Page 43 of Body Tox

“I am glad that woman is gone,” the guard said to his colleague.

The other forced a laugh and spoke after a minute’s hesitation.

“I guess. I mean, she kind of scared me—everyone she was assigned to disappeared. I still don’t know where Freddy is. He hasn’t answered any of my calls since September.”

I smiled at the fond memory of good ole Freddy. He made a beautiful addition to my mask.

“I honestly think she deserved worse than that old antique castle can do to her.”

Antique castle? Did he mean the church?

“Yeah, man, but her father fucking sold her soul to the devil. You know what they do there, right?”

Sold my soul to the devil…

“I don’t know Greg. Good fucking riddance to that hot psycho, is all I am saying. I’m glad she’s taken care of. Let’s get a snack while the old fuck sleeps. I can’t hear myself think with that sleep apnea machine. Melanie is gonna kick my ass if I keep falling asleep after these all-nighters…”

I ignored the rest of the chatter and followed the trail of the men, watching them walk down the stairs and out of earshot.

Trying to ignore the conversation or what the fuck it even meant, I snuck farther down the hallway. A security guard was snoring in a chair by my father’s door, and I snorted, saluting the dumb fuck on my way inside the room.

The snores and noise from the fan on the machine filled the room. My father was asleep in his big ass bed, not a worry in the world now that his incorrigible daughter was ‘taken care of.’

I jumped onto the bed, the jolting motion making him snort and readjust his position. Standing over the man who pretended to raise me all those years, I leaned down and smacked him square across the face. He jolted upright, coming face to face with me.

“Morning, Daddy.”

His eyes grew wide, adjusting to the darkness.

“E-Ech—” I slapped my hand over his blubbering mouth.

“Look, save the apology speech. I don’t care. I only want my fucking jewelry box.”

He composed his features and cleared his throat.

“Th-that was my wife’s.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

He was never a husband to her. My mother and I were left alone while he controlled his robots and built the firm of drones he had today. There weren’t birthday parties or love notes left. The only time I saw my father was when he was walking out the door.

“Your wife? The one that was brutally raped and murdered under your nose?”

He looked like I slapped him again, and it felt good to see him hurt.

“Myjewelry box.” I continued. “Where is it?”

His eyes darted to the corner of the room, and I smiled, patting him on the cheek and hopping off the bed. Sure enough, my mother’s beautiful jewelry box was shoved in the back corner with a cloth draped over it.

“For the record,” I said softly, picking up the one thing in this world I cared about, opening the wood and hearing the ballerina sing her song and dance to the familiar tune.

“I am sorry I couldn’t be her.”

The man on the bed sat in silence, his apnea machine making the hiss sound every second or so.

“No one can be Arabella. She is unattainable.” he said, his anger audible in his voice.

He blamed me for her death.

“No,” I said. “I don’t mean my mother.”

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