My Husband Built A Hospital Of Lies

My daughter was barely hanging on, recovering from a brutal car accident, when my best friend, Jenna, showed up with a special deliverya scrawny, old mother hen, flown in from some remote farm.

Its a true heirloom, Eliza, an organic free-range bird, Jenna insisted, placing the struggling, feathered weight in my arms. The broth will work miracles on Carols broken bones.

Then came the sinister caveat, the thing that would haunt my every waking minute for two lifetimes.

This ones a real fighter, tough as nails. Remember, before you put it in the pot, you have to kill itand I mean kill itmultiple times. Make sure its completely gone.

Im the kind of woman who flinches at a housefly. Ive never even squashed a cockroach. But for Carol, fueled by a terrifying maternal necessity, I took a knife and the bird to the small, sterile hospital kitchen. I twisted the scrawny neck with a sickening, wet snap. But Jennas words kept ringing in my ears. Kill it multiple times. Trembling, I plunged the knife into the bird again and again, until the counter was slick with dark, visceral blood.

When I carried the steaming thermos of broth back to Carols room, the horror waited for me.

My daughters small body lay under the sheets, but when I pulled the blanket back, there was no Carol. Only a torso riddled with deep, jagged holes, a mess of blood and viscera. And no head.

Jenna shrieked, a sound that felt more performative than genuine, tearing the lid off the thermos I carried. It wasnt rich, golden chicken soup. It was a container full of thick, congealed blood, and floating on top was the mangled, barely recognizable face of my daughter.

Eliza Rourke, Jenna wailed, clutching the bloody container. I told you to kill the chicken, not your own child!

My husband, Gavin Brooks, burst in moments later. His eyes, usually cool and calculating, were red with a rage that eclipsed my own paralyzing shock.

He didnt ask. He didnt hesitate.

Gavins hand swung out, a violent slap that cracked across my cheek, sending me stumbling back against the sterile wall. She was just being a rebellious teenager, Eliza! You had an argument! And you decided to butcher her? Youre not a mother, youre a monster! A psychotic animal!

I saw my reflection in the dark, anti-glare glass of the window: a blood-soaked woman, eyes wide, mouth agape. And tucked beneath the fingernails of my right hand was a bright, shocking crimsonthe remnants of the red hair dye Carol had fought me to keep.

But I knew what I had killed. I had killed the hen. How could the victim have been my own flesh and blood?

The sheer impossibility of it drove me forward. I had to prove my sanity. Despite Gavins fists and my shattered disbelief, I crawled my way to the police station. I needed the truth to wash the horror away.

They showed me the hospital surveillance footage.

I watched myself, Eliza Rourke, my face contorted in a cold, unnatural smile. I watched my own hands, strong and merciless, twist my daughters neck until the sound was audible even through the muted recording. I watched myself, my own hands, dismember her body and then casually clean up the worst of the mess before walking out.

I was taken away, convicted of murder, and sentenced to death.

And then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day Jenna brought the chicken.

This ones a tough bird, a real scrapper. Hard to kill, so you make sure you stab it good, Eliza. Make absolutely sure its dead.

Jenna Davies pushed the struggling, flapping hen into my hands. The sudden weight, the feel of the rough feathers, made my body seize up in a full-blown tremor.

Looking at Jennas sickeningly earnest expression, the truth hit me: I was back. I had been given a second chance.

The imagesthe blood-soaked glass, Gavins furious eyes, the headless corpseflashed in a dizzying loop behind my eyes. I shoved the bird back, my voice laced with a raw, desperate fear.

No! I cant. I dont kill things, Jenna. Take the damn chicken and get it out of here!

Last time, I had accepted her gesture. I had been a grateful, naive idiot, desperate to nurse my daughter back to health. The maternal instinct had overridden my entire lifes aversion to violence. Id snapped the birds neck, and remembering Jennas insistent warnings, Id stabbed it repeatedly, just to be sure.

But when Id returned, the girl who loved to tease and torment her mother had been hidden under the blanket. When Id pulled it back, all that remained was a faceless, mutilated corpse.

Jennas screamsEliza! You killed your own daughter!and the sight of Carols head in the thermos. Even the ladle of soup I held had been a ladle of crimson blood.

I killed a chicken. How had my daughter been the one to die?

Gavin had kicked me to the floor, his voice echoing with righteous fury. She was just having a moody teenage moment! You butchered her and dismembered the body to cover your tracks! Youre worse than an animal!

Lying there, broken on the cold linoleum, Id seen the reflection. My bloodied face, Carols red hair in my nails. The evidence was irrefutable, yet my memory screamed a different truth. Id crawled to the police, determined to prove my innocence, only to be faced with the undeniable footage of my own descent into madness and murder.

A death sentence.

Now, I was back. I would not accept the beginning of the nightmare.

