Skeletons in the Closet by Jennifer L. Hart

through the morning haze, trying to pinpoint exactly what had happened before she’d passed out. “Are you all right?”
    I opened my mouth, but Neil answered for me. “She’s fine, Sylvia.” His tone implied a no thanks to you.
    I darted him a scathing glance which rolled off his Teflon-like exterior in a nanosecond. He crossed his arms over his chest and managed to gaze down his nose at both of us at the same time. Neil was in no mood to be trifled with.
    Sylvia gave me a quick hug and beat a hasty retreat. I opened my mouth ready for a full scale verbal offensive, but he held a hand up.
    “Save it, Uncle Scrooge. I’m not happy with either of you and I’m really pissed off that she left you there while some madwoman was discharging a firearm.”
    “Neil, this isn’t the armed forces. I don’t expect my friends to take a bullet for me.”
    “She left you behind!”
    “I told her to go!”
    Neil opened his mouth, thought for a second, and closed it. He rubbed his face. “No more now, Uncle Scrooge. Let’s see if we can catch some sleep before the boys get up.
    “You go, I want to shower first.”
    His lips twitched, and I saw a flicker of heat in his eyes, a disparity to his frozen posture. “That’s a prime idea. Need some help scrubbing those hard to reach places?”
    “I’m good.” It was a flat out lie, but I was too drained to say anything else.
    I trundled into the bathroom and admired my self-restraint when I didn’t scream at my ghoulish reflection. A night in the slammer really didn’t do much for a girl’s complexion.
    One of the great benefits of having a pre-Reaganomics era house is the awesome water pressure. I love having the water pound my back like a meat mallet until I’m thoroughly tenderized. I stripped while the water warmed up, wishing I had some Brillo pads to scour the grime from my body.
    I washed my hair with the fruity shampoo, thinking dandruff was the least of my worries. Neil pulled the curtain back. He’d piled his clothes up on the floor next to mine and had a sheepish look in his eyes.
    “I need you,” he said.
    It was exactly what I wanted to hear.
    I reached out and pulled him into the shower with me. We didn’t even notice when the hot water ran out.
     
    * * * *
    I was back in Mr. Kline’s office. My clothes had been removed. I was strapped down, spread eagled on a cold metal table. Mr. Kline and Greg the Gym Rat were off to my left, and Mr. Kline held a metal ladle over a steaming brazier filled with a bubbling dark liquid. I thought I must be hallucinating, because I could clearly smell the odor of smoldering chocolate.
    “Do you know what this is, dear Maggie?” Mr. Kline lovingly eyed the ladle as he dipped it into the brazier. He didn’t wait for me to reply but attached a perforated sieve type top onto the scepter. “It’s called a lead sprinkler. With a mere flick of my wrist I can coat you with its contents. Of course, this isn’t molten metal, I thought of something truly ingenious for you. Sugar, milk, cocoa butter, lactose, milk fat, vanilla, and emulsifiers. Or in layman’s terms, Death by Chocolate.”
    My mouth was parched, but I managed to croak, “Why?”
    “Because you’re in the way,” Greg said. I watched in horror as he dipped a wooden spoon into the liquid and then brought it to his mouth. “Tasty. Just like you’re going to be.”
    Greg smacked his lips and gave me a heated once over as Doug Kline approached the table.
    “Please…,” I begged as Douglass Kline thrust the scepter at me. I rolled to avoid the spray of blistering chocolate and….
    Landed on my bedroom floor with a thunk.
    I shook my head in a futile attempt to clear the fog and ran my hands along my naked torso to check for scald marks. Neil was still dead to the world, and I swept a look over the familiar surroundings, hopeful it had all been a dream. One look in the mirror and I knew it wasn’t. Swathing myself in a fleece bathrobe helped alleviate the