Dark crimson slime oozed from her body like a slaughtered pig. Blood was everywhere. The entire bedroom floor was covered in it. I turned her over and gasped. The knife had wedged deep into her abdomen. Her stomach was sliced open, her intestines leaking like a split-open sausage. Tara’s eyes were open, but lifeless.
I rushed to the washroom and vomited.
Panic turned to alarm.
I called 911.
The police arrived unceremoniously.
I spent the rest of the night in a jail cell, for the murder of my wife.
…
My sister Amanda came to the rescue. She’s a lawyer. She had me out of jail before I could say “Three hots and a cot.”
Phew.
She said the evidence was strongly in my favor. Of course it was, I told her. I was innocence.
“No you’re not,” the Voice chimed in. “You’re to blame. For everything.”
Ignore the Voice, I told myself, for the one millionth time.
Amanda dropped me off at home, wished me luck, then drove off to her mansion on the hill. That’s how I found myself alone in my decimated home, with police caution tape in places it certainly didn’t belong.
I was in no condition to visit the hospital, so I cleaned. I cleaned like my life depended upon it. Maybe it did. Scrubbing my dead wife’s blood from our daughter’s stained carpet was dreadful. All the shoes and coats and appliances needed putting away. Everything was out. The house was a disaster. The knives in were waiting on the table, like the devil at a midnight mass. All but one.
I wished for help, but help wasn’t on the way. I was all alone.
My inbox was full. Reluctantly, and with a mind full of misery, I scrolled through them. One email jumped out at me; it arrived this morning, from Jodienurse1975@gmail.com. The message was short and to the point:
Mr. Draper: I’m sorry for your loss. Meet me at the Donut Monster at 6pm, tonight. Time is of the essence. Don’t be late.
Nurse Jodie.
…
We met.
Nurse Jodie came from work, so she was dressed in her scrubs. Once a nurse, always a nurse, I figured. She didn’t mince her words.
“Your daughter’s been a bad girl, you know. Lots has happened since you were way.” She leaned in, spoke just above a whisper. “More people are dead. Dr. Jefferson died while performing a surgery. He went insane, killing the patient before turning the scalpel on himself.”
And with that, we sat in miserable silence.
I had no answers. My mind was still reeling from the loss of my wife, whose funeral was tomorrow. The fact that my semi-conscience daughter was somehow responsible for the death of multiple people was beyond comprehension. My world was spiraling out of control.
The Voice returned.
“This is your fault, Chuck. How many times have I told you?”
I swore louder than necessary. People looked over from their seats and frowned. Nurse Jodie barely noticed. “There’s more,” she said, in a husky voice.
There’s always more, I moped.
“Something ain’t right with your daughter. The lights flicker on and in her room. The equipment is failing. Hell, even my damn phone won’t work in her presence. Her strength is increasing. But not in a good way”
The nurse’s voice rose to a frenzy. “The hospital is falling apart. No one is safe.”
She took a thoughtful sip of coffee, added, “Plus, there’s Skip the Joker.”
I wasn’t prepared for any of this. I just wanted my daughter back. And my wife. My old life. To say I was dejected would be the World’s Worst Understatement. At that moment, joining my wife would be a blessing. There was nothing left for me here on earth.
The nurse sighed.
“Look here, Mr. Draper. Now’s not the time for pity. You can grieve later. Much work needs to be done. Fast. I have a plan. But we’ll need Skip.”
I spit out my coffee. The golden-brown fluid flew from my face like a bursting dam. The table was soaked, so was Nurse Jodie. While I clumsily wiped up the mess, Nurse Jodie laid out her theory:
Daphne’s good qualities – her Good Self – was destroyed by the accident. Or at least taken hostage. It’s too soon to tell. Only her inner-evil remained. Her Bad Self. Moreover, since the crash, she’d ascertained special powers; what people refer to as dark magic. It’s all she’s got, so she’s clinging to it, life or death. That, combined with her Bad Self, makes for one naughty seventeen-year-old.
Apparently, Daphne can control things with her mind. Like how the pills spill across the floor every time a nurse tries to administer them. Same for needles. Or how she can hear us whispering from another room.
This is where Skip comes in. Daphne trusts him. He may be our only hope. If he can’t help us, we’ll all soon be dead.
Her eyes never left mine as she spoke. The certainty of her message made me wonder what she was hiding. Why was she helping me? Besides to save herself, her coworkers and the hospital. That said, putting my faith in Skip the Joker was the farthest thing from my mind. But I digress.
…
I buried my wife. It was the worst day of my life. Everyone looked at me accusingly. No one, except Amanda, who was busier than a one-armed juggler, had a kind word to say. The following day I set out to see my daughter. Things didn’t go well.
