Page 74 of Cackle

I hear him hang up. I can’t move. I can’t put the phone down. I can’t do anything but cry.

There’s a knock on my door.

I can’t open it, but I don’t need to.

I watch as the dead bolt unlocks itself. As the knob turns. As the door swings open.

Sophie’s there. In her magnificent black feathered coat, and a new matching black feathered hat.

“Oh, pet,” she says.

I don’t ask her how she knows. I can’t move my mouth. I remain motionless.

She pulls the phone from my hands and vanishes it somewhere. She sits next to me on the couch and pulls my head to her shoulder. She strokes my hair.

—

Sometime later, Sophie gets up and returns with a cup of tea.

“Drink this, and then go to sleep,” she says.

“Are you leaving?” I ask. The tremble in my voice makes me sound like a child.

She puts a hand on my cheek and nods.

“You’ll be all right,” she says, “though the tea tastes terrible.”

“What is it?”

“Mushroom. My own blend,” she says. “It will make you feel better. I promise you that. You trust me, yes?”

“Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be back in the morning,” she says. “If I stay tonight, tomorrow night will only be more difficult.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Probably?”

“You’re right.”

She smiles without teeth.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “You were tired. You wanted to rest tonight. You must be so sick of me.”

“Don’t be silly. You were in distress. I’m here. I want to be here. That’s what friends are for,” she says. “Isn’t it?”

“I’m a burden on anyone close to me,” I say, thinking of Sam and every other person I’ve ever latched onto, squeezed and leaned on until they had enough. Old boyfriends, camp bunkmates, recess friends. I make someone the center of my universe until they buckle under the weight. It’s habitual. Now that Sam is gone, I’m doing it to Sophie.

“You’re not a burden to anyone but yourself,” she says. “Drink your tea. Get some sleep. Good night.”

As she leaves, I notice the spider from earlier is in her hair, its legs clutching the strands.

When the door closes, the silence rises up against me. It takes shape. I don’t know what time it is. It feels like I’m neck-deep in a nightmare. I wish it were a nightmare.

I want to look at the picture again.

I want to analyze the look on his face. I want to compare it to the pictures of us.