"Goddamn it," Lori growled, a touch of red anger coloring her cheeks.
She was standing over the trash can, the bag tied off and ready to disposal. When she went to take it out, the can moved and that's when she saw it, a haphazardly balled adult diaper lying on in the gap between it and the wall...the shit splashed, food splattered fucking wall that she was going to have to clean because Lincoln didnt help and all her sisters were sluts who cared more about their pussies than housekeeping...or raising their own children. She spun, went to the sink, and knelt, rummaging around underneath for a new bag. As she did this, she chewed her bottom lip and mentally cussed Lincoln up one side and down the other; he had a bad fucking habit or tossing Loan's diapers at the barrel and missing...then walking away because he didn't give a fuck. None of them did. If it weren't for her, they'd be wallowing in filth by now, wearing burlap sacks for dresses and Kleenex boxes for shoes.
I should fucking leave, she thought for the millionth time that week as she ripped a bag from a roll and got to her feet. Take Loan and go.
The thought of finally, finally being free, stirred her soul and made her feel giddy like she hadn't since she was seventeen and newly in love with her brother.
She could never do it, though, because even though they had all become self-centered assholes, she still loved her siblings. Oh, it was hard sometimes, but when she felt dark hatred bubbling up from the pit of her stomach, she would cast her mind back in time, to a day, an hour, a second long ago when she, her sisters, and her brother loved each other entirely, their hearts, souls, minds, and bodies completely and inextricably entwined. She remembered the first time Lincoln made love to her, the way he looked down into her eyes as he thrusted and claimed her virginity, the way he gasped her name - never had she heard Lori said so beautifully, before or since - the way he trembled against her when his orgasm rocketed from him and filled her womb, making her pregnant with his child. She remembered the first time she went down on Luan; the younger girl was sexually frustrated because she couldn't get herself off no matter what she did. Luckily, her big sis was there to make her cum so hard she cried, then to hold her and stroke her hair. She remembered Luna being so jealous of her and Lincoln that she decided to 'cheat' with each of them, coming to her first then going to Lincoln...little did she know, they both already planned to bring her into their harem.
The love and happiness she felt in that distant, sepia-toned time got her through many soul-crushing days...and kept her awake many nights. Where did it go wrong? What happened? She passed many sleepless hours trying to pinpoint the exact moment it all fell apart, and to this day she hadn't found it. She thought it began the day Lincoln ditched her - six months pregnant, in pain, and depressed because the doctors just gave them the news that Loan was going to be retarded - to go to the park with Lynn. She got so angry that she didn't speak to him for nearly a week; the wounded looks he gave her at dinner and in the hall made her want to speak to him even less. You're hurt? So was I, Linc; you're supposed to be there for me. I'm carrying your baby and you left me to go fuck Lynn on the monkey bars.
It occurred to her then that maybe their arrangement maybe wasn't such a good idea, a supposition that gradually solidified over the coming weeks as her sisters began to fight over Lincoln and each other. Jealousy crept in, and so too did animosity.
Things cooled down when Loan was born; her sisters fell immediately and happily into the role of attentive aunts. Leni got pregnant shortly thereafter, and then things kind of took off like the starship Enterprise going into warp speed. Before long, the house was filled with kids, everyone was stretched thin and short tempered, and certain sisters (coughLunaLuanandLynncough) realized that having kids meant concerts, comedy shows, and football games came second. Oh, they did not like that.
Lori tried to be charitable...they were young and wanted to live their lives, but when you have a baby, it should automatically become the most important thing in your world...hell, it should become your world. She was barely eighteen when Loan was born and she had her own hopes and dreams, but as she cradled her little girl in the hospital, staring down into her big brown eyes, she realized that none of her dreams could compare to this. This was her new dream.
But her bitch sisters? Nope. Right now, even as Lori threw the diaper into the empty bag and tied it off, Lola was off getting fucked by one of her three little boy friends, Luan was doing bad stand-up at an eight-year-old's birthday party, Luna was probably doing heroin with that creep Chunk, and everyone else...well, she didn't know. Lana was in the garage tinkering with the engine block of a 1978 Monte Carlo she bought from the junkyard for a hundred bucks last fall; she'd never fix the goddamn thing, but she went out there to get away from her life - and her responsibilities - the way Lincoln disappeared into his stupid little Ace Savvy fan fiction to get away from his.
Oh, Lisa was dead and Lucy was 'vampire hunting' in Transylvania. Uh-huh, sure, Luce, you going out there has nothing to do with that Alexandru guy you were talking to on Facebook. Fuckng slut. You know, there were times when she hated Lincoln so much it hurt, and there were days she wished he was never born, but one thing she would never do is cheat on him: She vowed herself to him - and only him - when she opened her legs for him and let him cum in he. Maybe that didn't mean shit to her whore sisters, but it did to her.
