents. C’mon, you understand, right? You have to.”

  “I don’t have to do anything. And I thought I made it easier for you to deal with your folks. I’m the one you talk to about them. You don’t tell those boneheads you hang out with that your mom and dad are drunks. I thought you’d stick up for me, then everyone would be nicer to me. They wouldn’t think I’m a geek if you told them that I wasn’t. All you have to do is tell them that I’m really cool.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. Not in this town anyway. And as far as my parents go, that’s between us. Please. You of all people should understand that.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Richard, soaked in perspiration, paced around the shack. Janie was his best and only friend, and here she was dumping him so she could still be cool in school. “That’s shit!” He stomped his foot and kicked the ground.

  “Well, I better get going. You’re mad now. Maybe tomorrow night you’ll feel better and understand. We only have a week left before school starts. I am really sorry, Richard.” She stuffed the beers inside the bag.

  Richard picked up her flashlight and watched as Janie bent down, reaching for the book. No, tomorrow would not be any different. He would not feel any better about this. She’d said they were friends. He had treated her good, and this was what he got in return? His anger, far stronger than his conscience, was guiding him now. Richard would not allow Janie to do this to him. Friends? She was going to leave him, not talk to him, just because of what other kids said about him? Hardly!

  He pulled his arm back, and whacked Janie hard on the back of her head with the flashlight, knocking her to the ground. Her shrill scream encouraged him further. Every part of him tingled. She turned, facing him. Seeing the fear in her eyes made his rage grow stronger, thinking how she planned to deliberately shun him. Richard swung with all his strength and hit her across the side of her head. Something warm and wet hit his hand. He heard the guttural sound she made as Janie Keaton, his so-called friend, collapsed. She made no more noise, no more movements. He swung the flashlight once more, giving her a final blow. The woods grew silent for the second time that evening.

  Janie Keaton lay on the ground; blood smeared
across her face and on her hands where she’d tried to protect herself. Edgar Allan Poe’s book, opened to “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” lay next to her.

  Richard dropped the flashlight, staring down at her. “Why did you have to do this, Janie? Friends! We were friends! Don’t you know what that means? No, all you wanted was to be popular! I’m sorry, but not anymore. Now you’ll always be my friend!”

  He sat down next to her and cried almost as hard as the day he’d lost his mother. He didn’t know what to do. Richard had only wanted her to still be his friend in school, that’s all. Then none of this would’ve happened. If she’d only said, Sure, we’ll eat lunch together, and hang out after school, she’d still be here.

  But he’d killed her, and he had to do something—and quick. No one could know they’d been together. He thought fast as he wiped away his tears. He collected the book and flashlight, stuffing them down into the bag with the beer. It was almost midnight.

  Richard hefted Janie up on to his shoulder, struggling under her weight for a moment. She was heavy, but he was strong. Uncle James had set up weights for him out in the garage, and he’d been working out with them all summer.

  He made his way to the edge of the woods, and steadied himself. Richard knew exactly what to do. As quickly as his sadness had come upon him, it was gone, and now he thought with the mind of the orangutan in Poe’s story—by instinct, and with fury.

  Richard left her body buried under a group of bushes, wrapped inside the blanket they’d sat on earlier, then he walked to the back of the local market. The town was deserted, and he made certain to avoid any lights. He rummaged through a dumpster until he found a trash bag large enough to hold her. He went back and stuffed her body inside.

  “I hate doing this to you,” he said.

  The mortuary was close by. No one was around, and he was sure he hadn’t been seen. He made his way to the back of the funeral home. His stomach sank when he spotted his uncle’s car. Now what? The bag was heavy, and he was afraid it might tear. He set it down between the building and some trashcans.

  An hour later, his uncle exited the building humming “Blue Moon.” Uncle James got into his car, and when he turned on the headlights, Richard’s nerves jangled, his ears buzzing, afraid that his uncle would see him. Richard remained still until he could no longer see the car’s lights. Though the air had grown colder, Richard’s clothes were soaked with sweat.

  He unlocked the mortuary and carried Janie through the back door. He took her immediately into the embalming station where he laid her down on the table. Although he kind of felt bad about what he’d done, he was excited about what he was going to do next. He knew he had to hurry, for fear his uncle would realize he wasn’t in the house and begin looking for him.

  After disinfecting Janie, Richard began the embalming process. Every fiber in his body pulsated. This was control.

  “I’m sorry about your face Janie. I didn’t mean to bruise you. But this isn’t so bad. Is it? We’ll be friends for eternity. Just you and me. And no one will think you’re a geek. I can save you. Did you know that? I’ll just put these fluids in your body, and I know you can’t really talk to me, but I think I know you well enough to know what you’d say if you could.”

  Draining the blood and fluids from her, then filling her back up with chemicals was like being alive for the very first time. The power of it all! Power—that was exactly what he felt—Powerful! He moaned aloud as he continued with the process, the blood rushing to his penis. Maybe he should… No! He couldn’t! She was his friend, but on the other hand she’d betrayed him—hurt him with her words. She had held all the power at that moment, and now, well, now he held the power. No one would know. He’d never kissed a girl, and he’d certainly never touched one in that way.

  She was so beautiful, even with the marks on her face. He’d forgotten how upset he’d been only a couple of hours before. He stroked her face. His fingers traced the outline of her sweet lips. So doll-like. He had to feel them against his. He leaned over her, and brought his lips to hers, kissing her. Her lips were cold and rubbery, but to his body it felt like coming in from freezing weather to a warm home with a blazing fireplace.

