Just like on the day of our births—
The skies opened up.
And it began to pour.
II.
Iwas a child andshewas a child,
In this kingdom by the sea.
also from “Annabel Lee”
by Edgar Allan Poe
Days After
If Annabella’s absence had brought with it a building sense of panic, her death brought with it a terrifying crash, a cacophony of noise that descended over the island and made our ears ring. I dragged Mary home, leading her up the back stairway and into her bedroom.
“You need to lie down,” I told her, helping her into the bed, pulling her shoes off her feet, and letting them fall to the floor.
“I was here all night, okay?” she whispered.
“Fine, Mary, fine. Just don’t worry about it, okay?”
I pulled the blankets over her and went downstairs again. The crowd of birdheads had dispersed; I intercepted my mother as she pulled on high, black boots in the kitchen.
“Is it true?” I asked her.
“I know as much as you know,” she said.
“But Annabella’s dead?”
“I know as much as you,” she repeated. She looked up at me then, finally finished with her boots, and I saw that she looked sad, and worried, and maybe a little scared. “They said she’s dead, yes. I’m going now.”
“Who said she’s dead?” I asked.
“Frank and Nancy Elmhurst,” she replied. “They found her in their barn.”
Peter’s parents. They lived near the cemetery.
“I’m coming with you,” I said.
“Hurry up and get your shoes on.”
We were soaked by the time we reached the Elmhursts’ farm. The birdheads had beat us to it; some of them held umbrellas, some of them had rain jackets, but most of them just stood in the open and let the water rush over them.
I should have anticipated what a shitshow it would be. Birdheads were dramatic under the most benign of circumstances; now that they had something to actually be upset about, every single one of them had forgotten how to conduct themselves as adults. There was open, messy weeping, long hugs with no end in sight, low keening moans that started and ended as if from everywhere and nowhere at once, and more yelling—Liesel, her purple dress soaked to the bone, was arguing loudly with Henrietta as the latter fought a losing battle of keeping her thick eyeglasses dry. Horace paced nervously by their feet, ducking in between their ankles and over Liesl’s purple rainboots.
“What happened?” I asked Tank, who was sittingoutside the barn, under the overhang of the roof. He had his camera in his lap and his hands wrapped around it like it was the heaviest thing he’d ever had to carry.
“Georgina?” he said, looking up at me slowly. “Please don’t go in there. It’s terrible in there. I couldn’t bear it if you saw.”
Hep Shackman, who was just a few feet away from Tank, mumbled something then, and I almost went to him before I realized he was just talking softly to his binoculars, holding them in his lap like he’d gotten confused and thought they were Annabella. When he looked up and saw me, he acted like I’d startled him, like for just a moment he was afraid of me. But then he returned his attention to his binoculars.
“Should somebody call the police?” I asked to no one in particular, because wasn’t that what you did when someone died? I tried to remember the practicalities involved in death, and that was the only thing I came up with: somebody should call the police.
“Harrison did,” Prue said, suddenly beside me, looking even more exhausted than she had last night and soaking wet. I suddenly remembered the bird-lightness of her lips on mine and felt a pang of anger that that memory was being interrupted by something so sad. “It’s really terrible,” she continued, lowering her voice, taking me by the hand and pulling me away from Tank. “We were one of the first ones here.”
