Clean Living

Nobody really knew why the soap was red, but there were plenty of guesses. Most were along the lines of a chemical reaction, some sort of manufacturing fault, which made the soap turn red on contact with skin and water. Jessie knew the truth, but no one asked her, being only twelve and all, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea about it. That’s what they thought, anyway, with the arrogance of adults who have forgotten that they were once children themselves.
It had all been Uncle Marty’s idea. “You have to do it, I can’t get away with it. Nobody will ever suspect you, and it’s the only way out of this bloody situation that I can see that won’t land you in terrible trouble.” He was the only one who knew how special she was. Mommy and Daddy didn’t seem to see it, they were too busy reassuring each other about their respective uniqueness to notice hers. Uncle Marty was different, though, he took the time to really see her as a person instead of just an annoying kid.
He was looking after her, just like he’d always promised her, and she loved him for that. She was terrified of getting into trouble, she knew that the best way to handle her parents was to be as unobtrusive as possible, do well at school, and not embarrass them in front of their arty friends. So she didn’t protest when he gave her the knife, told her what she had to do…
Uncle Marty hadn’t warned her about the nightmares that would occur afterwards. The slick of blood haunted her, screamed at her, jumped out on her every time she tried to think about something else. She saw viscous, vicious red everywhere she looked. She smelled it in her food, her mother’s frowns at her lack of appetite not enough to entice her into eating.
“Maybe we should take her to the Doctor?” Mommy had whispered to Daddy, when she thought Jessie wasn’t listening. Thank God and all the angels; Daddy said he thought it was just a phase. The Doctor would probe her and prod her, he’d be friendly but she knew that some friendly people weren’t friends at all; they just tried to get you into trouble. Like Laura from school, she was always copying off Jessie, and then saying that Jessie had copied off her. Nobody believed Jessie, she was always the one to get the blame. So she had stopped protesting, and resigned herself to the weekly trips to the Headmaster’s office. Where she mumbled that everything was fine and looked at the floor, so the teacher wouldn’t see the tears glistening in her eyes. Life was so unfair. Jessie had known that for some time.
At least Uncle Marty listened to her. But now he had gone away, and she didn’t have anyone to talk to, except the dog, and he didn’t know what to do any more than she did. So she kept quiet, as the red soap became an amusing anecdote her parents speculated on at dinner parties, their friends coming up with even more outlandish suggestions for the seemingly miraculous event. None of which came close to the truth.
It was the blood, of course. It wouldn’t come off her hands, no matter how hard she scrubbed. She started pulling the sleeves of her baggy jumper down to cover her hands, so no one would see the redness. Sometimes they hurt, but that was okay, it was better than the other hurt, the pain inside her. But now Jessie was worried, because the soap was trying to betray her. Calling attention to the blood on her hands.
The adults had all started to worry about Uncle Marty, too. Some policemen wanted to speak to him, but nobody had been able to find him. It looked as if he’d gone on holiday, but he hadn’t told anyone. Jessie learned a lot from being almost invisible to them. Looks were being exchanged between her parents while she was there, now, and it made her feel uncomfortable. Then they started to look at her like her brother, Mikey, looked at his bugs. If they had a microscope big enough, would they angle it to burn her with the sun? Maybe if they knew what she’d done…
Jessie knew he’d be back for her; he was the only one she could trust. He loved her, she knew he did. He wouldn’t leave her here with these people who didn’t understand her. She just had to wait, and hope the soap turned white again. Then things would get back to normal, her parents would stop looking at her funny, and Uncle Marty would come back.
Of course, being only twelve, she hadn’t thought much about disposal. When Daddy went in the freezer and came out with the plastic box she had secreted behind the frozen chips, she knew she was done for. Its grisly contents made her mother scream. Then everyone looked at Jessie, and she realised that her mommy wasn’t the only one who was screaming.
Jessie could hear herself, but she couldn’t stop. The pain, once let out, wouldn’t go back into its box.
Rather like the unborn foetus wouldn’t go back into its makeshift coffin, now.