The cat was cute, covered in black and white spots. It looked like a little cow. But it was also lame and old. It was hobbling across the yard, tottering on unsteady limbs. The man mowing the lawn did not see it.
Sybill could have screamed a warning, told him to stop. But she had no instinct to do so. Instead, she stood across the street, clutching her favorite stuffed animal, a green elephant she’d received for Christmas one year. She sucked her thumb.
***
The elephant was being ripped from her hands. She screamed in fury, only to be met with a blow to the top of her skull. It sent her reeling back into the wall. Dazed, blood in her eyes, she saw the mean man throw the elephant into the garbage. He brandished his coffee mug like it was a knife. He was yelling, his face red and blotchy. He smashed the mug against the table and one of the flying shards cut her across the cheek. She picked it up and jabbed it into his shin. He screamed and started kicking her. She tasted blood. And joy.
***
Spots of color. Green interwoven with blue. Yellow shimmering between green-blue patches, shaking golden drops onto her face. Warming her skin. It was sunshine. It leaked through the canopy of leaves above her head, dappling her comic book with dancing buttery squares. She was in a secluded part of the garden, hidden from view in the event anybody happened to glance out the kitchen window. Martha had picked up drinking again and it was only a matter of time before she started looking for someone to take it out on. She was also hoping the bushes would hide her from Annie, who had spent the bus ride home pulling her hair whenever the driver wasn’t looking.
Sybill had never read anything like these comics. She’d stolen them from Annie’s room, but she wasn’t too worried about getting into trouble for it. She was pretty sure her “sister” wasn’t even supposed to have them, as they’d been hidden under the bed along with bags of junk food, a bottle of foul-looking booze, and some weird-looking toys she was fairly certain Annie had borrowed from the older girls at school.
The comics were called “Angel Boy.” They told the story of a boy who decided to kill criminals with his newfound psychic abilities. The panels were quite graphic, depicting in detail the violent ways in which he exploded heads or burst hearts. In one storyline, he even used his powers to crush a man’s bones into powder.
When she went to bed that night, Sybill saw them as soon as she closed her eyes: panels of gore and carnage, images of death and pain and power.
Images which should have horrified rather than captivated her.
***
There were several jeering faces standing over her. Annie stood out from the rest, the weak winter sunshine gleaming on her red pigtails and silver braces. She was sitting on top of Sybill, pinning her against the ground. As Sybill thrashed against her, Annie bent down, scooped up a handful of mud, and tried to shove it into Sybill’s mouth, provoking screams of delight from the other children. Sybill squirmed and cried out. But the area was deserted. No teachers. No classmates. Nobody was coming to help. Nothing fucking new about that, so why did it still make her feel so sad?
She choked on chunks of earth and had to swallow some to breathe.
“Gross!”
“She actually swallowed it!”
“Eeeewwww!”
Annie laughed, wiping her hands on the back of Sybill’s shirt as she climbed to her feet.
Sybill rolled onto all fours and started to retch.
“Shit mouth,” Annie said, running back towards the school as the bell rang. Her gang followed, giggling. Sybill sat in the dirt for a long time after they were gone, the taste of earthworms lingering on her tongue.
***
She was rummaging around in Everett’s study, pulling open desk drawers and filing cabinets. Annie had stolen her lunch at school and it was hours before dinner, so she thought she’d see what he had around in terms of snacks. He told Martha he was off sugar since his last heart attack, but Sybill knew he had a stash somewhere; she’d seen him cramming down a bag of cookies the other day.
When she yanked open one of the top drawers, she saw a
lighter lying next to a pack of cigarettes. So much for the “I-haven't-picked-up-a-cigarette-in-weeks dear” storyline too. No wonder he was in the ER every other week. Stuffing down cookies and nicotine every day of his pathetic life. It was amazing his doughy ass was still alive. And fibbing about it to his wife too, like some kind of grade-school pussy.
Sybill picked up the lighter and flicked it on with her thumb. For a moment she forgot herself as she stared at the tiny spark between her fingers. Translucent blue melting into pale yellow, wriggling in the air like a living thing. The metal grew hot and she had to switch it off. She waited a few seconds, then clicked it on again.
And again.
The loud growl in her stomach brought her back to her original purpose. She closed the desk drawer but slipped the lighter into her pocket.
***
“What’s this?” Everett was practically foaming at the mouth as he paced back and forth in front of her, waving her report card like it was a dead rat. The family dog---a chubby mutt named Louis---cowered under a chair in the corner.
She sat on the couch in silence, glaring at her sneakers as he raved at her. Stupid Louis was whimpering nonstop.
