《Rotted Flowers in Your Kitchen: A Collection of Short Stories》 This Is What I Hope Happens to You Up and down, up and down, my arm¡¯s getting tired. ¡°He¡¯s still gurgling, Hex.¡± She¡¯s ten feet away and judging me. Breathing heavy. She doesn¡¯t work out like I do, so when they fight back, she just gets pissed off. ¡°I know, I know.¡± I try to adjust my aim, get it right down at the mark, but the motherfucker keeps moving. ¡°If you want the pain to stop, you better hold the fuck still.¡± He shudders, collapses, shudders again. Half of the blood here has come straight from his ugly mouth. ¡°Move. Let me do it.¡± Alice stomps over, blackened sword in hand. I stumble back right as she drives it so violently into his chest it buries itself into the carpet beneath him with a little crunch. She smiles to herself, admiring her work, then looks at me. Her face deadens. ¡°Clean yourself up. You¡¯re disgusting.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I won¡¯t lie. I¡¯m a little shaken by this one. He fought like hell. I stumble to the bathroom, letting my knife drop quietly to the floor. I flick the light on, slam the door, check the damage in the mirror. I hate when she¡¯s right. Not only am I covered in blood, but there¡¯s some gut too. Chunks of mystery meat. A year ago, I would have thrown myself at the toilet, puking like a drunk, questioning everything. Now I just grab a towel. When you don¡¯t own anything, you don¡¯t really care what gets dirty or ¡°ruined.¡± Like they even know the meaning. I start with my hands, my arms, chest, neck, and pause. I¡¯m sort of just moving shit around, leaving specks of red in every pore, and now the towel is drenched. All that¡¯s left is my face, still dripping. I kind of like how it looks, almost like face paint, or war paint. I hear our mother¡¯s words in my head. Red sinks to black. I grab a new towel and wipe away all but a bright red bar across my nose. It runs from ear to ear, like a smile. I smile. Killer looks good on me. Momma would be so proud. Alice¡¯s fist thunders against the bathroom door. ¡°I need your help. The fuck are you doing in there?¡± ¡°What?¡± I turn my chin up at my reflection, hit a nice little side angle. ¡°I look fucking awesome.¡± I run a single finger across my own jawline and can¡¯t help grinning harder. I used to hate how I looked. Too soft. Too like prey. A lot has changed since then. For one, I shaved my head. ¡°Get out here! Hex!¡± I take my time. One more wink for the killer in the mirror. Then I turn and push open the door. ¡°You know it was unlocked, right?¡± Alice can¡¯t hear me. She¡¯s focused. She¡¯s got both hands on the grip of her sword and she¡¯s yanking to no avail. I can¡¯t help but laugh. She still has the lanky arms we were born with, bless her, and without gravity on her side, she¡¯s weak. Her head snaps up so she can give me the glare she thinks I deserve, but my new look distracts her, and she lets go of the sword. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t like it?¡± Alice spits a wad of blood onto the ground next to the living room corpse. Her blonde hair, painted black from violence, runs red lines down her face. Sweat and someone else¡¯s blood. Dripping. ¡°Just help me.¡± I grin, take a breath, wind back my arms a little bit, roll the shoulders out. ¡°Now move, little girl.¡± Alice scoffs, obeys. I kick my knife to the side and approach the sword. It¡¯s going in at a slight angle. I turn my body to match it. ¡°Sloppy.¡± ¡°At least I¡¯m not soft.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s see about that.¡± I put both hands on the taped up hilt, give it a slight jiggle, and pull back as hard as I can. It gives easily. I laugh again and give Alice a look she won¡¯t return, slap my rock hard bicep, and agree: ¡°Soft.¡± Just as my grip starts to loosen, she snatches Ches from me. I let her have it. It is hers after all. ¡°We¡¯ve gotta keep moving. The next one is in the same neighborhood, so let¡¯s try to get there before twelve arrives, hm?¡± She sheaths the sword without even wiping it down. ¡°Where¡¯s the gun?¡± ¡°Which one?¡± ¡°Right. I¡¯ll get his. You get yours.¡± ¡°Already done.¡± I lift my shirt a bit so she can see the nine tucked in my pants. Alice huffs. Now she¡¯s got to go on a little shotgun search and rescue. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Where did he drop it?¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°Follow the holes in the wall.¡± ¡°Fuck you. I¡¯ll be right back.¡± It¡¯s not that there isn¡¯t love between us. Of course there is. Our bond is unbreakable. But the last time we held hands was probably in the womb. Now we¡¯re a little too busy for the sweet stuff. No more matching dresses. No more little bows. ¡°Got it!¡± She points the double-barreled shotty at me from the doorway, taunts me with a little grin. She must have passed a mirror on her way there, because her face is now clean of blood spatter and her hair is tied back. I stare down the barrel. Red sinks to black. ¡°Let¡¯s go then.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t forget your knife!¡± ¡°Right.¡± Unlike Alice, I wipe that shit down before I sheath it. One of these days her sword is going to snap in half. But what does it matter? It¡¯s not like we¡¯re going to do this forever. We¡¯re just going to do it until it¡¯s done. Alice trots over to me, cradling the gun in her little hands. She hustles past me, out the door into the blue dawn, and I follow quietly, shutting the door behind us with a satisfying click. ¡°So the other guy,¡± Alice says, ¡°lives just down the street. Isn¡¯t that crazy? And what a view.¡± She waves her hand at the city below. We¡¯re about halfway through our list now. Who knew a company could have so many board members? And that they¡¯d all live in mansions on top of beautiful rolling hills. Isolated and vulnerable. Alice is dripping blood from her hair, leaving a perfect little trail for the police to follow. At this point, we¡¯re both past caring about being caught. If anything, it¡¯s a little stupid that we haven¡¯t been caught already. That the connection hasn¡¯t been made. A lot of the board members did go on to do other things, bigger more impressive things, so their connection to RSTB goes a little too far back. Plus, some of our murders were misclassified as murder suicides, back when we didn¡¯t know what we were doing. I don¡¯t know how. Cops are dumb as hell. ¡°Here we are. Stop number two on our exclusive tour!¡± Alice does a little spin with the shotty as her dance partner and lands with it aimed straight at the front door of yet another mansion. This one¡¯s got a fountain out front. Corny. ¡°Let¡¯s make it quick. That last guy was way too much. Like, it wasn¡¯t even fun.¡± ¡°Fine by me.¡± We walk right up to the front door and Alice scoots to the side so I can get a good angle on it. She doesn¡¯t need to say a thing; I know what we¡¯re getting into here. This is one house in particular that I¡¯ve been looking forward to. But Alice is a talker, so she does what she does best. ¡°No hidden key this time. Big kick from the big sibling?¡± In one try, I break the door down with the bottom of my boot, the wood from the doorframe splintering all over the marble floors. Alice squeals a little. We enter, one at a time, our shoes squelching loudly, to find absolutely no one. Per usual. Alice has done her research, of course. ¡°Bedroom upstairs. They love to sleep in.¡± We jog up the stairs like we¡¯ve done it a million times before and find our new friends exactly where we expect them: in a corner, phone in hand. ¡°Recognize me?¡± Alice says. The color drains from the man¡¯s face; his wife sees the blood on us and starts screaming. How annoying. I pull out my glock in one swift movement and fire. The room explodes with sound, then falls silent. A low moan croaks out of the old man¡¯s throat as his wife¡¯s body crashes to the floor. Her phone clatters to the ground too, slides a little our way. She never completed the call. Too bad. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Callahan, but I don¡¯t think I heard you answer my question.¡± The man wipes some of his wife¡¯s blood from his eye and gives us a long look before stuttering out: ¡°Alice. And¡­ Melanie.¡± Alice gives him her classic scrunch-nosed grin. ¡°Their name is Hex now, actually. I guess you would know that if you ever checked in.¡± ¡°Hex¡­ ain?¡± His mouth falls open as he makes the connection. ¡°So it¡¯s been you¡­ killing us. Over hexain?¡± ¡°Because of hexain.¡± Alice¡¯s smile is fading. ¡°Have you seen how hexain kills? It¡¯s a lot¡­ less kind than we are. But I¡¯m sure you know all about that.¡± ¡°It was supposed to help people!