Chapter Four - Our Little Secret #2
“What about Caspian? He’s a popular boy, and cute too.”
Belinda forked a piece of gooey pancake into her mouth while saying, “Ew.”
“What about Briar?”
“She’s a bitch.”
“Language!”
“I’m sorry. She’s very mean at school, to everyone. I’d rather be here with Pin.”
“Pin? Who’s that?
“My doll, silly”
“Isn’t Pin a boy’s name?”
“Doesn’t matter, she likes it.”
“Okay…”
“So, are you going to help me find what I am looking for?” Belinda finally asked.
“Sure, whatever. Eat first.”
They both ate in silence for a moment before Jenny continued, asking one last question. “Why were you and your dad by my door last night?”
“I don’t know… I heard him on the stairs, and I followed him there. He seemed lost.”
Jenny tried to hide a smile but failed, making it obvious to Belinda that she was pleased about what had happened. This angered her, but Belinda was better at hiding her emotions than Jenny. Eating helped her disguise her frown.
“All done!” Belinda exclaimed.
Belinda ran upstairs to see if her mom was still sleeping; her bedroom door was slightly ajar.
Peeking with her right eye, she saw her mom, Camille, sleeping under her heavy comforter.
Belinda remembered how soft her parents’ bed was, missing the days when she used to snuggle in between them.
The memory of her mother’s blonde hair spread across her pillow obscuring her vision; she also remembered the eucalyptus mint shampoo she used to use.
Belinda had come to realize how much they had drifted apart, forgetting her mother’s gentle gaze.
She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had embraced her; she felt like a castaway at sea.
Her mother’s loneliness felt greater than her own, like a never-ending storm.
She looked as if she was cradled by a shadow.
With sadness in her heart and trying not to think of what she knew about her mother, Belinda’s determination to make her mother happy again grew. She walked away from the door slowly, her doll in her arms.
Back in the kitchen, Belinda saw that Jenny had already cleaned everything up. Dishes were put away, and Jenny was wiping the last bits of crumbs from the marbled counter.
“Are you ready? Come help me, please.”
“Right now?” Jenny asked.
“Yes, now,” Belinda demanded.
As they walked to the garage, Belinda led Jenny.
With Pin in her arm, she straightened her doll’s velvet dress while walking further away.
One of the walls had tall racks that reached the ceiling; her dad kept everything organized.
There was a small stool, and Jenny climbed onto it with Belinda’s guidance.
“All the way on the top, a large black container,” Belinda said.
“The whole gallon? What’s in it, and what do you need this for?” Jenny asked.
“I am doing a school project. Hurry up!”
“Look, just go wake your mom up. I don’t have time for this,” Jenny replied.
Jenny tried to reach the jug that sat just out of her reach, putting one foot off the stool and onto the rack itself. Her balance wavered dangerously, causing her to shake gently back and forth. Unaware of how perilously unbalanced she had become, she suddenly felt the stool jerk free beneath her.
The container was already in her hand, but in that split second, she lost control. As she tumbled downward, she saw the lid had been removed, the liquids spilled out in a sickening rush, splattering across her as she hit the ground with a heavy thud.
The ghastly screams that Jenny unleashed were primal and frantic; a raw, blood-curdling cry that pierced the thick air and grew louder with each passing second.
Her trembling hands clawed at her neck and face, trying to wipe away the corrosive chemical, but all she succeeded in doing was smearing the toxic liquid across her skin like a gruesome stain.
The corrosive liquid sizzled as it made contact, eating into her skin with a sickening hissing sound.
Her eyes widened in horror as her flesh blistered and bubbled, droplets of acid burning trails down her cheeks.
Wriggling on the ground, her body convulsed with pain, tearing at her nearly see-through shirt until it shredded, exposing her indigo-laced bra soaked with chemicals.
“Help me! Get some water, something!!” Jenny shrieked, her voice cracking into a desperate, animalistic wail as her skin turned raw and blistered.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” Belinda hissed, her voice cold and sharp. “You’re smarter than that, Jenny. Or maybe not.”
Convulsing in agonizing torment, her skin began to melt off her body and slough onto the ground, her muscles starting to glisten beneath the raw, blistered surface. Her delicate freckles stood out more vividly against the charred, peeling flesh.
She screamed for help, but her voice was drowned in a gurgling, wet roar as the acid slithered down her throat, devouring her vocal cords in a bloody, molten mess.
Jenny’s body jerked and spasmed, her limbs trembling uncontrollably as the corrosive chemical ate through her kneecaps and melted her tendons into useless, bubbling goo.
She couldn’t crawl or scream; she could only helplessly thrash as her flesh dissolved into a sickly pulp.
“We won’t let you take daddy away,” Belinda exclaimed.
