Dead at 15

I didn’t sleep well that night. Considering I‘d slept for almost a week, only occasionally getting up to eat and go to the bathroom, it probably didn’t matter too much. I still felt drowsy though – just couldn’t sleep. Whatever, it was weird.

I had paced a lot before I went to bed. Up until that point, I’d never understood why people did it exactly. Now I could. I was paranoid, completely dumbfounded and lying in bed really was doing fuck all for me. Pacing sounded good.

“Snap out of it December,” I whispered harshly after a while, slapping myself in the face. “Do something productive!” Taking my own advice, I opened the curtains. Oh, great start, really.
“Oh shut up,” I mumbled as I switched the light on, made my bed and got dressed. It was about four in the morning, so why I had even bothered to open the curtains was really a mystery.

I ended up sitting on my bed, contemplating what needed to be done. The July thing had me seriously freaked out, but this was something I’d have to keep my emotions out of. She probably didn’t know that I would be the one to look into all of this. It was either a complete guess or I’d read her clues wrong and I was getting wound up over nothing. For confirmation anyway, I’d have to look into the one other clue she’d left me – the one that I could understand.

The cemetery. However, I was no idiot. I’d wait till dawn. No, I wasn’t afraid of going to the town’s graveyard in the dark. It was more that it was a horror movie waiting to happen. Considering how close my life was to a horror film anyway, I wasn’t going to take chances. Even if that sounded stupid.

Although ‘serious crime’ as such occurred rarely (once a year) it was kind of common sense not to go out so late or early, without back-up at least. I was itching to check it all out and just phone Tommy for said back-up, but I figured that he might have gone all bi-polar if I woke him up so early. But god I hated waiting. There really was only one thing I could do: I’d have to move onto June. I’d go to the cemetery once the timing was a little more reasonable and the light more substantial.

***

The rents would be up in approximately three and a half hours. I had to get out of the house before then. I darted downstairs and into May and June’s room, hoping like hell that I wouldn’t trip up. I hadn’t been in the room in a while. May and June: the slut and the drunk – apparently. The allegations against my deceased sisters seemed somewhat exaggerated. I was never sure whether I could trust the accusations or not. The bedroom portrayed nothing of their supposed ‘natures’.

Unlike the others, I had to take a short look at both sides of the room before I could decide which half belonged to whom. I shone the flashlight over the closest side to the door. That side was stocked with art supplies, beauty products and after pulling out one of the drawers, I discovered an assortment of revealing clothes that made me gag – and then laugh.

The other side of the room was practically bare: multiple stains on the carpet like something had been spilled, very little clothing at all (the drawers were all pulled out at odd angles so I could see) and the plain white sheets and comforter were on the floor. I believe I was correct in assuming that June’s side was that one. Oh how my mother tried so desperately to hide her obvious loathing of the sixth child.

My gloved hands rummaged through the chest of drawers frantically, but thoroughly. I pulled out what clothing was there, only to put it all back in the same place when I couldn’t find anything.

I really didn’t like having to use a flashlight. I couldn’t get the full picture, but if Mom or Dad decided to grab something to eat (randomly) and saw a light on that really shouldn’t be on, they’d come bearing questions, and possibly a gun. Mom wouldn’t notice the gloves on my hands, but Dad would. All the other times I’d gone through rooms were when they were less suspecting. Well, it’s not like they would be suspecting anything while just going to get something to eat or drink either, but if you saw a light on in a room where your family doesn’t really enter, you’d probably become fairly suspicious I think. Considering I couldn’t wait till morning, I’d just have to deal with the damn flashlight.

Under June’s bed were many empty bottles, and it stunk. I coughed from the dust and dropped the flashlight. Mom still liked to dust and vacuum in the rooms, the fact that this one had been neglected, was surely a sign of Linda’s resentment.

I covered my mouth and nose with my hand, much preferring the smell of latex to dust bunnies. I reached out with my other hand to grab the bottles. Once that little mission was accomplished, I picked up the flashlight and scanned the now faded labels on the dirty bottles. I rolled my eyes at the collection: vodka, whiskey, gin, scotch…the list went on.

