Bloody Mary Returns

                                    

                                          
My stepmother was vile.  I guess most kids think that when their father remarries.  But in this case, it was true.  She only married Father because he was rich, and she hated children.  There were three of us – me (Marie), my middle brother Richard and my youngest brother Charles.  We were the price my stepmother Gerta paid for being rich. And we were all that stood between her and inheriting Father's money when he died.  So she took steps against us. 
                          
     She sent my youngest brother Charles away to boarding school overseas.  It had a good, scholarly reputation, but it also had the reputation for being a hard school that was full of bullies and strict discipline. Not a place where a delicate child like Charles, who had been sickly as a baby, would thrive.  He was miserable there.  Somehow, Gerta contrived to keep him there for all but the summer holidays, and when he came home the first year he was pale and thin with dark circles under his eyes that looked like bruises. He cried – he actually cried! – when Father told him he had to go back to the school.  But Father didn’t listen to him.  Gerta thought it would be good for Charles to go there, and so Charles went.  
                          
  I did everything I could – encouraging letters and daily phone calls – until Gerta said it was too expensive and restricted calls to five minutes once a month.   I even got Father to book me a ticket to Europe so I could visit Charles.  Gerta was enraged when she found out.  Her blue eyes went so cold it made chills run up my spine, and her pink mouth thinned into a bitter line that bade ill for me since I had dared to interfere. Two days before my plane left for Europe, the school called and told us that Charles had climbed up to the tallest tower and flung himself off.  He was dead. 
                          
     Father was shocked, of course, and Gerta was quietly triumphant.  For a few months, Father paid more attention to Richard and myself then he had since our mother died.  But Gerta was beautiful and had winning ways about her that soon drew my Father’s attention away.  And now that one of her hated step-children was dead, she focused on another.  Poor Richard was next. 
                          
     Richard was a sturdy chap who was about to enter high school, and he was really into sports.  He would have thrived at the boarding school that had killed Charles.  So Gerta sent him to an arts school instead. He hated it, but Gerta had told Father he had “talent”, so there he went.  (You’d think my Father would have learned his lesson with Charles!)  But Richard was a survivor, and he grimly practiced piano and violin when he would rather have played soccer and football.  But Gerta was clever.  She introduced Richard to a couple of high school boys who were everything Richard craved to be – rich, popular, on the football team. And into drugs.  Gerta made sure Richard had a very large allowance, and kept increasing it as Richard was drawn deeper and deeper under the influence.  Until one day Richard overdosed, and Gerta only had one step-child left.  Me.
                          
     I was sure (sure!) that Gerta knew Richard was doing drugs in his room that day.  She knew he was ill and possibly dying in there.  If she’d “found” him even ten minutes sooner, his life would have been saved. So said the doctor, and I believed him.  But Father wouldn’t believe me.  He was angry whenever I said anything against Gerta, and told me to hold my tongue.  Still, I knew I was next, and I was sure that Father would not live long after willing his fortune over to his wife.  I decided that if Gerta got too bad, I would run away and live secretly with my aunt in New Jersey until I turned 18.  
                          
     From the moment Richard’s body was found in his room, I forced myself to be a model child.  My homework was done on time, I was polite to Gerta and all her friends, I went on all the family excursions with Gerta and Father – even the dangerous ones like shark-fishing.  You can be sure that I took care to be “sea-sick” indoors and stayed away from the edge of the boat.  Gerta was clever with her tricks.   Everyone thought it was an accident the time we were out shopping and I fell onto the subway in front of an oncoming train.  I managed to roll out of the way on time, but it was way too close for comfort.