Jayne Doe (3 page)

“That little girl’s mother,” Mr. Mason says, pointing to me, “was once the biggest bar fly this town has ever known.” He shakes his head. “Now she’s just a full-blown alcoholic who doesn’t leave the house. I'm surprised this is the first child she’s lost.”

“I know the family.” Casey barks before I even have time to react.

“Not one of those kids has the same father.”

And I bet your state law doesn’t require you to talk shit on my family, Mr. Mason.
The arrogance in the room is claustrophobic. He’s just like everybody else. I have to get out.

<><><>

Jayne's bedroom smells like sandalwood and heather, her favorite perfume. She’s curled up on the bed with Johnny, sinking into the thick comforter he's wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes are red and swollen and he's cradling her like a doll.

“I just don’t know what we’re going to do,” she cries.

“Hush, baby girl, I’m going to take care of this.” He runs his thick fingers through her long, blond hair. “They can’t keep you out of this house.”

My stomach roils.

Something doesn't feel right. I stare at Johnny, searching for something in his expression. He's not concentrating on Jayne. His eyes are distant, empty. Like he’s planning something.

Jayne pulls back and looks up at him. “I just want them to leave her alone.”

“I know that, sweetheart, and the best thing we can do is get her stuff out of here so they can’t destroy it.”

She nods like a damn fool. H
e’s trying to get rid of the evidence, Jayne.
I’m livid. I launch myself at him, clawing at the air and hoping to scratch away his counterfeit sympathy. I want to expose the monster inside of him. But my hands only slip through his skin, beyond flesh and bone. I can't touch him, not really. I ball my hands into fists and scream.

You dirty, rotten, scum bag. I hate you.

He places his lips to her forehead, and takes in a deep breath. The temperature in the room drops. Strange. I rub my arms, shielding them from the cold. Dark, swirling shadows creep across the floor and rise up over the edge of the bed, settling on his skin and covering him in a putrid blanket. The black is so thick and dark that it draws away all light and warmth in the room. Jayne shivers under the blanket, but she doesn’t see what I’m seeing.

Shadows hover and cling to Johnny's frame, pulsing in a morbid dance. I jerk back, huddling against the wall. Watch as the dark forms slip into his mouth and nose. “I’ve got a present for you, baby girl. I promise, I’ll make you forget everything for a little while.”

He slips his hand between Jayne’s thighs. I glance around, searching for shadows, but there's nothing. They’ve all gone inside of him. Then he sticks his tongue down her throat.

Jayne pulls back, wriggling beneath him to get away. She doesn’t want to kiss him.

“What’s wrong with you?” He places his body over her and grinds his hips into hers.

I raise a clenched fist and punch him in the back, my hand sliding uselessly through him. But as my fingers reach his heart, everything goes pitch black. I reel back and away from him. Away from the black so thick it's suffocating.

What was that?

Johnny gasps and clutches his ribs.

I don’t know what I’ve done, but he’s upset.

He falls from the bed.

Jayne drops to his side. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell was that for?” His hand clenches her throat. She gags.

That’s it.

I slam my fist into his chest and reach through the shadows, scratching at his heart like a rabid animal thirsty for blood.

Four

Total. Darkness.

The once throbbing pulse of Johnny’s heart is now muted by the sounds of blood-curdling screams. I loosen my grip, but the darkness doesn't go away. It’s like I’m stuck inside of him. I can’t get out.

Abused and molested, images of Johnny's childhood suddenly appear in front of me. They’re ever-changing, clear snapshots of a hidden life, cutting through the screams.

Johnny's father—the perfectionist—will never be satisfied with his only son and he's made that perfectly clear.

He hates his father.

His uncle.

I grimace and choke back a gag, trying to erase his perverted actions with crayons on Johnny.

I shift my body and find a long hallway with burgundy carpet tattered and frayed beneath my feet, it ends in a single, heavy door. My hands rise and I place them gently on the wooden door, the grains rough beneath my smooth fingers. My head pounds. There’s muffled scratches and suppressed moans inside. I don't want to open it, but my traitorous hands push on the heavy wood and it swings open. Johnny's uncle is wailing and gnashing his teeth, struggling against a thick rope around his neck.

