Ben wiped his tears away and ran back downstairs.
“What happened?” asked Alma, but Ben ignored her as he went to the kitchen. She followed and asked again, “Ben, what happened? Did you tell him about the smoke? Ben, talk to me.”
“I can’t, Alma.” He got a pot out and started to fill it in the sink.
“The smoke is getting thicker, Ben. What are you going to do with that water? Ben, stop ignoring me. What happened upstairs?”
“Alma, shut up,” said Ben, and the verbal assault stunned his sister. “You’ve got to just shut up and go watch your movie. Dad and I are doing adult things. Okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. Why are you being mean to me?”
He put the first pot on the stove and turned on the burner to high. Then he went to fill another. “I’m just trying to protect you.”
“I’m going upstairs,” said Alma in defiance.
“No!”
“Why not? You went up there, and Dad didn’t kill you. I’m going up there too.”
Ben grabbed his sister and threw her to the floor. “You do as you’re told! Stay down here.”
“Stop being mean to me,” said Alma, and her voice cracked as she started to cry. Her tears broke Ben’s heart, but he had to do everything he could to keep her downstairs.
“Do as you’re told, Alma.” Ben set the second pot on the stove and then started to gather the cleaning supplies. He went back upstairs with his arms full of various bottles for his father.
He found him in the bathroom. Michael had dragged Terry into the tub where she looked almost alive, her head drooped to the side as she sat against the porcelain. Ben’s father took the bottles one by one. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands were shaking as he inspected the cleaners. He was biting his nails down too far and had caused a few of his fingers to bleed. Ben was terrified, but stayed stoic, hoping to impress his father.
“All right,” said his father as he continued to chew his nails. “This is what we’re going to do. This bitch is dead, and we’re going to have to get rid of her body. I know we can do it. Okay?”
Ben saw Terry’s eye twitch. “Dad, I don’t think she’s dead.”
His father scowled and slammed his palm on the side of the tub. “Don’t be an idiot. She’s dead, dead, dead, and you killed her. You stupid fuck, I’m trying to help you. You want to go to jail for the rest of your life?”
“No, sir.”
“Then do exactly as I say and don’t contradict me again. Terry is dead. We have to figure out how to get rid of her body. Are you crying? Are you seriously crying?”
Ben shook his head, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
“You’re the one that did this. You’re the one that came into the bedroom when you weren’t supposed to. You’re the one that thought he was an adult. Well, this is what adults have to deal with. Okay? You need to act like an adult now.”
“I don’t want to,” said Ben pathetically. “I want to go watch my movie with Alma. I don’t want to be an adult.”
“Too late, Ben. It’s too late for that. Now go downstairs and see if the water is boiling. Okay?”
“Yes, sir.” Ben ran out of the bathroom.
His father yelled out to him, “Bring the water up once it starts to boil.”
Ben ran to the kitchen and yelled at Alma to leave him alone as he cried. He got a pair of oven mitts and then stood by the stove, watching as the water sat on the burners.
“Ben, please tell me what’s going on up there.”
Ben just shook his head and continued to cry. Killer spun in his cage and started to bark when a flash of green electricity illuminated the room.
Alma stood beside her brother and waited for the water to boil. She didn’t say anything, but seemed to want to be supportive of her brother as he was obviously struggling with something terrible. Ben lifted the pot off the stove and walked past his sister. He was careful as he carried the pot up the stairs, but some of it still spilled over the edge.
His father was in the bathroom, and had filled the bottom of the tub with some hot water from the tap. Terry was now laying at the bottom of the tub, her hair waving in the water and her bloodshot eyes staring straight up. Her mouth was open and the white foam still bubbled between her red, chapped lips.
“Good job, kid. Set the pot on the toilet and get the bleach. That’s the white jug over there, with the blue cap. Yeah, that’s the one. Go ahead and push down on the cap and turn it. There you go, you’re doing good. Now bring it over here and pour it in the tub. We’ll figure out how to do this. You and me, kid. We’ll figure it out. We’ll melt this bitch down to bones if we have to. Okay? Good, good. Just pour it in the water like that. You’re doing great. You’re a real adult now, a big boy. All adults have to do this kind of thing from time to time. There’s no need to cry, just keep pouring. Yeah, all of it. The whole thing.”
The bleach stung Ben’s eyes and he had to turn away as his father continued to speak in a manic slur of words.
“Go ahead and get the purple stuff. The bottle with the yellow cap. Twist it off the same way you did the bleach and then pour it in too. That’s a good boy. You’re a pro. You’re making me proud.”
Ben’s father stepped back and stood in the corner of the room. He continued to bite his nails as he watched his son pour the chemicals into the tub.
“Go ahead and pour all of the bottles in. Fuck it, just pour them all in there. One of them’s got to do the trick. Is that everything that you could find downstairs? Yeah? Okay, well I guess it’ll have to do. Pour the hot water in. Just do it. Don’t even think about it, just pour it in.”
Ben held the pot and leaned over the clawed tub. The smell of the chemical soup was sickening, and his eyes stung from it. Every time he breathed, the air seared his nose. He tipped the large pot and the boiling water started to pour in.
Terry screamed out as the water hit her skin. She wasn’t dead, and the searing water awoke her from unconsciousness. She reached out and grabbed Ben’s head in an attempt to find anything to hold onto. She pulled, and Ben felt his feet lift off the floor.
His face splashed down into the boiling soup of chemicals in the tub.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Alma’s Lost Truth
March 14th, 1996
Alma was still in the kitchen, watching the water boil, when she heard Terry scream. Then Ben started to wail even louder and Alma refused to stay downstairs any longer. She took a steak knife out of the butcher’s block on the counter and headed for the stairs.
The green electricity outside crackled again and she thought she heard her name, but wasn’t sure who was speaking. When the light flashed, there was a tall shadow in the room with her, as if an adult were standing at her side. She spun and swiped through the air, but there was no one in the room with her other than the whimpering dog in the cage.
Alma went to the stairs and paused, terrified. Ben was crying out in pain, and Alma knew her father was killing him. If she didn’t do something, her brother would die. She started to hum a tune, a trick her mother had taught her to help stay calm when bad things were happening. She took each step slowly and listened as Ben continued to cry out in pain.
She heard her father speak, “Hold the towel over your face, Ben.”
“It hurts!” Ben cried out.
“Get back in the tub, bitch!” Her father hit something, and Alma heard water splash. Then she heard several wet thuds while Ben continued to cry, his voice now muffled by what Alma assumed was a towel.
She held the knife out in front of herself, ready to kill to save Ben. If her father was hurting him, Alma was prepared to stop him any way she had to.