#beatricemiller

[beatricemillerstory]

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter Four

 Wednesday 7:45 PM

 Abigale Vallerea sits at that bar table and will continue to for over an hour with nothing to do but listen to her thoughts – seeing them dance across her mind like she’s looking at the night sky with nothing behind the words but vacant darkness. Just a silhouette of her thoughts otherwise known as her gripping and violent nature to over-analyze her confrontational anxieties.                Abbey watches as her friend opens her soul to that of mindless freedom. Beatrice had started to drink before they left and basically inhaled a bottle of wine – she’s feeling nothing but freedom right now and it doesn’t bother Abbey in the slightest. She deserves this. Furthermore – as Abbey continues to think to herself – despite the music coming through the speakers trying to drown the thoughts of the building’s patrons – that Beatrice has nothing to do with her now creepy husband does when she’s not looking. At least she hopes that Beatrice doesn’t know anything about it.                The last thing that Abbey saw before coming to this…singles ridden bar…was her husbands face pressed up against her bedroom window, looking into her sister’s bedroom window, while she was changing. So, and for her to convince herself she wasn’t crazy, what else would she possibly think about?

It wasn’t long ago that Abbey had thought her husband, Bryce was cheating on her. She thought about it ‘the first time he came home smelling like a person that wasn’t someone she knew, and she knew damn well it wasn’t her. But she just wrote it off. Why? Because he is so hot, she loves him desperately, and has stuck by his side through thick and thin and hasn’t complained once about the fact that he is insufferable.’                “O. M. G.” She says to herself – out loud. “Did I just say all that?”                Yes. She did. She now can’t help but think of the fact that she may not be happy with her husband and maybe that’s why she’s feeling these thoughts right now while she watches her best friend have more fun than even Abbey has seen in many years.                After Beatrice gave birth to the boys, she had such bad post-partum depression that it actually lasted the duration between her first son being born to her pregnancy with her second – and even still it stayed long after. Beatrice needed a break. Abbey knows this. And must keep convincing herself that it is okay for her friend to be enjoying herself. So, why? Why does she have this aching feeling inside her body that wants to slap Beatrice in the face and tell her, “go back to feeling miserable and depressed so that I can talk about my own problems instead of you having fun dancing around when your husband and children have been missing for over a year!”                But she doesn’t do that. She doesn’t want to. She won’t. She’s sure of it. But she still thinks about it. Extensively.                But that’s the strange part of Beatrice not remembering what happened between her and Mark, even the boys, the night they disappeared. ‘Why doesn’t she remember anything?’                Abbey shakes her head of all the questions she has about what Beatrice knows about her own husbands and son’s disappearance.                Instead, she focuses back on why it was that her husband was looking through his own window and homed in on the bedroom of the girl next door.

 Wednesday 8:56 PM

 Beatrice can feel the night take control of her body. She pays no mind to the fact that she’s exhausted. Right now, she is dancing. She is dancing for herself and only herself. And for the fun dance partner that graced Beatrice’s spot on the dancefloor over 20 minutes ago. At least she thinks it was about 20 minutes ago. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. What did she have to be home for?                She looks over at Abbey to a) make sure she is still there, and b) to make sure she is having fun. When Beatrice finally catches her eyes staring back at her from the table, she realizes that she has no idea. There is a faintness in her eyes that Beatrice can see when their pupils connect that Beatrice isn’t used to. Abbey has always been the friend that is completely open no matter the situation or circumstance. Abbey has always been the life of the party. She makes fun where there is sadness and brings light to dark moments. But this. This is different. When Beatrice locks eyes with Abbey…she knows something is wrong. Beatrice uses her hands to tell her dance partner that she is going to sit down and walks across the dance floor even though her legs feel like a heavy rubber.                ‘How long could I have possibly been dancing?’ She thinks to herself, patting her legs back to life.                Beatrice sits down with a dramatic slam of her body, sweat drips from the nape of her neck, down her spine, passed the curvature of her little-black-dress, and settles right above her back-side. She breathes heavily, startling Abbey, and then asks, “How’s it going, friend?”                “Bee!” Abbey responds, “I haven’t seen you like this since…well, I can’t remember.”                “I feel amazing!” Beatrice says. She can feel that she’s had a lot to drink by how hard it is to articulate words.                After a brief, awkward pause, Beatrice asks, “Is everything okay?” Abbey shrugs her shoulders but keeps that smiling blazing on her face. “I mean, want to dance!?”                “No! This is exactly what I wanted!” Abbey responds.                Beatrice can tell that she’s lying. “Do you wanna go!?” She asks.                “Are you ready!? I’m okay to stay, as long as you want! Really!” Abbey says.                Beatrice can tell somethings up. It wouldn’t look like it to anybody that didn’t know Abbey. “I want to go! Come to my place because I don’t want to be alone!” She says. Abbey’s face brightens up.                “I would love that!” Abbey says. Beatrice can tell she’s not lying.                “Let’s get our coats!”                This is that part of a friendship that happens when both parties of the relationship will do something for the other. It is a fair trade. A true friendship. Something that Beatrice and Abbey have done since they were little girls. How could Beatrice be having the time of her life while her friend sits there being sad? “Commence more girls night!”

