Step-Patricide
Jennie wakes at 9:30 in the morning. She cannot, in fact, remember the last time she has done so without setting an alarm. Returning from the dead seems to have granted her a wellspring of stamina. Last night, she stopped after her second drink and did not invite Mona home. She feels these two revisions should more than sufficiently improve her moral standing. At the very least, they have improved her morning; awakening with no hangover feels like she imagines a superpower must.
She opens her eyes to find Rupert standing over her like a graying immortal guard dog. “Holy—” she begins, stopping short of anything that might offend someone who regards himself holy. “You don’t get any less tremendously creepy, do you?”
“Rise and shine,” he answers merrily. “You have a long day ahead of you, what with causing your stepfather’s untimely death.”
“Could you stop saying that? I didn’t kill my stepfather.” She pauses. “Maybe I gave him a tiny nudge in that direction. But it’s not like he wasn’t headed there anyway…”
“Mhmm,” Rupert replies. He raises his left hand, and with a snap of his frightfully long, bony fingers, a fuzzy projection appears on Jennie’s eggshell-colored wall, eclipsing the left half of an aging Fall Out Boy poster. It takes Jennie a moment to realize that the figures in the projection are her stepfather and herself. The camera work is unexpectedly shoddy.
“If you’re so eager to get this stuff moved out,” says the Jennie in the frame, “feel free to pack it up and carry yourself. It’s nice to know you had designs on this house before you ever moved in, but I think you could’ve waited at least a full month before clearing me and my shit out entirely. Oh, and don’t forget, there’s a picture of me and Mom on the mantle. Don’t forget to take that one down so you can be rid of me for good.”
William sighs. “Jeanette, I’m not even going to waste my time talking to you if you can’t be bothered to converse like an adult.”
“Hey, I have an idea: why not try condescending me? I’m sure that’ll get results.”
“I thought asking you to collect your things, which you’ve left here for more than three weeks past your mother’s deadline for you to move out, would be a relatively straightforward request. It turns out you’d rather argue than cooperate, which seems increasingly to be your default mode, and quite frankly I don’t have the energy for your dramatics.”
“Dramatics?” projection Jennie echoes dramatically. “I’m an actor, Bill; what’s your excuse? Were you born dickish or was it a career choice? I don’t know what Mom was thinking, but you’re damn lucky she wants to retire early, because you sure as hell didn’t win her over with your likable character.”
“I’m glad to know how you feel,” William replies, pink-cheeked. “If that’s the case, then after you get your things, I don’t expect to be seeing you around here anymore.” Projection Jennie marches toward the door. “I’ll pick them up when you’re not around. See you in hell!” She slams the door behind her, and the barrier muffles the sound William’s body makes against the floor as he collapses. The image flickers out.
“See,” Jennie says by way of explanation, “I didn’t mean for it to be prophetic.”
Hopping into her decades-old Civic, Jennie makes haste to her mother’s house. She sneaks into her old bedroom, a feat rendered simple by endless practice during her teenage years. Pausing to listen, she discerns that her mother and William are still upstairs; having discerned this, she tries to forget the sounds that led her to this conclusion.
Over the next two hours, Jennie completes the long-neglected task of removing her remaining things from the room. She and Bill will have no occasion to fight; in fact, he will be delighted at her initiative. As she reenters the house to collect the last box, she hears footsteps on the staircase and rushes back into the bedroom to hide inside it. “It’s the first time he’ll ever be pleased to see me,” she explains.
“The front door’s open,” she hears her mother say. “You don’t think…”
“I’ll look around,” William replies. He apparently searches several other rooms before entering the one where Jennie is waiting, given the amount of time it takes him to reach the door. He knows she is here; why doesn’t he come to the bedroom directly?
“It may be,” Rupert says to Jennie, “that your mother and stepfather believe there is an intruder in the house.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jennie scoffs. “The last break-in in this neighborhood was like twenty years ago or something. Besides, he’ll figure out soon enough that it’s me.”
Finally, he enters, freezing as he sees the nearly-empty room. Jennie allows the image to sink in for a moment (so William can be sure that it is her and not a burglar in the house) before she leaps out from behind him and happily shouts, “Surprise, Bill!”
William’s mouth falls open; he emits a sound dissimilar to any word Jennie knows. It is less a word-sound than a groaning sound.
“I came by an hour or two ago, but I didn’t want to disturb you,” Jennie begins. “I know you’ve been asking me to clear the room out for a while, so I thought I’d go ahead and take care of it while I had some free time…”
William collapses to the floor, clutching his chest.