“Hi Hon,” I said cautiously, stepping into her room with the delicacy of a trapeze artist.
Daphne was lurking in shadows. The room was dimly lit, with only the emergency lights flickered on and off. This was not a good sign. The hospital staff was doing all they could to rid themselves of Daphne. I couldn’t blame them.
Daphne’s eyes were empty sockets, devoid of human emotion. Her leathery lips quivered upon my arrival; her teeth as sharp as the knife that killed my wife. Her fiery red hair was a ball of tangled knots. The stench coming from her could be detected in the hall. The nurses refused to enter, only doing so when absolutely necessary.
“GO AWAY.”
Her voice sounded two octaves lower than normal.
I sat on a cushioned chair reading a paperback. Three pages in, I realized that choosing Misery was a bad idea, so I put the novel aside, and tried to brush her hair.
Big mistake.
“KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF ME.”
She would crush me in two if given the chance.
“Okay Daph,” I said, and sat back down.
My heart was beating like a hammer, my stomach turning like a dryer on its last cycle. Tears leaked from my water bucket eyes; this time I held them back. Be brave, I reminded myself. What else was I to do?
The door swung open.
“Skip!”
Daphne’s voice filled the room like a roaring chainsaw.
Skip came wearing his shit-eating grin, while carrying two piping hot coffees. Watching Daphne take tentative sips from the Styrofoam cup was inspiring. Her body was healing remarkably fast.
“This coffee tastes like shit.”
Skip shrugged, then picked at his face, which was a cratered mess.
Just then Nurse Jodie entered, looking like she meant business. She pointed to me and Skip, then pointed outside.
We went.
She loomed over Skip, who was half her size. “You’re in danger, you know that right?”
Skip shrugged, picked a zit.
Oh, how I hated him.
The nurse slapped him. His thick-rimmed glasses fell from his face; lucky for him they didn’t break.
“You better smarten up, young man! If you know what’s best. Do you have any idea what she’s capable of?”
Again, Skip shrugged, fiddling with his glasses, as they found their rightful place on his stupid face.
Nurse Jodie poked him. “The only reason she remembers you is because you’re funny. That’s it. This is a well-documented phenomenon amongst amnesia patients. She’ll kill you soon enough. Unless…”
She backed off. Her faraway eyes were a fountain of knowledge.
“Unless she’s got something special planned for you.”
Looking at Skip’s gangly arms and loose expression did not rouse confidence. If he was our only hope, may we all rest in peace.
I coughed. Smoke was billowing from Daphne’s room. Thick black smoke was everywhere. The alarms sounded like the hounds of hell.
“Jesus almighty!”
The nurse rushed inside.
Smoke filled my lungs. I grew weary. The sound of devils taunting me filled my mind. Then I fainted.
I awoke in the parking lot, wrapped in a blanket, shivering. Every fire truck in the world was blasting water at the burning building. Their efforts were futile. The fire roared long through the night.
…
The hospital burned to the ground. It was tragic. Fortunately, through the miraculous effort of the staff, nobody died from the blaze. Unfortunately, Daphne was released from the hospital, and put under home care.
My home.
She refused to enter her bedroom, so I wheeled her downstairs to the basement. We’d planned on renting the basement to college students for extra money. Not anymore.
Not much happened the first month Daphne was home. Although her body was heavily scarred, she was expecting a full recovery by the end of the summer.
Her mind, on the other hand, showed no signs of improvement.
“I don’t belong here,” she complained daily. “You’re not my father!”
This went on and on. Fortunately, I grew a thick layer of skin. Her insults still hurt, but nowhere near as much as in the beginning. Nurse Jodie stayed in contact. There was something she wasn’t telling me, I knew this, but didn’t push the subject. Partly because I feared her, but mostly because I needed her.
Neither my family nor friends came to visit. To them, I was a murderer, and Daphne a freak. Honestly, who could blame them? She was terrifying, even on a good day. I tried to ignore the flying dishes, the constant running of appliances, even when no one was in the room, the turning on and off of the television, the random flickering of the computer.
What scared me most were the fires. I’d come home from work only to find the toaster oven ablaze. Or the drapes. Every day seemed like The End.
The Voice never let up. “Burn in hell, Chucky Boy!”
Yes, the Voice continued its endless war against me. It was nauseating. That said, I held on as best I could. Having Nurse Jodie close by sure helped. Then there was Skip the Joker, who showed up almost daily.
One day he arrived driving a car. Nothing as nice as a Camaro SS, just some K car that his parents unloaded on him. His parents, I’d learned after reaching out, were complete idiots, as much as I hate to say it. No help there.