¡± Alice gives me an ¡°impressed¡± glance that reads: look at the balls on this guy! ¡°Help who?¡± I cut in. ¡°Your wallet? Our parents? Us?¡± ¡°I remember meeting you gir¡­ you two when you were so little. You were such happy children. We don¡¯t have to do this.¡± He¡¯s shaking now, begging. Just how we like ¡¯em. ¡°Ohhh,¡± Alice jeers. ¡°That¡¯s right. When you told us our father killed himself? That was such a happy time for all of us.¡± ¡°Is that what you want? The truth?¡± Alice starts lifting the shotgun, and he raises his hands up in front of him, as if that¡¯ll do anything. ¡°I wasn¡¯t allowed to say what really happened, okay? But clearly you know already. It was hexain. It was an accident.¡± ¡°What a happy accident for you,¡± Alice says cheerily, motioning to the opulent master bedroom all around us. ¡°Just another innocent man who made the mistake of covering up multiple deaths for his own benefit! Our bad. We thought you were proud of what you did. But now that we know you¡¯re not, well, I guess you¡¯re free to go.¡± He¡¯s crying now. Like a child at the funeral of their father. And the funeral of their mother. He¡¯s just a living ghost to us. ¡°Close your eyes,¡± Alice says, ¡°and tell me what you see.¡± He obeys, his raised hands trembling. ¡°Red?¡± he whispers. His eyes flash open, glittering with fear. He knows now that it¡¯s over. That it¡¯s all finally caught up with him. He knows how it goes. He was there for it. He saw it all. And he just watched. Alice slides the shotgun onto the bed, just out of his reach. He¡¯s too old, anyway. He could never reach it in time. She starts to draw her sword. ¡°And how do we know when hexain has infected its host?¡± ¡°Red¡­ sinks to black.¡± ¡°Raze Solutions Technology and Biowarfare. No¡ªsorry, Freudian slip. Biometrics. I won¡¯t lie; it¡¯s pretty clever.¡± Ches is fully unsheathed now. I keep my gun trained on him. This is Alice¡¯s game, making them hurt, watching them bleed. I just want them gone. ¡°Like a nursery rhyme!¡± Alice continues. ¡°So memorable.¡± ¡°Please,¡± he begs one last time. ¡°It was an accident.¡± Alice ignores him, cocks her head to the side. ¡°I think we¡¯ll start with your hands.¡± And the sword comes swinging down. The Angel I met an angel today. The one I¡¯d prayed for. I¡¯d fallen into the street face first, so there was sand in my eyes and my nose was stinging, leaking blood. Red handprints on purpled skin. Static stars glimmering behind my eyes as I stumbled to my feet, only to be shoved back against the hard ground. ¡°Don¡¯t come back,¡± my mother spat, throwing my backpack after me. I just stared at it. Hello Kitty stared back. Suddenly, the angel was there, so full of holy fire that her eyes were burning and melting. The voice that boomed from her lips could only be that of God, as it sent the city streets into an awed silence. My ears were ringing so I couldn¡¯t hear what she was saying, but I could see her. She looked barely older than my sister had been when she ran away. But she was different. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. She was muscly, with broad shoulders, big hands and feet. Her wings had been cut from her shoulders and replaced with swirls of dark ink that ran down her back in trails of smoke. Her black hair stood out crisply against her golden halo, protecting us from her divine light and basking her in a warm glow. When I looked up at Mother I could see fear in her eyes. I¡¯d never seen that expression on her face before and it scared me, so I looked away. The only thing Mother feared was God, and she¡¯d told me so plenty of times. I felt the angel wrap one wing around me, then another. Her arms lifted me up. Her light was getting brighter. And I was getting higher. Things were getting quieter. The air got cold, but I didn¡¯t shiver. Clouds gathered around us in greeting. And the sun began to sink. ¡°I prayed for you so many times. Why didn¡¯t you save me?