Hey guys, the final chapter at last! Sorry it's taken so long, I've been a mixture of busy (with exams) & lazy (thanks to exams). Hope you'll review, n thanks sooo much to those who have pressed on with this story. Love you all XOXO Missineichen
Buffay's Suicide
Phoebe tossed and turned in her sleep as a familiarly suffocating scent drifted into her room and into her dreams. She was there again, trapped in the blazing furnace of her bedroom, with the choking black smoke searing her eyes and throat; and the blinding heat of the flames at her heels. From within the darkness, two cold clammy little hands gripped her on each shoulder, shaking her vigorously. "Pheebs, wake up, wake up!" she heard her sister scream. Sitting bolt upright on her foldout mattress, she stood shakily to her feet, stumbling through the stifling heat, towards the window. Taking a lamp to the window, it shattered to pieces, and both girls, in pigtails and nightgowns crawled out of the bedroom and onto the roof of their dilapitated shack. As Phoebe scooted across the roof, her dress snagged on the pointed glass of the broken window, her foot slipped on the sleek dawn dew of the roof, and she came tumbling down the roof, hurtling head first towards the ground.
Crashing into the hard unforgiving earth, Phoebe's body jolted suddenly, and her eyes flew open in shock. Gasping for air, she glanced around wildly, noting gratefully that she was in fact in her beautiful new family suburban home, not the burnt-to-a-crisp mouldy shack of her formative years. Oh thank god, it was just a nightmare. She glanced at a sleeping Ursula in the bed beside her. Crinkling her nose, she coughed at the unpleasant odd smell filtering into her room. What on earth was that? The odor took her very quickly back to that night her house burnt down. Disturbed, she crept downstairs, following the charcoal stench into the kitchen.
"Dad?! Dad? Mom?! Mom!" she called out through the thick of the gloom.
Her stepfather, well he was nowhere to be seen, having skipped town long before dawn. The stench of burning charcoal made Phoebe gag; but the sight, oh lordy, the sight was infinitely worse. Upon the ceramic tiled floor lay her mother on her hands and knees, her head hidden within the depths of the kitchen oven. Her mother was white as a sheet, and it didn't take a medical examination for Phoebe to recognise instantly, her mother was dead. In her right hand was a neatly folded note.
"Fuck, is that a suicide note?" Phoebe choked to herself. Backing away from the corpse who was no longer her mother, Phoebe turned slowly on her heels and bolted like a terrified deer. She hightailed out of the kitchen, out of the living room, out of the house, out of the garden, out of the street, out of her childhood, out of her innocence; running, running, running as fast as her lithe legs could carry her.
She ran so fast, and so far, and all without so much as a goodbye to her sister. And when Ursula eventually woke to the sounds of police sirens, and screaming neighbours, Ursula would bestow upon Phoebe the gift of freedom; simply because she loved her sister more than she'd ever care admit. For when asked by social workers, "Are you the only Minor living in this house?", she would answer "Yes." And with that single act of kindness, ladies and gentlemen, Street Phoebe was born.
48 hours ago
With both eyes on the oven, Lily scribbled her good byes, all upon a scrappy torn out page of an old notebook, with the scritch scratch markings of a blue ballpoint pen. It was an unceremonious way for a mother to bid farewell to her children.
My Dearest Ursula and Phoebe,
I am sure you will both be extremely angry at me for ending my life, but please know that I had my reasons for doing so. I am responsible for your biological father's death, for I did not help him when he was in need, choosing instead, to leave him to his own devices. As I'm sure you know, your father was a man very near and dear to my heart.
Try as I might, I have been unable to forgive myself, nor have I been able to live with my guilt. I hope that in time, you will find it in your hearts to forgive me, although I know full well I am not worthy of your forgiveness. I know that committing suicide is selfish, weak and cowardly; and I am deeply sorry that I have failed to be the mother you deserve.
Please know that although I am no longer physically with you, I will always be with you in spirit, and reside eternally in your hearts. Always stick together, for you are two parts of a single whole. You shared a womb, you are of the same flesh and blood. Stay resilient, always be true to yourself, don't be afraid to follow your dreams, hurt nobody and let nobody hurt you.
Most importantly of all, always remember that I love you both. I love you with every fiber of my soul. I always have, and I always will. So long as you remember that, I am certain you will always be okay.
