"I wish I could give her a Columbian necktie. I'd slit her throat horizontally with a dull blade so it would give me the chance to saw at her throat back and forth for a while until the wound was deep enough to pull her tongue out and let it hang. It would be messy. Her hair would be matted with blood. She'd gaze at me lifelessly and then I'd stroke her cheek and tell her 'this is what happens when you fucking ignore me, you stupid fucking BITCH.'" Eton's voice, once cheery, became vicious and hateful. He curled his hands up into fists, angry brows lowered over a storming glower.
Despite his attempts to rouse her from her deep sleep, Mom lay dead to the world upstairs. I tried too and managed to get a jumbled mumble from her mouth. She yanked the covers over her head and turned her back on me. I told her we could have dinner as a family at long last which is what she's always wanted and received soft snores as a response. I noticed her empty pill box by her bedside and a half-empty plastic bottle of water. It was citalopram. I pulled her drawer open and sifted through the opened boxes. She was all out.
Eton's hopes for family bonding was crushed. His reaction was extreme. I admonished him. "Shut your mouth, Eton. She's having a difficult time right now. You can try again tomorrow." My heart wasn't in it. It was half-assed. I felt lethargic. Some part of me mimicked his emotions: I was disappointed and slightly dejected but not as much as Eton. He acted as if Mom had thrown him to the gutter and spat on him.
He picked up her box of hot and spicy pizza and tossed it furiously at the fireplace, the box caught on fire, slow flames devoured the cardboard and he spat. "She can fucking starve. Fuck her." He took in a large lungful of air, motionless in time for a dragged-out moment, emotions flurrying past his face and then he deflated like a balloon, mouth twisted into a sad sulk. His rage disappeared. "I wanted us to be together again." He sounded like a child. The expression on his face was vulnerable and his eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "Why am I not allowed to be happy?"
I thought of dad in my closet. It's been a year and a month since he was killed. I missed him more than I could admit. It ached so bad the pain felt physical. I wished I could mourn but anytime I tried to I surrendered to defeat: It hurt too much to think of him. I tended to push him to the back of my mind and distract myself with pointless thinking of other insignificant ideas. A late showing of Girl, Interrupted was playing on the TV. Angelina Jolie was playing with a hand-puppet, waving it mockingly. I focussed on her face; her plump dry lips, wide manic eyes, her sharp jawline.
I drew my legs to my chest, crossed my arms on top of my knees and then set my chin down on the intersection of my arms. I should probably comfort Eton... I couldn't find it in myself to do so. My heart wasn't entirely made out of stone, I did feel sorry for him but not enough to offer a shoulder for him to cry on. I heaved a heavy sigh and opened my mouth to say...something. I don't know. What could I say? Finally I settled on. "Everything's different." I chose the latter at the last second, I had intended to say ruined but Eton already felt bad enough without me rubbing salt onto his wounds.
"Because of me," he owned up quietly. My gaze raised to meet his. He was a ruined man. I didn't lie to console him: my silence was my agreement. The first tear slid down his cheek, grey eyes burning in the darkening room, the sun sinking in the horizon behind him. The colour faded from the sky and the life faded from my brother. And still, I didn't rise to console him. I couldn't.
**
The mall was packed with people. With it being the weekend, teenagers came in hordes to occupy the spaces outside the stores, the food court and the movies. Eton and I strolled around for the first hour or so, accepting the offerings of pretzels from a girl with JOHNNY'S DOUGH plastered on her chest. We went for ice cream soon after. "Chocolate is still your favourite, right?" Eton glanced over at me from where he leaned on the glass. "Bet you won't remember what's mine."
"Vanilla," I answered easily.
He grinned. "Some things never change."
"That they don't," I thanked him after he paid and handed over my cone to me. "So have you got any idea what you want to go as?"
"I want to impress Winnie."
"Why don't you dress for yourself? Forget about Winnie."
"I want to get laid tomorrow night. I–" he did a double glance at an older women with colourful ink on her arms and a silver septum ring in her nose, he shoved his ice cream cone at me. "Hold this for me. I'll be right back."
I watched as he jogged over to her, introduced himself, holding out his hand, a charming smile stuck on his face. He didn't let go off her hand. He spoke, I couldn't read his lips. Too many people passed in between his sentences. She laughed. He leaned in close to her and I could see the indecisiveness flitting across her face before she made a decision. She took out a marker from her bag, scribbled what was obviously her number on his hand and then her friend tugged her away. Eton's smile turned victorious and he headed back to me with his chest puffed out, pleased with himself. He took his ice cream and licked.
