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“What did they look like when they died?” asks Remy.
She’s still that awful, ghostly white. Lit up in a storm. Her eyes are black.
“Jameson? Did Mom and Dad look like they were sleeping?”
“I don’t know, Rem. Don’t think about it, okay? It’s time to be in bed.”
“Look what I found.” She bends down, the skirt of her nightgown brushing the floor, and picks something up in her small hands. Only a little baby fat remains. “I found pictures.”
“Remy,no.” I swipe at the photos in her hands, but she’s out of reach. She was next to me a second ago. “Remy. Don’t—give those to me.”
A tiny frown of concentration turns her mouth down, and Remy holds the photos closer to her face. “It’s Mom and Dad. See?”
She holds them out with both hands like a drawing she’d done at school. All the hairs on the back of my neck pull so tight I swear they’re being ripped out. My stomach turns. I want to look away. I can’t.
Remy drops the pictures so she can cover her ears.
“Stop screaming.” I can’t get the goddamn things off my lap. They won’t go. They keep sticking to my fingers, always face up, always so I can see them in perfect detail. Remy opens her mouth and wails at me. “Stopscreaming.You’re hurting my ears. Stopscreaming.”
I’m not screaming. I didn’t think I was screaming. I understand abruptly that I’ve been screaming since I started begging her not to look at those pictures, but I can’t stop.
Somebody knocks on the door.
It’s a crooked knock, more of a scratch. I stand up against my will. I couldn’t get up before, couldn’t put Remy back to bed, and now I can’t sit. My body drags me toward the door. It’s not locked. There’s no lock. Anyone could’ve walked in.
I open the door.
Gabriel’s on the other side, too thin, his cheeks hollow. He has both hands pressed to a spot on his side. He frowns, forehead creased, like he didn’t expect me to answer the door. “Jameson. Wake up.”
“I’ve been awake. I’ve been waiting up for you. Where have you been?”
He opens his hands like he’s going to show me something small and lovely.
That’s not what he was hiding. There’s a tear in his shirt the same shape as the tear in Lily’s dance outfit, and underneath that is a deep cut. Now that he’s taken his hands away, a river of blood runs down the leg of his jeans. It’s too much.
“Jesus Christ, Gabriel, what the fuck! We have to go to the hospital.”
Remy sidles up next to me. I fumble at her face, trying to hide her eyes, but somehow I can’t find them. “Gabriel looks like he’s sleeping.”
He’s dead. He’s dead standing up. He was dead before I opened the door.
The apartment behind me is silent.
All the screaming has stopped.
“No.No. Remy, we have to—Remy.Remy.”
I put a hand on her shoulder, but her face issowhite. So bloodless. Her eyes are closed. Her face is tilted up. Her shoulders don’t move. She’s not breathing.
She looks like she’s sleeping.
I know she’s not.
“Jesus, stop, I can’t do this.” I shake her shoulder. No movement. “Rem, you gotta look at me.”
Remy opens her mouth. It’s the only part of her that moves.
“Jameson?” It’s her same seven-year-old voice.