 Wednesday 10:02 PM

 Beatrice piles into her house, arms wrapped around Abbey’s waist. Her head flooding with thoughts; drunken thoughts, yes, but thoughts nonetheless. She had been smiling since she left the club.                “Did you see that beautiful woman I was dancing with, Abb??” Beatrice asked.                “I sure did, Bee.” Abbey responds.                “Why aren’t you more excited about my…integration!?”                “Sorry, Bee,” Abbey says. “I just have something on my mind. I can’t shake it.”                “Tell me,” Beatrice says through a vulgar hiccup. “Tell me, right now!”                “Okay.” Abbey thinks for a moment. Beatrice finds it weird because it’s so unlike Abbey to think so hard about what she wants to say. “Well, it might actually be easier if you’re a bit…inebriated.”                “Go!” They both take a deep breath.                “I want to know if you know that my husband watches you through our bedroom windows.”                Beatrice had never felt such a sobering question hit her like that. Almost immediately she is brought back to reality and sent for a ride through the ‘my-friend-needs-me’ tunnel. “What?” She says. “Seriously…what?”                            “I saw Bryce today…he was looking through our window…into your window…while you were changing. And when I went to look back at him,” Abbey takes a deep breath and continues, “he ducked down, and I didn’t see him again. It makes me think he wasn’t just looking…looking for me…he was looking…for you.”                “No,” Beatrice responded even before Abigale had a chance to continue. “No. Of course not.” Beatrice thought to herself, ‘I didn’t know he was looking at me. I just always kinda thought he might have been.’ That was information she would keep to herself for now. It wasn’t necessary. Abbey didn’t need to know…well…she just didn’t need to know anything else. There isn’t anything else to know. Beatrice was sure of it.                Now, Beatrice feels guilty because she’d always hoped that Bryce would be looking at her but only because she had a bit of a crush on him. ‘Who wouldn’t!?’ She thought. ‘Who wouldn’t have a crush on a kind, gentle, tall, caramel-skinned man that had eyes that could cut steel!?’ Beatrice kept these thoughts to herself.                “I just…” Abbey says but trails off into the glass of vodka she’d just poured for herself. “I just have a weird feeling is all. Can I stay here tonight?”                “Of course,” Beatrice says. “But shouldn’t you at least let Bryce know where you are?”                “Not if I’m thinking what I’m thinking.” Abbey says.                “Okay. Well, you can sleep with me if you’d like.” Beatrice offers.                “I would love that.” Abbey says.

