Vicious Little Darlings (10 page)

Agnes sits up straighter.

“Like who?” I ask.

“I don't know. Somebody new,” Maddy says, winking at me.

The wink is confusing. Who is she thinking of? One of her professors? A random townie?
Me?

“Well, this is really for the best,” says Agnes, practically beaming. “You don't need Sebastian. He wasn't worthy of you.”

“You're right.” Maddy sighs. “I just hope I don't die a virgin.”

“You won't,” Agnes chirps. “You won't.”

“Can we go home now?” Maddy asks. “I really want to snuggle with Hope.”

In the car, I try to process what's happened. What made Sebastian decide to end things? On the phone he sounded like he wanted to stay with Maddy. And what was all that stuff about her wanting a time-out? She asked for a time-out, which Sebastian didn't want, and then he decided to break it off? It doesn't add up.

13

F
lies are buzzing around her frail body. Frenzied ants are marching all over her. She's curled up under the maple tree, face half gone, as though a woodpecker had spent the morning pecking away at it. Stark white bones peek through her ravaged flesh. I turn away. I can't bear to see her like this—dead, rotting, infested with vermin. She's dead. This isn't a dream. Hope is really dead.

“Nooooooo!” Maddy howls, spraying the insects with the garden hose. “Go away, you killers.”

Agnes disappears inside the house.

I stare into Hope's empty food bowls and feel sick: Maddy forgot to feed her! I knew this would happen, I knew it! I should have insisted on calling Maddy. This is
my
fault.

Hope.
Why did Maddy have to give her that awful name? Hope is the darkest emotion. It can kill a person.

An angry hornet buzzes near my ear. I swat at it, and miss. It disappears and comes back. I swat at it again, this time feeling its fuzzy body against my hand. I don't care if it stings me as long as it dies. It's vile and disgusting; it doesn't deserve to live. I take off my boot and swing at the hornet, again and again—sometimes hitting it, sometimes not—until it finally collapses on the grass, flapping its wings pathetically. I put my boot back on and crush it.

“Hope,” Maddy cries. “Oh, Hope.”

She kneels next to Hope's wet corpse. Maddy's plaster-white skin appears shadowy and garish against the earth. For a moment I picture her dead, lying in a coffin, flawlessly made-up: two splashes of fuchsia high on her cheeks; thick, spidery lashes; pale, pale lips. Her hair is long, resting in snakelike coils around her face, and she's wearing a white silk taffeta gown. Wan and still, she looks like a dead bride.

Agnes comes out of the house with a shovel and a folded white bedsheet.

Maddy gets up, not bothering to wipe the mud off her ivory sweater-coat. She takes the sheet from Agnes. “What's this for?”

“To wrap the body in,” Agnes says. “I'm going to lift her up. You slip the sheet under her.”

Maddy unfolds the sheet and Agnes elevates Hope's body with the shovel, but Hope slides right off it. Agnes tries again, more aggressively this time.

“Not like that!” I snap. “You're hurting her.”

“She's dead,” Agnes says flatly.

“Still,” I say, “there's a better way to do this.”

“No, no, no,” Maddy cries. “I can't. I can't.” She drops the sheet and runs into the house.

“Great,” Agnes says. “It was
her
pet.”

“Yeah, and she's the one who fucking forgot to feed her.”

“Everyone makes mistakes. And Hope wasn't well. She probably should have died the night we hit her.”

“We should've taken her to a vet.”

“Yeah, well, too late now.” Agnes sighs. “Are you going to help me or what?”

“I'll take care of it. Just give me a minute,” I say, waving her off.

“Don't take too long. It looks like it's going to rain. I'll start digging the grave.”

When Agnes turns away, I exhale, roll my shoulders. I watch her walk across the backyard, stopping in front of the elm tree. I watch her take the first stab at the dirt. The shovel makes a vile sound—strangely high-pitched, like a rusty door hinge.

“Wait,” I say.

“What?”

“This is where the grave should be,” I say, pointing to the patch of grass beneath Hope's body. “This was her favorite spot in the garden.”

“Then wrap her up so I can get to work. I still have to cook brunch.”

“Who can eat at a time like this?”

“We have to,” Agnes says. “We have to keep our strength up, especially for Maddy's sake.”

