75
Sunday, June 15th, 1986, 11:50 A.M.
The man lying in Belinda’s bed had his face down in the pillow and his arms spread out. It looked slightly abnormal, almost like he had thrown himself down on the mattress the way a person does when they want to pass out from too much partying. The only thing wrong with that hypothesis, however, was that the sheets covered up his body halfway up his back. If he did pass out, someone must have covered him up. He appeared to be completely naked, but that could not be substantiated because of the sheets.
Belinda, meanwhile, was a complete mess. Her face was pale and ashen, and not just because of what was happening in front of her. She was sweaty and breathing heavily. She looked like she was going to pass out herself. She felt sick and nauseated. Something was wrong with her. This was not the usual, spunky chick, who would have been downstairs at the breakfast buffet keeping the chef busy.
Jane took interest right away.
“Belinda, are you alright?” she asked.
Belinda started crying.
“No, I’m not,” she panted. “I feel sick.. I feel like I’m going to throw up… Something’s wrong with me.”
Jane walked over to Belinda and comforted her.
“Jane, help me,” she sobbed.
“Come on, baby, let’s go to the bathroom,” instructed Jane, as she proceeded to lead Belinda out of the bedroom.
The three remaining girls were stunned into silence. Within a few seconds, they could all hear Belinda heaving into the toilet.
Charlotte, on the other hand, was beginning to feel pain-free and void from sympathy. Like stepping out of a hologram, her split-personality was starting to emerge. She knew exactly who that person was lying in the bed, as well as knowing that Kathy would recognize him as soon as his body was flipped over or someone revealed his I.D. card. At that point, she knew that her and Kathy would have a nice, silent showdown.
Like we all know, anyone who has had a good, hearty, ralphing session, knows that Belinda returned from her bathroom feeling considerably better. At least she was now prepared to handle the situation with some relief in her tummy.
“Belinda, who is that?” asked Charlotte, pretending as if she didn’t know.
“I don’t know, Charlotte… Honestly, I don’t,” answered Belinda. “I’ve never seen him before in my life. I’m blacking-out the whole night.”
“You know the rules,” Charlotte reminded her.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Charlotte, leave her alone!” shouted Gina. “Fuck you and your rules! Can’t you see she’s hurting?!”
Belinda started to cry again.
“Charlotte, can’t you see what’s going on here?” pleaded Belinda through her tears.
“What?” asked Charlotte, with a cool sense of composure.
“I think he’s dead!” Belinda anguished. “Don’t you see that?! Don’t you ALL SEE THAT?!!”
Everyone except Charlotte gasped.
“Ohh, God, no,” said Gina, putting her hand on her forehead and dropping to one knee.
“You gotta’ be fucking kidding me,” exclaimed Jane, who suddenly turned ghostly white herself.
“How do you know?” asked Kathy.
“Well, look at him!” Belinda pointed out. “He’s not moving… He’s not breathing… What other conclusion is there?”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s dead,” explained Charlotte, who, nevertheless, knew that he was.
The room went silent. Instinctively, they all began looking in Charlotte’s direction assuming that she would take charge of the situation.
“Well, Char.. You’re the boss,” proclaimed Jane. “Are you gonna go check it out?”
Charlotte didn’t say a word. Instead, she calmly walked over to the side of the bed and began examining the body. She lifted up his left arm and placed the thumb of her right hand on his wrist. Then she placed the index and middle finger of her left hand on his neck. She remained in that position for approximately ten seconds. Then she announced—
“Yeah… there’s no pulse… He’s cold as ice… He’s dead.
Charlotte’s declaration placed everyone into a mental coma. Belinda and Jane hugged each other and continued to cry. Gina found a nearby chair, sat down, and buried her face in her hands. Charlotte flopped down the man’s arm and turned around.
Kathy was cold-bloodedly staring her in the face.