¡± I asked. I had to know. But she didn¡¯t answer me, and when I looked, I saw her mouth was now an eye. She was covered in eyes. And for me, each one cried. Birds and Girls There is a little bird that greets me from a tree outside my window. I see him there every morning, a bright red speck in a forest of black branches. Each day we observe each other, neither saying a word. Does he know I see him? Does he recognize me? I make the morning coffee and try not to let it burn. (Sometimes it¡¯s hard to control things that often burn.) He flits from window to window, sometimes in pace with me, sometimes away from me. My windows are sealed. If they weren¡¯t, I¡¯d pop one open and offer him something¡ªa shred of bread crust or a little red blueberry. But these walls do not give to the whims of birds and girls. They do not give at all. Sometimes I wonder. Does he want to come in? Would he speak to me if he could? The burnt coffee gives way to burnt water gives way to burnt tongue. I tear croissants from the corner market but face away from the glass so he can¡¯t see me indulging. So he doesn¡¯t have to watch. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Perhaps he only sees his own reflection from the outside, not me at all. Maybe to him, he is courting a lovely red bird, just like him. Maybe his eyes are full of stars too small for me to see but that sparkle just as fiercely as anyone else¡¯s. Maybe he¡¯s blind. I build stories around him over the breakfast table, imagining the places he goes when I¡¯m at work and when night falls. Wondering what brings him back to my window every morning despite having no nest, no mate, no children, no stars big enough to see. What¡¯s the point of being a little bird with no purpose but the mechanisms within that demand he survive? Does he know what he is? Does he know what I am? You¡¯re not so different, you and I, I would say to him if I could. We¡¯re not so different, me and you. I think about the morning I won¡¯t see him. Surely I¡¯ll outlive him someday¡ªor him me¡ªor maybe I¡¯ll move far away to a place where no birds like him could ever go. Not on purpose. Sometimes things like that happen. Will you miss me? My spoon plays an erratic song against the mug, like a single wind chime battering the gutter. I pit my burnt tongue against burnt water. I build up collections of things I know and do not know, and I lie them all flat out on the page. He¡¯s satisfied by my display, or bored of it, and flutters off. Maybe he¡¯ll stare into another window, into another person¡¯s life for an hour or two. Maybe it doesn¡¯t mean a thing. The Love of a Daughter I loved you from the moment I saw you. I think you loved me too. You weren¡¯t afraid to hold me, to teach me, to guide me, and so I loved you. Even when you grew angry at me and said things I couldn¡¯t comprehend, in a voice I couldn¡¯t understand, I still loved you. When you hurt me with your words, your hands, when you targeted my very soul, I still loved you. I protected you. I kept your secrets. And I was always there for you. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Even when I hated you, I loved you. When they tried to take me from you, I refused to go. When my father, my friends, strangers disparaged you, I defended you. When you gave me pills, I took them because I loved you. When you held your hand over my mouth, I did nothing because I trusted you. As I faded, I forgave you. And when you buried me, I still loved you. Because you cried, I thought you might love me too. Neither of us wanted this. I know that. I¡¯ve always known that. There are billions of ways our lives could have played out, with so many different avenues; who knows what could have happened to us. You happened to me, again and again, and, maybe, I happened to you too. But even when it was wrong, I still loved you. Ghost So much sadness in one life. So much suffering. Shutters drawn so tight the houseplants wither. It¡¯s always cold here, like there is one ever-circling draft that keeps an icy chill alive. Gold has withered to yellow. But still something holds. An amorphous apparition that huddles by the empty fireplace for hours, before sinking into the floor. Every night I see it, but the young nurse never listens to me. The second she turns on the light, it¡¯s gone. And she always turns on the light. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Sometimes I think I hear it moan. I think I smell tears. Honestly, I¡¯m afraid to get too close. The old woman hasn¡¯t been down here in years. In the daytime, I sleep on her chest. At night, I watch the ghost. Tonight, as I sit in the kitchen, eyes on the fireplace, I hear an unusual sound. Mother. ¡°John?