 Thursday 7:15 AM

 Beatrice pours herself a cup of coffee and sits down at her dining table. She thinks to herself about how she was so free last night. So free, yet she doesn’t remember much. Had she had that much to drink?                Abbey’s upstairs sleeping away in her bed. Beatrice didn’t know that Abbey would stay the night. It had been so long since the two of them had had a “sleepover” that it was odd to find her laying next to her in her own bed. The bed she shared with her husband. ‘Is something wrong with her and Bryce?’ Beatrice thought to herself.                Beatrice’ thoughts immediately fall back to thoughts of her husband and children. Apparently, there is never a cure for an avid depression. Well, not so much a depression – more of a longing worry that really sticks to the brain. For Beatrice, it is truly suffocating to know that she will never not feel this way until the day someone comes to her door and tells her that her family is alive…or the other option. Until then, she will struggle with these thoughts that there is a possibility they are out there. The reasons are too much for her to take. Either Mark left her and, took the kids, which she doesn’t think happened because they were okay…weren’t they? Or, they got into an accident in the truck and never made it back. ‘But why were their bodies never found!?’ Beatrice slams her coffee mug down as gently as she can on the glass table.                She has got to stop thinking about it. Or she may as well just go insane. They may as well just come and take her to the asylum. No handcuffs needed. She will walk calmly and voluntarily to her lovely, clean, air-conditioned, padded room.

 Then, a knock at the door. A surge went through her. It’s Mark with her sons. She feels it. She embraces it. She’s ready. She knows it’s them. This is the moment.                She turns the knob to the door. She can see a man on the other side, his silhouette through the drapery. She pulls the door open and, “Jimmy?”

JR McWilliam

Find out who Jimmy is, what Bryce is thinking, and what Beatrice is going to do next in Chapter Five! Stick around for the new Chapter releasing at the end of April! Details to come. This will be the most dramatic and blood-chilling chapter yet...

[juliaroselotusviolet]

a song like you, I play it every night

[beatricemillerstory]

Chapter One

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter One

 Tuesday, 2:03 PM

Beatrice Miller stands at her kitchen sink, her back against the counter, and stares at her husband and her two beautiful children laying on the floor in a pool of blood. She feels crazy because this is the image her mind shows her every night. Even if she closes her eyes, she can still see it. So, she just stares at it until it finally goes away.                Beatrice turns back around and finishes up the last of the dishes in the sink, turning around again to survey her kitchen for any more of a mess. She wouldn’t want to leave a mess for her husband and children when they get home. She’s always been their caretaker and she knows that she is needed. She loves that she is needed. She soaks in the feeling of safety that she gets when she’s in her kitchen.                Beatrice is a beautiful woman. Ageless, like Adeline. Long, wavy, chocolate brown hair draped down the middle of her back and covering just under her mid-sized breasts. She wears a simple black dress, like one you’d wear to a funeral or a cocktail party. She has a cute nose; sparkling blue eyes – deep as the ocean. Her nails are perfectly manicured to match those on her toes. A deep red similar to that of blood. She stands tall at nearly six feet.

She grabs her purse and opens the door, standing in the way for just a moment before closing the door gently behind her.

 Tuesday, 2:11 PM

‘There she is. Beatrice Miller.’ Bryce Vallerea says in his head as he watches her leave her house. He hasn’t seen her come out of her house for weeks. The car hasn’t moved. The lawn remains untouched. “Where are you going?” He asks to himself. He watches her slowly make her way to the car, blinded by the bright sunlight above her she covers her face with her forearm and gets in. She closes the door slowly. She backs out of the drive. She stops for a moment on the road. She looks over at Bryce’s house. Bryce quickly walks away from the door.                Bryce is an average looking man with the arrogance of a male model. He stands sky high at six-foot-two. A brilliant man. He has night black hair, a magical set of dark brown eyes, and teeth that could light a theatre before curtain call. His skin is the color of caramel and he smells of pine. His hands are soft and clean like that of a man who hasn’t worked a day in his life. Childish in his speech and demeanor yet charming with his grace and mannerisms of a gentleman.

He watches her from behind the drapes as she gets into her car and says aloud, “well, at least she’s gone now.”