Love,
Mom
As Lily signed off with the final word she would ever say to her girls… the single word "mom", the realisation hit her. Mom. To these girls, she was mom. The second the twins came into her life, her own desires, even her own lacklustre for life relocated to second place in the scheme of things. She saw their faces swim into focus before her. Two innocent girls on the confusing cusp of adolescence, both to grow up without their mother, no that could not be.
And worse still? To be raised by the stepfather who had killed their dad? What kind of sick twisted horrifically awful mother would allow that to happen? How would she ever bear to stand before God on her Judgment Day and explain not only her suicide, but also the predicament she had left her daughters in? Could she, Lily Buffay, stand upon the clouds watching Nigel Baker raise her children?
She turned her mind to Phoebe, to whom she had made the biggest promise of her life. Pheebs, I promise to be there for them forever. Phoebe. Her best friend, who'd gifted her the biggest gift anyone can ever bestow upon another person. She had given Lily, literally, her first-borns. No, Lily could not betray that. What a weak and disgusting thing to do, she simply could not.
Lily glanced down at the blue scrawl of her handwriting, and felt instantly nauseated. How dare she entertain such a horrendous idea? The notion of leaving her precious innocent little daughters alone in the world, what was she thinking? Shoving the suicide note into the pocket, her eyes darted up to the dusty mahogany clock upon the mantelpiece.
4:50 am. Sweat beaded her forehead. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She had but 10 minutes to act, for soon the alarm would sound, rousing her family (two beloved daughters and one murderous bedfellow) from a night's slumber. Lily stood up abruptly, swiping the tears from her eyes, the snot from her nose.
"Pull yourself together, pull yourself together for fucks sakes!" she muttered desperately under her breath.
Lily had decided once and for all, that she and her daughters would continue living with the man who had murdered the father of her children, over her dead body. And so, Lily sprang into action. Hopping onto the internet, she bought three one-way tickets to Bedford, Massachusetts where her estranged half-brother lived. Perhaps he would house the three of them till Lily got back on her feet. Fingers crossed, here's to hoping.
Clearing her internet history, and pocketing the e-tickets, she hurried upstairs, taking a deep shuddering breath, as she tiptoed into the master bedroom where her murderous bedfellow lay deep in slumber. With shaky hands, she pulled the quilt covers back, and forced herself to climb into bed and lie side by side with the enemy.
Staring at the alarm clock by her bed, she cursed the arrival of the weekend. Yes, Saturday was here, which meant she'd have to spend a whole 12 hours with Nigel and the girls, pretending that nothing was the matter. The come nightfall, she would wake the girls at midnight, and they would steal away together. Right now, at dawn, it was too late for an escape for now.
Lily bit her lips as she jumped out of her skin at the sound of the morning alarm. Her blood curdled and ran cold at the syrupy murmurs of her psychotic husband. "Good morning sweetheart." Her blood curdled further at the touch of his fingers tips, lips, and the bristles of his moustache against her bare neck. Just as she thought he might open his mouth and sink his Judas teeth into her throat, he merely murmured, "I'll whip us up something real nice for breakfast."
He'd seen her, all day long, tip toeing around him, watching him from the corner of her eyes, like he'd very soon pounce on her like a predator. She stiffened at his touch, her eyes widened into terrified saucers at the sound of his voice. His wife was, for all intents and purposes, not being herself; and Nigel knew… In his heart he knew… she knew. And so he observed her movements, scrutinised them closely; and he saw it (after some furtive snooping). The packed duffle bag hidden at the back of the closet with three one-way tickets interstate, and more curiously, a hastily scribbled suicide note.
"Oh God, she knows…" he whispered.
He shook his head sadly. He hadn't wanted it to come to this. Never in a million years. It was just supposed to be one man. The one man who had ruined his grandson's life. And so, as Lily lay in bed, eyes closed, ramrod straight, pretending to sleep as she waited for the perfect moment to take her girls and hightail out of the Baker residence, Nigel descended upon her, pillow in hand. He held it firmly over Lily's face, and she reached out to him, flailing her arms, kicking her legs, digging her fingernails into Nigel's flesh.
Four minutes up, and her limbs dropped like dead weights, and just like that, Lily was gone. And for what it's worth, because the heavens have eyes, Lily had kept her promise to her daughters after all.
FIN.