Cutler - Midnight Whipsers Part 47

"I am not rotten and spoiled!" I shot back, my spine straightening into a steel rod. "And whose life was shattered? Certainly not yours!"

"Uh huh," she said, shaking her head. "Uh huh." She smiled coldly. It was a sickly, small smile around her lips. "I didn't think I would find you remorseful. I didn't think the pain you put us through would make any difference to you. You think only of yourself." The smile faded quickly. "Well, you're under our supervision. We're responsible for you and for how you behave. You've done a very bad thing and you must be punished."

She straightened up to face me, her eyes fixed on mine.

"You are confined to your room until further notice. You may come down only for meals and then you march right back up there, you hear me.

You will receive no phone calls nor make any, nor will you be permitted any visitors. And let me warn you, young lady," she said, stepping closer and sticking her long, bony forefinger at me, "don't even think of violating any of my rules anymore.

"Go on upstairs. Go on!" she ordered, pointing to the stairway. I looked at Uncle Philip, who seemed subdued by her outburst. Then I charged away from both of them and pounded my way up the stairs. As I hurried to my room, I saw the door to what was Jefferson's and now Richard's room, too, open. He peered out at me, his face full of self-satisfaction.

"What are you looking at?" I snapped.

He kept his smile, but he closed the door.

I burst into my room and stood fuming for a few moments. How dare she talk to me like that? I thought. I should have told her the truth. I should have told her why I ran away. It would have left her so flabbergasted, she wouldn't be able to speak for days.

And when she did speak, she would stutter. I felt good knowing I could smash her with the truth any time I saw fit. But once my fury subsided, I realized that announcing what Uncle Philip had done to me was not the easiest thing to do. It would hurt me as well. It was a double-edged sword, just like most tools of revenge.

No, it was better to ignore her, too, I thought, to pretend she didn't exist, to pretend none of them existed. I would tolerate them until Jefferson was well and then, I would think of something else to do. I had no other choice.

In many ways it was good to be home, to be in my own room again and to see the stuffed animals Mommy and Daddy had given me. It was wonderful to smell my own linen and use my brush while sitting at my vanity table. My room was filled with good memories, too, and they were all memories that reminded me of times with Mommy and with Daddy.

I was exhausted. Now that I had stopped moving, now that I was settled in my room again, the events of the past twenty-four hours plowed over me.

All the emotions, the tensions, the horror and the hardship came rushing back at me, drowning me in a sea of weariness, draining me of whatever iota of energy remained in my body.

I began to undress for bed, but when I went to my closet to hang up my clothes, I was greeted with another welcome-home surprise. My wonderful Sweet Sixteen dress had been sliced in two. It lay on the floor like a fatally wounded sea gull, the shoulders of the bodice spread like two wings. It had been cut right at the bottom of the neckline and the billowing skirt torn and shredded. It looked like it had been attacked and hacked by a madman.

"Oh no," I cried, kneeling down and embracing the ravaged garment to me. "Oh no!" I screamed.

"No!" The door of my room was thrust open.

"What is it? Why are you screaming? Don't you realize how late it is?" Aunt Bet demanded.

"Look," I said, holding my dress out toward her. "Look at what one or both of your precious special twins did."

She gazed at the dress and smirked.

"I'm sure neither of them would have done that.

They don't do those kinds of things. Anyway, it's your own fault," she said, folding her arms and straightening as firmly and stiffly as an iron pole. "If you hadn't run away, you would have been here to take care of your things, wouldn't you? Now, stop screaming and go to sleep," she added and closed the door. Then I heard a key turn in the lock and realized she had locked me in my own room.

I sank to the floor, clutching the dress. All I could see was Mommy's radiant smile when she had come in and seen me in it. I felt as if the tears that were streaming down my face were her tears. She was crying through me and with me. My body shook with the sobs until my stomach ached. I sat there bent over with the soft crinoline against my face until finally I could shed no more tears. Then I rose slowly and laid the dress out on the bed and fell asleep beside it, hoping that somehow when I woke up in the morning, I would find that it had all been one long, horrible dream.

I would wake up and it would be the morning of my Sweet Sixteen party. Mommy and Daddy would be alive, Jefferson would be well, Gavin would be coming along with all the wonderful guests and dear friends like Aunt Trisha. The sky would be blue and the ocean would look crystal-clear and fresh.

Was there ever, ever a time like that?

The only thing that got me up in the morning was my desire to find out about Jefferson. Despite the late hour at which I had gone to sleep, Aunt Bet was determined to keep me from sleeping late anyway.

She pounded on my door and then opened it abruptly.

"Still in bed?" she asked. I wiped my eyes and sat up slowly. "We have a new maid who follows very specific orders. Breakfast is served only once. If you miss it, you don't eat until lunch and if you miss that, you don't eat until dinner. We're all dressed and ready to go down so I would advise you to get out of bed and get dressed rapidly if you want anything to eat."