¡± she whispers. When I see her, the spirit is just before her, and she¡¯s following it to the fireplace. My tail starts wagging nervously, but I¡¯m afraid to make a sound. The nurse doesn¡¯t like when I speak up. As the two kneel at the fireplace, I hear a piercing wail coming from them, coming from her, and I start barking, I can¡¯t help it, and then I can¡¯t stop. By the time the nurse arrives it¡¯s too late. But I¡¯ve never seen the ghost again. The Bear It was a cry. A cry for help. In the dark shade of the trees, a young girl had fallen, her left leg splayed limply against her bloodied right thigh, turned wrong, rubbery to the touch. Her pupils were big, black, her eyes flashing, and she was wailing wordlessly. She did not see me approach, but I had heard her cries for miles. I had traveled across the valley, up rocky ledges, and into a small meadow, high up in the hills, where at last I saw her tiny figure in the grass, smelling of blood. The birds had gathered already, forming a shadowy halo over the girl, spinning and shrieking in a voice much like her own. Hungry. I know hunger like that. Then she saw me, and her trembling mouth snapped shut. She got very still, and so did I. For a while, we just watched each other. She took a few shallow breaths and leaned her head back against the tree. She closed her eyes. I took that as a cue to step closer, so I did, until only a few feet remained between us. It was then that she opened her eyes. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Are you going to eat me?¡± I stopped, trying to parse her words. But it did not matter what she had said. I knew what was coming to her, and so did she. I could smell it on her, the iron and the cold. And no doubt she could feel it¡ªthe world around her, slipping away into visions of light and darkness. I came closer until I could press my nose against her skin. She smelled foreign, strange, like flowers and dust. I huffed and sat beside her, close enough to feel the warmth leaving her body. She didn¡¯t react¡ªdidn¡¯t even seem to notice I was there. Fading. I¡¯d seen it before. Life entering the pale dark. The birds began screaming even more feverishly. Then at once, without warning, the girl¡¯s head snapped up, and she looked me in the eyes, her face full of clarity and life. ¡°Mommy?¡± And there he was. He¡¯s come back to me again! My cub, lying broken and whimpering at the base of the snapped tree. Blood running into his eyes as his legs squirmed helplessly beneath him. Autumn leaves tried to bury him, but I wanted to see him¡ªI wanted him to see me in the end. I wanted him to know he wasn¡¯t alone. He had me, and he needed me, and I needed him¡ªI see him. I need him. I¡¯m here. I waited until there was nothing left. No quivering, no sounds, just stillness. The birds, now exhausted from hours of circling, squawked at me from the branches above in complaint as night fell slowly around us. By the time the humans arrived with their flashlights and animals, I was long gone. Seven I was seven at the time, so I really didn¡¯t know what was happening. I just knew it was a place to sit, a place where I could be alone, and I went there often. So one day I¡¯m sitting there, and someone joins me. I can¡¯t really see him, and he can¡¯t really see me, but we are aware of each other. And he just starts talking. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°I did something bad.¡± I don¡¯t say a word. I¡¯ve got nothing to say to that. For God¡¯s sakes, I¡¯m only seven. He doesn¡¯t give a shit¡ªhe keeps going. ¡°I killed someone, but it was an accident.¡± I go dead silent. Barely breathing. Maybe I can act like a statue and he¡¯ll think no one¡¯s there. That¡¯s what I was thinking. ¡°She walked into my life. Into my home. And then she started pushing me, prodding me. It¡¯s like she wanted me to break. It¡¯s like she wanted me to lash out. She wanted me to finish her.¡± My dad¡¯s in the car. My mom¡¯s in the bathroom. And I¡¯m here. Winter Dark I loved you once. I was you once. We followed each other everywhere. You, stepping on my toes, me, following your lead. You, always pulling me through life, a rope tied along my waist, around your ankles, down my throat, across our neck. You pulled me left, right, forward, never back. You cried your tears into my lap. Not a word, not a word spoken, not a word needed. Companions for life, twins in the murk, alive in the light. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. At night, you are alone without me. In the winter dark, do you remember me? I remember you. We share your grave. Your blood is mine, your life is mine, together we are complete, but apart¡­ a part. Parts of a whole, a body led by you, a shared mind and shared sadness. I watched you get married, your first child, I watched you lose it all. I lost it all, too, without a word. And I never spoke out against you. I never fought back. I never asked you to change, and you never did. And I never did. When you died, I didn¡¯t leave. I couldn¡¯t leave. I wouldn¡¯t leave. Two of the same, we¡¯ll always be one and the same. I will never leave you. I couldn¡¯t if I tried. My Sisters Superstitions Slowly, thoughtfully, Kestrel raised the crystal up to the light and beamed, her bright eyes glistening with so much emotion it made me want to scowl. ¡°Oh, Elaine,¡± she whispered, voice warm with fervent delight, ¡°this is exactly what you need.¡± She turned to me, and her face, all golden and glowing in the refracted sunshine, spoke of many conversations with the earth, and with spirits, and with God. I gave her silence. ¡°Citrine,¡± she continued, unprompted, smiling. ¡°Good for those who need a little positive strength in their lives, or something to bring them good fortune amidst dark days.¡± She didn¡¯t have to give me a knowing glance to send a jolt of hot anger rocketing from my head down to my feet. How typical of her, my insensitive little sister. How inadvertently thoughtless. How cruel. I took a deep breath, with the intent to let it out, but found myself holding it instead. It hissed out between my teeth as I replied. ¡°I swear to god, if you hand me that stupid rock, I will absolutely lose it.¡± An older woman browsing further down the aisle gave me a disapproving look, putting the antique vase in her hands back onto the shelf with a thunk. What I would¡¯ve given to smash the old thing on the floor. Let her step on the sharpest pieces. The dark thought soured in my mouth, too foul, and I glared at Kestrel, the responsible party. She brought out the worst in me¡ªthat was for sure. But Kestrel only blinked, her face raw with innocence and nodding all the while. She even smiled at the old woman¡ªalways sweet to strangers¡ªbefore turning back to me. The sympathetic jangling of her earrings made me want to roll my eyes, but I resisted, for fear they wouldn¡¯t roll back in place. With one firm hand, Kestrel gripped my shoulder in an uncomfortable, comforting gesture, and I got to see all of her rings up close¡ªthe gold band with an inset milky white stone, the engraved iron coyote with angry sapphire eyes, the thin silver knot marked all along the edge by runes, and the many simple midi-rings that appeared to serve no purpose at all. Just looking at her made me angrier. I could feel the ten years of silence hanging between us, like a slab of hot, shiny meat between two wolves, and I wished that she¡¯d stayed in Sedona. To be honest, I wasn¡¯t sure if I was mad because she had returned or because it wasn¡¯t me she had come back for. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps it was neither. With my plain hand, I brushed her off. She pretended not to notice how I¡¯d bitten down my nails like a rabid dog. She¡¯d learned long ago that any mention would only make me chomp down on them harder. Of course, she didn¡¯t know that I¡¯d stopped since Jason and started again since Pearl. ¡°We can leave, if you like. My errands aren¡¯t urgent, and it¡¯s only a few hours before...¡± She didn¡¯t finish, wasn¡¯t sure where I¡¯d drawn my line, and for a moment, I almost felt touched by the genuine sensitivity. But then I remembered that the only reason I was even standing in a shitty antique store at 9 a.m. was because she had refused to learn how to drive, and I couldn¡¯t back out of helping my sweet, lovely, estranged sister without looking like a bitter bitch to everyone at the funeral. Or, more importantly, looking like a bitter bitch next to Pearl. And I didn¡¯t exactly want to spend another day in an empty bed, staring at the wall. I plucked the stone out of her hand and set it back onto the shelf. It made me feel like I was thirteen all over again, grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the store before the owners caught on to our little tricks. But nearly twenty years had passed since that day, and we walked toward the exit with a cold barrier of air between us. Kestrel gave one of her rings a rub as we pushed through the glass doors. ¡°For luck,¡± she whispered, giving me a wink. I didn¡¯t have a chance to ask why, because suddenly I was sprawled onto the hard pavement, bare knees stinging against the concrete with what I could already guess would be a bit of blood. I squeezed my eyes shut, against the threat of embarrassed tears¡ªwhich did not come¡ªand the bright, hateful sun. I felt Kestrel¡¯s hand in mine as she pulled me to my feet. ¡°Are you alright?