Just
by Mike E. Purfield

THANKSGIVING

I came home for my first Thanksgiving since I started U. Mass that year. I lived; well my upper middle class parents lived, in a 2-story house in the suburb of Berkley, West Virginia. It still looked new since we moved into it 15 years ago; and it should. My parents pumped in a lot of money on cleaning people, gardeners, and contractors.

I took the bus home and my Dad picked me up from the station. He asked me all the standard questions that he would normally ask me during our weekend phone calls.

"How are your classes?" Dad asked.

"Great. I don't find them at all challenging."

"Well," he smiled, "I'm sure they will get harder as the years go on, especially when you pick a major. How's your roommate, Terri?"

"She's good."

"Good."

Actually, I rarely saw Terri. Since she started seeing a Psychology Major in October, she slept every night at his place - which I didn't mind. Terri talked too much and I got to have the whole room to myself. I read mostly and did homework.

When we reached the house at 8:30, Mom made me a late dinner. She smiled and sat across from me, watching me eat the ziti and meatballs.

"How are the boys going?" Mom asked.

"All right," I said. "From what I can tell."

"You mean you still don't have a boyfriend or even a male friend that could turn into something."

"Been busy, Mom."

"You'll find one soon, Jenny," she assured me, as if I needed it. I didn't tell her that I wasn't looking forward to finding one. All the guys on campus looked at me oddly. Plus, when I see them with girls they seemed like they needed a lot of attention.

My younger brother, Rick, wasn't around. As usual he was up in his room, doing God knows what. He was like that ever since he went into the eighth grade. He's in the eleventh grade now. I figured he would grow out of it by the time he graduated high school. If he didn't, then I assumed he would become a serial killer or a Unabomber or something.

Not that I wanted him to come downstairs and greet me with big smiles. Rick was a little shit. He always did his best to get on my nerves and torture me.

Last year, he pissed in one of those battery-powered water guns that looked like a real gun and shot it at me. Mom punished him, but not very hard. Dad said he was just being a little brother.

Then a few years before that, I found him in the living room cutting out pictures of the models from Mom's magazines. He lined them up and started cutting their heads off, chuckling to himself. I mentioned it to Mom and Dad and they gave me the stock response: Boys will be boys.

Oh well, right. He wasn't my problem.

***

Both sets of grandparents, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins came over to the house for Thanksgiving. Mom hired a caterer so she could focus on entertaining the family. I suffered the barrage of questions about college from my relatives and I gave them my stock answers.

Rick came down from his room for an appearance. Everybody greeted him, including me. Rick just frowned, sat, and ate.

The family broke into two groups after desert. Mom, Dad, aunts, and uncles sat at the dining room table to chat and drink coffee while I sat with the cousins and my grandparents in the living room to watch "Home Alone" on T.V.

Rick was upstairs.

***

For the last three days of my Thanksgiving break, I stayed home or went Christmas shopping with Mom.

At night, Mom asked, "Jenny, why don't you call up some of your old friends and go out? I'm sure you all have a lot to talk about."

"They're not around, Mom," I lied. "Most of them went away with their parents for the holiday."

I spent my nights watching television with my parents, and then I went upstairs to my room to read. It was very quiet and very boring, but what could I do.

On my last night home, Saturday night, I finished the book I was reading. It was 2:15 A.M., and I was far from tired. As I looked on my bookshelf for a book to read, I felt the need to pee. The bathroom door was locked, and the water was running inside as if someone was taking a shower. The only person I thought it could be was Rick. Maybe he got tired of his stink and needed to change the dirt.

I wandered to his bedroom and waited for him to get out. Curious of how my brother decorated his room, I grabbed the knob and tried to open it, but it was locked.

The bathroom door opened. I turned around and found Rick turning off the light. He was naked. He scared me out of my shoes.

I quickly turned around and faced the opposite wall.

"Jesus," I said.

"Sorry, Jenny," Rick said. It sounded like he was getting off on it. "I didn't think anyone was up."

"Yeah, okay," was all I could say.

He slowly walked past me. I heard him open the lock on the door (where did he carry the key) and enter his room.

I shook my head and sighed deeply, dropping the nervousness from my body. Seeing my brother naked was the one thing I wanted to avoid all my life.

Steam filled the bathroom. I was tempted to leave the door open and do my business, but then I thought about Rick walking in on me. I locked the door, sat on the bowl, and did my business. I looked over at the bathtub and saw a red residue ring around the bottom of it.

Blood?

No. Probably paint. Did my brother paint? I had no idea. But I was sure that it wasn't blood, I mean, come on.

I then wiped, flushed, and washed my hands. When I dried my hands with the yellow towel on the rack, I noticed brownish-red stains on it. The blood idea popped into my head again, and then I pushed them back. My brother was totally weird, but he was no killer. He was only sixteen. Plus, who's blood could it be. Did he have a body in his room? Come on.