White spots flash into my periphery and I double over, clutching at my stomach. I want out.

I think of Jayne. Mom. Mr. Mason. Stephen. But nothing takes me away. I’m stuck.

The sound of fingernails scratching down the wall terrifies me. I search for somewhere to hide. My head swims. The sound will drive me crazy. My hands fly to my ears and squeeze, trying to block out the noise. The buzzing. Like a thousand locusts singing in unison. There’s nowhere to go.

The sound grows louder, reaching its crescendo. Nails claw against ruined wallpaper.

Louder.

I drop to the floor and pull my knees to my chest.

A rumble shakes me.

The room opens to a flickering light, siren song of locusts and death growing louder and the light grows brighter, approaching the hanging man. I close my eyes, squeezing them shut against the burning light. The darkness is safer than this.

A fire sparks in the center of the room, the heat tickling my eyelids.

I open my eyes to the dripping blood of a ring-horn goat head impaled on a long stake. It stares at me with eyes on fire. Images of butchered pigs and slaughtered animals swarm me like killer bees. I've seen this before on one of Billy's evil looking posters in his room. It doesn't make it any less terrifying now.

The horrible light chants the words, “the beautiful people.” I focus on the teeming mass; they're people, spectral images, bending and twisting light around their frames to mask themselves.

They’re reading my mind.

I try as best as I can to stop thinking.

Please go away. Please.
I rock back and forth on my heels, shrinking tightly into myself.

Stop thinking, Jill. They can hear you.

A cold sweat breaks over my skin.

My entire body begins to hurt. It’s turning a deep shade of charcoal. Shadowy fingers touch my face, wisps of smoke probing my skin, trying to reach below. With each cold touch, a thousand needles bury themselves in my flesh.

I moan.

The desecrated animals and chanting voices scream louder.

“The beautiful people, the beautiful people.”

They’re moving closer and forming a circle around me. They look like they’re preparing for a sacrifice. And it's me.

No.

I close my eyes and concentrate harder, hoping it will help.

But I can’t stand the noise. It cuts through sternum and scratches at my bones.

Then.

Nothing.

Reverent silence fills the room.

“Take my hand.” Stephen's familiar voice moves across my face in a gentle caress.

I lift my head with every bit of strength I have left and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of his brilliant, glowing fingers. I lift my hand and place it in his. In an instant we’re at the tire swing.

“Stephen, what was that?” I say out loud even though I know it isn’t necessary. My body is back to normal. Smooth and iridescent. Calm.

The world is motionless.

Completely still.

My words sound harsh, disconcerting, slashing through the silence.

“I can’t say,” he says, fidgeting from foot to foot. “We don’t mention
that
up here.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re still learning.” His face widens into a grin as I peek up at him.

I relax and smile back at him.

He curls his fingers around mine and steps behind the large oak tree, gently tugging on my arm. I follow him without thinking; somehow, I feel like we've done this a thousand times. The once-bright day fades into comfortable twilight as we step into a forest, pregnant with the day's last birdsong. I stop and pull Stephen to my side, expecting my chest to tighten and my breath to hitch. But the panic that usually comes with the darkness and the forest doesn't come.

A giggle escapes from between my lips and I inhale the intoxicating, earthiness of foliage and spring flowers. I squeeze Stephen's fingers and he glances knowingly at me, though he doesn't say anything, choosing to let me have this moment. I take a tentative step, unwilling to break the reverie. Twigs and leaves crack under our feet, but they don't break. Here, everything is perfect, balanced. Not like it was back home.

Stephen steps onto a rock. “Come on,” he says in his soothing cadence. “This is your favorite part.”

I nod and follow him. The river is calling to me, telling me it won’t harm me. I’m not afraid. Power emanates from the rushing water burbling over rocks. The stones under my feet feel like velvet. This shouldn’t make sense, but it does.

On the far bank of the river is the wide opening of a large cave lined on both sides with lush hedges and blooming flowers. We climb the bank and I run my fingers over satin petals, breathing in the heady aroma.

