A Peaceful Way to Die

"I think I'd want to drown," Janice said to the group of anticipating teenage girls. Her friends all stared back at her before erupting in laughter, gleeful looks of disbelief cemented on their faces. Latricee's eye's widened "why?" she asked, meeting Janice's eyes from across the circle.

Janice shrugged, "I've always heard it's a really peaceful way to die."

. . .

Her lungs commanded oxygen, causing her body to lurch forward as she suppressed its attempts to breathe. Her chest was on fire, her ears rang, and her mind was screaming. She was shocked by how much she wanted to inhale the water. Her mind was flooded with every survival tip she'd ever heard, and nothing seemed useful. She had no way of knowing how far she'd sunk or if it was too late. Janice wondered if her eyes reflected reality. It was possible the darkness meant she was already dead.

. . .

The newspaper thudding against her coffee-colored desk brought Janice back to the present. "Janice...Janice...Janice!!" She looked up. Her boss was standing above her, waving his palm back and forth in front of her eyes.

William Berry was the chief editor for the Washington Tribune; he was short for a man and therefore constantly irritated. William went by Billy. He was from Oklahoma and lived his life in the peculiar casual way southerners do. "It's getting harder to get your attention," Billy said as he pulled a chair forward and sat, his stomach spilling over her pile of mail.

"I'm sorry, I haven't been sleeping, Billy," Janice said. He had a few droplets of sweat clinging to his lip that caught her eye. Mr. Berry waved his hand in the air again to dismiss Janice and pointed to an article she had written a few weeks prior in the paper. The story followed a missing young woman, no leads, no suspects or witnesses. Janice had written a dedicated piece to the woman in hopes of catalyzing a breakthrough.

"Remember this one?" Billy said, his tongue darting out to collect the sweat from his lip.

"I do; what about it?"

"They found a body in Timber Falls. The missing woman. Jesus... all that was left were bone fragments" Billy Berry shook his head solemnly before rubbing the back of his neck.

"Think you could follow up? Get in touch with the resident who owns the lake?" He slid a black and white photo across the table for Janice.

In the foreground, there was an older woman seated in a rocking chair on her porch. The woman wasn't smiling, just staring straight ahead. In the background, a lake spread in all directions. It looked as if a black hole were about to swallow her. "I'll see what I can do, Berry." Janice tucked the photo away, took a sticky note, and jotted down the womans' contact info.

. . .

Janice followed the side exit that led to Timber Falls. She and Victoria had arranged to meet on what turned out to be the day that marked the beginning of winter. The first day of bitterly cold winds after being spoiled by the sun. The road was long and narrow, trees sandwiching the driver in. The shade lulled her into an ethereal mood; she felt as if she were watching herself travel along the old service road. The grey sky made the trees look greener.

Her arms started to hurt from veering the wheel from side to side. Traveling along the sharp bends. She could feel the weight of exhaustion pulling down her eyes, so she reached into her purse and pulled out the familiar clear ziplock baggy. The mere sight soothed her anxiety as she gathered a pile of white powder on her pinky and inhaled sharply.

Immediately her eyes opened, the weight on her chest faded away. She took a deep breath of renewed air. She hardly noticed the drainage in the back of her throat. She was floating as she rounded another curve, bringing the lake into view. The water looked matte black, dancing against the moist shore. Janice stared at the water, wondering how the young woman felt as she breathed the ink-like substance.

The thought made her shudder and she closed her eyes for a moment, took another deep breath, and squeezed the steering wheel. When she opened her eyes again, a hand was surging from the surface. It was contorted into a desperate position. Grabbing at something intangible. She gasped and strained her eyes to see closer. Janice's hands followed her eyes and veered the wheel towards the wooden barrier separating her from the water.

She screamed and yanked the wheel in the opposite direction. Her car leaped forward at her direction, causing the back end of the pearl white Cadillac to kick up dirt, its rear end veering from side to side. "fuck, fuck, fuck stop, stop!" Janice pleaded with her car as she spun into the wooden barrier. Her back tires turned on-air as the vehicle started to tip towards the water. She hit the gas, clutching her wheel as straight as she could, and shot back onto the gravel. She could hear the crack and splash of wood falling into the water behind her.

. . .

When she arrived at Victoria Mamet's house, she lingered in her car for a moment, taking slow, shaky, haggard breaths. Between time, she inhaled line after line, only stopping when her mind buzzed with invisibility. Finally, she climbed out of the car and adjusted her pencil skirt, checking her reflection in the dirt-stained mirror. She looked tired. She wasn't the only one who noticed, every time she saw her grandmother these days she'd look at her concerned and say "You look tired honey."