“A year of private tutoring and this is what you have to show for it? What happened here?”
Screw you, Everett.
“I don’t understand why you won’t at least try. You have access to good teachers, good lessons. Your sister is doing well at the same school.”
She’s not my fucking sister.
“So what’s the problem, Sybill? Are you lazy? Or are you just stupid?”
Fat. Mean. Useless. Piece. Of. Shit.
“Me and Martha want you to have a good life.” He threw her disappointing report card on the coffee table and came towards her. “We take good care of you, Sybill. Don’t you want to make us proud?”
“I guess,” she said dully, looking up at him.
Even though she was expecting it, the slap still stung. She gnashed her teeth together to prevent herself from crying out.
“Then do better next time,” he said curtly.
He turned and walked out of the room. After several minutes of silence, Louis crawled out from his hiding place and trotted up to her. He licked her hand, then sat on his haunches and looked at her with eyes that communicated more kindness than any human’s.
She smiled and patted the top of his head. Her cheek was still stinging.
Then she remembered the lighter in her pocket. She took it out and rolled it between her hands, thinking about Angel Boy. She flicked the lighter on. Louis immediately scattered, shooting reproachful looks at her from over his retreating furry rump. As she watched the tiny flame dance before her eyes, she felt a conviction bubble up from deep within the wells of her angry heart. Control was the only thing worth having. The people who had it were free and the suckers who didn’t spent their lives---well, eating dirt on playgrounds and getting slapped in the face by fat ass foster father dick heads.
She put the lighter away and stood up. The weight of it in her pocket felt comforting.
***
She watched the retreating back of the social worker from the window. It was dark and raining outside.
This one was named “Emma.” A sweet, wholesome name and a face to match. She had baby-blue eyes and a sugar-white smile and she proved to be about as useful as a fucking Pop Tart. She had sat there and listened to Sybill for thirty minutes, nodding and frowning with concern. When Sybill finally stopped talking, Emma said she would “look into it.” Sybill knew what that meant. Emma was just like the others; she thought Sybill was fibbing or exaggerating or still “adjusting” to her new home. It never dawned on them that the system was failing her. They had already decided she was a kid who was failing the system.
She watched Emma climb into her car and slam the door.
***
She watched the shadowy patterns dance over the grass as the tire swing rotated. Her feet dangled inches over the ground. She didn’t want to go inside for dinner. They were probably having leftovers, and she wasn’t really in the mood for part two of Martha’s Shitty Cooking. It was going to be chili. She would’ve rather eaten Louis.
Speaking of which. She raised her head and watched him sniffing around the garden. He paused at a bed of mums, burrowing his nose inside their fragrant pink depths, tail thumping enthusiastically against the ground. Martha had just planted those this afternoon. Her gardening tools---including shears, a shovel, and gloves---were still lying in the grass. Sybill hopped off the swing and ran over.
“Get outta there, Louis.”
He ignored her. She didn’t really care about the mums, but she knew Martha would blow her stack. And when Martha was pissed, she liked to transfer that anger to those around her---mostly to the foster kid she didn’t like.
“Move it,” Sybill said, shoving the dog’s rump with her foot. His head jerked up. A deep growl bubbled up from the back of his throat. “Quit being a dick,” she said, waving her arm at him in an attempt to shoo him away.
Louis lashed out quicker than her eyes could register. Sybill cried out and stumbled back, clutching her arm. He had broken skin. Beads of blood trickled down her wrist.
She bent down and snatched up the gardening shears. Louis, realizing his attack had not scared her off, crouched low to the ground and bared his teeth. Sybill lunged; the shears opened and clicked; Louis gave a piercing yelp. The tip of one of his ears was bleeding freely from a raw and open wound.
His pain only made her angrier.
The shears opened their steely jaws once more--twice--three--four times—and each cry of the wounded animal ignited her rage.
By the time her vision cleared and she realized Louis was no longer moving, dusk had fallen. The shadows stretched across his bloodied fur, covering him in darkness, as if the world was trying to hide what she had done. She stood silently in the gathering twilight, her heart pounding in her ears. Her hands still clutched the shears, and hot euphoric blood rushed through her veins.
The chunk of ear she had clipped from Louis was lying near the mum bed. An idea suddenly came to her. Grinning, Sybill pocketed it before turning her attention to the problem now at hand. She dragged Louis’ corpse to a tree in the back of the yard and, using Martha’s shovel, began to dig a hole into the ground. It took a while, but she worked quickly and fiercely. Finally she had a fairly deep ditch, and she rolled his body into it. He flopped inside with a final thump. Sybill spent several minutes throwing dirt over him, patted it into place, and then started back towards the house.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She entered through the kitchen door. Martha was at the sink, and as Sybill walked into the room, she turned towards her with a spoon in her hand.