“Here,” Stephen says, taking my hands and wiping his wet fingers on my palms.

I look at him strangely. I don’t quite understand what he wants me to do.

“Don’t you remember?”

No.
I look at him, waiting for direction.

“Here, let me show you.” He places his hands in the dirt and smears shapes into the smooth stone of the cave wall. “You love to paint.”

I do?
I don't think I ever painted back home.

“Yes,” he says. “You love anything to do with art.”

No, I don’t.
The image of Johnny and the purple crayon flashes in my eyes. I grab the sides of my head.

“It’s okay.” He pulls my hands away from my face, places them in a puddle of water next to our feet, and gently leads my fingers to the side of the wall. “Nothing will hurt you here.”

My fingers move expertly through grains of sand. I love the way the color grabs onto the gray wall beneath it. I stare at the new mark—the tiny little cardinal—knowing I alone made it.

With another smudge along the tip of its wing, my mind comes alive with visions, images I’d like to paint. The cave is my canvas and I lose myself in it. Every touch is euphoria. Like I’m floating away in a dream.

I turn to Stephen. This isn’t his gift. It’s mine. I feel like myself, like I was born to do this. This new realization takes me deeper. Deeper into the very existence of my little bird. The one I’ve created. A brown little beak that turns up, just a little, so he’ll always be happy. The black eyes that reach deeper into what he’s thinking. Red, fluffy feathers and a little, round belly perched on a pine bough. It’s perfect.

Stephen’s face drops.

“What is it?” I ask, rubbing my hands together and watching the mud crumble and fall away.

“It’s time for you to go back.” He turns his face. His guard is up and I can't feel his thoughts. My heart breaks; I don’t want to leave this place.

“No. I can’t go back. I don’t want to go back. Ever.” Though my voice is quiet, it sounds jagged and forced.

He turns and reaches for my hands. I clutch his, silently pleading. He would never make me go back to that dreadful place. I don’t care if it’s selfish. I want to be right here, right next to Stephen inside
our
forest. I love heaven. I don’t miss anyone. Except for Jayne.

“Jill, each of us has to attend our own funeral. Your sister is grieving. Can’t you sense that?” I think back to the dirty carpet, cluttered kitchen, and hanging stench of day-old alcohol. Blackness hovers at the edges of my vision and I choke back a strangled scream.

“No,” I say, voice breaking, “I won’t. I can’t.”

“I don’t understand.” His forehead wrinkles and he reaches for me.

I won’t be able to find you again.
I panic.

He smiles. “You follow the tunnel—”

“There is no tunnel.” I interrupt.
There has never been a tunnel.

The edges of the forest waver and start to disappear. Something is wrong. I feel a tug in my abdomen and I'm compelled to follow it. There is nothing we can do to stop this. Stephen grabs my hand. We’re moving. Spinning. Fast.

“What are we doing?” I yell.

You can’t go back if we’re connected.
He squeezes my fingers harder.

But you said—

That was before I knew.

Bright greens, warm golds, and icy blues blend in the spinning, sparkling and tranquil. But through the beauty I can feel Stephen, feel his panic.

Before you knew what?

Before I knew you might get stuck.

Stuck? That doesn’t sound right. Like it’s a word that shouldn’t exist in heaven. Like it should only belong to Johnny.

Have you started seeing others?

Others?

The dead.

What is he talking about? I start to feel more like I do on earth – undesirable, clumsy. Foolish. I don’t like it. I hold onto him tighter.

I’ve only seen the things going into Johnny’s—

“Shhh,” he says out loud.

Everything stops moving and my stomach heaves at the sudden decrease in velocity.

My fingers fade until they're transparent, threatening to disappear. Stephen reaches for me, but his hands slip through my skin.

Don’t leave me.

I’m not trying to.
Bile rises in my throat. I can't hold on.

The tunnel. Promise me. You have to find the tunnel.

He's disappears, leaving me standing over my body in the morgue. Casey hasn’t moved since I was last here. Time moves differently. It’s not like heaven. My heart breaks and I look up at the ceiling, refusing to look at my own dead flesh.