Sighing in frustration, she took the bag out of the can and carried it and the other out the back door and around the side of the house, her shoes crunching in a patch of snow from last week that hadn't melted yet. She ripped the lid off a metal can, threw the bag in, and replaced the lid with a clang. By the time she got back to the kitchen, she was shivering and her nipples pressed painfully against the inside of her bra. She hugged herself and crisply rubbed her arms.
What should she make for dinner? God, what did they have? Luna was supposed to go grocery shopping the other day but, hey, guess what, she didn't because of course not. She went to the pantry and opened the door. The shelves were nearly bare, and in another day or two, there would be no nearly about it. Pursing her lips, she took out her phone, went to her contacts, and called Luna, her foot tapping impatiently and her nostrils flaring. She swore to God she'd kill this bitch if she didnt go shopping like she was fucking supposed to.
Ring-ring-ring-ring.
Oh, you better answer, Luna.
Ring-ring-ring.
Lori was just about to smash her phone against the floor in rage when there was a click, and Luna came on sounding out of breath. Loud rock music played in the background.
That's the biggest black ass I've ever seen
And I like it, I like it
That's the biggest black ass I've ever seen
And I like it, I like it a lot
"Hello?"
Lori took a deep, shivery breath. "Luna," she said tightly, "we are almost out of food. Are you going to go shopping or do I have to beg money off Lincoln and do that too?"
The only reply by a series of meaty slaps.
Hot rage swept through Lori like a prairie fire. "Get off the dick, you fucking slut, and go to the store, we need groceries."
Tense silence. "Fuck you, Lori," Luna panted "I'm s-sick you t-thinking…" her words turned into a series of groans as she came.
Lori held the phone away and glared at it. She was shaking and hot all over. When she spoke, her words were low and dripping with menace. "You better come through the front door with groceries or so help me God I'll beat your head in." She hit END and shoved the phone into her pocket. I should leave...take Loan and go...I should leave...take Loan and go…
At the pantry again, she selected a box of pasta and a jar of sauce. The box of pasta and the jar of sauce: There wasn't enough for everyone, so only the kids would be eating tonight. If she saw one fucking adult take so much as a single -
A sudden, blood-curdling shriek shattered the silence; Lori jumped, and the jar leapt from her hand It exploded against the floor like a bomb, thick red sauce and shards of glass splashing yellowed linoleum. NO!
The scream tapered off...then came again, higher and agonized. Lori didn't hear it, though; she stared dumbly down at the clotted mess, her heart racing and her stomach clutching. That was the only one...the only FUCKING ONE!
With a scream of her own, she reared back her foot and lashed out, kicking globs of sauce and pieces of glass against the wall. She kicked it again, and again, all of the rage she'd locked away over the years threatening to spill out of her. She spun, ripped the toaster from the counter, and flung it against the connecting door to the garage before she even realized what she was doing. It struck with a thump, and a savage sense of satisfaction went through her. She swept the coffeemaker off next; it went over the side and crashed to the ground with a tinkle of breaking glass. She was panting now like an enraged gorilla, her shoulders rising and falling and tears coursing down her cheeks.
She hated this place, she hated these people, she hated not having money and relying on Lincoln and her sisters, she hated being trapped, she hated cooking and cleaning and changing a twenty-one-year-old's diapers, she hated that Lincoln didn't love her anymore and she hated that she didn't love him..
...she hated her life.
Her hand fluttered to her forehead and she started to cry, her tears rushing from her in a bitter torrent. I wish I was dead. I wish I died in childbirth. She wept harder, leaning against the counter for support and folding her hands over her face to block out her miserable shit sack world. Why, God? She asked earnestly. Why me? Why us?
A memory flashed across her mind as if in answer; her on her back with her legs spread, her eleven-year-old brother rutting into her. This is wrong, she thought (in some iteration), but I don't care.
That was why.
She uttered a harsh laugh through her tears. She died that day...she died and went to hell.
The screaming had stopped, and the only sound was her own ragged breathing. She better go see what it was about; she'd tell Lana to go since Lizy was her daughter, but Lana was just another MINO: Mom In Name Only.
Wiping her tears away, Lori went into the living room and crossed to the stairs, her hand falling on the bannister. She started to climb, going slowly to give herself time to cool off lest she yell at Lizy for making her drop the sauce. It was an accident, she didn't mean to, she doesn't deserve aunt Lori being a bitch to her. Save it for the ones who really deserve it.