  Tuesday, 3:30 PM

Beatrice hands cheques to the woman across the counter. She’s been meaning to cash these for some time now. She hasn’t wanted to. It makes this all seem real if she starts to take care of these things. The doctor has ordered her to start running errands again though so she feels that she should. It’s been a long time now so it is time for her to get back to reality and start living her life. This is step one and this is all she can handle right now.                “Is there anything else for you today, Mrs. Miller?” The kind but tired teller asks her. She doesn’t really know what to say because saying no is a lie but saying yes means that she would be asking for things that don’t pertain to this teller’s job in any way. So she says nothing. “Mrs. Miller?” The teller asks again. “Are you doing okay?”                The bank teller, Abigale Vallerea, formally known as Abigale Smith, is a short but beautiful woman. She is poised and kind, courteous yet genuine. She has half blue half blonde hair, a perfect ombre’, and has a tattoo of a symbol unfamiliar to Beatrice on her neck, just below her ear-lobe. Her eyes are kind, constantly glossy, and the most beautiful shade of Grey that anyone has ever seen – combined with her half-blue hair makes her look like a winter princess.                “I’m doing as good as I can right now,” Beatrice finally looks up at her. “I’m taking it day by day. Thanks, Abbey.”                “Is there anything I can do for you at all? Woman to woman?” Abbey and Beatrice have known each other a long time. They were childhood friends and then grew apart. They worked at the bank together for quite some time but then Beatrice stopped working about a year ago. They reconnected after Abigale and her husband, Bryce, moved into the house across the way from Beatrice. When Abbey and Bryce moved in, they had no idea that Beatrice and her family lived there. It was a surprisingly pleasant surprise.                “Can I borrow your husband?” Beatrice giggles a little at this request. Abbey genuinely laughs back. She knows that it is a good thing to see Beatrice smile so she replies curtly,                “How about I bring over a bottle of our finest and you and I can sit over a couple glasses and watch Bryce take care of anything you need done around the house?” She sees Beatrice remove her gaze and try to refuse the offer so instead of letting her, Abbey gently says, “We will be there tonight after work. If you could make a delicious pie again then we can call it even. I dream of those pies.”

 Tuesday, 4:41 PM

Beatrice returns to her home with a completed checklist, a small bag of groceries – a new stack of mail – the fixins for pie baking. A bottle of white wine, Chardonnay – Abbey is bringing one, yes, but one is never enough for three people, especially with the way Beatrice and Abbey can finish a bottle of wine.                If her neighbors are to arrive after supper, she’d better get to baking that pie. Since baking hundreds, maybe even thousands, of pies in her life, this wouldn’t be hard for her. She set everything out on the kitchen counter after replacing her purse in its normal spot – perched at the edge of the kitchen counter closest to the door. That was when she noticed something out of place. A small yellow daisy, soaking up water from a coffee mug, on the right side of the sink. Someone put that there and it sure wasn’t her.                She stares at the little yellow daisy as she stands over top the ingredients to make pie. She stares at it without realizing how long she is fixated on the flower until she looks over and notices the lard had started to melt. But what else could she do but wonder how that flower got there if not her putting it there herself? No one had been in this house for weeks – not even her family. If not her, it had to be someone. Who?

  Tuesday, 6:00 PM

Beatrice looks across the way into her neighbor’s kitchen window. She notices the small family just sit down to eat supper which means she has at least another hour before they show up for fresh pie. She has decided to bake a pear and gruyere. It is her specialty. Her secret ingredient is a sugar-coated roasted garlic clove. She chops it up and bakes it into the cheese.                She hadn’t eaten anything for supper as she supposed the pie will be enough to maintain her desire for food for the rest of the evening. After all – she doesn’t want to waste the secret bottle of expensive vodka hiding under the kitchen sink by soaking it all up with something as menial as food.                She sat, glass in hand – a vodka poured gently over ice-cubes with a wedge of lime floating on top – and watches her neighbors do the dishes. She still can’t believe that a bank teller and an unemployed journalist are able to afford the same home in which Beatrice lives.

They lived in a complex. Each house the same as the next, lining a perfectly manicured and cleverly cleaned street and park. The complex was something Beatrice chose to live in when she and her husband were just about to get married. She’d chosen it because it was close to all amenities and the view from the far side was of the cityscape behind the house. The garden in the center of the complex was so beautiful she figured she would have something to paint for years to come.                It also dawned on her that all the people living there were beautiful, new home-owners, that were all young and motivated to make something of themselves. A similar mindset and way-of-life as Beatrice was in. Her husband concurred.

