Dead at 15

I hated the visits to Mom’s family – with a passion. Aunt Teresa and Uncle Dominic, or just Dom, in true family tradition, had seven kids of their own. Unfortunately, none of them were dead…yet (each visit I got closer to wanting to cut their throats myself). True, it was bad of me to wish death upon anybody but I think I had a right to. After all, it was coming for me anyway.

Diana was twenty-four and definitely the most humane and down-to-earth of the family. She had enough sense to stay away when it came to family get-togethers. Then there was Kendra, nineteen – and a nasty piece of work. She had this really obnoxious boyfriend by the name of Nathan too, just to make matters worse. It was like double the idiocy. I was just hoping they’d never get around to producing offspring. They’d be the cause of the apocalypse.

George was a total recluse, but broke the pattern of females at least. He was seventeen years old with dyed black hair and had a one-eyed fringe thing going on. Basically, he was what most young people would stereotype as ‘emo’ or older people ‘elmo’ or ‘emu.’ He was by far the easiest to hang around though and listened to some decent music. The rest were all little shitheads I wouldn’t bother going into much detail about. Alison was fourteen (and my polar opposite), Jodie was twelve, Tori (or ‘Princess Victoria’) was ten and Brody (another dude) was seven.

All combined, the place was a horror house. My grandparents on my mother’s side I did not care for merely because they still treated me like I was a two year old. Fortunately, this time Gran was recovering from a hip replacement surgery so they couldn’t join us. Dad and I were ecstatic over that little blessing.

I certainly did not get the brains or sensibility from Mom’s family. Sure, Mom managed to snatch up a degree, but she also popped out twelve kids and quite possibly murdered them all. I much preferred Dad’s family, but his parents were retired and lived out in the French countryside, so I didn’t see them too often – at funerals for the most part.

Anyway, I didn’t manage to get much reading done of that diary – even in George’s room, stupid nosy boy. I couldn’t really blame him though. The rest of his family weren’t exactly setting a great example in ethics for him. He claimed to hate them and that he wasn’t like them at all but being able to completely avoid the hold seventeen years of terrible etiquette had on a child’s identity seemed impossible. George didn’t know how to rebel properly. Poor kid…who was older than me.

My aunt’s plastic face when we arrived was priceless. I’d dressed in shredded to the max, black skinny jeans, neon green Converse and a Bring Me the Horizon ‘Suicide Season Cut Up’ t-shirt for the occasion. I was then briskly ushered into staying in George’s room, despite the whole unsaid gender rule that normally applied.

To me the gender thing wasn’t an issue. He was my cousin for God’s sake. Like I said, my relatives on my mom’s side were stupid. It had been my aim to scare the aunt into thinking I’d influence her precious little monsters into being ‘bad’ so that she’d put the most amount of space between me and them. I wouldn’t have been able to stand another year in Alison’s room. The very thought sent shivers down my spine. She was like September except ten times worse. Nasty, nasty thought. Oh and with a lot less IQ points.

***

Because of the whole journal upset, I decided to do the smart thing and sit somewhere else on the plane there and back – away from the rents. Obviously, I couldn’t put gloves on with people next to me but I figured it wouldn’t really matter this one time.

June was definitely pissed off – at Mom and herself. She was progressing though, the entries showed that. Uncle Tom was right, the more sober she got, the angrier she was with our parents. Dad was rarely mentioned, most likely because she didn’t have any personal grievance with him, that and she was just more angry over the fact that he let her get that ‘way’ as such. Well that was what I believed. It seemed fairly plausible. Her and Mom just clashed.

August was right though. June had recovered. She could even have a couple of beers and not go near it again that week. June was getting better and better at exercising her self-control and while she was at my uncle’s, she was happy. Anyway, alcohol poisoning seemed a little unlikely at this point. June, the master of her ‘demons’, fall off the wagon when she promised herself one beer?

The ‘accident’ thing was out then. Surprised? Yeah, right. Anyway. I had to think about what Uncle Tom had said. June had apparently gone to the bathroom and didn’t come back. She was most likely abducted if Tom’s story was true. If.

As far as I knew from the autopsy report (Dad kept copies of them in his study), there were no lacerations to her wrists or ankles, no signs of anything being injected, but there were a lot of bruises on her pale skin – prior to death. That little thing was overlooked of course and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why. Mom and Dad letting slip the fact that she was an alcoholic, sneaked out during the nights, got into fights – it was all too easy to come up with plausible excuses for the bruises.