At the head of the stairs, she turned left and went to Lizy's door, which was closed. "Liz?" she asked with a knock. She turned the handle and went in without being invited (the knock was a warning, not a request for admittance). Lizy sat up in her head, her head bowed and her shoulders shaking with the force of her weeping. Lori's step faltered, and she frowned slightly in concern. "Liz? You okay?"
The little girl made no reply save for a strangled sob.
"Lizy?" Lori started forward, but froze when her niece lifted her head. Her right eye was a jagged, gaping hole ringed by torn flesh. Blood and something else oozed down her cheek, dripping onto the front of her shirt. The something else was white and thick, like snot. When she realized it was the little girl's eye, her stomach turned.
Lizy's teeth brushed her bottom lip and she tried to speak, but whimpered in pain instead.
Lori noticed the knife then, clutched in her hand, the blade slick with red and white.
She screamed almost as loud as Lizy had.
On his lunch break, Lincoln sat in his car and drank one beer after another, finishing four in his allotted thirty minutes. When he got out to go back inside, his steps were heavy and unsure, amd he felt top heavy; one wrong move and he'd toppled over like a tree. He didn't usually drink at work, but he needed as much liquid courage as he could get; today was the day and if he didn't drown himself in funny juice, he'd never be able to go through with it.
Sitting at his desk, he went through the plan again and again, looking for holes he'd missed during past run throughs. His chest was tight, his stomach sick. He chewed a handful of Tums and rubbed his fevered temple.
His sisters, Lori especially, called him selfish. They said he only cared about getting his dick wet and whatever else, but that wasn't true. Hell, if it was would he be sitting her planning what he was planning? He was thinking of Lacy here, and their baby, not himself. In fact, he was shooting himself in the foot; Lacy was going to hate his guts for the rest of her life after today. You think he wanted that? No, he didn't, and if he was really the self-centered bastard his sisters made him out to be, he wouldn't do it.
The afternoon marched inexorably on, the minutes ticking by too quickly, each passing second pushing him closer to five...when he would shut down his computer, get into his car, and drive home, closer to the moment he...
He shut that thought down. No use dwelling on it.
At three, he grabbed a can of beer from his lunch box, went into the bathroom, and drank it while sitting in the farthest stall. He was almost done when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Anxiety rippled through his chest; every text was a complaint or an argument. None of them ever texted him to say have a good day or hey, how about we order pizza? It was always something negative, and he dreaded hearing his ringtone.
Sighing, he finished his beer, left the stall, and threw the empty into the can by the door. He'd check it later; he had so much shit on his shoulders already, he didn't need Lori harping on him because he dribbled piss on the rim or left crumbs on the counter.
Back at his desk, he tossed another handful of Tums into his mouth and navigated through the system, the harsh glow of the screen stinging his bleary eyes and giving him a headache. He needed to find a certain file, but -
His phone buzzed again.
He threw his head back and groaned. Why couldn't these bitches leave him alone? You know what? Fuck them. He didn't want to hear it. He pulled his phone out, put it on silent, and then returned it and went back to work, his eyes darting to the clock in the bottom right corner: 4:45. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen short minutes.
God, he wasn't ready for this.
He'd stop by the liquor store on the way home, he decided; the beer wasn't cutting it, he needed something stronger.
Selfish. Ha. He didn't see Lynn doing anything but bellyaching. Oh, you got our daughter pregnant boo-hoo-hoo. None of them ever did anything. Fucking bitches. If he was really selfish, he'd go home, get Lacy, and go. They could go to California, or Florida, or Mexico, hell, anywhere away from that dysfunctional house on Franklin. They could have their baby, it could be retarded, physically deformed, and miserable, but his, Lincoln's, life would be better so who cares, right? This is if he was selfish, after all, and selfish people don't give a fuck about others.
When he looked at the clock next, it was 5:01, and his stomach dropped.
It was time to go home.
He exited out of what he was working on (he didn't know if he saved, and he really didn't care), shut down his terminal, and pushed himself up from his chair. In the car, he started the engine, backed out, and pulled into the street behind a white police car with gold trim. If he was selfish, he'd commit suicide by cop and leave those fuckers to deal with their shit lives by themselves, but he wasn't. He fucking wasn't, no matter how many defective kids he shot into his sisters or his daughters, no matter how many times he spent his last ten bucks on beer rather than groceries, no matter anything...he stayed, he put up with shit from eight bitches, and he dealt with everything from retardation to schizophrenia. Selfish? Uh-huh. Sure.
Three blocks from home, he pulled into the parking lot of a shopping center anchored by a Meijer. He parked in a slot facing the street, got out, and went into Larry's Wines and Spirits. A Middle Eastern man stood behind the counter and blabbed into his phone in his native tongue. Probably plotting to blow something up.