I waited.
"Did you see her? I'm in love. Her titties are glorious in that top. The way they were jiggling...fuck. I want to snuggle on top of them." He fantasised, aphrodisiacal. "Her body – ugh. I'd become religious just to thank whoever made her."
"What about Winnie?"
"What about her?"
"Don't piss about, Eton. I thought you were her boyfriend."
"Yes, until I sleep with her and then I'm moving on. I'll probably go back to her a few times, I have a feeling she'd be an addiction."
"I hope you're not serious." I frowned at him.
"I'm confused as to why you're making this out to be a big deal."
"Because you made out you were infatuated with Winnie. If you're going to drop her as soon as you bed her, you better make it clear to her. Don't lead her on with false promises."
"She's a big girl. I'm sure she's had casual flings before."
"All I'm saying is don't act like what you have for her is more than lust."
"OK, Mom. I got the memo." He rolled his eyes skyward, and took a step above me as we got on the escalators. He angled towards me and asked. "What are you planning on going as? A slutty nurse? No, no, wait. I got it. A playboy bunny. Am I right?" He quirked his mouth up in a sardonic grin, his words unkind.
"No," I responded distastefully. "I'm considering dressing up as a clown."
His face paled, he was uneasy and he parroted. "A clown?"
"Yeah," I lied. "Red painted mouth, bulbous nose, pus-filled spots, manic laughter, empty eyes, and a single red balloon. You get the picture, right?"
We reached the second floor and he dumped his ice cream into a trash can. "I'm no longer hungry." Clowns were a childhood fear for him. Mom and dad took us to a carnival when we were around five years old and Eton had gotten lost in the hall of mirrors. He stumbled about, screeching for help. A teenage twerp who was hired for the night heard him and instead of helping decided to freak him out even more. He chased him around the Hall of Mirrors, crackling madly, shrieking that he was going to kill him. Eton was petrified and he screamed at the top of his lungs. A couple heard him and rescued him from the killer clown. He sobbed all the way through the telling of the story and on the car ride back home. The clown was fired and vanished when Mom threatened to press charges against him.
"Why not?" I faked confusion.
He threw me a look of frustration, shoving a hand through his black locks. "I get it. I'm sorry. OK? Jesus, Calla. You really know how to hit back hard."
"I've learned from the best,"
"I am a great teacher, I suppose," he admitted immodestly.
"Come on," I called, holding the door to the costume shop open for him. It was called Faceless and had a strict no-refunds policy. The costumes and masks were pricy but the quality was incredible. The bell rang. Music was playing, I didn't recognise the song. Some woman was singing wistfully about being abandoned by a lover and cellos were strummed gently in the background. The clearance bins by the door were overflowing with discounted cheap magic tricks and face paint and squashed wigs. By the window were mannequins, from left to right stood: a hairy red-eyed werewolf, a zombie doctor, The Joker with a pack of cards peeking out from his breast-pocket, and an adult sized Where's Waldo? replica. Across the walls were frightening masks staring down at us and the shelves were almost emptied out from packs of costumes. A customer walked out of the changing room wearing a tight-fitted Deadpool outfit and modelled for his friend. Behind the counter was a Count Dracula chugging a Monster can, likely on his last shift. His make-up was smudged and his forehead gleamed under the bright white light overhead. He smiled at us tiredly and informed us everything was fifty percent off as if we couldn't see the yellow posters plastered almost everywhere.
"Here, Eton," I picked up a package that had already been opened and I pulled out the grey silver suit, "how about a zombie morph suit?"
"How about no?" he made a face, "the open gut looks cheap and tacky and the knees look scabby. Plus, it's not possible for the jaw to hang all the way across the chest. If it was realistic, the bottom jaw would have decomposed and come apart by the time it hits the collarbones."
"Alright." I set it down and read the label of another package. "What about a robot morph suit?"
"Stop recommending me morph suits, the material is clingy. I don't want my junk on display." He scanned the shelves, and lifted a heavy package. "An evil monkey suit. It's got wings. This would be perfect for you."
"It's the monkey from Aladdin, how cool!" I exclaimed, "oh, shit. His face is demonic. That's creepy. I don't want to sweat throughout the night. He looks like he weighs a lot. Put it back. I've already got an idea of what I want. I'm thinking of getting a mask and wearing it with a black t-shirt and jeans."
