Hanging Time

79

Milicia’s voice was soft again, pleading. “You won’t let me near you. You won’t let me love you.” She talked through the wooden bars, her voice trembling with emotion. “Why?”

Camille pressed her hands over her ears. The pounding in her head felt like Niagara Falls. She was rigid all over. Her body told her why.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Milicia asked sadly.

“Don’t talk to me,” Camille cried. “Don’t—”

“Well, I have to, stupid. It’s all your fault.”

“No!” Camille pushed the old voices away, the old feelings: first so exciting. So much fun. What a secret!

Let’s make a tent with the sheets and hide. Come on, Cammy. Don’t you want to be healthy and feel good? Yes, it does make you feel good. Only big people do this. Only smart people … Mommy doesn’t like you. She wants you little and stupid. It’s good, too, isn’t it? Means I love you.

Camille inched backward until her spine touched the wall. Her hands brushed at the skirt covering her stomach, trying to wipe away the memory of Milicia’s hair hanging over her bare belly so many times, tickling her until she squealed with helpless laughter. For a while so safe and exciting. Milicia being so nice when she wasn’t mean.

Then not so nice when she thought of more things that gave Cammy a strange, unsettled feeling. Scary feeling. And more scary as Milicia took her secret place from her little by little, turning it into a torture chamber. It was Milicia who created a panic button right in the center of Camille’s body, trying different things on it until Camille’s secret place was Milicia’s to invade any way she wanted. Cammy couldn’t make it different.

Milicia, it’s your turn for a health lesson.

Nobody gives me health lessons. I’m already healthy. You’re the one who needs it. If you didn’t need it, you wouldn’t ask me, would you? Beg me, Cammy. Beg me now.

Camille’s head pounded. She tried to stop the voices in the tent, on the bathroom floor. In the back of the car under the blanket. But they rushed back at her. All of them crowding together in Bouck’s hallway, where the frothing soapy water was now tinged pink with his blood.

“My head hurts,” Camille whimpered.

“I can make it stop hurting,” Milicia whispered through the bars. “You want to go upstairs. I know something new.”

If you don’t stop bugging me, Cammy, you’ll never feel good again. Is that what you want?

“No.”

You can’t have it this way forever. This is the baby way. You won’t be a woman until you do it the woman way.

“Oh, come on. What are you afraid of?”

“I can’t be touched.”

“That’s silly. I’ll hug you and make you feel better.”

Camille struggled with the words. “The police know, Milicia.”

Milicia looked surprised. A flicker of hope penetrated the cavern of Camille’s terror.

“They know you killed those girls.…”

“You’re crazy. How could I do that?”

“You know how to squeeze.” With enormous effort Camille shaped the words. “Remember?”

“Did you tell the police stories?” Milicia was angry again. Her face through the bars of the stairway was fierce and very cold.

Camille covered her eyes with her hair so she wouldn’t have to see it. “About what?” she whispered through her hair. “About the scarf game or the plastic-bag game?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Milicia said, suddenly aloof and uncaring. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and have a rest. You’ll feel better after a nap. I promise I won’t touch you.”

“What about the dog-leash game?” From behind the hair. “Those girls were killed with the dog leash, weren’t they? That would be right.”

“Shut up, Cammy, you’re annoying me. You know I couldn’t hurt anybody.”

“You hurt me,” Camille said in a baby voice.

“All right, I’m sorry. Is that what you want?” Milicia held out her hands in a gesture of contrition. “I didn’t know I hurt you.”

Stop that complaining. If I said I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you. So take off your underpants, Cammy. Don’t argue, or I’ll never make you feel good again. Stop that. You can’t get away. I have to do this for your health.

Camille closed her eyes behind her hair. Milicia’s hairbrush came from England. It had a handle curved to fit the hand. Narrow then wide then narrow. It was the first thing Milicia thought of to try. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I don’t care if you don’t want to anymore. It’s a medical problem. I have to fix it. Camille had screamed and screamed, but the bathroom door was locked, no one was home, no one cared. Milicia had squeezed her neck to shut her up. I’m the boss of you. I do what I want. Stop that stupid screaming, or next time I’ll make it worse.

“You’re the one who killed those poor girls, Camille. Are you still that mad at me?”

The throbbing intensified. “My head hurts,” Camille whispered.

“I can make it stop hurting.”

“No …”

“Look, I said I’m sorry. Forgive me. I gave you a puppy, didn’t I? Look at the puppies. Look at them, Cammy.”

Camille hid behind her hair. Puppy had run away from her. She wouldn’t look at Puppy anymore.

“Go on. Look at them. They’re so sweet.”

Camille turned her head toward the joyful yaps but would not part her hair to take a look.

“Do you want me to take them away? You don’t have to have them if they bother you, Cammy. I’ll take them away. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. You don’t want to go to prison, do you? We have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Camille made a slight move. Her hair swung from one side to the other. Didn’t want to go to prison.

“Look at that,” Milicia commanded. “See that. Perfectly natural.”

Camille moved out of her hiding place to see what was going on. She parted her hair with one finger and glanced in the direction of the dogs. Just for a second. It was very quiet. Milicia’s dog, very intent and busy, was nudging around Puppy’s stomach. Obligingly, Puppy lifted her leg and stood still while her sister began sniffing and licking at her bottom.

“Time to go upstairs, Camille.”