She teetered toward the door, walking wobbly in stilettoes on the gravel driveway. The house was modern and cold. The front composed of only windows and olive green siding. Tiny white flowers lined the entryway, delicate white petals with forest green centers. Janice rapped her knuckles on the steel door; the cold sent pain along the surface of her hand. She knocked again, no answer. The wind chill floating off the lake felt like hundreds of tiny pricks and she was eager to escape it. She looked around to make sure there were no witnesses and jiggled at the door handle.

Surprisingly the steel frame swung open. Revealing a dark hallway leading to what looked like the living room. Janice took a cautious step inside. "Mrs. Mamet?" No answer. Janice walked into the living room and set her purse down on the coffee table. She crept around a collum in the living room and found herself staring into the kitchen. Above head, a bar of fluorescent light flickered. The room seemed dated compared to the rest of the home.

"I'm here for the interview?"

She continued along the circle of rooms until she was again in the living room. Only now, Mrs. Mamet was sitting in a recliner facing her. She was motionless and stoic with visceral green eyes. Janice shuffled, and Victoria's eyes followed her. "Sorry I didn't- did you hear me calling?" Janice stammered.

"You called? Sorry dear, I was finishing my makeup, glad you let yourself in. I can never hear back there." Victoria smiled, but her eyes didn't waver.

Janice gave an awkward nod and took a seat on the couch across from her interviewee. She could already feel the pulses of energy subsiding and the oh-so-familiar flu-like feeling settling in her throat.

"Before we dive in. Anything off-limits? Often stories like this can be overwhelming for the innocent involved."

"I'm an open book." She said, crossing her legs and reaching for her tea mug on the nearby side table.

Janice smiled, "has your family lived here long?"

"Oh, 65 years now, my husband built our original home, but since, my son and I have done some updates."

"It's a beautiful home."

"Thank you. It's been hard to maintain since my husband died, but life tends to move on no one cares if you're ready or not." Victoria smiled weakly, and for a moment, the intensity drained from her eyes.

. . .

Janice sat at the table sipping wine and listening to the wail of a violin. I. Largo was playing from a vintage record player, seated where the room angled.

Victoria and Connor slunk around her, gliding from room to room with table placements, plates, new silver-more wine. Janice was eyeing a photo of Victoria winning a Hornocultural Competition. She stared forward, muttering thank you's when necessary. Janice was ready to go home and never intended to stay for dinner. She downed her first glass of wine, and as the last drop rolled down her throat, her hands stopped shaking.

Victoria glided into the room again, wielding a Sauvignon Blanc bottle and platter of lamb. She filled Janice's glass and placed the centerpiece of the meal down in one swift motion. She then took a translucent hand and placed her glass between her fingers, tapping the side with a fork.

"To our guest, who will help us finally tell our story."

Connor raised his glass and flashed Janice a smile. His eyes glinted like his mother's. It was as if they had just told a joke or clued you in on some unknown drama.

Janice smiled back and clanked her glass to theirs. "It's my honor, really."

She was typically scared to eat around others; she feared she looked stupid or would get something in her teeth and go the whole meal making a fool of herself. But tonight, she was ravenous. She devoured the succulent meat and had several helpings of mashed potatoes. As she ate, she wondered when she last had a meal.

She began to feel bubbles of happiness in her throat, her cheeks flushed, and a serene warmth ran through her chest. She'd just finished her third glass of wine, and she was starting to crave a pick me up.

"Excuse me." She cleared her throat, "could I use your bathroom?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart, down the hall, to the left." Janice pushed her chair back and got up. Her legs were shaking, and she didn't trust them to make the journey. She'd become more of a lightweight than she'd thought. She chuckled at her own tipsiness as she made her way to the bathroom. Along the hall were dozens of pictures, Victoria in her hay day. Janice paused to run her fingertips along one of the frames. The photo was of Victoria standing in the same kitchen.

She was beaming, her blonde hair tucked pristinely into a shoulder-length bob. The sign she held read, "Best Homemaker 1976." Janice giggled, best homemaker. She could hardly contain herself as she sat on the toilet and began looking for the small clear ziplock bag.

She checked the compartment of her purse she usually kept it in. She never deviated from this sacred routine. Still, she was human, maybe in the shock of almost dying she'd misplaced it? She looked calmly at first, growing more frantic as each spot she checked came up with nothing. It had to be here.

She looked around as if someone else would appear and tell her the answer.

