“It’s bleeding.”
“Natalie, you need to get your sister into an ambulance immediately. Why are you wasting your time calling me? I’m hanging up. Keep me—”
“George is dead, Mom. Here.”
“How—”
“I killed him. Mommy, he was out of control and…and…” And I don’t know what else there is to say.
“One thing at a time, Natalie. Let me see her,” she insists.
“Mom, I don’t think—”
“Let me see her!”
“O-okay, I’ll call back on video. But I think we need to be quick. One…one sec.”
And I do what I say I will, trying to ignore the wailing alarms in my head. Trying to ignore the hollow gurgle in my stomach. Claire groans.
“Nat?” It’s soft, sort of falling out of her mouth.
The call connects and my mother’s face comes to life on the screen. The years have drawn the anguish on her face in harsh, unmissable lines. It’s pain that can’t be ignored. Suffering that cannot be subtle.
I tap the video, switching the image to the back camera. Claire’s figure comes to life on my screen. Was there always this much blood? Her eyes. God, I can’t look at her eyes, now seemingly staring into nothing.
A sob erupts from me so loud and so alive, its own beast, that it takes me a while to register my mother’s screams. It is primal, so deep, it must begin in her toes and end at her gaping mouth. It’s all too much. I take the camera off my sister.
“My baby. Oh my god, my baby.”
She repeats this. It feels like it’s endless. It feels like it’s punishment, each cry a lashing against my skin. Because I know I have done this to her. I have done this to us. Both of us.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “This is stupid. I’m wasting time. I’ll call an ambulance.”
“Wait. Turn your flash on. Show me her eyes.”
“Mom, we have to get to hosp—”
“Show me.”
I do as I’m told. The call goes deathly quiet.
“Mom?” Nothing. “What is it? Say something.”
She sniffs. “This is your fault. I hope you can live with that.” And the call goes dead.
What the fuck?
I try redialing. Nothing. Look at Care. Still.
What did my mother see? Or not see?
“Care?” I ask.
Silence.
I pull up my phone torch, flash it in her eyes. And then I see it. Herpupils are blown out wide like she’s flying high, jaw slack. And no matter how near or far I hold the light, her pupils don’t change size.
I collapse to the floor, reach for Claire’s wrist. Two fingers press firm and urgent into her skin, heat already leaching out of it. Nothing. I try her neck, nothing.