Feeling stupid, I went back to my room and tried to sleep.

***

Sunday, I hung out in my room until it was time to leave for my bus. Rick never left his room.

While my Dad packed my bags into the trunk, I sat in the front passenger seat, warming up the car, and I looked up at the house. I saw a dark figure standing in my brother's bedroom window. I nervously waved to it. The figure, I assumed was my brother, stepped away from the window.

***

For the next month, I found it hard to study for finals. I kept thinking about Rick and the red stains in the bathroom. I searched through old newspapers on microfiche for any missing persons or murders in Berkley, West Virginia. There were some, but the murderers were found soon after the crime. Nothing unsolved.

In a way, I was glad I didn't find proof. It gave me the time to study my ass off.

***

CHRISTMAS

Dad picked me up from the bus station. He asked the questions. I gave him the answers. This time my Mom was in the car with us so we could get her questions out of the way.

Then I thought about Rick being home alone. For some reason, I thought that it was the perfect time to sneak a body into the house.

"Is Rick home?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said. "He's always home in his room."

"Don't you find that a little bit odd?" I asked.

"Oh, all boys at that age are like that," Dad said. "I was like that at his age. Probably pulling the pud."

Mom squealed with laughter and slapped my Dad's shoulder. "You're terrible," Mom said.

Why did I bother asking?

***

Christmas dinner was catered. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, and a special appearance by Rick. As he ate his turkey and everybody carried on with their own conversations, I asked Rick a question.

"So, Rick," I said in a loud voice from across the table. "What do you do in your room all day and night?"

He looked at me, knife in one hand, a fork in the other, and said, "I've been killing people."

Everybody stopped their conversation and laughed.

I didn't find it funny. In fact, it chilled me.

Rick looked at me for a moment as if he knew that I knew what was going on, and he wasn't at all bothered. He then went back to his food.

I tried to eat but I lost my appetite.

***

I staked out Rick's room for 5 days. I moved my desk chair to the wall that we shared and listened for any suspicious noises. It was quiet except for the sounds coming from his television or stereo. But then again, maybe they were camouflage noises. To cover up what? I wasn't sure what I was listening for; squishy sounds, broken bones, a scream?

Of course, I couldn't stay in my room all day and night. My parents expected me to eat with them, I had to go to the bathroom, plus my Mom and Dad dragged me off to parties hosted by family and friends. Rick probably liked that; he would be alone all day, smuggling in the bodies, maybe even killing them in the house.

At the parties while people droned on to me, I wondered what kind of killer my brother was. Did he kill women or men? Were they his age? Older? Younger? Did he use his hands or did he use a knife? Did he kill them outside the house and bring them in later? Maybe he had a secret place where he killed them and then smuggled parts of their bodies up to his room? What did he do with the bodies?

I then thought about how my brother acted in the past, and composed a profile. I knew that he loved to antagonize me; revealing great pleasure in it. Maybe that was the kind of killer he was. He antagonized, tortured the victims, made them suffer, and watched them.

Then again, maybe he was quiet and shy, and just wanted to be alone.

***

Uncle Bob and Aunt Ellen had a New Years Eve party, and I decided to stay home.

"But all of your cousins are going," Mom said cheerfully.

"I'm not in the mood for a party, Mom," I said. "I just want to be alone."

"Oh, that sounds so depressing. You'll be alone," Dad responded.

"Is Rick going?" I asked.

"No. He's staying home," Mom said.

"Then I won't be alone."

When they left, I sat on the couch and watched television with the sound off. The house was completely quiet. If there was something going on upstairs, I could hear it.

Around 9 o'clock, I heard a scream from upstairs, a woman's scream.

I ran upstairs and stood in the hallway. It was dark. If I turned on the light, Rick might know I was down the hall. His door was closed, and the hall was quiet. I started to doubt that I heard anything at all.

I took a chance and went to Rick's bedroom door. I knocked on it. There was a rumbling like moving furniture in the room. The lock disengaged, and the door opened a crack. A part of Rick's face peaked through. It was dark in his room. He was panting.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"I heard a scream."

"No you didn't."

"Um, yes I did," I stupidly stressed.

Rick's face scrunched in thought, then he said, "I'm watching a horror movie marathon on channel 27. Maybe you heard that."

He closed the door and locked it.

I suddenly felt angry. I was so sure that he had a body in his room. Someone could be alive in there. But shit, what could I do? Kick the door in and hurt my brother? Knock him on the head? He probably had weapons in there.

But what if it was the television.

What if I was going crazy?

I ran back downstairs and picked up the remote to the television. I pushed on channel 27. There were commercials, but then the movie came back on, a horror movie.