"I want to know about my brother," I said.

"That's all I want."

"Suit yourself," she said and closed the door.

I fell back against the pillow. My eyes shifted to my torn dress again and my heart ached. Finally, I rose and went to my dresser drawers to get fresh undergarments and then go into the bathroom to shower, but when I pulled open my drawer, I stepped back in horror. Dead worms and clumps of mud had been tossed over my panties.

This was all Richard's work, I thought, but it would be no good to call Aunt Bet in to see it. She didn't care and she would only defend him. I pulled out the drawer and carried it into the bathroom where I emptied the mud and dead worms into the toilet. I took out my panties and put the drawer back. Then I looked around the room. Who knew what else he and his sister had done here? What else would I find broken or spoiled?

I did find more vandalism. Some of my perfumes and colognes had been mixed together and ruined. There were globs of skin cream in my shoes, lipstick smeared on blouses, and water had been poured into one of my jewelry boxes. I repaired as much of the damage as I could and then took my shower, but by the time I was ready to go downstairs, Aunt Bet had declared the breakfast hour over. She did so by appearing at my door before I opened it and turning the key in the lock again.

"Try not to miss lunch," she shouted through the locked door. I pulled on the handle.

"Let me out of here," I demanded. I pounded the door. "Aunt Bet, open this door. I have to find out about Jefferson. Aunt Bet!" I pounded again and again, but she didn't respond. Furious, I kicked at the door, but only hurt my foot. I paused, seething, and then I heard Richard's whisper. He had his lips up against the opening between the jamb and the door.

"Why don't you crawl out your window," he said and laughed.

"You little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. When I get out of here . . ."

I pulled and pulled on the handle until my arms ached.

"Aunt Bet! Please. Open the door!" I waited, but it was silent. "Uncle Philip!" I cried. "Let me out!"

No one came even though I pounded and cried for hours. When Aunt Bet's scheduled lunch hour began, she climbed the stairs and came to my room. She unlocked the door and stood there gazing down at me.

I was sprawled on the floor where I had stopped pounding and calling.

"How dare you lock me in like this?" I said, rising slowly.

"Maybe now you'll understand the importance of schedules," she said. "Our lives are very organized now and we don't want anything to disrupt them."

"Don't you ever, ever lock me in here again," I said. She held her cold smile.

"What will you do?" she asked. "Run away again?"

It was as if a cold knife had been dragged down my back along my spine. I suddenly realized she had been happy Jefferson and I had run off. She didn't care; she didn't want us to return. She was hoping we had gone to live with someone else. Revenge, no matter how self-destructive it might be, was suddenly worth it.

"Why do you think I ran away? What do you think was the real reason?"

"I wouldn't know," she said, but she had an anxious look in her eyes. I folded my arms across my chest and stepped toward her, my own eyes firmly fixed on hers.

"You never asked Uncle Philip, did you? You must have been awake that night. You must have known when he left your bed and came into my room," I fired at her with a tone of meanness that amazed even me.

"What?" She stepped back. "What are you saying, you horrible child?"

"He came into my room. He came into my bed," I told her. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. She shook her head and started to speak, but her lips moved without producing a sound. "He forced himself on me; it was horrible, horrible. He kept telling me he couldn't stand being near you, touching you."

She shook her head vehemently.

"I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong and too determined. In the end . . . he raped me."

She brought her hands to her ears and uttered the ugliest, most twisted scream. Then she reached out to slap me, but I caught her hand in midair.

"Don't touch me!" I told her, "and don't ever lock me in my room again. Don't even think of it!"

She pulled her hand free and fled from me. She retreated to her own bedroom and slammed the door.

"Good riddance," I cried and then I took a deep breath. It felt like a small fire had started in my chest.

I hadn't realized how rigidly I had been holding myself. My ribs ached. Although I had driven her off, I didn't feel proud of myself. Even now that it was over and my fury had subsided, I could easily imagine how hateful and ugly I had appeared. It was a side of myself I didn't want to make visible, for I knew it left scars afterward. Maybe no one else could see the scars, but I could. The worst thing vile and repulsive people like Aunt Bet could do to you was make you like them. That was what she had succeeded in doing right now.

I went downstairs to have some lunch. Melanie and Richard were already seated at the table, he with his napkin tucked in his collar and she with hers on her lap. Both of them sat up perfectly straight, their soup spoons gripped correctly and poised over their steaming bowls of chowder. They looked more like mannequins than real people.

"I found all the terrible things you did in my room while I was away," I told them. "You won't get away with it. Believe me."

My fiery gaze made them both shift their eyes to their soup. Then Richard recuperated and fired back.

"Jefferson's going to die," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "Mother told us so this morning."

