It was coming from behind the heavy blackout curtains hung over Izzy’s window. The girl didn’t like sunlight.
I stepped forward on rubbery legs.
My fingers brushed the surface of the heavy dark curtains, grabbed an edge.
I don’t want to see, I don’t want to see, I don’t want to see, a voice in the back of my head screamed.
There it was again, louder this time.
Buzzing. A softthump, thump, thump.
Something outside, tapping on the glass, wanting in.
My body rigid, I jerked open the curtain. Winter sunlight blinded me for a second, made me squint my eyes nearly closed. Then I saw it.
There was a large black fly banging hopelessly against the double-paned glass of the window.
No.
Not just one fly.
I looked down and saw that below that one there were dozens of them. Thick, fat flies all huddled together in the bottom corner, buzzing, banging against the window, trying to get out. They formed a grotesque mass that seemed to move as one, roughly shaped like a human hand, pressing against the glass, thudding and tapping.
Wincing, I unlatched the lock on the window and yanked the sash up, cold air streaming in. The flies readjusted, crawling over each other, the fingers on the hand stretching out. I grabbed a video equipment catalog from Izzy’s desk and used it to shoo the horrid little intruders outside. I shoved at them with the catalog, corralled them, whacked at them once they were in the air. They were slow, sleepy almost, as they flew drunkenly away once forced outside. A few of them remained in the room, buzzing heavily around, thumping into the walls and ceiling. I swatted at the ones I couldn’t force out the window, their not-so-tiny bodies making a sickening mess on the rolled-up glossy catalog. When I was sure I had every last one of them, I yanked the window closed and latched it, let myself catch my breath.
I wiped the fly guts off the walls, threw away the catalog. I searched Izzy’s room for food left out, some reason for them being there: a rotting apple core, a plate of crumbs. There was nothing but the coffee cup and a few empty energy drink cans. I grabbed the cup and cans and left the room, my skin feeling twitchy, my eyes searching the shadows for movement, my ears listening for the buzz and thump of any little intruders I might have missed.
THIRTEEN
I’VE BEEN WAITING FORyou,” my mother said.
She’d been asleep for nearly three hours.
She was leaning back against the pillows, her hair going in strange directions, her skin a pale and sickly yellow against the white pillowcases. The dark circles under her eyes looked like sockets. She was sinking into herself, becoming more skeletal by the hour.
“I didn’t know where you were,” she said, sounding as distressed as a little girl who’d gotten lost in the grocery store, separated from her mother. “I woke up and there were bars on my bed and I couldn’t get them down.” She reached for the side rails and rattled them.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “They’re not bars, they’re rails so you won’t fall out of bed. You should have called out to me. I was just in the kitchen, I would have heard you. I’ve been making homemade chicken noodle soup,” I added with a smile. “Paul said it’s one of your favorites.”
I stepped into her room, carrying the baby monitor, the Bluetooth speaker, and my iPad.
“What’s all this?” my mother asked, frowning.
“The monitor is so I can hear you if you call for me, no matter where I am in the house. Or if I go out to my studio.” I showed her the little battery-operated receiver I’d carry with me.
“So no more waking up wondering where you are? Wondering if anyone’s going to come at all?” She stared at me accusingly. “Feeling like a prisoner.”
I felt terrible.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “With the monitor set up, all you have to do is call and I’ll be right in,” I promised. “I’ll be able to hear you from anywhere in the house.”
“And what’s that?” she asked, looking suspiciously at the Bluetooth speaker I was setting up.
“A little surprise,” I said.
I cued up a playlist on my iPad.
“Just wait,” I said. “You’re going to like this.”
