The Bad Ones (10 page)

“And how's the rugrat?” Dulcie kept on with the questions. Years of pretending to be normal had conditioned her to say the right things.

“Good, good. Starting to talk,” he sighed. “We're, uh, we're expecting another one.”

“Are you serious?”

Apparently, all that pretending hadn't conditioned her well enough. Dulcie heard how flat and loud her voice sounded, watched as Jared winced.

“Yeah. But it's good, y'know? I love little Amy, and we're hoping for a boy this time. Someone to throw the ball with,” he chuckled. Over his shoulder, Dulcie watched as Frannie hurried towards them, leaving her parents to play catch up. She was wearing a skin tight green dress and didn't look pregnant at all. When she reached them, she shook her head, causing her light blonde locks to cascade over her shoulders.

“Ew, you still work here, Dulcie?” she sneered.

“Watch it, Fran,” Jared's voice held warning in it, but it had no effect.

“Still here. Would you like me to take you to your table?” she offered, and grabbed some menus.

“I can't believe they let trailer trash work here. Standards have
really
gone down.”

“Frannie, cool it!”

Dulcie ignored both of them, just turned and smiled when they got to their designated table. She even waited till the elder McKeys had arrived and pulled out their chairs for them. Frannie made snide comments the whole time, but Dulcie was used to it. Any time she ran into Frannie, whether it be at work, at the store, or on a sidewalk, the other girl took the opportunity to insult her. To “put her in her place”, as it were. Unfortunately for the former cheerleader, she had no idea that Dulcie was so far out of place, being put back wasn't even an option.

She took their drink orders, then waited at the bar while David made them.

“Friends of yours?” he asked, gesturing with his head. She laughed.

“No. The bitch hates me. I used to date her husband, for like half a minute, back in high school,” Dulcie explained.

“The Ice Queen dated someone, oh my god!” he joked, pressing a hand over his heart.

“I did. Worst five minutes of my life. Now hurry up with those, don't give her anymore ammunition.”

He loaded up a tray with glasses and she hauled them back to their table. She delivered Frannie's glass of mineral water first, getting it out of the way, then went to the parents next. Jared was last, and as she was leaning over to place his glass in the right spot, Frannie's arm jerked across the table. Red wine flew through the air, with the bulk of it landing on Dulcie's freshly washed and pressed white dress shirt.

“Jesus, Frannie, why can't you just -” Jared started to bark out, and while Dulcie was impressed with how angry he sounded, she held up her hand to stop him. Making a scene was not her thing.

“Please. No worries at all, I'll have someone come and move you to a clean table. No, no, don't touch it, Mrs. McKey! That's why we have cleaners and bussers. I want you to enjoy your evening out. Please, don't worry about it at all.
Greg!
”

Dulcie called over the nearest waiter, gave him instructions to move the family and have the soiled table stripped down. Then she headed back towards the kitchen. As she passed the bar, David paced the length of it with her.

“'Bitch' is right. Want me to dump some soap in her next drink?” he offered. She snorted.

“Soap might improve her. Got any bleach back there? Maybe mix that in.”

David laughed, but Dulcie didn't.

She wasn't joking.

Being a good employee who anticipated everything, of course Dulcie had a spare work uniform. She grabbed it out of her cubby and hurried into the employee bathroom, locking the door behind her.

She didn't undress immediately. She turned on the sink, as hot as she could, then she gripped the edge of the porcelain. She tried taking deep, therapeutic breaths. Tried to calm down. She clenched her teeth together and resisted the urge to scream.

Deep breathing wasn't working, so she lifted her head, exhaling loudly. The mirror was beginning to fog up, but she could still see her reflection. See the heavy red wine splattered down the left side of her shirt. It was all over her hands, some of it even on her neck. Dripping past her collar bone. So much red. All over her.

The last time she'd looked at herself,
really
looked, she'd been staring at a hazy reflection. Looking at a girl covered in red. Standing in one spot and wishing for so many bad things to happen. Only back then, she hadn't been alone. Back then, she'd known there was someone else who wanted all those bad things, too. It was so lonely now, being the only one who thought that way. Being the only one with blood on her hands.

I just wanted to feel normal in my darkness. Why did he take that away?

Of course, there was no one to answer her. So while most girls would've cleaned themselves up or broken down in tears or plotted their revenge, Dulcie stared at her reflection. Then she planted her fist in the middle of the mirror, shattering the image.

Dulcie sat on a bench, staring across the park. There were some little kids playing on a stone walrus, but she wasn't paying attention to them. She had her dark sunglasses on and she waited for inspiration, her sketchpad sitting in her lap.

She didn't have as many opportunities to draw as she'd had in high school, but on Sundays, her one day off a week, she always made it a point to draw
something
. Life had taken a lot of things away from her, but she wouldn't let it take her art;
that
, she could control.

“Trying to imagine what it would be like to have someone touch you long enough to give you children!?”

Frannie's shrill voice carried across the park. Dulcie hadn't realized the blonde had joined the fray with her little spawn.

“Your ex-boyfriend did!” she called back, smiling brightly. Frannie's jaw dropped open.

“You're disgusting!”

Dulcie held up her middle finger.

It gave her a tickle to see Frannie all riled up. It was the little things in life, after all, which made it worth living. But of course, just as she was starting to feel almost good, something had to ruin it.

And not in a good way.

“
Hey, baby,
” a voice hissed near her ear.

For one irrational moment, one horrifying, vomit inducing, moment, Dulcie thought it was the man. The hobo who was buried by the train station. The man she'd killed. The same hissing voice, the same sound of depravity.  The same feeling welling up inside of her, the one that told her to take control of the here and now, to do whatever the fuck it was she felt like doing in order to control a situation. The feeling that told her to rip something apart.

