She didn't even know how those words had slipped out.
Aileen leaned against her, and something dark flickered through her eyes when she heard it. But a second later, she was back to looking pitiful and helpless.
The next evening, Aileen suddenly burst into hysterical sobs.
She clutched her phone and stumbled over to Mom's side.
"Mom! Look at this! She's threatening me again!"
On the phone screen was a photo of Aileen's clothes, drenched in a dark, reddish-black liquid that looked like blood.
A note had been placed beside the clothes, scrawled in jagged, uneven handwriting:
"Stay away from my mom, or I'll dye your clothes red with your own blood!"
The message had been sent from an out-of-state number, though it was actually the phone of one of Aileen's admirers.
Mom stared at that vicious photo, then thought of how sweet and well-behaved I'd seemed the first time we met. Whatever hope she had left died completely.
"How did it come to this?"
She murmured it to herself, nothing but disappointment and confusion left in her eyes.
"My daughter was so good before. So obedient."
Late that night, Mom sat alone at the bar counter, smoking one cigarette after another.
Aileen came over carrying a glass of warm milk. She didn't say anything, just let the wound on her forehead show, as if by accident.
The raw, bloody gash made Mom lose the last of her composure.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "After your birthday party, I'm sending her away. She can't stay in this house anymore. She'll drive us all out of our minds."
She believed it was a fair decision for everyone.
And just as she finally allowed herself to breathe, a neighbor called.
"Is this Ms. Fox? Something reeks coming from your apartment. It's unbearable. We can't even open our windows!"
The neighbor's voice was urgent and furious. "We're all standing outside your door right now. You need to send someone over immediately!"
That smell was my body. It had been slowly decomposing since I died, the stench seeping from the living room out through the walls.
Mom was already irritated, still brooding over what to do with me. Her tone was dismissive.
"My daughter's home. She's got a temper, so don't go bothering her."
"It's probably just some takeout that went bad, or a dead mouse or something. I'll have the cleaning lady deal with it tomorrow."
After she hung up, the more she thought about it, the more it gnawed at her.
She opened our chat window and hammered out a message.
"Eudora! The neighbors are complaining about a smell. What the hell are you doing in there? I don't care what you think. You'd better have that place spotless by tomorrow!"
The message sent successfully. No reply came.
Her expression darkened. She tossed the phone aside.
But she would never know that the Eudora who used to keep the house clean had already died on her birthday.
Three days after the party, Mom drove Aileen back toward the apartment downtown.
Aileen draped herself over the back of her seat, working on Mom the whole ride.
"Mom, she's probably furious. She might not even let me through the door."
"Just promise me you won't lose your temper, okay? I'm not your real daughter anyway. It makes sense that she doesn't like me."
Mom said nothing. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, her face tight with displeasure.
The car pulled up to the building. Engine off.
She reached for the door handle and pushed it open.
In that instant, both of them froze.
The hallway was packed with people.
Two uniformed officers stood talking to the building manager. Beside them, a reporter hoisted a camera onto his shoulder.
But what seized their attention was the pair of figures in hazmat suits and respirator masks, carrying a stretcher out of my apartment.
Black liquid dripped from the stretcher onto the floor, and the stench rolled over them in waves.