Without saying another word, I spread the sheet out next to Hope's body. Holding my breath, I bend down to lift her up. She's unbelievably heavy. I place her damp body on the white sheet. She's grotesque and strangely beautiful at the same time: a slab of rotting flesh, a magnificent sculpture of bones.

Agnes grabs the corners of the sheet and drags Hope's body away from the grave site. Then she meticulously ties the ends of the sheet together, turning Hope's corpse into a neat little package. She comes back and points to the grave site.

“Here?” she asks.

I nod.

With the shovel, she attacks the ground, over and over with increasing vigor, not even breaking a sweat. I think of my recurring dream: the dead swans, the tunnel, Hope lying in her coffin. It was a warning. I force the images out of my mind. Meanwhile, the repetitive grating of the shovel against the ground is unbearable. It's all I can do not to lean over and vomit. When I feel the urge again, I bite down on my tongue as hard as I can.

Agnes throws down the shovel. I stare at the gaping hole in the ground: a baby grave, a vortex to the unknown. It seems to be swirling. I have to fight hard to keep from getting sucked in.

“Okay,” Agnes says. “Let's do this.”

I lower the white bundle into the hole. Agnes immediately starts shoveling in dirt, working fast. Soon I can only see patches of the white sheet. And then I hear Maddy wailing from inside the house. She runs out, red-faced, clutching a pink stuffed bear. Agnes keeps shoveling.

Maddy yells, “Wait! I want to give Hope something.”

Agnes stops and looks at her with concerned eyes. Maddy places the bear in the grave; it's smiling.

I'm dizzy all of a sudden, hot. Something's pushing down on me. It wants me under the soil with Hope, and I'm too tired to fight it.

The next thing I know I'm upstairs in my bed. Maddy is sitting beside me, scribbling in a notebook. My head weighs a ton.

“What happened?” I ask groggily.

Maddy looks up. “Oh, you're awake! You scared us half to death, Sarah. You fainted.”

“How long was I out?” I glance at the clock: 9:13
AM
. I'm guessing it's the same day, but I can't be sure.

She shrugs. “Not too long.”

“Did I hit my head?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Does it hurt?”

I nod. “You didn't call 911?”

“No.”

“So, you just left me here to die,” I deadpan.

The blood drains from her face. “No!” she says, aghast. “Agnes examined you and said you were fine. There was no concussion or anything, and your breathing was normal. We didn't think you needed to go to the hospital. Do you
want
to go to the hospital?”

“I was only kidding, Maddy.”

“Oh.” She blinks nervously.

Why is she acting so weird?

“Do you want a Vicodin?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“It'll make you feel better.”

As much as I want to dull this headache and block out all thoughts of Hope, I don't deserve relief right now. I killed Hope. I need to suffer. “No, thanks,” I say. Then, changing the subject, I ask her, “How did I get up here?”

“We carried you.” She touches my wrist. “Cheer up, Sarah. There's nothing we could've done.”

“You forgot to feed her.”

Her face darkens. “Boyfriends can be distracting sometimes. Anyway, Hope was sick. From the very beginning. She hardly ever ate. I think her death is a good omen.”

My head spins. “A good omen? You adored her. You're the one who wanted to rescue her in the first place.”

“Yes, but no one can escape death. It's a part of life,” she says somberly.

Great. She's on her death trip again. “You're just upset about Sebastian.”

“No. I'm completely over him.”

“You broke up three hours ago.”

Her eyelashes flutter. “It just wasn't meant to be.”

“Where's Agnes?” I ask.

“In the kitchen.”

“I have to talk to her,” I say, sitting up.

“Don't get up,” she says. “I'll go get her. Stay in bed. You need to rest up for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“We're doing a ritual.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of ritual?”

“You'll see.”

Uh, okay.

She leaves her notebook on the chair. Once she's out of the room, I reach for it. Underneath several scratched-out lines is a corny little poem about Hope:

Hope is dead,

Our hearts are heavy with dread.

Goddess of light, we ask for relief

From sorrow and anger and painful grief.

Let us move forward in our lives—

With strength and love and open eyes.

Sisters we are, now and forever,

Heart and soul, bound together.

I return the notebook to the chair and get out of bed. I go into the closet and take out my River Phoenix poster. Unrolling it makes me feel a thousand times better. So much for wanting to suffer. I place the poster on the bed and allow myself to get lost in River's eyes.

