Jayne Doe (2 page)

He leans over, crushing me into the door, and presses his lips halfway on my mouth, but mostly on my cheek. I wiggle my head to get away from him and his stale breath. Kissing is gross. Not like the movies at all.

He slowly moves back and stares at me with terrified eyes. “Oh, Jill, what are we going to tell Jayne?” He’s upset. I can tell by the way he’s running his fingers through his sandy hair. “It’s going to kill her when I tell her I like her little sister.”

“Don’t!” I don’t want anyone to know what just happened. “She doesn’t have to know.” My heart begins to shatter into a million little pieces.
I just kissed Jayne’s boyfriend
. Mom is going to kill me. Tears fill my eyes. All I can think about is how much I want this all to go away.

“You won’t tell her?” He relaxes back in the seat and raises an eyebrow.

“Never.” I promise like I’m swearing on the bible. “We should go. Jayne is probably wondering where we are.” I begin to pray in my heart that we can get out of here and that nobody will ever find out how awful I am.

Johnny reaches over to the glove box. “Can we play a game first?” He takes out a box of crayons and pulls out the purple one. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Two

4:17 A.M.

Dirty.

I feel dirty.

I just want to tell somebody.

I think of Jayne.

Never mind.

Bad idea.

I check the bedroom window.

Nothing.

Nobody is out there.

It’s not like a person could fit through it anyway, but something inside of me wants to make sure it’s locked tight, before I get into bed. Mom says we’re not allowed to have locks on our bedroom doors anymore. I’m guessing it has something to do with Billy smoking pot in his last summer. They think I’m too young to understand, but I’m not. I know what happened tonight and I’m freaking out because of it. I have two options: tell somebody and hurt Jayne, or keep it locked up and hurt myself. Both ideas suck.

The sound of my door creaking open makes my heart stop.

I pray, pray, pray it’s Jayne. I’m not in the mood to deal with anybody else. Maybe she got home late and can’t sleep.

“Jilly, I thought you weren’t going to tell anyone about our game.”

My blood runs cold at the sight of his large shadowy figure on my wall. I pull the covers around me tightly. “I haven’t.”

“Then why is Jayne so mad at me?”

She knows. Jayne always knows when something’s wrong with me.

I shudder as he paces the floor like a prisoner trapped in lock down. “I didn’t want anyone getting hurt, Jilly.” He cracks his knuckles. “You weren’t supposed to tell, Jilly.”

“I didn’t,” I plead.

He lurches at me. Grabs my pillow. Clutches it in his hands, pulling at the thin fabric. “I didn’t want to hurt anybody. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.”

“She doesn’t know, I promise.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Jilly.” He lunges on top of me and I yelp in pain from the weight of his body. His large hand presses the pillow over my face; his knee grinds into my chest. I’m terrified.
What is he doing?
I kick my legs and scream into the pillow, but it does nothing. His body is a cement brick.

I can’t breathe.

Somebody help me, I can’t breathe!

Stop it. Stop it!

Get off me.

I can’t breathe.

Every inch of me burns. I twist my head. His hand rips at my hair.

I can’t move.

Oh, God, please help me.

The pressure of his hands feel like he’s going to break my jaw.
Break my jaw?
He isn’t playing a game to scare me.

He’s trying to kill me!

Fight, Jill.

Unbearable terror floods my body, and I lurch forward, but it's not enough. I vomit. The warm fluid soaks into the cotton cloth and wets my cheeks.

I’m dying.

The instant reality freaks me out. I vomit again and the burning acid lodges in my throat, where a new pain overwhelms my fear.

Come with me.

I hear a detached thought, or maybe a voice. The sound spreads warm comfort into my body. I concentrate, waiting to hear it again.

Nothing.

Slowly, I begin to float to the ceiling. I whip around and stare at my body.

Come with me, Jill.

Don’t look. Turn away.

I jerk my head, searching for the sound. No one is in the room, other than Johnny and the dead lump resting under the covers.

A thick, green mist slowly envelopes me. I panic. It’s everywhere. I can’t get away from it. It's like quicksand.