“There you are. Did you want chili with---good Lord. What the hell have you been up to?”
“I went hiking. Sorry.”
“Wash your hands. You look like a pig.”
Martha moved out of the way as Sybill turned on the faucet and ran her hands under the water. When her foster mother went out into the dining room to set the table, Sybill decided it was now or never.
Martha’s pot of chili was still simmering on the stove. Sybill slipped Louis’ ear chunk out of her pocket and, giggling, hurried across the room and dropped it inside the pot. She stirred it a couple times to mix it in with the meat and tomatoes, and then hopped back to the sink just as Martha re-entered with a tray full of empty bowls.
“None for me,” Sybill said. “I don’t like stewed tomatoes.”
Halfway through dinner, Everett said the chili seemed chewier than usual.
***
She sat up in bed. The room was dark and stuffy, filled with Annie’s snoring and the rancid stench of sweat and dirty laundry. She listened tensely for several minutes, making sure the little bitch really was asleep. Then she slithered out from underneath her covers and tiptoed over to the window.
It was a clear night. The sky was covered in a sparkling tapestry of stars. Sybill stood looking up at it, marveling at this mere sliver of a vast universe---a world of beautiful, cold, indifferent chaos.
Her resolve solidified. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her sweatpants and pulled out the lighter.
A little flame appeared in the smothering darkness. She leaned it towards the curtains and watched the fire eagerly latch onto the ugly pink lace, spilling upward in a riot of sulfuric hunger. She applied a similar tactic to Annie’s bed covers, pausing for a moment to admire the glorious blaze as it leapt up the sleeping girl’s legs. Then she ducked out of the room and ran down the hallway, her bare feet thumping on the carpeted floors.
She lit several more curtains as she ran from room to room, as well as some rugs and a few towels. Finally, she set fire to the living room couch. She watched, dizzy with euphoria, as the fire ballooned into a furnace of unadulterated destruction. When the smoke began to choke her, she turned regretfully away and hurried from the room.
It was a little clearer out in the hall, but not by much. Sybill had to squint through a veil of smoke, and it was so hot she could already feel beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. She heard someone pounding on a door upstairs. It took her a few moments to realize that it was Annie. Screaming for help. Only to be drowned out moments later by the wail of smoke detectors.
She walked to the foot of the stairs, listening to the symphony of panic and chaos swelling up around her. Was that Everett and Martha, yelling for help from the master bedroom? It was hard to tell. The landing to the second floor was blocked by a wall of fire. She couldn't have helped them even if she wanted to.
Sybill lay down on the bottom step and closed her eyes. It was getting harder to breath. She wondered what she wanted to happen. Sleep, said a small voice in her head. She just wanted to sleep, surrounded by this hot, beautiful madness.
The last thing she thought of before she lost consciousness was her green stuffed elephant.
***
The study was bigger than her previous bedroom and upstairs bathroom combined. The walls were made of sleek mahogany, as dark and gleaming as the eyes of the woman sitting across from her. She had an untidy brunette bun twisted on the top of her head, and the crisp blue pantsuit she wore crinkled whenever she moved. She had finished signing the stack of papers on her desk and was now regarding Sybill with silent judgment. Sybill looked back at her coolly, refusing to blink and thinking that the crisp pantsuit would make good kindling. A distinct odor hit her nose, and it took a moment for her to realize that it was probably the perfume the woman was wearing. Sybill had never experienced anything quite like it. It smelled like firewood and something sweeter, an odor that was hard to identify. Mint, perhaps?
“I’m glad you’re settling in, Sybill,” brown bun was saying. “We’re so happy you’re here. I was very sorry to hear about your family, but I hope you’ll learn to think of us as your new home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery.”
Brown bun smiled. “None of that. You can call me Evelyn---or Evie, if you like.” She paused, as if waiting for Sybill to go into ecstasies over this announcement. When she was silent, “Evie” went on: “Have you seen much of our home yet?”
“Not really.”
“Would you like to?”
Sybill shrugged. Evie stood up and beckoned her to follow. Sybill obeyed, barely listening as she was shown a variety of rooms: there was the game room, down this hall was the bedrooms, here is where your bathroom will be, blah, blah, blah. Though the layout was of little interest to her, she had to admit that objectively the house was an impressive feat. It had an ornate oak staircase in the foyer that wound up multiple flights of stairs, spacious hallways with glass windows embedded in the ceiling, old-fashioned chandeliers, and tidy rooms filled with bright decor and plenty of light.