Honestly, Jenna, just take it to the diner downstairs and have them process it. I simply cant bring myself to do it. Im not taking the chicken.

The refusal was too rational, the fear too palpable. Jenna had no choice but to awkwardly pull the bird back into her arms.

I thought I was safe. I thought I had broken the chain of events.

But then, Gavin stepped out of the room, his face a mask of cold fury.

Are you serious, Eliza? Your daughter is lying there with a shattered leg, and you wont even kill a chicken for her? What kind of mother are you? Just because she was in a moody phase and you had a fight last week, youre going to neglect her now? Every kid messes up! No other mother is this cruel!

Carol, my little girl, peeked around the door, her face pale, eyes wide and pitiful.

Mommy, dont be mad at me. I know I was wrong. Will you please make me the chicken soup? Ill know youve forgiven me then

I wavered. The love, the absolute, non-negotiable love for my daughter, always won. Jenna seized the moment, pushing the chicken and a butcher knife into my grasp.

Go on, Eliza. Kill the bird and make the soup. Ill keep an eye on Carol for you.

I stumbled into the small, sterile hospital kitchen reserved for families, heart pounding, gaze fixed on the corner where the security camera was mounted. The footage from my past life was a horror movie I couldn't stop watching. Why did I think I killed a chicken when I had clearly murdered my daughter? How could I not recognize my own child?

I had to test it. I pressed the hen onto the cutting board. With a shaking hand, I lifted the knife and made a shallow, bloody cut along the birds foot, barely drawing blood.

At the exact same instant, the chickens wild, panicked squawk was perfectly overlaid with a sharp, agonizing cry from the hallway.

I dropped the knife and bolted. Its real. Its happening again.

I threw open Carols door, convinced I would find her foot severed, but she was curled on the bed, her small face contorted in pain. I scrambled toward her, checking her feet, her legs. I inspected every inch. No blood. No new cuts. She was intact.

Carol blinked, her eyes hazy with confusion. What is it, Mom? I just tried to shift down and I hit the railing on my broken leg. It hurt so much I couldnt stop myself from screaming. Did I worry you?

I froze, my body rigid with shock. I forced a brittle smile, shaking my head.

No. It was just a coincidence. Im cracking up. Im so stressed Im having a psychotic break. The notion of a supernatural link, of a voodoo connection between a hen and my child, was too much for my rational mind. Everything I remembered, the arrest, the trial, the deathit must have been a terrifying, hyper-realistic nightmare brought on by fear and exhaustion. Jenna was my oldest friend; she wouldn't hurt me.

Jenna stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. Its okay, Eliza. Your sweet girl is safe here with me. You can trust me to watch her. Go on, make the soup. Just make sure you kill that tough old bird properly. Maybe I should come with you, just to be sure.

I nodded, utterly exhausted. Get rid of the paranoia. Focus on the living.

I turned to leave, but Jenna suddenly bolted back into the room, her eyes wide with a manic terror that belied her previous composure.

Eliza! The chicken! Where is it? Its gone!

I frowned, confused by her extreme reaction. Yes, those free-range birds are expensive and hard to find, but it wasnt a national treasure. The truth was, the disappearance suited me perfectly. It was the easiest way out of this deadly obligation.

It ran off, Jenna, who cares? Ill go to the market later and buy a replacement. Id rather spend time with Carol right now.

I sat on the bed and reached for my daughters hand, which was close, almost touching mine. But my fingers grasped only the cold linen of the hospital sheet. I snapped my head up. Carol was gone.

She had been right there, a moment ago.

The exact moment Jenna declared the chicken was missing, my daughter had vanished into thin air.

Jenna! Where is Carol? Did you see her? She was right behind me, how could she just disappear?

I grabbed her shoulders and shook, the frenzy I had been fighting finally taking hold. Jenna seemed equally distraught, tears welling in her eyes.

Ill help you search! We have to find it immediately! Hurry!

We ran out, my voice echoing down the sterile corridors of the wing, screaming my daughters name. Carol! Carol Brooks! I checked the ER, the morgue, even the dimly lit path to the staff parking lot. Nothing.

But then I saw Jenna, ostensibly searching with me, now on her knees by a small patch of hospital landscaping. She wasnt checking under benches or behind doors. She was rifling through the dense shrubbery, her movements more focused, more desperate than they should have been. It looked like she was searching for a missing animal.

My mind went cold. I had to know. I yanked her up by the sleeve.

Jenna Davies, stop! What does that bird have to do with my daughters disappearance? Tell me what that chicken is! What did you bring here?

Jenna flinched, pulling her collar up to cover her neck. Its the chicken she stammered, avoiding my eyes.

Tears of pure, agonizing panic spilled down my face. Before I could press her further, a large hand clamped down hard on my shoulder and yanked me backward.