Then a burst of glorious light flashes in my periphery, bringing instant comfort. I turn to look. It’s hypnotizing. I close my eyes and reach out to the warm sensation. I don’t want it to go away. It’s paradise.

I move toward it, reaching out to hold the light in my hands, drifting until I land on a soft bed of grass that tickles the backs of my legs. I rub my eyes to chase away the mist.

Elysian Fields stretch out before me, a green so vibrant it doesn't look real. The grass beneath my fingers is soft as down, and music – beautiful and placid – weaves through the perfect cerulean sky. I dig my toes into the feathery blades of grass and lift my face to the sun.

Heaven
.

In the distance, a leafy oak tree supports a wooden swing. There’s a boy about my age. He’s pushing a little girl. She’s giggling, and her laughter makes me tremble with joy.

I know him.

Every part of my being knows him.

Stephen.

As soon as his name comes to me, I’m next to him. He cracks a smile. I grin back and wait for the familiar heat of embarrassment to color my face, but it doesn't come. I’ve known him
forever.
Stephen is my best friend. Maybe the only friend I’ve ever had.

I look down at my body. It’s perfect. I’m thin and beautiful like Jayne.

The second I think of her, a white light so hot it feels cold rushes into my hands and feet and flashes through my body, pooling in my chest. I lurch backward and stumble as if some hidden puppet master is tugging my strings, dragging me back to the dark place.

The repulsive stench of whiskey lingers in the house, so acrid that it's made its way into my room. I lean against the torn wallpaper and stare at the cold, empty lump under the blankets. Johnny isn’t here and my shoulders slump in relief. The alarm clock blinks. I don’t know what time it is, or how long my body has been like this.

“Jill?” Jayne’s lilting voice calls from the hallway.

No, Jayne. Don’t come in here.

Her face has an enormous smile as she walks over to the bed. “Time to get up, sleepyhead.” She reaches for me. “It’s almost noon.”

She pulls back the covers and looks straight into dead eyes.

I can hear her panic as if she's shouting. She brushes her hand over my cheek.

Please, God, no. Not baby Jill.

“Mom!”

She can’t be dead. She can’t be dead.

“Jill, wake up!” She screams. “Please, please, please. Wake up!” Tears roll down her cheeks as she tries to shake my limp body back to life.

“Mom!”

My skin feels funny. Like a million nerves have just been set on fire. My stomach burbles and a hole rips through my chest, searing my flesh. It’s then that I realize the pain isn't mine. I stare at Jayne, clutching her chest. I want more than anything to comfort her heavy, aching form. Instantly, I’m next to her, reaching out with tentative hands.

“Mom, call 911.”

Mom stumbles through the door. Her dingy- blue robe slips off one shoulder as she glares at Jayne. “What the hell is going on in here?”

“Jill is dead!”

Three

A pen clicking on a desktop catches my attention.

The bank?

I turn from the beige wall and stare at his monstrous face.

I hate you—I hate you—I hate you.

I swing at him, slipping through his horrid skin.

You took everything from me.

The wish of his death spreads under my skin like venom, turning my iridescent skin to a dull, ashy gray.

The phone rings.

I stare at it, knowing Jayne is on the other line. Johnny stares at it too; he knows it’s her. His hand picks up the receiver. I want to snap off every last one of his smooth fingers.

“Bank of Riverdale,” he says, voice flat and steady.

“She’s dead. Jill’s dead.” Her voice is fractured, hollow. Jayne cries into the phone.

“What?” Small beads of sweat start to form at his hairline. “How? When?” His words are well rehearsed, like one of those professional poker players you see on TV. He's focused, but still takes his hand to smooth down the hair rising on the back of his neck.

“Johnny, they took her body.” Jayne’s voice is weak, broken. “They ripped her right from my arms.”

My heart shatters.

It’s okay, Jayne. I’m fine. Really.

She doesn’t sense my presence. I wonder if she ever will.

“Where did they take her?” Johnny asks as he clicks the pen a hundred miles an hour. Acids bubble in his stomach and he blanches, paralyzed with tension. I can feel his nerves like static crawling under my skin.

“She’s at the mortuary,” she says. “The police came—”

“Police?” Johnny drops the pen.

“Yes. They say it looks like she choked in her sleep.”