"That's a lie. He's getting better. He's being brought to the hospital back here the moment he can travel," I said. He smiled slyly.

"My father just told you that to get you to come home," he said confidently. I looked at Melanie who was staring at me like some coldly a.n.a.lytical scientist anxious to see what my reaction to this news would be.

"You're horrible . . . two monsters!" I cried and in one swift move, I dumped their bowls of soup on their laps. They both screamed and jumped up and away from the table as the liquid quickly went through their clothes and scalded them. Without waiting for Aunt Bet's arrival, I turned and fled.

I ran out of the house, down the steps and toward the hotel. All of the debris had been cleared and the new walls had been started. As I approached, the workers on this side turned and a moment later, Uncle Philip emerged from the group to greet me.

"You have a family of monsters," I began. "I hate them!"

"Now, everyone has to learn how to readjust."

He held up his hands. "In time . . ."

"I'll never adjust to them . . . or you!" I said, my chest heaving with each breath. For a moment I simply glared at him. He looked confused, hurt. "The twins told me you lied about Jefferson. They said he's not coming to a hospital here," I said. He smiled.

"That's nonsense. They're just teasing you. Matter of fact, I received the phone call this morning and I was on my way to see you. Jefferson's out of the coma and he will arrive at the hospital at eight tonight. You and I will be there when he comes."

"Really? This isn't another lie?"

"Would I lie about such a thing?" He put his hand on my shoulder and I pulled back as if his hand was on fire. "Christie, please . . ."

"Don't touch me. I don't want you to ever touch me again."

"Christie. We love you. We. . ."

"Love me? Do you know she locked me in my room?"

"She's still a little upset."

"And you let her. You let her do everything she wants," I accused.

"Betty Ann runs the house now and I . . ."

"She runs everything and everyone around her.

But not me. I told her what you did. I told her!" I screamed, turned and stormed off. I didn't return to the house until late in the day. In the interim, I went downtown and bought myself some lunch. I walked on the beach for a while and then sat behind the hotel and watched them work on the building. When I did reenter the house, I found it deathly quiet. I marched up to my room. The door to Melanie's room was open so I looked in as I pa.s.sed and saw the two of them sitting on the floor, a game of Chinese checkers between them. They glared up at me hatefully. When I paused, they both looked terrified and shifted their eyes to their game.

The door to Aunt Bet and Uncle Philip's bedroom remained closed. I wondered if she had shut herself in there all day. I didn't feel sorry for her; I was just curious. At exactly six-fifteen, however, she came to my doorway and knocked gently. She looked like she had been crying for hours. Now her face had that dry, quiet look, the look of someone moving through the paces without thinking or feeling.

"Dinner is being served," she said and turned away before I could speak. I wasn't very hungry, nor did I look forward to sitting at the table with any of them, but I went downstairs. The twins glanced at me quickly and then looked down at their plates and settings. Uncle Philip was the most animated, but even he looked like a puppet waiting for his strings to be tugged. The new maid served the food without uttering a sound. She was a young girl, but one who had a prematurely aged face. The way she moved about the table indicated she was terrified of Aunt Bet, frightened of making a mistake. I was the only one who thanked her. Her eyes lightened, but she did no more than, nod slightly and retreat to the kitchen.

Because they were all so quiet and withdrawn, I was able to pretend and to imagine myself sitting at the table months and months back in time. I listened as my memory replayed some of the funny things Daddy had said. I heard Mommy's laughter and saw Jefferson smile. I imagined Mrs. Boston hovering over us, telling us not to let this or that get cold. I was so lost in my reverie, it took the new maid twice to get my attention. I hadn't even heard the telephone ring.

"She's not to receive any phone calls," I heard Aunt Bet say. "Tell whoever it is . . ."

"The operator says it's long distance," the maid explained.

"Long distance?" I shot up out of my seat.

"No one talks on the phone during dinner,"

Aunt Bet declared. "It's not polite; it's . . ."

I glared at her. She glanced at Uncle Philip, who looked down at his food, and then she shook herself as if she had just had a terrible chill and went back to her own meal. I went to the phone. It was Gavin.

"I tried to call you all day," he said, "but someone kept telling me you were out or asleep."

"It's horrible here, more horrible than ever," I told him. "As soon as Jefferson is well again, I'm leaving."

"Has Philip . . ."

"He hasn't come near me. Gavin, I told her; I told Aunt- Bet. She drove me to it," I said. "Really?

What did she say?"

"She ran away from me, screaming, and now they're all like zombies, but I don't care."

"I've told my mother and she's talking to Daddy. They're going to discuss what to do," he said.

"Tell them not to do anything until Jefferson is well. I don't want any new problems until then," I said.

"I'm worried about you, Christie. All I do is lie around and think about you," he told me.