“This house has been in the family for centuries,” Evie was saying, looking around with obvious pride. “We tried to make as few alterations as possible to the overall architecture.”
Impressive lineage or not, it didn’t feel like a home to Sybill. It felt more like an institution.
Evie led her down into the kitchen. Sybill was immediately disoriented by its size. It glittered with modern appliances and was filled with an array of delicious odors. She noticed a woman standing at the stove, stirring something and yelling orders at a younger twitchy-looking boy who was opening up the fridge.
“No, no milk, Miss Evie and Miss Sophia are extremely allergic to dairy. I told you that before. Miss Evie had a tiny piece of cheese once and she had to go to the hospital.”
“Y-Yes ma’am, I understand.”
“And remember to wipe up the coffee grinds when you spill on the counter. Not now, Javier, close the fridge first, before you let out all the cool air. Here, stir this. You can do that, right?” She spotted Evie and came over to her, shaking her head. “Bad news, boss. The noob is as competent as a spatula.”
Evie smiled. “I thought you would be happy for the help. He’s looking for experience and who better to teach him than one of America’s finest chefs?”
“Gordan Ramsey would slap you right across your pretty mouth for uttering such blasphemies. And I can’t argue that the kid needs experience---and a couple extra brains cells. Where’d you find him anyway?”
“He graduated from Auguste Escoffier School Of Culinary Arts this past summer. He’s a good kid. I know his family, so be nice and give him a chance.”
The woman shrugged moodily. “You’re in charge, I guess.” She was looking curiously at Sybill, whose ears reddened under her gaze. Evie placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Sybill, this is Hannah. She’s been with me for longer than she would probably like. She does all the cooking, something for which I’m sure my daughter is infinitely grateful.”
Hannah grinned and shook Sybill’s hand. Her palm was beefy and damp; she had fingers like round pink sausages.
“So you’re the orphan rescue! I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Hannah,” Evie said reproachfully.
“It’s okay,” Sybill said. “It’s true.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sybill,” Hannah said. “If you ever need a midnight snack---well, too bad. My kitchen closes after five.”
Sybill smiled dutifully at the joke, and Evie shook her head in exasperation as she steered her out of the kitchen. Hannah resumed barking orders at “Javier.” Sybill couldn’t decide if she liked the cook or not. At least she was upfront.
She followed Evie into a furnished basement as the latter called out:
“Sophia, come say hi.”
A girl’s head popped up from over the back of the couch cushions. She pulled earbuds out of her ears and stared at Sybill for a few moments before giving her a casual nod.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
The girl looked like her mother. She had a mass of untamed brunette curls and wide dark eyes the color of coffee beans. A spray of brown freckles ran across her nose and cheeks like a dusting of cocoa powder. She had a single mole, like a drop of chocolate syrup, on the corner of her right eye. She looked about thirteen; the full and perky breasts asserting themselves beneath her T-shirt had clearly jumped the gun. Sybill was immediately conscious of her own pitiful boobs. She was almost sixteen now, but puberty was taking its sweet time.
“Why don’t you show Sybill around the den?” Evie said. “I’m going back upstairs to check on dinner.”
And with that she vanished, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
Sybill went over to a chair in the corner and sat down, examining the T.V. and entertainment center. They looked pretty new, so at the very least she could waste away in style if this family proved to be as awful as the last one.
“Wanna play something?” Sophia asked, sliding off the couch and crawling over to a stack of video games in the corner. The jeans she was wearing were just as flattering as the tee shirt; they revealed the nebulous stages of the lovely womanly body that was to be. Envy surged through Sybill’s bloodstream and spread like mold through her soul.
“I’m not very good at them,” she mumbled.
“Good. Neither am I.” Sophia looked up with a smile. She had a smile Sybill didn’t trust. It didn’t have anything to hide, and Sybill had never met anyone who didn’t have anything to hide. “Any preferences? Cowboys? Shooter? Racing?”
“Something that involves punching,” Sybill said.
“Fair enough. So do you want me to get all the preliminary bullcrap out of the way now or are we just gonna skip it altogether?”
“What?”
“Like do you want me to ask where you were born, what your hobbies are, how you’re liking things so far, if you got any weird allergies or fetishes…that kinda thing? I’m told sister’s do that.”
“God, no.”
