Hillary_Tail of the Dog (19 page)

Hillary didn’t know whether it was the adrenaline pumping into her system or her limbs remembering their purpose, but she felt stronger with every passing minute. She found herself able to stand, wobbly at first, but gradually gaining confidence and endurance. She trudged slowly through Dr. Morrison’s office, exploring his belongings in search of additional rope and his medical bag. She didn’t find any rope but spotted his medical bag easily enough. Its contents pleased her. The medical bag replaced the shard of glass she had clutched on to so securely. It slipped from her hand and made a surprisingly loud sound, breaking the silence, as it shattered upon the floor. Hillary cursed herself for being so careless and hoped that no one heard it. She had already formulated a plan and she fully intended to carry it through...for herself, and for her mother, whom she longed to see. Failure was not an option. She had to go home.

The weight of the medical bag seemed immense compared to its size. Hillary placed it on Dr. Morrison’s desk. She only needed a handful of items, why carry the whole heavy thing with her? She opened it and pulled out three syringes. Her aunt used to be a diabetic. She knew all about them. She was less familiar with the bottle labeled “thiopentone” but hoped it was what she needed. She carefully added the drug to the syringes. She had no idea if she had added too little or too much, or whether the drug would work at all, but she had little choice at the moment—it would have to suffice. If it turned out she was wrong and had administered a lethal injection, would she really be choked up? Definitely not. Disappointed, yes, choked up, no.

No sooner had Hillary replaced the cap on the bottle when she heard Dr. Morrison exclaim, “
What the—
”

His legs were secure (or so she hoped), but his hands were free to untie the ropes. Adrenaline kicked in and Hillary held the syringes tightly as she made her way back to the room where she had been imprisoned for so long. She felt afraid...so why was she smiling? She knew why. It would end today, one way or the other, dead or alive, she would escape this place forever. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room to see both Dr. Morrison and Dr. Bentley fully conscious and desperate to break free. She knew that feeling well.

~13~

“Hello boys,” she said in a deep, sultry, playful tone. The fear on Dr. Morrison’s face was almost worth the months of suffering she had endured. Her smile grew wider, her eyes more intense. She was a girl on a mission, lost deep in her thoughts of vengeance. Dr. Bentley knew what the crazed look on her face meant.

“Hillary,” he called out, “you don’t need to do this...you can just go, leave here.”

Hillary turned to see him struggling fiercely to free his hands.

“Oh, Jake...can I call you Jake?” she asked. Without waiting for a response she added, “you know me better than that, don’t you?”

Indeed he did. That’s why he was beyond terrified.

Hillary laughed as she walked the few steps over to where Dr. Morrison cursed under his breath, reaching forward as far as his large midsection allowed, attempting frantically to free his legs. It’s amazing how quickly one sobered up in such desperate situations. His fingers worked quickly. His left foot was nearly free from the ropes. Sweat rolled down the sides of his head. He didn’t dare look up at Hillary who stood just a foot away from him.

“Well, look at you!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “You’re so close to freedom. Isn’t it a great feeling?”

“You stay away from me,” he barked, working even quicker. His left foot was free. He shifted to untie his right one.

Hillary ran her bony fingers through his hair. He jumped, arched his back and flailed his arms around to bat her away. Her menacing laughter sent chills up his spine and he continued to quickly fiddle with the rope around his foot.

“So close to freedom,” she sung tauntingly, “and yet—” she stabbed the needle into his upper arm as he yelped in anguish.

“…and yet, you’ll never be free again,” she said icily as Dr. Morrison’s body slumped back and became motionless within seconds. She dropped the empty syringe beside him.

She looked over at Dr. Bentley to see if he had made any progress. He was, in fact, almost free of the rope, but, as with Dr. Morrison, freedom was a luxury he would not be afforded. Sensing her eyes boring into him, he turned his head to look at her. She looked manic, with her eyes open wide. Her smile looked disproportionately broad on her narrow face.

Is she purposefully baring her teeth?
Dr. Bentley wondered. Hillary held up one of the remaining syringes in her hand, as if to say, “you’re next.” Dr. Bentley felt his bowels clench with a mixture of fear and dread.

