This is the last chapter before bad things really start to happen, so enjoy the calm while you can.
Lynn Loud sat in the big armchair facing the TV, her knees drawn to her chest. She felt very small and fragile, a condition that was alien to her. The rest of her siblings sat on the couch or on the floor in front of it. Their faces were wan, shell-shocked. Luan's eyes were red and Luna's arms were crossed over her chest as though she were cold. Lola and Lana clutched each other.
The only sibling not present was Lincoln; he was still in his room and refused to come down. Lynn couldn't say she blamed him...not after what happened with their mother.
Over the years, when their mother...went crazy or what the hell ever it was...Lynn envied Lincoln, because Mom always treated him so well while she treated the rest of them not-so-well. In fact...sometimes she was really jealous. But now she realized something: Mom's moods affected him just as much, but in a different way. She sat on the stairs for a good twenty minutes, she saw Lincoln tell her that she was making him uncomfortable (she was making Lynn uncomfortable too), saw the way she acted about it, saw her touching and kissing him the way a girlfriend would touch and kiss her boyfriend. Remembering it now, she shuddered. Poor Lincoln! Jesus, how long had she been doing this to him? What was she doing to him?
Lynn's stomach turned as it occurred to her that what she saw might be only the tip of the iceberg.
She had to say something.
But not now. Dad was in the hospital, everyone was upset...it just wasn't the time. She thought of her father, presently in surgery, and she felt like crying, but she couldn't, because she had to be strong. Her sisters needed her.
Lincoln needed her.
Right now, he needed her more than anyone.
She slipped out of the chair and stood on shaky legs. Upstairs, she knocked on Lincoln's door and pressed her ear against it. "Linc?" she asked.
For a moment he didn't reply. She lifted her had to knock again, but he called out, "Yeah?"
"Hey," she said, "can I come in?"
There was a long, pregnant pause. Lincoln knew she saw what their mother did to him, and Lynn suspected that he was ashamed. "Please, Linc?"
"Okay," he said with a sigh, and Lynn opened the door. He was sitting up and leaning against the headboard, his legs splayed out in front of him. Bun-Bun, his stuffed rabbit, was close at hand, as if he had been cuddling it for comfort. That image gutted Lynn.
"Hey," she said, and sank onto the edge of the bed. He drew his legs up to his chest, assuming much the same posture as her when she was in the living room. "How-How're you doing?"
He shrugged one shoulder. He didn't meet her eye as he said, "Worried. About Dad."
"Me too. He's going to be okay, though."
"How do you know?"
"I just do."
The truth was, she didn't. She didn't know if he was going to be okay or if he was going to die. It could be either...or it could be a horrible third option: Dad in a wheelchair, Dad a quadriplegic, dead from the neck down and trapped forever in bed, Dad braindead and drooling down his chin. Her stomach twisted at each possibility. Lincoln didn't need to think of any of that stuff though.
He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared straight ahead. "I wish I was as sure as you are."
"Hey," she said, smiling weakly and reaching out to rest her hand on his. He went rigid and pulled away. Lynn took her hand back and sat it in her lap. "He's going to be fine. He's Dad."
Lincoln shrugged one shoulder. "I guess," he muttered.
Lynn turned away and looked down at her hands. They were twisting nervously. Her throat was suddenly dry and her stomach hurt. She told herself not to bring it up, to wait, but she was afraid to, because if she did, she might find a way to rationalize what she saw. Give it a couple hours, and she might convince herself it wasn't as bad as she remembered it. "What, uh...what happened in the living room? With Mom?"
She was looking directly at him, and saw the way he tensed. "Nothing," he said quickly.
"It didn't look like nothing, Lincoln. It looked..."
"It was nothing," he said with more force. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Linc..."
"I don't want to talk about it!"
Lynn recoiled. "Alright, alright, sorry," she said. She got up and went to the door, but stopped and looked over her shoulder. He was rocking back and forth, and her heart broke. "If you do...come to me, okay?"
She turned and left, feeling like a little girl lost in the dark.
Rita Loud sat in a chair in the waiting room, a six month old copy of People open on her lap and her phone in her hands. She had been here two short hours, and Lori, Luna, and Luan were blowing up her phone asking about their father. Oh, how's daddy? How's precious daddy? He's the next best thing to Lincoln...we let him molest us every night...skanks. She ignored them at first, but after Lori's fourth text, she snapped and said, It's not looking good...thirty percent chance he'll survive. She smiled as she hit the SEND button. It was a lie, of course, she didn't know how Lynn was. She regretted only that she wasn't there to see the look on Lori's face; hopefully she told the rest and they all cried.