“Excellent. Let’s play this one, then.” She yanked out a disc from the middle of the stack; the game tower immediately toppled and spilled several cases over the carpet. Sophia kicked them aside indifferently as she inserted the chosen one into the gaming system. Once the menu was displayed on the T.V. screen, Sophia crossed the room and flopped next to Sybill like they were old friends. She smelled faintly of heather. The odor unlocked something inside of Sybill. She became overwhelmed with a feeling she could not immediately identify. Then she realized that this was how her stuffed green elephant had made her feel---before one of her many lousy foster parents had disposed of it.
They ended up playing some racing game. Halfway through the first track (which they had to keep re-starting since they both kept crashing), Sybill asked when she was going to meet “the dad.”
“My dad died when I was little.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Sophia shrugged, her eyes still glued to the T.V. “I don’t really remember him.”
“Evie bring home any boyfriends I should know about?”
“Hell no. She never dates.”
“I guess that’s easier on you, right? It’d be weird to have some random dude walking around.”
“It’s whatever. Personally I think it would be nice for her to have someone, but she never seemed to need it. Then again, maybe she’s just waiting for me to move out so she can start entertaining a plethora of lovers unfettered.”
Sybill snickered. What thirteen-year-old talked like that? She wondered if Sophia had read that in a book somewhere.
“That must be it. But her lack of libido explains me, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wanted another kid but didn’t have anyone to plow her field.”
“Thank you very much for that mental image. I’ve always wanted to imagine someone drilling into my mother.”
“Hey, nature chose the method. I had nothing to do with it.”
Sophia laughed. “Look, I know it’s probably really weird being here.” She tore her eyes away from the game and looked over at her, smiling. “But for what it’s worth, I’ve always wanted a sister.”
“I’ll try my best to live up to your expectations.”
“Honestly if you just stay away from my tampons we’ll get along fine.”
“You use tampons?” Sybill said, surprised.
“Yeah, not really a pad girl, on account of them being basically big diapers and all.”
“I haven’t even had my period yet.”
“Cherish every minute. I hit puberty when I was nine. It’s not something to envy.”
“Girls!” Evie called from upstairs. “Dinner!”
“Finally,” Sophia said, immediately throwing her controller on the couch and jumping to her feet.
Sybill followed her up the stairs and into a gleaming dining room.
“Come sit by me,” Evie said, smiling and waving Sybill into a chair on her right. “Sophia, what’re you doing? We haven’t said grace yet. Put the spoon down and step away from the mashed potatoes.”
“But I’m starving.”
“Is that supposed to be news or something? Wait two seconds. I’ve seen you make it at least that far before.”
“Yeah, but barely,” Sophia grumbled, though she obediently put down her utensils and folded her hands.
Evie lowered her head and began to chant:
“Bless us oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord.”
At least it was short and sweet, Sybill thought as Sophia said “amen!” and then lunged towards the nearest dish. She looked around at the table laden with bright dishes and steaming food, and then stared across the table at the girl she liked a lot more than she thought she would. Sophia grinned when she caught her eye; she had a large quantity of green beans stuck between her teeth.
***
Sybill had never been to a Catholic service before. She had vague memories of going to church when she was little, but none of her foster parents in recent years had been what one might call “religious.” Everett had been raised in what he described as “the-church-of-what’s-happening-now,” but he hadn’t brought any of that into his marriage. Not like Martha would’ve allowed it. She’d been a staunch atheist.
Sybill sat silently in the pew, wedged between Sophia and Evie, and marveled at how involved it all was. The incense was so thick it made her eyes water, and her ears throbbed from all the chanting, bell ringing, and organ music. At one point the priest walked down the aisle and used a wand to fling water on the congregation. Sybill wasn’t too happy when she was splashed right in the eyeball. There was also way too much kneeling and standing; at times it seemed more like an aerobics class than a church service.
But at least it wasn’t all stuff and nonsense. She liked the priest’s robes. Though the sight of a grown-ass man in a gown tickled her, she was impressed by his somber demeanor and the bright colors of the clothing. The robe was as red as a cardinal’s breast, with a trail of elaborate gold trim down the front. It gave him a kingly aura; he seemed to glide rather than walk across the marble altar. She also liked the windows. The sunlight filtering into the church ignited the stained glass, transforming it into a dazzling mosaic of color and light which showered the floor with tiny rainbows.
But the best thing about the service was the crucifix dangling over the altar. Sybill had absorbed the basic narrative behind it through T.V. and peers, but now that she was looking at one up close, the last thing she thought of was “redemption.” This was the sanctification of violence, brutality re-packaged and enshrined into “holy” doctrine. It was the worshipful glorification of torture.
She couldn’t stop looking at it.
On the way home she asked Evie where she could get one. Evie---looking surprised but delighted---promised to get her a birthstone cross pendant for her birthday.