Suddenly, I hear four rapid knocks at the door.

I admire River's long bangs for a moment, and then roll the poster back up. “Come in.”

Agnes is wearing her yellow linen apron. “Maddy said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yeah.” I sit on my bed. “I'm worried about her.”

Agnes crosses her arms over her chest. “Why?”

“She's acting weird. Just now she was saying that death is a part of life and no one can escape it.”

“Well, that's true, isn't it?”

“Yes, but she's not even upset about Hope.”

“Hope was a sick animal. We prolonged her life for a little bit, but she was bound to die.”

“She's not even upset about Sebastian.”

“I guess Maddy finally came to her senses,” Agnes says, adjusting her apron.

“It's a complete one-eighty. It's too erratic.”

“That's just how Maddy is. One minute she thinks she's in love, the next minute she's over it. I told you—
I'm
the only constant in her life.”

“She was crying hysterically when we buried Hope. Then, just now, she said Hope's death was a good omen. I think this has something to do with the Gypsy. We have to ask her about it.”

Agnes stiffens. “I really regret telling you about that. You're blowing it out of proportion, Sarah.”

“But—”

“But nothing!” She blinks wildly for a few seconds. Then, in a low voice, she says, “Maddy's fine. She's finally free of Sebastian and she has me. Everything's good now. I know she can be difficult and moody and unpredictable at times, but you're not perfect either and we put up with you. Give her a break. She's been through a lot.”

I get it now: Agnes is so excited about Sebastian being out of the picture that she's not thinking clearly either. All she's thinking about is having Maddy to herself.

Agnes glances at her watch. “Are we through? I need to get back to my frittata.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Don't worry so much. It'll give you wrinkles.”

After she leaves, I check my skin in the mirror above my bureau and spot my first wrinkle: a worry line, thick and short, running horizontally between my eyebrows.
Fuck.

It's midnight. We're sitting around Hope's grave, each of us holding a candle. It's windy and the air smells of mud and wet grass. Maddy stands up and, with the same shovel Agnes used to dig Hope's grave, she draws a circle around us in the dirt. Her eyes, I notice, still have that somber look.

“This is the sacred circle. Place your candles inside it.” Maddy screws her long taper into the soil.

Agnes and I do the same.

“We're going to do a healing ritual,” Maddy says in a low voice. “This will ease the pain of Hope's death so that we can move on. Now … close your eyes and concentrate.”

Maddy snaps her eyes shut. I glance at Agnes, who gives me a semithreatening look before closing hers. Why, I wonder, does Agnes flip out every time I mention the Gypsy? What secret does the Gypsy hold, anyway?

Maddy begins speaking in a strange monotone. “Goddess Diana, we ask that you bless Hope and guide her on this journey into her next life. And please give us the strength to get through this difficult time. Help us to bond as sisters.”

I hear the neighbor's back door open and then close.

Maddy continues, “Now, sisters, keep your eyes closed and try to imagine a white, healing light. Can you see it?”

“Uh-huh,” I say, even though I can't see a damn thing.

“Agnes?” Maddy asks.

“I see it.”

“Good,” Maddy says. “Now try to imagine that you're bathing in the white light. The light is taking away everything that hurts in your body. It's taking it and absorbing it so you no longer feel any pain. You understand that Hope has gone to a better place.”

Yeah, two feet below my ass.

“We ask the Goddess Diana to bless us and protect us—especially Sarah, because she's hurting the most, and it pains me to see my sister suffering like this. Okay, now, with your eyes still closed, let's hold hands.”

I extend both of my hands. Maddy grabs the left one, and I take Agnes's.

“Now, open your eyes,” Maddy says in her regular voice. “You are healed!” She lets go of my hand and I let go of Agnes's.

Two of the three candles have blown out—mine and Agnes's—but Maddy's still flickers on. Aside from the light spilling outside from the kitchen, it's dark out here.

“How do you feel?” Maddy asks, patting my knee.

Reluctantly, I say, “Okay.” What's weird is that I do actually feel better.

Suddenly the kitchen phone rings, startling me.

“Ignore it,” Maddy orders.

It rings seven more times before it stops.

Maddy looks to Agnes. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Agnes says, nodding.

“Good,” says Maddy. “I feel better too.” She reaches inside her bra and pulls out a piece of paper. Then she reads aloud her poem for Hope.