I still wasn't convinced.

I sat down and waited.

***

The ball fell in Times Square. I sat on the couch and watched everybody jump around in happiness while I finished off a bag of microwave popcorn. The skeleton key (which I found in the kitchen drawer) to all the doors inside the house rested on the coffee table.

The shower started upstairs, making the pipes in the house groan. I snapped into reality, looking up at the ceiling. I picked up the key and went upstairs. I kept the light off and moved down the hall. I tested the bathroom door to make sure it was locked. Then I went to my brother's bedroom and tried to open it. Of course, that was locked. With the skeleton key, I opened it.

I stepped inside. The room stunk like bad body odor, but that was it. There was no dead rat smell or anything like body decay. There were no bodies lying around, no blood, and no weapons. His bed was messy. There were clothes on the floor. Posters of bands like Ozzy and Megadeth covered the walls.

It looked like an average teen-aged boy's room.

But I was still not convinced.

I kneeled down next to the bed and looked under it. I found a bunch of sneakers, old toys, and a large cardboard boot box. I pulled the box out and opened the lid. It was filled with porn magazines, but not the kind I expected. The magazines depicted sex with midgets, amputees, black people with pigment missing from their skin, two headed girls, and some twins joined at the hips.

Freaked out, I closed the lid and slipped the box back under the bed.

The closet had two sliding doors. I opened the left door. There were clothes on hangers, shoes on the floor, and the shelves on top held a few board games.

I then opened the right door.

A scream nearly flew out of my mouth.

Amid all the usual stuff in the closet, there was a clear plastic suit bag; inside was a body. At least, I thought it was a body. Blood coated the inside of the bag; skin and hair pressed against the clean parts. The bag was attached with a chain to the hanger rod, straining it. I couldn't tell if the body was male or female.

Feeling nauseous, I closed the door and stepped away from the closet. I then realized that the shower was off. For how long?

I left the room, looked down the hall to make sure it was clear (it was), then I locked Rick's bedroom door.

Just as the bathroom door opened, I jumped into my dark bedroom and hid behind the door. I heard Rick walk by and enter his room. I stood in the dark room and waited to make sure Rick didn't come back out.

When it was safe, I went downstairs and sat on the couch with my swirling emotions. I wanted to call the cops, but he was my bother. I had no idea what to do. I then decided to let my parents handle it.

They came home that night at 3 A.M. They were surprised to see me.

"Mom, Dad, I have something important to tell you," I said to them at the front door. They looked wasted and tired.

"Happy New Year, Jenny," Mom said, smiling and hugging.

"Yeah. Whatever." I pushed her off. "Would you please listen to me?"

"What is it, honey," Dad said, not at all bothered by my tone.

"Okay. Rick has a dead body in his closet," I said.

They busted out laughing.

"Of course he does," Dad said. "Good night, honey."

They kissed me good night and went upstairs to their room.

I felt like I was in a David Lynch movie. They couldn't have been serious. No, they were drunk. I decided to tell them in the morning when they would be sober.

***

The next morning, I confronted my parents with the issue again. They laughed. They were very much sober. I told them that I was serious. They said that they were not going to be involved with any kind of game my brother and I were up to.

"Yes," Mom reinforced over coffee. "No matter what your problem with your bother is, you are old enough to work it out yourself."

I was shocked and pissed.

"Shall I show you," I said. "Do you want me to show you?"

Dad looked at me in restrained aggravation. Dad only looked like that when I was in serious trouble. He said, "Jenny, you are beating a dead horse. Sit down. Your brother is not a killer and he doesn't have a dead body in his room. Now, I am going to ask you to stop this game and respect your brother's privacy like we respect yours."

And that was that.

I went back to U. Mass that day. At times, I convinced myself that I imagined the body in the closet. But that didn't last too long. I knew I was right and I knew it was going to blow up in their faces.

I got a job at the campus bookstore and a boyfriend. His name was Tony and he was a Chemistry Major. He's pretty cool. I never went back home, except on Christmas, and even then, it would be for only 36 hours. I usually left Christmas night. My parents understood I wanted to work and be with my boyfriend, plus, it wasn't a big deal for them to come up and see me on the weekend.

One day during my junior year, Mom called me. She was crying.

"The police came here looking for your brother," Mom managed to say. "They said he killed some people."

At first, I wanted to say I told you so, but I didn't. My Mom was a wreck, why put her through more.

"Is he in jail?" I asked.

"No. They went up to his room to arrest him, but he was gone. They found a big knife in his dresser. It had dried blood on it." Fresh tears burst out of her. "I can't believe this is happening to my baby."

My Mom went on and on in denial. I spaced out, wondering where my brother Rick ran away.

©2003 Mike E. Purfield