Jenny lifted her head, desperation flickering in her eyes as she strained to see Belinda through the blood-slicked haze. Weak and trembling, she stretched out her arm in a final, frantic plea for help. Her hand, once soft and youthful, was now a mangled mess.
Flesh melted away, revealing jagged bones that twisted and bled pus as the acid continued its relentless feast. The bones of her fingers were exposed as they shriveled and bubbled, muscle dissolving into a slick sludge as they began to twist unnaturally.
The acid continued to eat away at the remaining flesh, muscle, and bone, transforming her limb into a helpless, grotesque stump.
Jenny’s vision started to blur, and as she gradually lost consciousness, a melody reached her ears. A gentle lullaby as she continued to slowly drift away.
“Pin Pon es un muneco,
Macabro y pálido.”
Her lashes melted away, and with her eyes covered in a thick white layer, Jenny let out one last troubled breath. Everything Jenny had hoped for had become nothing more than a soon-to-be-forgotten chest of treasures under the sea. Decaying and never to be found.
“Se lava su carita,
Con sangre y ácido.” The lullaby continued in a glum hum.
From inside the garage, Belinda heard her mother calling out as she ran down the stairs; Jenny’s screams must have woken her. She ran out of the garage, trying not to step in the fleshy pool of Jenny.
“Mom, Jenny fell and got hurt!” Belinda screamed as her mom rushed towards her.
“Where is she?” Camille asked.
“In the garage. She was trying to get something and fell,” Belinda replied.
After witnessing Jenny’s flesh grotesquely pooled on the ground, her gnarly bones gradually melting into a sickly, oozing mess, Camille’s stomach twisted with dread. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she stumbled backward, trembling uncontrollably.
Desperately, she fumbled to dial the police, each second feeling like an eternity. Once the call was made, her hands shook violently, and she urged Belinda to retreat to her room for the rest of the day, hoping to spare her from the unspeakable aftermath.
Sitting in her bed and brushing Pin’s hair, she could hear people downstairs. Her dad knocked on her door and opened it, seemingly unaware that hours had passed.
“Honey, are you okay?” Antonio asked as he sat on the edge of Belinda’s bed.
“Mmhmm,” Belinda gave a subtle smile.
Antonio felt uneasy about Belinda’s response. He got up, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and exited her room.
After ordering takeout for dinner, and despite no one being hungry except for Belinda, she ate in her room while her parents stayed downstairs.
Later in the evening, Camille went upstairs to check on Belinda. After gently opening her daughter’s door, she walked in and sat on her bed. Nothing was said at first. Camille ran her fingers through Belinda’s long black hair and gently tucked it behind her ear.
“She won’t take daddy away now,” Belinda whispered.
Camille’s eyes widened at her daughter’s words, but she couldn’t speak. She kissed her daughter on the cheek, taking the hairbrush from her hand. Trying to place the brush on the nightstand without looking, she missed, dropping on the carpet.
After bending over to pick up the fallen brush, she noticed a piece of red plastic beneath the bed, slightly concealed by the blanket.
Camille ran her hand over what she initially thought was garbage and scooped it up blindly.
On her palm was a red seal, somewhat attached to the cap of the acid container.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, stifling a scream.
After pocketing the items, she stood up. Camille looked at her daughter’s peaceful, sleepy smile, wanting to feel more than her own emptiness.
“Our little secret,” Camille whispered as she slowly walked out, closing the door. She never spoke about her findings with anyone.
Sitting in the living room downstairs, Camille looked pallid and emotionless.
Her eyes seemed hollow, as if she was somewhere else entirely.
Antonio sat next to her, clutching her left hand tightly, while her right hand was clenched in her pocket, gripping the cap and broken seal anxiously, as if afraid they might slip away and reveal what she desperately wanted to hide.
“Everyone’s gone,” Camille whispered, her voice barely audible. “But we’ll need to call someone tomorrow to clean up what’s left behind.”
Her words sounded deadened, but her hands trembled slightly, betraying her calm facade.
“Yes, first thing in the morning. Can I ask you something?” Antonio’s voice wavered.
“The acid container was sealed, but there was no seal around it. Do you happen to know why?”
Camille snapped off her sunken demeanor, flashing something darker. “You think I did this to her?” Her voice cracked, sharp and trembling with rage. “Oh, come on… I wanted her gone, not dead, Antonio. Don’t be fucking stupid!”
Her words hung heavy in the air, intoxicating it with unspoken truths and accusations. Camille suddenly jerked her hand free, rising abruptly from the couch. Her face was strained and pale as she retreated to her room, and the door slamming shut behind her.
Antonio remained on the couch, choosing not to follow her. He thought of the day at the tracks, his wife’s violent past. He’d seen the changes. He thought, “She wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore,” as he tried to control his trembling body.
Not wanting to confront his wife again for the night, he remained on the couch, where tried to sleep. With his eyes peeled, he thought of Jenny and his missed opportunity.