  Richard stood back from her. He had to do it. But how, how could he? It didn’t matter; he had to have her. It was late, but so what, because Janie Keaton was about to become his very own. He pulled her tube top down around her waist. His body’s physical reaction fueled him with desire for the dead girl. Her breasts were small nubs, but so very pretty. Richard had never seen anything so wonderful. He unzipped his pants. He was going to touch Janie. He was going to do it with her.

  But then, something went horribly wrong. Janie’s face—once pretty and fair—became hugely swollen and red emphasizing the bruises. He’d applied too much pressure, like his uncle had warned him not to. As this metamorphosis took hold and she rapidly changed into a hideous monster, Richard’s instincts turned cold. His jubilant feelings and lustful thoughts were quickly replaced with anger and pain.

  Richard knew that there was nothing he could do to correct the horrible mistake. He started to cry again. “Dammit!” he screamed. “Why couldn’t you have just said that we could still be friends?” Richard knew he only had one option left.

  Since Uncle James also provided cremation services, Richard went to the cylinder-type oven to light the fire. He waited until it was hot enough, and then placed Janie on the table and slid her inside.

  He cried the whole time her body turned to ash. The room smelled of death. Richard sat next to the incinerator, balled up and shivering, even though the oven put off a great deal of heat. He lay down on the ground, once again feeling the loss of control.

  Richard knew why he had done this terrible thing, and although it hurt, he felt he had been justified. Janie Keaton had chosen to get out, to leave. If she’d lived, she would have turned her back on him. And Richard couldn’t go through that kind of pain. So, instead, he had had to kill Janie; it had put him in control of his destiny—not Janie.

  When it was all over, he knew he needed to get home. He couldn’t wait hours for the oven to cool. It would be morning before that happened. He’d have to tell his uncle that he had forgotten to clean out the oven the other day. He’d do that first thing in the morning.

  Richard walked home, crying and stomping his feet, still not understanding why Janie couldn’t have remained his friend.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Helena sped up the Ventura Freeway to Santa Barbara in record time. Her knuckles were white as she clutched the steering wheel. She slowed down to pass a Highway Patrol car. The confrontation with Leeza had made her more anxious than she’d expected. Thoughts of a glass of wine crept to the forefront of her mind, but she shoved them away. Drinking would not cure a headache like Leeza, or anything else for that matter.

  As she pulled into the expansive ranch, she sighed, relieved to be there for many reasons. She rolled down the window and breathed in the grassy pastures and nearby ocean. In the pasture to her right, a mare and her foal stood mowing down the grass. It was a beautiful sight and put an immediate smile on her face. She fidgeted with her hair, tucking loose strands back into her ponytail, wondering how Frankie would feel about her surprise visit.

  Helena got out of the car and headed for the front door of the hacienda-style home—typical of the glamour and wealth of Santa Barbara. Frankie opened it, walking to meet her halfway. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hey, you,” Helena replied, waving. “How are you doing?”

  Frankie shrugged. “Okay.” Even with her slight pout and taciturn attitude, Frankie was beautiful, and her mom knew that she was really soft hearted deep down.

  “Good.” Helena wanted to put her arms around her.

  “Dad said you were coming up.”

  “I thought that after Leeza called you, maybe you could use a friend. I know how she can get to people. Is it okay that I’m here?”

  With her trademark shrug, Frankie mumbled, “I guess
so. Dad said to take you out for a ride. Pablo is down at the barn saddling up for us. I think Dad is down there, too.”

  A horse whinnied close by. “Great. I’m glad I wore my jeans. The only trouble is, I don’t have any boots.”

  Frankie looked at Helena’s white Keds. Finally she asked, “What size do you wear?”

  “Eight and a half.”

  “Me too. You can borrow a pair of mine.” Frankie went inside to get the boots.

  Helena closed her eyes; heaviness weighed on her heart as she tried to envision Frankie as a little girl. She held back the tears, and her chest tightened, reminded of how much she’d missed, not to mention how lucky Patrick had been to see it all.

  She headed down to the barn. She hadn’t ridden in years. The last time was down in Mexico with Patrick; they were on location for a photo shoot. The weather had turned cloudy and muggy. The models complained that the humidity ruined their hair. So Patrick had given the girls the day off. He told Helena to prepare herself for an adventure.

  “Where did you learn to ride?” she’d asked Patrick while she patted the sorrel mare he’d picked out for her that day.

  “My father owned a cattle ranch.”

  “Really? How is it that you’ve gone from cows to models?”

  “You could say that I have a little bit of my granddaddy in me. He was responsible for beginning the Kiley fortune. Being an Irishman, he liked whiskey, and knew how to still some good moonshine. He also liked pretty women. So he ran a club with dancers, featuring the best booze around. The cops eventually caught him, but he was smart and had hidden most of his earnings. My father inherited that money after my granddaddy mysteriously died. But Dad was honest. He moved us west, began ranching, and tripled the money he’d inherited.”

  Helena had been in awe of him and his family history. He was so charming and handsome. That was the day he’d told Helena how beautiful she was. He’d said it in a way that had made her truly feel it. He’d been her agent at that time and was very successful at it. Their affair ensued shortly after that trip. It was passionate but brief. When Helena became pregnant with Frankie, Leeza insisted Patrick sell the agency and focus on his other business ventures.