“Choked? On what?”

“There was throw-up all over her. We think she had the stomach flu.”

“Jayne, I don’t know what to say.” He masks his guilt in feigned grief.

“Johnny, I need you. They’re making us leave the house.”

“They can’t do that.” His voice cracks in a shriek. He’s choking on the words, spitting them out. “Jayne, that is
your
house. You have rights.” His mind explodes in a barrage of images: hair particles, fingerprints, fibers from his clothes, anything he may have left behind. “I’m coming right now.”

“No, it’s okay,” she reassures him. “I want them to do something. They’re acting like it's not a big deal.”

His pulse slows as he searches for a different way to approach the situation. “Sweetheart, maybe they’re just trying to help. It’s probably easier if they don’t drag this out.”

“No, it’s like they don’t care. Like we’re just crap to them,” she says, letting out a strangled breath. “Jill was in perfect health. This doesn’t make sense—”

“Jayne, it was probably just her time.” His temper flares, but his eyes remain passive, calculating. He’s angry that Jayne is showing her backbone. A black heat, burning the tips of my fingers. He figured she’d just let this go. Sweep it under the rug like everything else. “I’ll tell you what. Give me an hour. I’ve got to get this place clean so my dad doesn’t flip out if he comes in.” He’s trying to manipulate her. This is his bait.

She takes it. “Oh, Johnny. I’m so sorry. I forgot about my shift today.” She also forgets I’m dead for a second because now all she wants is to impress him. Jayne totally believes Johnny is her only ticket out of the trailer park. “I can come in.”

“Really?” His tone is sticky sweet. “You would do that for me?” She sighs and Johnny let’s out a small breath of relief. “How about if I come over and bring you guys lunch. Then you and I can come back and clean this place?” He’s praying she won’t argue. He wants her out of that house.

“I don’t even know how to feel.” She's stifling tears. “We have so much to do. I have to plan the funeral.”

“Let me get you something to eat, and we’ll take care of the rest when I get there.”

I stare at him, gloating with victory. It’s bad enough what he’s done to me, but she's a marionette. She’s the janitor for Pete’s sake. His pond scum. The lowest job on his totem pole. He’ll pick her to death.

I gasp at the thought of Jayne dying and focus back on his thoughts for her. In his own, sick way, he's convinced that he loves her. He has no intention of doing to her what he did to me, but the images in his head repulse me. I want to get out of here. Get away from the confusing lovesick relationship he has with my sister. Get away from him. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl my hands into useless fists at my sides.

Four white walls appear.

The morgue?

I don’t understand why I’m here.

I close my eyes and concentrate, searching for a reason. It’s my cold dead body resting on the flat bed that wants me here.

The door next to me opens.

Mr. Mason, the town’s only mortician, steps inside along with another man. He’s a young guy and he’s full of questions. About me.

“I think we should run a few more tests,” he says to Mr. Mason.

When I hear his voice, I recognize the guy with Mr. Mason is Casey from next door. He graduated a few years before Jayne. I remember taunting him every summer because Jayne wanted his attention. Mom says he worships the devil and I barely recognize him without all the Gothic black.

Mr. Mason stares down at his watch. “Asthma attack. She aspirated on the vomit caused by the lack of air in her lungs.” He has other things on his mind. Mainly, Mrs. Mason’s warm supper. I sympathize. It seems like forever ago that I had a bag of Cheetos.
How long have I been without food? Do I even need food?
I rub my thin stomach.

Mr. Mason grows tired of reiterating how I died. He’s frustrated and wants Casey to relax and focus more on the big money accounts. “We’re only required by law to do the
basic
exam. Her mother isn’t a paying customer. We don’t make anything off this.”

“I’m aware of that, but—”

“Let me give it to you straight.” Mr. Mason nudges Casey’s shoulder. “Have you ever laid eyes on her mother?”

Though he doesn't speak, Casey's voice is loud in my head.
I lived next to the family for years. She only came out of the house to smoke on the front porch, which wasn’t very often.
His thoughts turn tender.
Jill was just a kid. I should’ve been a better neighbor. Nobody has even come by yet. The poor thing. Jayne.
Her name makes a wistful haze settle into his eyes.