So it wasn’t looked into. No one questioned it. Besides, it was an alcohol poisoning after all. The bruises were irrelevant. Wrong. Someone had forced her to drink. Someone had given her those marks. It was the only logical conclusion.

***

“You’re so weird you know,” George said. I turned to meet his gaze.
“Look who’s talking,” I replied flatly.
“Not that kind of weird. Like, I don’t know-”
“If you don’t know then don’t say anything. It’s pretty simple.”
“No I mean it’s more than ‘normal’ weird.”
“You’ve lost me, dear cousin.”
“It’s like, whenever you enter the room it just feels…different.”
“Uh-huh…”
“You think I’m a lunatic don’t you?” He sighed.
“Just a tad but like you said, I’m just ‘a little different’ too. It’s okay. I don’t think Kendra is totally sane though,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the wall opposite George’s bed. Nathan and Kendra were banging in the next room – in great volume. George’s face curled in disgust and we shared a laugh.

***

By the time we’d arrived home, it was around four in the afternoon. I’d pretended to be listening to my iPod on the drive back when in fact I was trying to eavesdrop on my parents in case they let slip something important, but no such luck.

I went up to my room, dropped my suitcase on the floor before waiting for Dad to come up with my laptop. I was impatient to say the least. I’d hoped to use the Internet at Aunt Teresa’s but their Internet connection was intolerably slow – the modem severely outdated (which was weird because they were reasonably well off financially). So instead of aggravating myself more than necessary at that particular hellhole, I’d let George educate me in Xbox.

“Here you go Kiddo,” Dad said cheerfully, handing me my laptop bag.
“Thanks Dad. Glad to be out of there?”
“More than you are. Remember I actually had to act like I liked those people.” I smirked, reminded of Thanksgiving dinner.

***

“So December how’s school?” Aunt Teresa asked with a plastic grin, as if she actually gave a shit about me.
“Fine,” I answered sharply, staring her down.
“That’s uh, great.”
“Is it really? How do you know it’s ‘great’? Because to me it all depends on whose definition of ‘fine’ we’re going by. I could be totally failing every subject but that could be ‘fine’ with me, maybe not with you,” I retorted coolly as the table went quiet.

I was making my Aunt nervous. It was painfully obvious. The way her mouth trembled and sweat balled on her forehead under my gaze told me so.
“W-well I can’t say I know darlin’.”
“Yeah, I forget how many years it’s been since you’ve experienced high school. It’s about sixty now isn’t it? I can’t really tell with all that Botox in your face but I must say, at least you’ve got a decent set of knockers now. Get a raise Uncle Dom?” I asked sweetly.

Dad was shuddering next to me with silent laughter while George tried to cover his by coughing. My mom just stared at me wide-eyed in horror.
“December. That is not appropriate,” Mom snapped.
“But a raise is something to be thankful for in these difficult economic times.”
“December. Zip it.” The table then fell silent apart from unusually timid eating noises.
“So…any men in your life little cousin?” Kendra asked, smiling meaningfully at Nathan. Probably rubbing his crotch underneath the table too. Her hand seemed to be in that area.
“Yes. There are three, well actually…four now.” She laughed and flicked her bleached blond hair over her shoulder.
“Oh, I meantromantically. I forget how young you are sometimes, December.”
“I know what you meant. Just because I’m a few years younger doesn’t mean you’re not dumber than me,Kendra.”
“Four guys?!” She exclaimed, ignoring my insult. “O.M.G. are you like, serious?”
“Of course. Any less and yeah, that’s just a fail. Like you.”
“I fail?!” She screamed, ready to launch herself over the table at me while I smiled victoriously.

***

“Did you enjoy the show Dad?” I asked.
“You’re such a stirrer. I’m proud of you Kiddo.”
“All in a days work.”
“Of course. We’re getting Chinese tonight by the way.”
“Someone randomly opened up a Chinese restaurant, here? I’m impressed.”
“Sorry to disappoint you but no. I’ve got to go into work and make sure everything’s all set for tomorrow.” He sighed.
“Oh, okay. See you later Dad.” He gave me a quick hug then left.

I had to admit, although Dad possibly killed all my sisters, I couldn’t help but like him. Maybe that was just because I could barely tolerate my mother and he provided some sort of optimism rather than a constant raincloud overhead. As a teenager, I required some balance. I couldn’t provide it myself.
I tapped my fingers as my laptop turned on, logged in and then went to my email page to write one to Tommy.