To my chagrin, Skip took my daughter out for a ride. By now, Daphne was still using a wheelchair, but was quickly gaining strength in her legs. Before long, she’d be back on two feet.
Then what?
I made Skip report back to me every hour, on the hour. Or else. If anything unusual happened – and I mean anything – he was to report to me immediately.
Something happened.
His text arrived like an unwanted in-law.
One word: Help.
I flew to my car faster than you can say ‘Keep away from my daughter, you stinking piece of crap.’
They were at the movies. When I arrived, hordes of people were pouring out of the theater, kicking, biting and screaming, knocking each other over. It was like watching a horror movie in real time.
Except it wasn’t a movie; and my daughter was involved.
After scanning the vicinity, I located Skip and my daughter. She was walking on her own! For a moment, my heart filled with joy. Seeing her back on her own two feet filled me with admiration.
Then I noticed her eyes, which were seething balls of fire. She was tossing people aside, with a flick of the wrist.
“Impossible.”
I charged forward. When Daphne noticed me, she gave me her full attention. I wish she hadn’t. Her gnarly hands pointed my way; she muttered something, then shot a bolt of lightning.
ZAP!
I collapsed onto the sticky pavement, faster than a flushing toilet. Immediately, I was trampled. Sneakers, boots, high heels and sandals kicked me aside like yesterday’s news. Bruises came fast and furious.
With all my strength, I forced myself to my feet, then took a tentative step toward her. Skip was shaking in his shoes. The terror in his eyes was unending; his shit-eating grin gone like the days of wine and roses. He was crying. Snot and mucus fell from his face in slow drips.
He mouthed the same word he texted me: Help.
Meanwhile, the theater ejected its customers quicker than a coke machine releasing quarters.
I spoke. “Um, Daph, Honey? You feeling alright.”
ZAP!
Another surge of electricity soared through me. My innards were nuked. Every organ in my body was ablaze. My nose was bloodied. Somehow, I stood my ground; adrenaline to the rescue.
“Daphne, it’s time to go home now. Before people get hurt.”
Right on cue the ambulances arrived. Turns out, people did get hurt. Many people.
I kicked Skip to his car, and dragged my daughter to mine, not bothering with her missing wheelchair. To my surprise, she came. We stopped on our way home. I promised her ice cream, to which she accepted. She stayed in the car. I was back in a flash.
As I opened the door, another car pulled up.
Skip the Joker.
“I thought I told you to go home,” I snapped, having seen enough of him already. He parked next to us. His window rolled down, one lanky arm hanging out. His eyes were steeped in fear.
Daphne was delighted.
“Skip is staying with us, now,” she said, matter-of-factly, with folded arms.
I knew this look. There was no changing her mind. Besides, having someone else around, even a dumbass like Skip, was a blessing. Now that I was working, Daphne was home alone.
Daphne fell asleep almost immediately upon arrival. A small blessing. It was now me and Skip. His face was a pepperoni pizza. He kept picking at it, until it bled.
“What happened?” I asked.
He shrugged. I slapped that pizza face, but not too hard. Just enough to scare an answer out of him. It was a miracle the police weren’t knocking at the door.
His body tensed. He took constant glances over his shoulder. Finally, he spoke; his voice barely audible.
“It was her. I don’t know how she did it. But she did.”
I poured him a tall glass of coke, and refilled his bowl of ice cream. He ate. Then he told me what happened.
I wish he hadn’t.
They went to see The Lion King. It was Daphne’s choice. She started getting antsy. “His fault,” she would say, to no one in particular. “This is your fault, Chuck. You did this.”
Skip ignored her bazaar statements. Sitting next to his high school crush was good enough for him.
Then she became irate. “HE DID THIS. HIM!”
People hushed. Some guy behind her kicked her seat.
Big mistake.
She turned around. The guy, who was wearing a Motorhead T-shirt, started dumping popcorn over his head. Next came the soda pop. She made him do this.
The theater roared. People were shouting, cameras pointed. Somewhere, a small boy was crying.
Suddenly, everyone in the theater was throwing popcorn. Then came the drinks. Then the seats flew off their hinges. People thumped as their asses hit the sticky floor.
Daphne was delighted.
People panicked. The lights blinked on and off, the characters in the movie started shouting “HIS FAULT. NOT MINE. CHUCK. CHUCK DID THIS. NOT ME. HIIIIIIIIM.”
I’d had enough. I told him to stop.
Skip was shaking.
“I wanna go home,” he squeaked.
I nodded. There was no way I could rightfully force him to stay.
Just then a chilling voice crept up behind us, startling us both.
“Skip stays,” the Voice said.
Daphne was holding the Chef’s knife.