In the back, Lincoln paused before a massive bank of shelves and scanned the bottles, his hands going to his hips. What did he want?
To die.
That's what.
Sighing, he grabbed a bottle of Canadian Mist at random and took it to the register, where Muhammad rang him up. Back in the car, Lincoln twisted the cap off with trembling fingers and took a long, deep pull, the whiskey burning his throat and detonating like a bomb in his stomach. He grimaced and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He started to put the cap back on, but took another drink instead, then jammed the bottle between his legs. He started the engine, backed up, and started for home - ha, if home it could be called. He turned on the radio to drown out the dark thoughts swirling in his head..
By the time he pulled into the driveway, the alcohol was beginning to work its magic; the edges of his mind were dull and fuzzy and warm wool filled his chest. He tipped the bottle back and took one final pull.
His phone buzzed.
Goddamn it, he thought and hung his head. No rest for the wicked. He chuckled sardonically, reached into his pocket, and pulled his phone out. It wasn't until he looked at the screen that he realized how drunk he was; his head swayed back and forth and he could barely make out the words.
Lana: Lizy put her eye out. We're at the hospital.
Lincoln's brow furrowed. What?
Lana: Where are you? She's asking for you.
Put her eye out? He tried to compute and make sense of that, but he couldn't.
Lana: Fine, fuck you, bitch.
Whatever. He didn't have time for this shit. Lizy should have been more careful. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and got out; he nearly fell, but caught himself on the door. He went up the way, his steps wavering. Inside, Lupa and Liena were sitting on the couch watching TV. Lupa glanced up at him, and a dark shadow of hatred crossed her face. "Lizy's at the hospital. She -"
"I don't care," Lincoln slurred and pulled the door closed behind him. He ignored her ugly sneer and went into the kitchen. Lori was nowhere to be found. He started for the basement door, and something crunched underfoot. He looked down. Pasta sauce smattered with bits of broken glass was smeared across the floor. Nice. Skuzzy fucking people.
Shaking his head, he went into the basement, descended the stairs, and went to the shelf full of LIsa's chemicals. He found the jar of chloroform and picked it up, holding it close to his face and reading the label three times to make certain that he had the right one. He went back upstairs, grabbed a dish towel from the drawer next to the sink, and then passed through the living room. Lemy was on the couch now, flicking a lighter and grinning stupidly. REALLY? Lincoln's face contorted in rage. His hand shot out and he snatched a handful of the boy's hair, yanking as hard as he could. Lemy cried out and the lighter fell from his hand.
"NO FUCKING LIGHTERS!" he shouted into the boy's frightened face. He shoved him aside, reached over the back, and picked up the lighter. He stalked over to the patch of hardwood at the bottom of the stairs and smashed the damn thing against it as hard as it could: It exploded like a gunshot; vicious satisfaction flowed through him. He turned to the couch; Liena and Lemy both stared at him, Lemy with tears in his eyes and Liena with white faced fear. Lupa stared fixedly at the TV.
"No lighters," Lincoln repeated, then went up the steps. In his room, he sat the jar on the nightstand, went to the closet, and drew back the accordian door.
He instantly saw what he was looking for, and even in the haze of his drunkenness, his stomach clinched.
Could he really do this?
No. He couldn't...but he would.
He hardened his heart, grabbed the metal coat hanger, and sat on the foot of the bed. His hands shook as he bent it the way he'd read to. He held it in his hands for a long time, staring at it and wishing his own mother had done this to him. She didn't, though, she brought him into this sad, miserable fucking life. It was her fault, really. He hoped she had another stroke...and died this time.
Sighing, he got up, grabbed the jar, and went out into the hall, which stood empty and eerily silent. He crossed to Lacy's door, shoved the coat hanger into the back over his pants, and covered it with the tail of his shirt. He unscrewed the lid, splashed some of the chloroform onto the rag, and then returned the cap. He opened the door and peeked his head in. Lacy was lying flat on her back and snoring gently. The hem of her jersey had ridden up to reveal haf of her distended stomach. Before turning in for her afternoon nap - a habit she'd developed over the past month - she took her shorts off; from the waist down, she wore only her panties and a pair of white socks.
Lincoln swallowed hard and closed the door behind him, turning the lock with his thumb. He shuffled over to the bed, sat the jar on the floor, and sat heavily on the edge. Lacy stirred and muttered. Lincoln looked at her face and his heart ached. She was so beautiful...and he loved her. After this, though, he would lose her forever.