Now, as she sits here on this mildly rainy evening, sniffing the gorgeous smells of baking gruyere, she stares at her neighbors doing after-supper dishes together in their freshly renovated kitchen. Instead of being jealous of anything they have that she doesn’t, she feels pleased and wonders at her neighbor’s happy lives.                She then sits up as she notices them turn off the lights to come across the way – she takes the pie out of the oven and places the bottle of chardonnay in the middle of the table surrounded by 3 polished glasses. Chardonnay, as Bryce will notice, will complement the oaky taste and texture of the gruyere.

“Welcome!” Beatrice says excitedly as the two familiar friends walk through the door hand in hand – in each free hand they hold a bottle of wine and a small gift bag, respectfully.

Chapter Two coming soon... JR McWilliam

[tavernedesavatars]

[tavernedesavatars]

[tavernedesavatars]

[beatricemillerstory]

There is what you wish

Beatrice Miller is a live story. It will end when we say it ends. Much like our lives. There is no plan. There is no outline.

All I know is that Beatrice is us. Beatrice is a real person to us. Beatrice is a character that will withstand the test of time. She will go on. Her story will be told.

With your help.

With your help, the story will grow, evolve, break all the rules, and ultimately create a new perspective for future writers.

Beatrice Miller is the beginning. And the end. She is a book mark. She is a book end. She is...whatever you want her to be.

So tell me...

Who is she?

JR McWilliam

[beatricemillerstory]

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter Three

 Long ago…

 When Beatrice and Abbey were young girls, they lived in a complex much like the one they live in today. But it was a different kind of complex. It was for low-income families. Beatrice loved her father, and he always tried his best, but his science degree didn’t get him where he needed to go, career-wise, so he stayed home doing research most of the time while her mother worked two jobs at two different grocery stores.                Beatrice remembers sitting with her father most days when she was unable to go to school due to the lack of school payments, and the fact that Beatrice would always find herself sick with gut rot and headaches. Her father would teach her all about the way microbes would live on in any environment and how they made up parts of every living thing. She hated how her father would always get into his lectures without first teaching Beatrice the basics – but she loved how passionate he was about his research and she loved even more how passionate he was about her.                With her mother being gone most of the time for work, Beatrice knew there was something about her and her fathers’ relationship that didn’t seem quite right because she never saw her mother and father be intimate with each other – but frequently would Beatrice and her father be intimate with each other. Or rather, he would be intimate with Beatrice. She always remembered the pain that would come from his touch.                Beatrice’ childhood would become something that she would never have known different from the other kids as her mother never did put her back into school but kept her at home to sail through her grades as her father would take on the role of being her at-home teacher. She graduated high school by the time she was 13-years-old.                Beatrice had a friend in Abbey, as they’d spent only two years in single-digit grade school together and being the only kids from their grade-school that were from low-income families. Abbey would come over frequently to visit Beatrice and together they would play in the two hours of the afternoon that were pink and orange in the sky from beautiful prairie sunsets.

Abbey’s parents were similar though it was her dad that worked two jobs. Her mother stayed at home taking care of the five children they’d managed to reproduce over years of alcohol abuse and common sexual mistakes. Abbey was the youngest of the five – and the only girl. One night would be the night to change their lives forever as her four older brothers – who loved her dearly – would drive out to the football field to practice some but, unfortunately, they would never return; flipping the truck over on the side of the highway back to the city.                After Abbey’s brother’s untimely death, Abbey spent more and more time over at Beatrice’ house. Yes, Beatrice’ father tried once to get the girls to do some very unchildlike things, but Abbey was always strong-willed and by this time the girls were now teenagers, so because of the fact that Beatrice’ father was also a sort of timid man, he never did touch Beatrice in the painful way that she remembered ever again. She would always be grateful to Abbey for coming into their home and saving Beatrice from a daily routine of having sex with her father. Beatrice learned from Abbey that a man doesn’t have any power over you if you show him you have the same amount of power over him. Abbey would, from then on, be known to Beatrice as her hero.                Beatrice and her father never did talk about it. Nor did she talk about it with her mother. It was something her mother didn’t need. Furthermore, and only a couple years later, Beatrice’ father would proceed to end his own life with a bottle of pills and a symmetrical bottle of Jack Daniels. Beatrice would, from then on, never consume or come close to the rotten-apple-like beverage again.