Eliza, what in Gods name is wrong with you? Stop the dramatics! Youre supposed to be making your daughters soup, not screaming in the hallway!

It was Gavin. And in his other hand, dangling upside down, was the missing hen.

The sheer shock short-circuited my brain. I whirled around, grabbing his shirt. Did you see Carol? Shes gone! She just evaporated!

Gavin scowled, his confusion seemingly genuine. Carol? Shes been in the room the whole time. She said you ran out like a maniac, raving about a chicken, and she asked me to check on you.

I looked up. In the window of the hospital room, my daughter stood, small and whole, smiling and waving.

Mommy she called out, her voice a little, sweet lilt. Why havent you made the soup yet?

It was like a bucket of icy water had been thrown over me. I was shaking, unable to reconcile the terror with the immediate, mundane reality.

Jennas hand came back to my shoulder, her touch now soft. Eliza, that chicken its not ordinary. Its a very rare breeda game bird. I was afraid someone would see it and report us for poaching. I was worried wed get into trouble, not that I wasnt worried about Carol. She looked so sincere that my suspicion felt small and mean.

I managed a strained smile, trying to push the madness aside. But I had to be sure. I turned to Gavin, my voice dropping into a register I hadnt used in yearsa low, slightly manipulative purr.

Honey, you know Im a mess with blood and feathers. I want Carol to have this soup, but I just cant do it. Could you please kill the chicken and pluck it for me? Ill take it from there and make the stock.

Gavin stared at me, his ears turning slightly red, surprised by the sudden, rare display of vulnerability. Then, he simply nodded. Fine. Whatever. Its just killing a chicken. Wait here, Ill call you when Im done.

I didnt follow them to the kitchen. I rushed back to Carol.

Seeing her safe, whole, and nestled in bed brought an overwhelming surge of relief that broke the dam of my fear. My voice was thick with emotion.

Sweetheart, where were you? I was terrified! Jenna and I searched everywhere, why didnt you answer?

Carol gave a quick, brittle laugh, snuggling into my chest. I was just playing peek-a-boo with you, Mom. I was hiding right here. I didnt realize you would panic so much.

I didnt argue. But my heart was sinking. The room was tiny. There was nowhere to hide. She was either lying or she was a victim herself, just as confused as I was. Either way, I would not let her out of my sight.

In the distance, I saw Gavin by the utility sink, the knife raised. Id specifically told him to start with the chickens legsto be cautiousjust in case a swift beheading triggered the disaster I remembered.

A shrill, agonizing squawk from the chicken. Both its legs were severed.

Carol flinched in my arms, but nothing else happened. No blood, no fresh wound. I watched, breath held tight, as Gavin completed the grisly task, dismembering the bird and dropping the pieces into the pot. Carol remained perfectly intact. My panic eased. The spell was broken. It had been a nightmare.

Gavin beckoned me over to the simmering pot. I gently tucked a drowsy Carol into bed, kissed her forehead, and locked the door from the outside, just in case.

I seasoned the stock quickly. Ten minutes, tops. I poured a ladle of the rich, aromatic broth into a bowl and carried it back, a small victory clutched in my hand.

The door was still locked. I breathed a sigh of absolute relief.

But when I turned the key and walked in, the air went cold, and the victory turned to ash.

The bed was soaked in a tidal wave of fresh, arterial blood. Carols remainslimbs, organs, entrailswere scattered on the floor in a grotesque, dismembered tableau.

I dropped the bowl. The golden chicken soup splashed onto the floor, but as it spread, it miraculously transformed into a puddle of steaming, crimson blood.

Jennas scream, identical to the last life, pierced the air.

Eliza! What did you do to your daughter now?!

I staggered backward, shaking my head violently. No! I didnt do it! I was only gone for a moment! She cant be dead!

Gavin rushed in, his face turning ashen, his voice a choked sob. You psycho! She was playing hide-and-seek! And you killed her for it? Jenna and I were out processing the chicken! Only you were here! It has to be you! The police are coming, Eliza, youre not escaping this time!

The police arrived with unnerving speed. They barely glanced at the scene, their eyes fixed on me, my bloody hands, my horrified face.

The killer often returns to the scene, one officer said, his voice cold and definitive. Eliza Rourke, youre coming with us.

I fought them, screamed, pleaded for someone to listen. I was only gone for twenty minutes!

But as they dragged me away, my eyes fell on my fingernails. Again. Under the edge of the manicure: a small, tell-tale streak of Carols bright red hair dye. I went suddenly, horribly still.

A slow, horrifying smile spread across my face. I started to laugh, a hysterical, wrenching sound that was part sob, part madness.

Of course, I whispered to the empty room. I see it now. You thought I was stupid, didnt you?

The truth, the simple, devastating answer to the nightmare that had plagued two lifetimes, had been right in front of my eyes the whole time.