Something didn’t make sense though, namely, the lack of personal items, clothes and such. It was as if she didn’t live there. Mom’s utter dislike of June may have triggered a runaway. But it didn’t seem like she left suddenly. The walls were bare. It was like she just didn’t ‘decide’ to leave, and that this was something like a summer home.

Sure, Mom could’ve tried to erase proof of June’s existence but the bottles under the bed, the drawers askew, and the un-made bed, opposed that theory. June was living somewhere else, and for long periods of time too. There was no other explanation that I could think of for a teenager’s room to be so empty. I had to find out where she was staying.

***

I rinsed my finished bowl of cereal in the sink before stacking it in the dishwasher. It was about seven o’clock, and I had to leave. I tiptoed upstairs and grabbed my messenger bag, already packed. July’s police file had since been removed from my bag and stored safely of course. I grabbed a few old soft-toys, my pillow and some clothes and stuffed them in my bed just in case the rents came in. I closed the curtains, grabbed a jacket, laced up my shoes and left in the cool morning air.

***

The cemetery, like most places in town, was within a walking distance of forty minutes to an hour from our house. I had no idea how early the buses ran but to be honest, I figured that I could use the walk. I wasn’t the most active teen. Walking was my only exercise, so I tried to do it as frequently as I could. It also kept me away from my parents, as well as giving me a chance to think.

I hadn’t been to the cemetery since November’s birth/death day a few weeks ago on the seventh. Needless to say, we’d skipped out on Thanksgiving, and Christmas wasn’t much of an event the previous year. Not that they’d been any good in my memory, but it got even worse after she’d died.

Anyway, I wasn’t there to drag up the memories. I was there to check out the graves. I tried hard not to fall into the familiar daze I usually did when making my way through the rows of headstones. Instead, I focused on reading the names. There could’ve been a hint in the surrounding graves.

Jonathan Kensington, Camilla Hines, blah, blah, blah, name scratched out and then January Thalia Lambert. I knew I really wasn’t paying attention properly, but nothing seemed to pop out at me like things normally did. The scratched out name would’ve been the only thing of interest, but seeing as the town felt no need in creating a website for the cemetery, whoever was buried there, would remain an unsolved, irrelevant mystery.

I took great care in looking at my sisters’ tombstones though. I knew the inscriptions off my heart. All the same pretty much. September’s was the only exception. She got ‘girlfriend’ tacked on the end of ‘beloved daughter, sister and friend.’ Rather inventive and original, don’t you think? Please note my sarcasm.

When I got to November’s, however, I got all choked up, which had become a regular thing for me. Vivid memories flooded my mind.

Opening the door, the lukewarm, pink water beneath my toes, her hair billowing over the back of the tub, the long, deep slash in her limp arm, her closed eyes, how diluted the red water was becoming with each passing second, the stains on her face, her dead pulse…

“December?” I looked up, only to get a fat droplet of water right in my eye. It was raining. Well no shit Sherlock.
“Tommy? What are you doing here?” I asked.
“It’s two o’clock. I thought you were gonna meet me at Timmy’s work? Last day he’s there till next Monday. Last opportunity you can get a shake till then,” he replied, slurping on one himself.
“It’s two o’clock?!” I yelled. “Are you freaking serious?!”
“Yup. Timmy and me were going home when I remembered that thing ‘bout the cemetery. Guessed that you might be here. So I got Timmy to wait in the car so I could check.”
“Oh, right.”
“You want a lift home?”
“No!” I shouted. “Sorry.”
“S’okay. You want to come to our place then to, you know, dry off?” I smiled.
“That would be nice.” I stood up and he adjusted the umbrella so it’d cover the two of us.
“You really are short you know.”
“Only to you.” Tommy was at least five feet and eight inches, at fifteen too so I knew he still had some growing left to do – lucky bastard. I was doomed to remain five feet and three inches for the rest of my life. “Give me your drink.”
“No way!” He yelled holding it just out of my reach. “There’s one for you in the car!”
“Really?”
“No.”
“Give me some, you dick!”