¡± someone from within the store shouted out to us. I couldn¡¯t bear to open my eyes, couldn¡¯t bear to imagine the dusty lines that were likely drawn across my stiff black dress. ¡°We¡¯re fine!¡± Kestrel replied, all chirpy and reassuring. ¡°It says ¡®watch your step,¡¯¡± said the voice of someone afraid to be sued. ¡°She said we¡¯re fine!¡± I snapped back. Kestrel¡¯s hand tightened around mine, and I felt it all over again¡ªthe past, like a heat wave slicing through my skin and leaving me warm and afraid. The door clanged as it shut behind us, sending me back those twenty years in a second. ¡°You didn¡¯t take anything, did you?¡± I asked, just like before. I felt small, but she felt smaller. ¡°Of course not,¡± Kestrel said, and my heart was hard and alone in my chest. She never got the lines right. Maybe she was too young to remember. ¡°Just a bag of chips,¡± she was supposed to say, with the crinkling bag begging to be released from between her pants¡¯ elastic and round belly. Stolen novel; please report. I let go of her hand. ¡°You know, I haven¡¯t stolen anything since we were eighteen,¡± she said. ¡°Healers make good money.¡± ¡°And charlatans make good money off dopes and fools. And drug dealers make good money killing their clients.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Kestrel said. And she clicked her heels as she walked over to the car. I opened my eyes, and everything was blue. A sickly cerulean, really, and I blinked wildly until my eyes adjusted, reminded of Jason, reminded of Pearl. A different past was haunting me now. What kind of person wears a blue wedding dress and expects nothing to go wrong? With renewed fervor, I dug around in my purse for the keys to the Lexus and clicked them twice so Kestrel could climb into the passenger seat. But after the two beeps, she squinted her eyes at me. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding,¡± she said. I glanced down. My black dress was covered in the zigzag patterns of dirt I¡¯d expected, highlighting all of the wrinkles I hadn¡¯t ironed out, and¡ªsure enough¡ªthere was a line of red racing down my left knee. With a tissue I¡¯d been saving for the funeral, I blotted away the blood. ¡°Give my ring a touch,¡± Kestrel called from the car. ¡°Everyone needs a little luck now and then.¡± ¡°Pass,¡± I said and stomped over to the driver¡¯s side.
We were on I-10, almost halfway to the cemetery, when Kestrel broke our silence with an A-bomb. ¡°I know you¡¯re still angry I left.¡± ¡°My god, Kes. It was ten years ago!¡± ¡°You are, aren¡¯t you?¡± I was, so much so that I couldn¡¯t talk about it. Not then, not now. I focused on the ¡°lucky¡± bird feathers she¡¯d hung on my rearview mirror this morning, then I focused on the road. ¡°Look, Elaine, I had to go. I was lost, and it was a journey I could only take alone. You don¡¯t get how I felt¡ªit was like I was a ghost in my own skin, and I would¡¯ve given anything to find my way home.¡± I barked a laugh. ¡°Bullshit. It¡¯s all bullshit!¡± With surprising smoothness, I took the right exit and eased off the highway. My hands were clenching the wheel at ten and two, mind ablaze, but the rest of my body felt calm. After everything I¡¯d been through over the past few weeks... this conversation was little more than inevitable. ¡°I would¡¯ve disappeared if I hadn¡¯t found Sedona,¡± Kestrel said. ¡°You did disappear,¡± I said. ¡°I get it, Elaine. It¡¯s an emotional day for you. What with Jason¡¯s funeral... and the fact that Pearl is coming. But don¡¯t take it out on me.¡± My head spun at her nonsense, but all I could get out was, ¡°Don¡¯t you say her name. Not today.¡± ¡°She loved him, too, you know. She has a right to be there.