Her eyes fluttered open, muddled with sleep, and she turned her head. She saw him, and her face lit up. "Hi," she mumbled tiredly.
Lincoln tried to force a smile but couldn't. "Hi."
"What time is it?" she asked.
Time to do this.
He moved quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid; he twisted, clamped the rag over her mouth and nose, and shoved her head back into the pillow. She cried out and started to thrash. Lincoln turned, planted one knee into the bed, and pushed harder. She kicked and clawed at the back of his hand, her nails tearing his flesh. Slowly, the fight drained out of her, and her limbs fell still. He pulled the rag away; her eyelids were closed and fluttering, her lips slightly parted. Her chest expanded and contracted almost imperceptibly.
Moving mechanically, Lincoln scooted down, hooked his fingers into her panties, and yanked them off, pulling them over her ankles and tossing them away. Next, he spread her legs and positioned himself between them. He swayed and nearly fell over, but saved himself. He reached behind, curled his fingers around the coathanger, and drew it like a sword. It shook in his hand.
"Daddy?"
Lincoln's head whipped up. Lacy's eyes were half-lidded and filled with confusion, and her voice was thick, slurring. Damn it, he didn't use enough.
Screw it, he wanted this over ask quickly as possible.
He held the coathanger up, and when Lacy saw it, the fog in her eyes cleared. "W-What are you doing?"
"It's for your own good," he said and pushed her legs even farther apart.
"What are you doing?" Terror filled her voice.
"I'm taking the baby out," he said.
"NO!"
Lincoln hardened his heart even more against the plaintive note in his daughter's voice. He drew back a little and brought the hanger to her opening. She tried to close her legs, but the chloroform had made her limbs heavy if nothing else.
"Please, Daddy, stop, please stop!" She sobbed. Lincoln ignored her, pulled back his arm, and thrust the hook deep into her womb. She wailed and jerked. "Stop, please, Daddy, please, I wanna have my baby! Stop!"
Lincoln twisted his wrist, the point shredding the embryonic sack; clear liquid tinged with blood gushed out around the hanger. Lacy threw back her head and issued a wordless wail of misery. He felt the edge sink into something, and like an angler bringing in a prize trout, he yanked, bringing forth a tiny arm, it's fingers clutching and unclutching spasmodically. The prong of the hanger was hooked into its soft, bloody flesh. Lincoln ripped it out, sat it aside, and grabbed the hand, wrenching with gritted teeth; bones snapped as he dragged his child from his daughter's womb. Lacy howled and tossed her head back and forth. He could make out the word my baby and our baby but that was it.
The fetus lay on the mattress in a pool of blood and fluid, its body curled and quivering, its thumb in its mouth as it sought comfort in its time of dying. Lincoln rolled it onto its back.
It was a boy.
Lincoln met its eyes which were open and filled with pain. Why? It seemed to ask, and hot shame filled him. Bearing down on his teeth, he wrapped his hand around its tiny neck and squeezed, bones snapping under his fingers. The baby's eyes widened slightly. Lacy wept lowly.
When the baby's eyes glazed with death, he let go, and its head detached from its body; it rolled off of the bed and landed on the floor with a dull thud.
There.
It was over.
Lincoln rudely shoved his daughter's legs out of the way and sat back against the wall. His face was white and his eyes were red, his hands covered in blood and filth. His heart was stil, though, and his mind was clear.
He aborted his child...his grandchild...and himself.
Lincoln Loud was dead.
The thing sitting on his daughter's bed was something else...a shell...a husk…
It was a long time before he got up, wrapped the baby in one of Lacy's shirts, and went out into the hall. She wept bitterly when he left her, moaning my baby, my baby over an over again. In the hall, he started for the stairs, but a voice stopped him. "Daddy!"
He turned and Leia bounced up to him wearing a smile. "Hi, Daddy. Why are you covered in blood?"
Something about the way she asked him, casually and without a trace of concern, as though someone being drenched in blood was the most normal thing in the world, disturbed him.
Instead of replying, he shoved the bundle into her arms. "Here, throw this in the trash...where it belongs." Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and went down the stairs, not caring about ichor on his hands and clothes.
Alone in the hall, Leia arched her brow. Ooookay. She pulled the shirt open...and her jaw dropped: A tiny severed head stared back at her, its eyes closed and its lips pressed together.
Then she grinned evilly,
Humming a happy tune, she skipped down the stairs, through the living room and kitchen, then out the back door. She pulled the lid off the trash can, laid the baby on top of a trash bag, and sat the lid back down. An idea struck her. She removed the lid once more, opened the shirt to reveal the itty bitty head...and spat in its face.
I hope it hurt, she thought as she went back inside.