Years would go by and Beatrice spent most of her time at Abbey’s house – they would help around the place by cleaning up and cooking meals together. Beatrice learned quickly, from Abbey’s depressed and shattered mother, how to bake the most delicious pies. It was Beatrice’ way of saying, “Thank you for not leaving me alone.”

 Wednesday 5:31 PM

 A knock at the door.  Beatrice slowly takes off her oven mitts and allows the oven to remain open, cooling the multi-berry cinnamon pie resting inside. She recognizes the knock. It was a knock that she and Abbey would use so they would recognize each other from behind closed doors as girls. 

               “Beatrice,” Abbey starts to say. She stands confidently in a silk robe and bedazzled heels. She pulls a bottle of wine out from behind her back. “Bryce is gone for the night, he has two interviews! So,” Abbey bites her bottom lip and reaches behind her with her other hand and pulls out the same brand of vodka that hides below Beatrice’ sink. “I was thinking we would have a girl’s night!”                “Oh, please come in!” Beatrice says excitedly. “I would really love that, Abbey.”                “It’s been so long,” Abbey says as she gracefully walks toward the counter in the kitchen. She sits at a bar stool and watches Beatrice continue to tend to the pie. Something Abbey has seen her do many times. “That is multi-berry…” Abbey sniffs aggressively, “And cinnamon!” A tear forms in Abbey’s eyes and Beatrice wonders if she somehow knew that Abbey would come over tonight. This pie recipe was and probably always will be Abbey’s favorite. “Bee. It smells just like hers. How do you do it?” Abbey is referring to her as Bee as she used to when they were girls. She is also referring to her mother’s recipe when she says hers.                “I always loved this pie. Mostly because it was the first one I ever tried from your mother. Remember? I came into the house and you screamed that I just had to try this pie!?”                “I will always remember, Bee,” Abbey says as she pops a cork and pours two glasses of Chardonnay. They both sit down with their pie and wine.                Beatrice looks around her kitchen. She surveys the room, learning her surroundings like it’s her first time every time. She notices Abbey’s purse sloppily placed on the kitchen counter, right where Beatrice usually puts her cell phone and smiles to herself.                “What’s on your mind, sis?” Abbey asks. Abbey and Beatrice will always call each other sisters.                “A lot. I’m glad you’re here.” A tear rolls down Beatrice’ cheek and she quickly wipes it off, annoyed that she can’t control her emotions.                “Oh, honey!” Abbey reaches across the table to place her hands on Beatrice’ but slips and knocks Beatrice’ glass of the table, falling to the wood floor and shattering. “Beatrice! I’m so sorry!” Abbey exclaims.                “It’s fine, Abbey. I’ll clean this up, and you go get another glass.” Beatrice doesn’t like a mess. Abbey creates messes. It doesn’t upset Beatrice. What else could she do with her time other than clean up messes? She smiles to herself and how bad Abbey can feel about these kinds of things. Beatrice reassures her that it’s okay.                Beatrice bends down with her hand broom and a flash of the same image of her husband and two kids right where Abbey is standing, and she gasps. Abbey returns to the table right away and sits her back down. “Please, tell me what’s going on in that head. I will finish cleaning this up.”                “You know how I used to black out all the time when I was a kid?” Beatrice starts. As a child, Beatrice would have moments that she wouldn’t be able to recall. She would try to think of things that had just happened, and she wasn’t able to pull up a memory of any kind. They would be sporadic, and they could be short or long periods of time where she felt she wasn’t there.                “Yes, of course,” Abbey replies. Her eyes now locked on Beatrice’.                “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped having those episodes,” Beatrice says.                “You may not ever stop having them, Bee.” Abbey comforts. “I think it was because of your dad, as much as I hate to say it, your brain did you a favor.”                “But I wish I could remember anything. It’s not just what he did to me. It’s everything. I don’t remember either of their funerals. I don’t remember moving any of our belongings into this house. Most importantly, I don’t remember what Mark and I were doing the night he and the kids went missing.” Beatrice takes a bite of pie and chews slowly through her tears. “I feel so helpless. I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore, and I need you to help me. You’re all I have left, Abbey.”                Beatrice notices Abbey take a minute to collect herself. She probably doesn’t want to break down in front of her as she used to do when Beatrice would have to stay at her house, as children, when her parents fought. “I am here for you. I hope you know that. I’m right here. And I have all your memories in my head. You just ask for one and I will pull it up.” They both gently laugh.                “You’re like my own personal Google.” Beatrice makes a joke. Abbey notices how long it’s been since Beatrice has been funny. And with everything Beatrice went through, she was always funny. But they both know that Beatrice hasn’t been able to be funny in a long while now.                “Bee, it hurts me to see you this way.” Abbey stops talking, poking the tip of her nose with her index finger. “Maybe we should get out of the house and go do something tonight? Tomorrow?”                “Tonight would be nice,” Beatrice replies. She notices Abbey’s surprise to her immediate acknowledgment. “I know, I know. But it’s probably a good idea. I’d love to get out of the house because every time I stay in, all I do is stare at everything and I always see…”                “See what?”                “I see them all. Right there.” Beatrice points to the kitchen floor. “I see them all laying on the kitchen floor in their own blood. They are all dead. I see it all the time. All the time. And it scares me because…is it possible that something happened to them and I just don’t remember?”                “Honey,” Abbey takes a deep breath and looks Beatrice in the eyes. “I was here the night the cops came to the house with the news. The house was immaculate, and the boys weren’t here. They weren’t. I assure you. I don’t remember what you guys did before the boys all left because I wasn’t here, but all I know is that you didn’t do anything, and something terrible like that did not happen.”                “How can you be so sure?” Beatrice says. Slowly, tears start to fall from her eyes.                “Because I just am. I don’t have that feeling something bad happened. You know I can always sense when something bad is happening.”                “Yeah.” Beatrice did trust Abbey’s sense of danger.                “Okay!” Abbey stands quickly and shocks the tears out of Beatrice’ eyes. “Let’s go get a slutty little dress on you and I will do your hair!”                Beatrice smiles and her stomach turns in a way that tells her, you shouldn’t be going out into public right now, but Beatrice ignores the feeling and allows her friend to drag her up to her bedroom and pamper her for a much needed night out. They run together, up the stairs, like little kids.