But Dulcie also knew she wasn't completely crazy, so when she lurched off the bench and whipped around, she wasn't too shocked to see it was her half-brother, Matt. Basically a being who was only two-steps above an animated corpse, anyway.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, shoving her glasses onto the top of her head.

Before she'd moved out of the trailer, he'd reached all time highs of creepiness. It was like he could just smell that she'd started having sex, and he wanted in on the action. Any time she was in her room, she'd block her door. The moment she'd had enough money set aside for her own place, she'd bolted, and she hadn't left a forwarding address.

Of course, Fuller wasn't big. Keeping her location a secret wasn't possible – even a psychopath like her had friends. All Matt had to do was ask a couple questions and before she knew it, he was lurking around her building. Waiting outside the front door, asking her for money. Asking her for a place to crash. Asking her to blow him in exchange for meth.

As tempting as his offer was, Dulcie had punched him in the throat, then threatened to tell his parole officer what a creepy little shit Matt was being and have him thrown in jail. It worked for a little while, but after a couple weeks, he started popping up again. She'd be in a bar, having a drink with co-workers, and suddenly he'd be on the stool next to her. In line behind her at the grocery store. Grabbing her ass as she walked down the street.

Many nights were spent thinking of different ways to kill him. But what would she do with the body? She couldn't exactly carry him anywhere, and she didn't want to cut him up. The only thing she could think of would be to lure him to the train tracks some night. There was a lovely spot where the ground was soft, she knew. She could probably dig the hole by herself just fine.

It would be wrong, though. That place was special. Sacred. She couldn't do that on her own, regardless of whether or not she was capable. That place belonged to
him
just as much as it belonged to her. To do such a momentous act, to take a life and to bury a secret … no, it wouldn't be right to do it without her partner in crime.

Still, there were days when her reasoning wore thin.

“It's a free park, I saw you sitting here, thought I'd say hi to my fave
sis
,” Matt started to laugh, but it turned into a coughing fit. She made a gagging sound and grabbed her bag from off the bench.

“Don't fucking follow me, or I swear to god, I'll mace you again,” she threatened as she shoved her sketchbook into the bag.

“C'mon, don't be like that. We haven't seen each other in a while, I'm just being friendly,” he pointed out. Dulcie didn't say anything else, she just turned and started walking away. She groaned when she heard his footsteps pounding after her.

“I'm not joking, Matt. How the fuck did you get out of prison, anyway!?”

For a while, it seemed her prayers had been answered. Matt had gotten arrested on a grand theft auto charge and was sent to jail. She'd figured she'd be long gone before he'd have a chance to get free.

“Fuckin' pigs in this town can't do their job right. Illegal search and seizure, they had to throw the whole thing out. You got twenty bucks?” he asked. She left the park and jogged across the street. He matched her step for step.

“When have I ever given you money? As far as you're concerned, I've never even heard of money, okay? So don't ask me again,” she snarled, hurrying to the front of her building.

“Why you gotta be so cold, Dulcie? You don't know what it's like, living in that fucking trailer. You got it so good and won't even fuckin' share,” he complained.

“Share!? Why the fuck should I share
anything
with you? A fucking drug addicted loser who wants to fuck his own sister. You're lucky I haven't run you over yet.
Don't bother me anymore,
” she warned him, then yanked open her door.

Matt was grabby, but he rarely worked up the energy to be violent, so she was shocked when he shoved her from behind. She stumbled across the entry way, almost ramming head first into a fire extinguisher. Before she could catch her balance, he was grabbing her by her shirt and slamming her against the wall next to the elevator. She let out a grunt as the air was forced from her lungs. Then he was pressed up against her and she resisted the urge to vomit.

“So I'm just some drug addict, huh? Some fucking loser?” he hissed, using his weight to pin her in place.”

“Get off me!” she demanded.

“At least you got one thing right. Someone's about to get fucked,” he threatened, and she felt his hand at the top of her jeans.

There it was again, that same feeling of cold rage. Of someone trespassing on private property. Property that didn't even belong to her. She let out a scream and she slammed her elbow into the side of his head. He cried out and stumbled back, pressing his hand to his ear.

She turned and practically dove into the lift. It was a large, old freight elevator with a wooden gate that needed to be pulled shut in order for the contraption to work. She jumped up and grabbed the strap just as Matt lurched forward. The gate came from the bottom and top, closing in the middle, and the two pieces slammed together just as he reached in to grab her. His wrist was pinned in the middle, and while he shrieked in pain, she swung the latch to lock the gate into place.

“I'm sorry,” she was gasping for air. “Did that hurt?”

“My hand! My fucking hand! You fucking broke it!” he was yelling, yanking and pulling on his arm, desperately trying to get free. She leaned down close and examined his wiggling fingers.

“No, doesn't look broken. I think it's moving too much for that,” she informed him.

“
Open the gate you crazy bitch!
”

“Don't worry, though, we can solve that problem.”

With a shout, she swung her heavy messenger bag straight down on his hand. Matt screamed as she broke his wrist. She collapsed against the back wall of the elevator and watched as he fell to his knees. His hand hung limply on her side of the gate. It looked completely unnatural, and it made her smile. A
real
smile, the first one she'd had in years.

He was sobbing too much to be a threat, so Dulcie finally unlatched the gate and set him loose. He cried and cradled his hand to his chest, but she didn't care. She kicked him in the stomach, sending him crashing down onto his back, then she slammed the gate shut again.

“I told you – don't ever bother me again, and don't ever come back here, or I swear to god, I will fucking kill you.”

And with that, she slammed her hand on the button for her floor and stared at him till the elevator cut off her view.