The Last Page

Jennifer had just drifted off to sleep when her mother's shrill voice cut through the quiet house. “Who left this freaking mess?!”

Jennifer sat straight up in her twin bed, sweat beginning to bead on her upper lip. She held her breath, muscles clenched. Her bedroom was dark, with just a sliver of light creeping in around the door jamb. She had a flashback to being young–maybe four years old–and afraid of the monster under the bed. At that time, she had always insisted that her bedroom door be left open at night. It took a few years for her to realize that it didn’t matter if the door was open or shut. The real monsters were the adults in the house: her own mother and father.

Her mother yelled again, “Jennifer! Did you leave this crap all over the counter?!”

Jennifer reached over and pushed the side button on her phone. The screen lit up: 1:22 a.m. She had to be up at 5:00 a.m. to get ready for her shift at the gas station. She sighed as she rolled onto her side and sat up, putting her bare feet on the hardwood floor.

“I'm coming, Mom!” she yelled.

Jennifer could hear her mother banging pots and pans and mumbling to herself in the kitchen. Maybe if she hurried, Jennifer could get to the kitchen fast enough that her mother would calm down, satisfied with her obedience. She said a quick, silent prayer that she would get lucky this time.

Jennifer ran down the stairs as fast as she could, almost tripping on the last step. She rounded the corner into the kitchen and–

Whack!

Jennifer felt her mother's hand meet her cheek, her head jerking violently to the right. Before Jennifer could react, her mother's sneakered foot met her bare shin, knocking her to the floor.

After everything that had happened over the past two years, Jennifer was stunned that this was happening again.

“Not running your mouth now, huh?” Her mother's voice was joyous, as if she were having fun beating her daughter up. She even had a small smile on her face.

“This used to be Dad's job,” Jennifer said as she got back to her feet.

Her mother's eyebrows rose as she pulled her head back, her neck disappearing into the folds of her fat.

“What did you just say?” she asked, taking a step toward Jennifer, her hands on her hips.

Jennifer walked a few steps toward the kitchen sink, one hand on the edge of the countertop, still wincing from the pain. She was trying to put some distance between herself and her mother.

“I said,” Jennifer paused, “that used to be Dad's job. Remember, Mom? You watched while he beat me up for years.”

“Just because you got away with killing him doesn't mean you can mess with me, girl. You will mind me.” Her mother pointed her finger at Jennifer, jabbing the air. “Who covered for you when those detectives came sniffing around?” She didn't wait for a response. “I did.”

Jennifer's mouth dropped open. They had never spoken out loud about what really happened that night two years ago. There was a part of her that had hoped her mom had been looking out for her all this time, protecting her.

Her mother continued, “Who lets you stay here even though you are eighteen and should get your fat butt out in the real world?” She jabbed her finger in the air again. “I do. I think your dad let you get away with a lot. He should've beat you more!”

“Mom, stop!” Jennifer yelled. “I have to go to work in a few hours. Please let me go back to bed!”

Her mother snorted. “Speaking of that job, where’s my money? You don’t live here for free, and you owe me for all the stupid things you’ve done.” She held out her hand as if Jennifer were going to produce cash right there on the spot.

Jennifer wiped the snot from her nose. She picked up the knife from the edge of the sink. Hours earlier she had rested it there after making a sandwich.

Without another word, Jennifer turned and–in one swift motion–she…

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I was pulled abruptly from Jennifer’s world back into my own.

The lights flashed on and off as the high-pitched beeping blared out of the speakers, signaling that it was almost time for lights out. In twenty minutes–or less if the corrections officer was in a bad mood–the whole floor would be plunged into darkness until morning.

The automatic door slid into place and locked.

I squinted, anticipating the next flash of the lights, and hurriedly read the rest of the sentence from the book. It was the last line of the story.

Jennifer plunged the knife into her mother's neck, silencing her forever.

“I wish I would've thought of that,” I whispered to myself, “Then maybe my mother wouldn't have ratted me out. I should've shut her up forever.”

“What are you muttering about, Cross?” My cellmate’s head appeared over the top bunk. “Are you talking smack about your traitorous mom again?”

I looked away as quickly as possible. Laura was a bully, and it was best to let her talk without trying to defend myself. I had made the mistake early on of telling her that I hated when she called me by my last name. Now that was all she called me. I bet she didn’t even remember that my first name was Jane.

“Gawd, Cross, everyone knows your mom had to turn you in. You practically cut her heart off after you murdered your dad–oh, wait–you missed her heart, didn’t you?” Laura laughed. “Quit acting all innocent.” The springs of the top bunk squealed as Laura repositioned herself.

I silently flashed Laura the bird and stuck out my tongue from the safety of the lower bunk. She didn’t know what I had been through. My mother had never stood up for me to my father. She let him do more than beat me–a lot more. I had to kill my father, or he would've killed me eventually. My mother should have protected me, or at least not have turned me in to the cops.

A deep sigh escaped my lungs. I wish I had taken up reading a long time ago. There were so many good ideas in books! If I had this copy of Jennifer's Revenge two years ago, my story could have ended up very differently, and maybe I wouldn't be in this hole.

I kept one finger in between the pages, holding them open to the last page of the book. I looked over at the small wall calendar just above my side table. There were only nine hundred and ninety-seven days to go before my release date. I wondered if my mother would recognize me when I showed up on her doorstep. She had never visited me here, but I certainly had plans to visit her when I got out.

I broke out of my thoughts and realized tomorrow was Thursday, and that made me smile. Thursdays were my favorite day of the week–library day at Carter Correctional Facility. What would I discover in the prison library stacks this time? Maybe the librarian could recommend a title about mother–daughter reunions–a thriller, of course.

I smirked and closed the book.