Tommy. Sorry about the lack of ‘communication’ or whatever. Had no Internet access that didn’t take ten years to load. Found June’s diary before I left. Makes the whole alcohol poisoning ‘accident’ sound stupid but they found her with a whole lot of bruises (covered that up pretty quickly). So my theory is that she was force-fed alcohol. Anyway, I’ll look into May today. See you at school tomorrow.
-December.

“December?” Mom whispered in my ear and I jumped, slamming the lid of my laptop shut.
“Oh shit! You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry,” she replied gently, taking a seat on my bed.
“When did you come in?”
“Uh, twenty seconds ago,” she said, smiling. I raised an eyebrow. “Relax, I just want to talk.”
“Okay…”
“About what you said at Teresa’s and-”
“Oh Mom, that was all a joke.”
“I know. I think I’ve been unreasonable towards you recently.”
“You think?”
“And I apologize for that but I was wondering if you boyfriend would like to have dinner with us, Tuesday maybe.”
“Boyfriend?”
“The boy in your…uh, room, wasn’t your boyfriend?” Shit.
“Oh, yeah, he is! I was just shocked that’s all. I’ll ask Tommy tomorrow.”
“Okay. See you at dinner then,” and then she got up and went. Well that was unexpected.

***

May. The whore and the…artist? Yes. Her walls were covered with sketches, canvas paintings, watercolors and whatever. They weren’t half-bad either. But bingo! An address book on the nightstand. It was filled with guys’ numbers (no cell phones of course). I flicked through it carefully. When I got to ‘M’ however, there was a note scribbled next to ‘Gavin Michaels.’

‘Michaels’ had been underlined and the note read ‘4:30 – 6:15.’ That puzzled me. Was there a reason this name had been underlined? Only one way to find out. So I scrambled into the kitchen with the address book in hand, and then ran back up to my room to dial the number.

“Hello?” A cheery female voice answered.
“Hi. I doubt he’s around but I’m looking for Gavin Michaels please.”
“Oh. I’m sorry but he left yesterday. Who are you?”
“Sorry, I’m December Lambert.”
“May’s sister, am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“I can give you his home number.”
“That would be great.”

***

“Gavin Michaels, right?” I asked.
“Who wants to know?” A bored voice answered.
“December Lambert does.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Yeah. Um I was just wondering-”
“If me and your sis fucked? ‘Cause we did. All the time.”
“Congratulations. That must’ve been quite an accomplishment. What do you want, a medal?” I replied sarcastically, he remained silent. “So you knew her well? Non-sexually that is.”
“Not really. She’d just come over every time she wanted paint or some shit.”
“Eh?”
“My mom’s an artist or whatever.”
“Right…that makes complete sense.” Not. “So when was the last time you saw her?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“Not your Mom, dumbass. May.”
“Oh! Uh, it was a few years ago.”
“Well no shit. Before she carked it, when did you last see her?”
“Night before she died.”
“Definitely?”
“Even I wouldn’t forget something like that.”
“So what was she asking for this time?”
“Red paint.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nope. Red paint.”
“That’s all you can remember?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Thanks. Bye.” I clicked ‘end’ on the phone before racing back down to May and June’s room.

It really was rather careless of me to not fully check out the whole room. The first thing I did was walk up to her easel. There was a cover over whatever was underneath, so I took it off. I was speechless. No doubt about it, it was a painting of me, a younger version of myself but still. Though all my sisters shared very similar eyes, I was the only one with my mom’s black hair.

The scene portrayed was rather dramatic. I was kneeling on a wooden floor, eyes wide and almost ghostly. I bled from my eyes and lips in neat streams of red, my hands were held palms up, drenched in blood and written on the floorboards in the same red color was ‘one to go…’

I couldn’t stop myself from staring at it. Of course, I was absolutely mortified. May’s depiction of the ‘events’ as such was definitely easier to handle than July’s prediction but that didn’t stop the irrational thoughts that flooded my head. I had to have it. I was drawn to the painting. Like something you’d see in a supernatural thriller movie.

I quickly sneaked out of the room and checked to see where the rents were. Dad’s car was still gone and Mom was on the couch reading a thick novel.
I lifted the canvas painting and placed it on May’s bed, throwing the cover back on the easel. I then maneuvered the rather large painting through the door frame, shut the door and then bolted for my bedroom. I ended up putting it on the top shelf in my closet, before collapsing on my bed. The trance-like me was satisfied. I, however, wasn’t anywhere near satisfied. I was wondering what the hell had just happened.