Except for Lincoln.
She didn't want him to cry.
But if he did, oh well. She would make it up to him. She would start by stripping him and taking him in her mouth, stroking his throbbing penis with her lips and running the tip of her tongue up the underside. Then she would mount him and rock her hips until he shot his hot, sticky load deep into her, her muscles contracting around him to squeeze out every...last...drop. A pleasurable shiver went through her. She was starting to get wet again. Hurry up and die, Lynn, so I can go home.
It was a shame she had to sacrifice the van, not that she particularly cared for it. She needed to do it in a way that someone else could take the blame if need be...someone who liked sucking her little brother off under the back porch...she was awfully upset that her mother took her off her sports teams...upset enough to kill.
What was the cheapest funeral home in Royal Woods? There were three that she knew of; she didn't know which was the least expensive. She would have to look into that. She didn't want to spend too much of the life insurance policy. She would be a single mother with eleven children, after all. Ten if Lynn went to jail. Rita giggled at the thought of her daughter spending the rest of her life behind bars. Where's your precious sports now, you little bitch? Should have stayed away from Lincoln.
She wondered if Lynn was with him now. Was she really that stupid? Or was she just that defiant? Look at me, Mom, Lincoln's dick is inside of me! What would she come home to? Her son naked and surrounded by his leering whore sisters? Oooooh, she would kill them all...take a knife from the kitchen and carve them up, starting with their tiny breasts and then moving down to the disgusting things between their legs. She'd never gutted a person before. Could you stab them in the chest then yank the knife down through their stomach, leaving a gaping slash for their guts to spill from? She didn't see why not. Isn't that what Jack the Ripper did? She imagined it would take a lot of strength to do; even if she managed to pull it off, it would still be a hack job. Then again, that was okay, because it would probably hurt more that way.
And she wanted it to hurt. She had to send a clear message to those little sluts: Lincoln is mine. You can fuck each other and your father and whoever else you want, but if you touch Lincoln, you'll be sorry.
She was awakened from her thoughts when the big double doors just past the waiting room opened and a man in blood-stained green scrubs came out. He was wearing a cap, eyeglasses, and a white mask, which he now removed. He was about sixty with dark, leathery skin and flat ape-like lips. He saw her and came over. "Mrs. Loud?"
"Yes, that's me," she replied, standing. She hoped she didn't sound as excited as she felt. Is he dead? Did he bleed out on the operating table? Did his heart stop and did he pass away, doc? Tell me he's gone.
"I'm Doctor Blake," he said, and took her proffered hand, giving it one quick pump and then releasing it.
"How is he?" Rita asked, mustering a few tears, "how's my husband?"
Dr. Blake sighed. "He made it through the operation. He's in the ICU right now. He suffered extensive trauma to the head and face. There was swelling of the brain and bleeding. We stopped the bleeding but the swelling is still present...to a lesser degree. At this point, we just don't know."
Rita listened absently as Dr. Blake explained Lynn's complications and prognosis. The chances of him coming out of this "without significant brain damage" were small. At the very least he would be retarded.
That made Rita furious. She didn't want him retarded, she wanted him dead. He would be out of the way and she could have Lincoln, but he would still be a burden...a useless eater...a drain. The Nazis used to kill people like that and they were right to do it, because how worthless is a braindead 'tard? Pretty goddamn worthless. Would the life insurance policy even pay out if he was still alive? Probably not.
Nice going, Lynn. Way to screw your family. He was probably hanging on, too, thinking somewhere in that scrambled brain of his that it was the right thing; little did he know the best thing he could do for them was let go and fucking die.
As soon as it was appropriate, Rita pulled herself away. Blah-blah-blah I have to get home to my children blah-blah-blah.
"Of course," Dr. Blake nodded.
"Please...if there's any development...call me," Rita said.
"We will."
Outside, Rita waited for the taxi, her arms crossed against the biting December cold: Dusk was drawing on, and the sky was a frigid shade of red tinged with purple. She wondered if she could return Lynn's Christmas presents: He wouldn't be needing them.
That thought sent her off on a laughing fit. People passing by looked at her strangely, but she didn't care. Merry Christmas, Lynn, you rotten bastard.