He frowned at me slightly. "I thought you wanted to make an effort."
"I might change my plans halfway through the night. I don't want to be stuck as a bloody pirate if I go meet someone."
"Who?" he arched an eyebrow, going through a rack of clothes.
"You wouldn't know him."
"Him?" Eton repeated. "Is it a hook-up?"
"Sort of."
"It's either yes or no, Calla."
"I'm undecided."
"What's stopping you?"
"He's a rude piece of shit and he's manipulative."
"Do you think he's worth it?"
"No,"
"So how is this a difficult decision to make?"
"I want to get laid and I'm attracted to him."
"If he doesn't treat you with respect, he doesn't deserve to have you in his bed."
"You're right," I admitted.
"If he hurts you, I'll cut out a hole from his chest and tear out his ribs one by one and then I'd electrocute the motherfucker. I wouldn't let him die yet though, I'd take chunks of his flesh and cook it with a drizzle of oil and feed it to him when he's starving and weak. Or maybe I'll douse him in petrol and set him on fire. That'd be funny to see. Him running about and screaming desperately. Human fireballs are fascinating. Don't you agree?" Gunmetal grey eyes met mine. "I can see you're still conflicted. Just flip a coin. Heads you sleep with him. Tails you let me deal with him."
"Getting you involved would be a bad idea. Forget I ever said anything. What are you looking at?"
"Should I go as the mutilated granny from Little Red Riding Hood or a ghastly ghost husband looking to punish his wife for murdering him on the big day?"
"I vote the husband. The granny is $159.99 and the robe is flimsy and discoloured. You'll need grey hair spray and I've got make up you could use to mimic the dark under eye circles and the gash on the forehead."
"Husband it is. I'll go try it on."
When he returned, I found my outfit. The blood-red boutonniere pinned to his chest stuck out like a sore thumb against his grey ragged suit. "What do you think?"
"You look good but you're not frightening."
"I can make it look frightening," he promised with a glint in his iron-grey eyes. His smile was sinful. "I should probably add blood to it to make it look convincing. Pick a target, Calla." He gestured to a lingering customer and the single employee.
I was aware of the stores that were closing down and the crowds of people heading towards the exit. A public address system announced closing times. Eton waited expectantly. I furrowed my brow at him, glaring. "Your jokes aren't funny."
"I wasn't joking. It'll be quick. You can sneak in the back room and turn off the cameras, yank out the wires from the junction box. No one outside will be suspicious if the lights suddenly turn off and I'll have already slit their throats before they can cry out. Come on. Don't you want to bond with your favourite brother? It'll be fun."
"We're leaving," I yanked on his arm. "Say anything more and I'll smack you." He worried me greatly. I was unsettled by the hunger he tried so hard to hide when he spoke of murdering others.
"I know this might seem like a miracle but I can walk perfectly fine without your assistance."
"I don't trust you enough not to wander off and do something bad."
"Something bad?" he mocked with a soft scoff. "It's not like we'd get caught. And if we do, we can always escape to New Mexico. We've relocated so many times before, we could do it in our sleep. Anyway. What have you got?" He tugged on the parcel under my arm, eyebrows shooting up. "The Grim Reaper. Huh. That would make tomorrow night very interesting."
I stilled. "What are you talking about? What are you planning?" My questions were already angry accusations.
"Nothing," he said innocently and then broke into the smile of the devil. "OK, that's a lie. I'm planning on sticking my wiener up Winnie's ass and shoving the host down the stairs. It'll look like an accidental death. I'm kidding. Relax, sis. I can practically hear your accelerated heart rate. I'll pay. Mom did give me double the amount she gave to you. Think of it as a present. I'm so kind. You should aspire to be more like me, Calla. I'm an angel."
"Do you ever get tired of licking your own ass? Hurry and pay, Eton. We're going home straight after this."
"Whatever you say, sis. And just to ease your nerves, I promise to be on my best behaviour at the party tomorrow. You can trust me."
"No, I can't."
"That's true, I lied. I was being deceitful. I'm considering planning on driving Winnie to suicide. Then you'll be alone. Just like me." He smacked my cheek gently, derisive gaze never wavering from mine, and then he laughed delightfully. "Cheer up, sis. It's going to be a party no-one will ever forget and that's a promise I intend to keep."
***