¡± I was searing with hot, trembling fury as I slowed for the red light. I couldn¡¯t bear to look at her. I couldn¡¯t cry. I couldn¡¯t scream. I couldn¡¯t do more than whisper. ¡°How dare you, Kestrel. Honestly, how dare you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not trying to incite you. I¡¯m serious. She¡¯s a person, too.¡± ¡°She got knowingly involved with a married man. She cannot come to the funeral where his grieving widow will be trying to remember everything good about him.¡± The green arrow flicked on ahead, and I turned onto the back road to the cemetery. The car jostled against the gravel, forcing us to raise our voices. The lucky feathers bounced between us, like a nervous bird come back to life. ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who lost Jason, you know. I remember what he did for us when we were younger, after Mom and Dad stopped caring. We would¡¯ve died without his help. And that woman¡ªyou can¡¯t blame her. Everyone loved Jason. I know you can be cold. I know you can push people away. Sometimes that means pushing them toward someone else who will love them when you can¡¯t. And that¡¯s okay, El! You¡¯re only human. But this isn¡¯t only about your pain.¡± I parked the car, stunned by her little speech. The audacity. ¡°Are you saying I¡¯m making this all about myself? I can¡¯t believe you!¡± ¡°Please. I¡¯m not blaming you, El. All I want is for you to let the woman be. She cared about him and wants to honor his life, just like you do.¡± ¡°She has no right.¡± And then I spotted it. Pearl¡¯s car. The mistress arriving earlier than the wife? I wanted to yank down Kestrel¡¯s stupid feathers, throw them in her face. So I did. She flinched, then quietly gathered them up in her hands and got out of the car. I followed suit, without thinking, and when I slammed the door shut, the car began to roll. We both jumped back, gasping as it slid down into the ditch, the metal hood wailing as it curled around the tree below. Ears ringing, I looked at Kestrel, who was gripping the lucky feathers, a look of horror etched onto her face, and it took everything I had to settle my shuddering heart. Then she came to me and held my arms, as if she sensed I was about to collapse, and let the feathers fall to the ground. ¡°Please,¡± she begged, gripping me with a concerned intensity. Her other hand slipped into the space between her pants¡¯ elastic and belly, and she pulled out the citrine from the store. ¡°You stole it,¡± I said. ¡°Please,¡± she said again, pressing it into my hand. ¡°For luck.¡± I tried to push the crystal away, its jagged edges digging into my palm, clinging to me. ¡°Why do you refuse help?¡± Kestrel cried. ¡°First you don¡¯t want me to leave, and now you don¡¯t want me to stay. Please, just take it. Humor me. You need it.¡± I shook my head, but when I looked back down at the car in the ditch, felt the stinging scab forming on my knee, I could not help but accept the stolen gift. ¡°I¡¯m going to call someone,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m going to call someone.¡± And she stepped away. I gripped the stone until my hands turned white and watched as she walked back toward the highway, her phone pressed to her ear. My sister. My sister, who I raised, like a daughter of my own. My sister, who I fed when we had no money, who I hid at Jason¡¯s house when our parents came back around, angry and drunk and high. My sister, who I saved when they stopped coming back at all. My sister, who could not breathe until she left me, who I let leave, although it was I who could not breathe when she was gone. No. I couldn¡¯t go back to that. I couldn¡¯t get used to her being around again, when I knew she¡¯d race off to Sedona the second Jason was put in the ground. I looked at the stone in my hand and realized the ridiculousness of it all. She was wrong. I wasn¡¯t being selfish enough. I didn¡¯t need her stupid rock. Because it just wouldn¡¯t be right. It wouldn¡¯t be right for me. I took one last look at Pearl¡¯s pristine silver Camry and resisted the urge to throw the citrine at it¡ªsmash a couple windows. Instead, I let it slip from my fingertips, fall lightly into the grass with an almost imperceptible thud. Carefully dusting myself off, I walked past my wrecked car, past Pearl¡¯s, past Kestrel¡¯s feathers, past the stone, thinking only of my husband, of myself, of the hole in the ground.