***

Now I understood why Tommy was so stunned when he saw my house. It was at least five or six times bigger than his. I mean, my house had to be big enough to accommodate so many people but Timmy’s place, was just tiny. Practically microscopic.
“A lot smaller than yours isn’t it?” Tommy asked cheerfully as I dried off my hair.
“Just a bit,” I admitted timidly. I felt like such a snob.
“Just a lot, you mean, but anyway! You find anything today?” I was grateful for the subject change.

“No. It was more what I didn’t find actually.”
“You started on June?”
“How’d you know?” Unable to detect my sarcasm, he shot me a smug look
“Calculated guess. Anyway, spill.”
“Well, I think that June was living somewhere else.”
“You serious? Like she had a double life?”
“I don’t think that’s it. Her and Mom didn’t exactly get along. I think she’d just leave for a while and only occasionally come back or something. She was a drunk anyway.”
“Where would an alcoholic go to I wonder?” Tommy said with a smirk. I rolled my eyes.
“Why didn’t I think of that? Can Timmy give us a ride?” Tommy shrugged.
“It’s not like he ever does anything.”

***

“December,” Uncle Tom stated.
“Hi. Can we come in?” He sighed.
“Sure.” He opened the door to his house wider to allow us in and then he showed us into the living room.
“What do you want this time?” He asked as we sat down.
“June,” I replied and watched how his face contorted.
“You definitely wouldn’t have gotten any answers from your mom and dad then.”
“Mom hated June. It’d be suicide to even mention it really.”
“Yeah. Linda really couldn’t stand her. Silly bitch. Sorry Kid, but it’s true.”
“Do I look like I care?” I said, notebook and pen out. He ignored that.

“Anyway, I think everyone knew about her – June, that is, with her alcoholism, but no-one ever tried to help her either.”
“I heard somewhere that she was getting sober though.”
“She was. She decided herself, and got sober, by herself. She’d talk to me when she needed to but other than that, she was rather self-contained.”
“So she definitely got over it?” Tom nodded. Impressive, June.

“Yes. I think she gave it up half because she was angry with herself and half to spite your parents. I don’t think Mark had much to do with her but every time her and Linda would lock horns-”
“She was living here. Wasn’t she?” I inquired, interrupting my uncle.
“That, she was.”
“Did she have a room here?”
“Yes. You can go see it. Even when she died no one came over to ask for her stuff so I kept it the way it was.”
“When did she first start living here?”
“She used to just stay nights sometimes when it was too late or too far to walk home or if she’d pass out at the bar I’d take her back here.”

“You let her drink?” I asked in disapproval.
“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told her all those years ago. I said that if she was going to drink, I’d much rather her do it where I could see. She’d steal alcohol from your parents but that was only when she got desperate or pissed off.”
“Right so…when did she actually start living here?”
“When she was getting cleaned up. Sober thoughts, sober anger.” I nodded in understanding, Mom was a bitch.
“Can you show us the room?” Tommy asked and my uncle nodded curtly, leading us into a small bedroom at the end of the hall.

No doubt about it, it was a teenager’s room. Music posters on the walls, CD’s, photos, unmade bed with (in June’s case) a batman comforter, magazines and dirty clothes on the floor.
“Uncle Tom?”
“Yes?”
“What happened the night June died? Was she here or at my house?” I questioned.
“Uh, yeah. Your house. Went back the day before, stayed the night and then came down to the bar the next evening. She had sobered up by this point but she asked for one celebratory beer.”

“Then what happened?”
“She asked me to watch her drink while she went to the bathroom and…didn’t come back.”
“Did you look for her?”
“Couldn’t get anyone to watch the bar. I had a feeling that the whole birthday curse that she’d been mentioning had gotten to her, you know? So I phoned your parents’ house, got your mom on the other end which gave me a headache, but she wasn’t there. When I was locking up the later on, must’ve been about one in the morning? I was walking past the alley, the one next to the bar, decided to check it out and then I found her.”