She took her wallet out and then her keys. She moved the old gum wrappers and searched where she usually kept the spare change. Each spot came up fruitless but surged her with motivation to check somewhere else. Soon the contents of Janice's purse were on the floor. She frantically picked at each item, now feeling the lump in her throat threatening to produce tears.

A knock at the bathroom door made her jump. "Janice, are you alright?"

How long had she been in here?

"Just a minute," Janice called and scrambled to shove the contents of her purse back in her bag. As she rose to her feet, she felt a rush through her skull. It made her salivate and clutch the wall for support. Her head tingled, and her vision was spotty, but she turned the knob and yanked the door open, hoping a presence would ground her.

"Oh honey, you don't look well." Victoria clasped a dry cold hand on her back and ushered Janice to the kitchen to sit. "I-I lost something," Janice muttered as she fell into the chair, trying to steady her vision on Victoria.

"Lost something?" Victoria said earnestly, looking around as if she could find it in seconds. "Well, what does it look like? We'll help you find it. Here have some water, Janice. You really don't look good." She pushed the glass towards Janice.

Janice reached for it, but her hand didn't move. She again tried to get the glass but couldn't. She tried to move her leg, no luck. She tried to wiggle her toes, the tingly feeling in her head was now replaced by a throbbing headache. She couldn't feel her heart beating.

"Oh good, it is kicking in then." Victoria patted Janice's limp hand and started to stack the empty plates on top of one another. "Gelsemium, it's a flower native to North America. They're beautiful little things. Green in the center, with little white petals." Victoria paused to meet Janice's eyes. "Oh, but if they're ingested, say mistaken for food or consumed in wine, that pretty little flower can cause headaches, convulsions, and even paralysis."

Connor suddenly screamed out of excitement and clapped his hands together before biting his knuckle to contain himself. Janice could feel his eyes burning holes into her.

Victoria reached into a drawer and brought out a newspaper, settling her reading glasses onto her face. "I have to say, Janice, I expected more from you. I was hurt frankly that you would characterize me so terribly. You couldn't find the time to mention her drug addiction? Or her taste for premarital sex?

Victoria slammed her hand on the table. Janice jumped, and a tear slid down her cheek.

"I'm sure you noticed I took your drugs out of your bag. You people are sooo predictable." She threw her hands in the hair and laughed from her gut. "You can't face reality for even a moment." Victoria composed herself and made her way to Connor.

"Alas, we had to be sure."

Victoria then started to massage Connor's shoulders. He closed his eyes and groaned in ecstasy. "A true mother, a real homemaker does anything for her children. That is why I let Connor kill that woman. To...satisfy a part of him that craves brutality. IF it MUST be someone, it may as well be the bottom of society. Someone no one will miss. Someone who would have killed themselves anyway.”

She pulled the clear baggy out of her apron and tossed it in front of Janice. Janice looked down at it and back up at Victoria, who was now approaching her with an eery calm. Janice wanted to fight, but her body wasn't listening; she tried to jerk, scream, and cry. But she sat there motionless.

Victoria came to her side and brushed the hair from her shoulder; she brought a needle to Janie's neck and pushed the liquid into her bloodstream. Janice locked eyes with Connor; his eyes were sullen and black now. The medicine overtook her before she could protest, and her vision faded to black.

. . .

Janice awoke to the sound of her pearl-colored car springing to life. For a moment, she was sure it had been a nightmare. She went to place her hands on the wheel but couldn't. Connor appeared at the window, sneering at her like a jungle cat. It was rolled down enough for him to wrap his fingers around the top and stick his head into the car.

"I wish we could spend more time together. I think mother secretly made this about herself." He stroked her cheek gently with the back of his hand, Janice wanted to crawl out of her skin.

"She's making me do it this way. I can't even enjoy you. I'd take my time." Connor licked his lips; his breath tickled her nose. "But. she wants it to look like an accident. something about preserving the body." He slapped the hood of her car. "Hey, thanks for messing up the fence, you know we never thought about it, but that's perfect. Janice Micheals has an overdose and kills herself on her way to an interview." Connor leaned past her and pulled the gear shift into drive. The car started rolling towards the edge.

"Hope you can swim!" Connor called through stifled laughter, bouncing from foot to foot as he watched Janice’s car tumble over the ridge.

Connor tosses a cigarette into the water, having a final look before turning back towards home. He whistles a tune and throws a ball, feeling more relaxed than he has in weeks.

He doesn't know that a hand has breached the surface, its fingers contorted, grasping at something intangible. He didn’t see Jaince break free.

He didn’t hear her take a breath.