 Wednesday 6:16 PM

Abigale walks around her friend’s bedroom and waits patiently for Beatrice to come out of the closet wearing the clothes that she picked out for her. She’s nervous that Beatrice won’t have a good time, but she doesn’t let it bother her. She is here to help her feel better. Beatrice has been through so much in her life and it’s not fair. Beatrice is good people. She doesn’t deserve the painful life she was handed. So, Abbey is excited to get her out and show her who she really is again. Maybe it will help her recall memories too. If Abbey knew anything it was that sometimes a distraction can be good for the human brain to process life.                “How’s it going in there, Bee?” Abbey shouts as she sits down on the foot of Beatrice’ bed.                “One second!” Beatrice replies.                Abbey looks out the window to look at the front of her own house across the way. She notices her little flower garden and smiles to herself, sighing at the beauty she created. Then she notices Bryce’s car. She thinks to herself, ‘he wasn’t supposed to be home until late. I hope he’s okay. Her eyes move up the front of the house to her bedroom window and she sees him. He is staring into Beatrice’ bedroom. Abbey’s stomach flips and she feels dizzy. He looks so creepy. She’s never seen him in that way before. ‘What is he doing?’ She thinks to herself. She stands from the bed and walks over to the window and instead of waving at her, he drops to the floor letting the curtains sway. ‘Does he look over here in Beatrice’ bedroom often?’ She thinks to herself. She feels her face get hot. Her stomach in knots. She thinks, ‘is my husband a peep?’                “How do I look!?” Beatrice pops out of the closet in a skin-tight black dress with a slit down her left thigh and a pearl necklace around her long neck.                Abbey slowly looks around the room from the window to Beatrice. “You look incredible,” she says.                “What’s the matter?” Beatrice asks, her face flushing from the euphoria.                Abbey realizes she’s been staring blankly for too long and fixes herself. “Yes. I’m fine. I think I’m just hungry. You look so sexy. Let’s go!”                ‘But what the fuck is my husband doing staring into your bedroom?’ She thinks.

JR McWilliam

Chapter Four coming soon...