“Wait. You just randomly went down an alley?” Tommy asked in disbelief.
“I had a feeling. It wasn’t a good night that one.” Tommy and me exchanged a look.
“Right. So do you mind if we take a look around?” I asked.
“Go for it. Um, I don’t know if this will be of any help but she had a journal thing that she’d write in daily.”
“Oh? Do you have it or know where it could be?” He shook his head.
“No, sorry kids. Anyway, I’ve gotta run.”
“Why?”
“Date,” he said with a grin and I forced a smile.
“We’ll lock up?”
“Thanks. There’s a key in the birdbath. See ya kids.”

“Who the hell puts a key in a birdbath?” Tommy asked as we heard the front door close. I handed him a pair of latex gloves before putting on a pair myself.
“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t get visitors. Always gotta remember the crime rate though Tommy.”
“One murder a year?”
“Bingo. Zilch otherwise.”

After at least an hour of thorough searching, nothing, as per fucking usual.
“Have you found anything?” I asked.
“Nope. But something just occurred to me…you’ve forgotten to check for false bottoms today. You know, in draws.”
I was taken aback. I used them all the time myself but never bothered to check for them, ever! Hell, even Matthew had one for the necklace. That was careless of me, very careless. I hit my palm against my forehead.
“Oh shit. No. I haven’t.” Tommy gave me a severe look. Bi-polar moment…great.

“Have you checked at all for false bottoms?” My mouth fell open as my mind ticked over how serious this could be. I could’ve missed something vital. So, amidst my confusion, I did the one thing that made sense at the time. I screamed. Way to be a tad melodramatic, right? But no sooner had I let it out, Tommy’s hand clamped over my mouth.

“Shut up! Calm down. It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll lock up here and check out your Uncle’s room in case he’s hiding something. You get back to your house now to check your sisters’ rooms. Text me or whatever later. Just calm down for Christ’s sake.” I simply nodded before sprinting out the front door, the rain as heavy as ever. Though I definitely wasn’t one of the fittest people around, I didn’t stop running until I got home.

***

I shut the door and briskly walked into June’s room, gloves still on from Uncle Tom’s place. I stepped over to the chest of drawers and for the first time in a while, I was in luck. The first drawer (underwear) had a false bottom. Under it, was the journal Uncle Tom had mentioned. I tucked it under my arm before checking the rest of the drawers, which were all empty, and then ran upstairs.

I dropped the journal on my desk, hearing someone on the stairs. I yanked the gloves off and shoved them underneath a couple of schoolbooks. My alarm clock read ten past six. Dad would’ve been home.

Sure enough, it was Dad who opened my door, not five seconds later, a cheery smile on his face.
“Hey Kiddo! All packed?”
“Packed?” I asked. Dad gave me the ‘what are you on?’ face and walked in, closing the door.
“December, it’s the twenty-fourth.”
“And?”
“Thanksgiving’s in two days. We’re going to Texas, remember?” I’d completely forgotten about the dreaded annual visit to my mother’s family.
“When?”
“We’ve got a late, well, early flight. Gotta be at the airport by two, tomorrow morning. Where’ve you been? It’s all your mom’s been talking about lately.” Stupid not paying attention to Mom…excuse, quick!

“I’m sorry. I’ve been reading a lot lately. I’m just so caught up in it. It must’ve just gone straight over the top of my head,” I said, attempting to sound remotely normal.
“Well, we’re leaving at ten-thirty to get to the airport and stuff.”
“Okay. Is dinner almost ready?”
“I think so.”
“Alright. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.” And then he left. I texted Tommy quickly and then went downstairs. The text?
Tommy. I’ve been kidnapped. Nothing serious, just the rents. I’ll let you know when I’m back. Bye.