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“Fuck,” he bites again, his hand on my cheek, slipping up to fist in my hair. “Come here.”
He tugs me into him and I go, blood and all, and let him hold me, clinging to him just as hard. I feel undeserving of his love, his comfort but I go anyway because it feels like the world is crashing down around us.
I spot the picture, the white back facing the sky and the photograph against the tile floor.
It’s a picture that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
“Is anyone hurt?”
It’s a new voice, the voice of a cop. Though sweat beads my hairline from the adrenaline coursing through me, a sense of calm sweeps over me. A blackness, tugging me back to unconsciousness.
“Hannah?” Mason’s voice barely breaks through, and a sweeping sensation slides over me like a cloak.
“An ambulance is on the way,” I hear, as more sirens approach, but my eyes stay locked on the little photograph under the desk.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Hannah,” Mason tries again, but it’s no use.
I’m already falling into the darkness.
Hannah
Tap tap tap . . .
“Mama, why does he look like that?”
“Hush, now, Missy dear.” My mother silences her, tugging Missy and my hands down the long, narrow passage toward the casket up front. People stare at us as we pass, their gazes trained on us like we’re circus performers.
Papa took us to a circus once. There were clowns and I didn’t like them. I liked the animals, though. Missylovedthe clowns and declared she would also be a clown when we grow up.
I just think she said it to scare me.
I don’t think we’ll be going to a circus again. Mama doesn’t like it and now, Papa’s not here anymore.
Tap tap tap . . .
What is that annoying tapping? It feels like something hitting my face, but when I reach up, there’s no one there.
We were told before we left the house that we must be silent today, or Mama would be angry. I don’t like when she’s angry, so I’ve kept my voice locked tight.
“Why is he smiling?” Missy asks as we near and my fingers grow clammy in Mama’s grip. I want to tug away from her, but I know if I do, she’ll be angry. Still . . . panic rises in my throat and I feel like it’s too close.
I don’t want to see him.
That’snothim. That man in the casket holds a slight green tinge to his skin. A sunken decay around his eyes.
He wasn’t green. He was big and powerful. Dark and dangerous. Bad, but willing to be good, just for me.
Gently, I tug on my hand, but Mama won’t let go.
She only tightens her grip, pulling me closer and closer to the corpse in the casket.
My breath catches in my throat and I feel like I can smell death. Taste it on my tongue.
“Mama,” I choke, but she just pulls harder and I stumble forward when she stops abruptly, right at the edge of the casket. I fall forward, catching myself on the edge and my hand brushes his.
Disgust fills me as bile rises in my throat.