“Hillary,” he pleaded, “please don’t inject me with that. Let’s talk…please, Hillary. I’ll keep my hands up…I won’t try to untie myself.” He straightened up his hands and fingers, making a good faith gesture of his words.

“You know, I don’t think there’s anything left for us to discuss, Jake,” Hillary said softly as she approached him.

“C’mon, sure there is. We’ve had many great conversations.”

“You’re not my friend,” she replied bluntly.

“No, not entirely, but I’ve always tried to help you, Hillary. I’ve always been fair and kind to you.”

“You mean like when you left me tied naked to the bed? Like when you didn’t believe that Dr. Morrison—that fat, nasty pig—touched me inappropriately? You mean like those times? Where were you when he was pounding himself into me?” she asked caustically.

“I’m so sorry, Hillary, you’re right, you are, I should have protected you better. I thought Monica would be around. She was supposed to be watching out for you.”

“Well you can tell by the pee that you’re kneeling in how well she’s been watching out for me.” Hillary stayed a couple feet away from him. She knew he would try to stop her. She didn’t need him kicking his legs out and tripping her. She kept her eyes firmly planted on his hands to make sure he wasn’t working on the remaining knot. It would only take seconds for him to be free, but it would take less time than that to jab him full of the anesthesia within the syringe.

“Remember, Hillary, I’m the one who released you. I do care about you. I’m here to help you.” How he regretted that foolish move, unbinding the ropes, allowing her the opportunity she’d been longing for. She just looked so weak, so tragic. He’d forgotten with whom he was dealing.

“
Aww,
that’s why I’m going to be gentle with you,” she said, her impish grin spreading across her face. She slowly trudged toward him.

“Wait!” he yelled, his heart racing. “Can you at least answer a few questions for me?” He was stalling. He had to find a way to distract her.

“What questions?” she asked, sneering, “and what difference does it make at this point?”

“It makes a difference to me, Hillary. I’ve always been fascinated by you...I want to know more about you.”

“I think you already know plenty. You think I’m a psychopath.”

“I think you’re extraordinary,” he said softly and forced one of his knockout smiles upon his face. He knew it worked its magic when Hillary’s cheeks reddened slightly. He couldn’t afford to lose this window of opportunity. He had to do everything possible to keep her happy.

“You know, I admire your strength, your resilience, your courage. I’ve spent my whole life pampered like a spoiled brat. But you...you dared to be different, to do things society condemns.”

“Everyone thinks I’m a monster,” she responded, her voice losing its edge.

“Not me. You did what you felt you needed to do. You followed your heart.”

Hillary smiled. It was a warm, sincere smile as opposed to the violently frenzied one she had exhibited just moments ago.

“Is it wrong that I don’t feel bad about any of it?” she asked timidly.

“We’re all unique individuals,” Dr. Bentley answered, “who’s to really say what’s right and what’s wrong? I’m not here to judge you, I never have. I just want to understand you.”

The smile remained on Hillary’s face, though she kept her distance to be safe.

“Okay...what do you want to know?”

“You told me about your dad...what he did to you. How many times did you tell your mom about it before he stopped?”

Hillary let out a long, lugubrious sigh as she prepared to recall those memories she fought so hard to suppress.

“Lots of times...too many times. She wouldn’t listen to me. She said I must have been imagining things or ‘misunderstanding the situation.’ Then when I kept insisting that he was raping me, she got angry with me, called me a sick freak for saying such ‘nasty things’ about my ‘loving’ father. And, for the record, he didn’t just decide to stop, I made him stop.”

“Oh, you sure did...tell me about it.”

“Well....” Hillary hesitated a moment. There was a far-away look in her eyes as the horrid memories played on like a sickening video in her mind. “I got tired of it, tired of my sick father sticking his prick where it didn’t belong, tired of my mother ignoring my cries. I felt so angry. I had to do something to get through to them. I didn’t know what. I thought about slitting my wrists, but I guess I must be selfish because I thought, why should I suffer more? They’re the ones who should suffer.”

Hillary took a deep breath as she continued.

“So I made them suffer,” she said coldly.

“How?”

“You already know how,” she said impatiently.

“Not totally...I mean, I know what happened, but you never told me in any detail. I want your perspective on it.”

Hillary rolled her eyes before returning them to Dr. Bentley’s hands, making sure he wasn’t trying anything stupid.

“One day, a Sunday morning after my father had once again had his way with me, I refused to go to church with my family. I thought, what’s the point? If God’s so cruel that he allows children to get raped by their own dads, why serve him? I was home alone, just sitting on the couch when my dad’s dog, Scarlet, walked over to me. I never cared much for her, the slobbery mutt. That day I downright hated her. She smelled like crap and she tried to lick me. I freaked out. I pushed her away but she just kept coming back like I was playing a game with her. Then I noticed her tail.” Hillary’s face contorted as she gathered her thoughts.

“Her skinny, long, ugly tail, sticking straight up, straight up just like my father’s—”

Hillary stopped when she felt something wet dripping down her forearm. She had been squeezing the syringes so hard that she accidentally pushed the plunger on one of them, releasing some of the anesthesia. She took a deep breath as she loosened her grip and wiped her arm on the bed sheet.

“Well...long story short, I cut its tail off. It would have bled to death too if my parents didn’t rush home to lecture me about missing church. You should have seen their faces! My little brother couldn’t stop screaming. My sister looked like she was going to faint. My mother looked just as horrified. But my favorite, oh, yeah, the best part, was the pain it caused my father. He actually cried for that mutt. Imagine that. He cries over a filthy mutt but has no regard for his own daughter.”

“He was a real piece of shit,” Dr. Bentley agreed, without needing to fabricate his feelings.

“So that’s how it started, how I became the monster everyone says I am.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster, I think you’ve been victimized so many times it forced you to do things you otherwise would not have done.”

Hillary thought about that a moment.
Maybe
, she thought, but speculating didn’t really matter one way or another, what was done was done and there was no going back now.

Dr. Bentley knew that he had to keep Hillary talking if he wanted even the slightest chance of surviving. The best case scenario he envisioned was that Monica would figure out that something was wrong and alert the authorities before Hillary grew too bored or impatient to continue chatting. The next best scenario was that he could somehow untie the knots while Hillary talked on and on about her psychotic escapades. Both scenarios seemed equally unlikely, so Dr. Bentley decided to pray for a quick death, for if he knew Hillary, and he really, truly did, he knew that if and when she got the chance, she would take her time killing him, mutilating him, making him suffer. Beads of sweat formed along his face as he thought of it. He realized that Hillary had been talking while he was busy imagining the horrors of his fate. He hoped she didn’t notice his preoccupation.

“...and that’s when I killed my brother,” she was saying, completely nonchalantly, as if recalling how she met a friend or bought a pair of shoes.

“What did you do to him?”

“You already know that,” she said sharply.

“Of course, but still, I want your spin on it, how it made you feel, what happened after that.”

“You’re just stalling,” she replied irritably.

“Hardly,” he insisted, wiping the sweat off his brow. “In fact, I didn’t want to say anything just yet, but I’ve decided to write a book about you.”

Hillary was taken aback.
A book? About me?
she thought, a thin smile forming across her lips. Dr. Bentley was relieved to see her eyes light up, yet at the same time, worried. He had just played his last card. What else could he entice her with to spare the precious little time he had left?

“Are you serious?” she asked excitedly.

“Of course I am, and you know what? It’d be a best-seller for sure!”

“Wow,” she exclaimed, imagining a book written all about her.
I’d be famous!
She didn’t realize she was already famous, or infamous, rather.

“Okay, Jake,” she said, beaming at first then frowning. “Uh, how long would that take?”

“To write it?” he asked and she nodded. “Not very long at all. Just keep telling me about the things you’ve done.”

“I have an even
better
idea,” she said with a wide smile on her face. She looked like a crazed Cheshire Cat.