Page 9

Devra stomped away from the window, her hands curling into fists as she paced around the living room. The anger was a relief from her fear. She allowed it to fill her.

She tried to drown out the songs by turning on her TV, but the sound continued to pulse into her home. She tried pouring herself a glass of wine to settle herself, but after a few sips, it only seemed to fuel her flames, and she left the glass unfinished. Her home was under siege. This place where she’d once felt safe, with walls that used to feel protective.

When she heard a thud at her back door, she whirled around in a defensive stance, certain something terrible was coming for her.

Tabs slipped in through the pet door, a sheen of red on her mouth.

“Oh no, Tabs. What did you do now?”

Devra unclenched her fists and relaxed her posture. The cat meowed and strutted past her, tracking in muddy prints without concern.

Devra opened the back door a crack to see what unsightly offering Tabs had brought her this time. A black-capped chickadee lay disfigured on the mat, its head twisted, teeth marks on its neck, blood splattered across its snow-white cheeks. Devra reminded herself this was how Tabs showed affection. All the death at her doorstep was her cat’s way of saying We are family. Here, I have hunted for you. It was a kindness, really, for a feline. But an ugly sight for a human.

A chorus of laughter came from next door. “Jingle Bell Rock” blasted from their speakers—again—the sound crisp and clear with her back door ajar. The songs were starting to repeat themselves, and Devra knew they would never stop. That their laughter at her expense would never fade.

She peered down at the maimed chickadee, the disturbing image of warped flesh, and felt a strangeness take hold of her body.

Two could play this game.

BRADLEY

There was a dead bird on Bradley’s doorstep. He caught sight of it as he was leaving for work, and stared down at the poor little thing with its crooked neck. Then he did what he assumed any decent person would do; he wrapped the animal for safe bin disposal and held an impromptu funeral. He said a few words about a possible love of song and enjoyment of flying and then set off to work, no worse for wear.

Even though it was nearing eight in the morning, twilight still loomed. There were days when Bradley would miss the sun entirely, starting early and working past dusk. But when he returned home from those shifts, Christmas lights illuminated his route and tricked his brain into forgetting it was the darkest month of the year. The sun might be losing its battle with the night, but the city wasn’t losing its joyful spirit. That would come later, in February.

At work, Bradley had just finished mopping up a particularly gruesome soda can explosion in the seasonal tent when Kaitlyn, a college part-timer, limped toward him exclaiming, “I’m coming!”

“Oh no.” Bradley indicated the grey medical walking boot she was dragging along with her. “What happened?”

“Sprained my ankle.” Thunk. Step. Thunk. Step.

“And after you only just healed from your pinky finger injury.”

Kaitlyn paused her seemingly arduous trek, raised her hands, and shrugged her shoulders in a what are you going to do? gesture.

The holiday department was primarily staffed by part-time employees who came and went with the changing weather. Bradley was the only full-timer and one of the few who actually needed this job, as good therapy didn’t come cheap.

Kaitlyn thunked her final step and put her hands to her knees while she caught her breath. “Anyway, I’m here to help. How can I—Oh.” Kaitlyn straightened, her breathing abruptly returned to normal. “Look at that, you’ve already finished. My bad.”

“No worries.”

“You’re really good at this kind of stuff, you know? Oh, look, there’s Eunji.” Kaitlyn waved both her hands at their manager. “Eunji! Over here. Look at the awesome cleanup job Bradley has done.”

Bradley forced a smile as his cheeks grew hot. “Shush, Kaitlyn. This is not a big deal.”

With at least three folders tucked under her armpit and a sour expression indicating the fiftysomething woman had more important things to do, Eunji stopped to admire the sparkling floor. Her black hair was slicked back in a high ponytail that made her appear much younger than her many menopausal complaints would suggest. “Very nice work, Bradley. As always.”

“Very, very nice work,” Kaitlyn emphasized. “One might call it a supervisor level of cleanliness, wouldn’t you say?”

“Kaitlyn,” Bradley hissed.

“What? If you’re not going to put yourself forward for the promotion, someone has to.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m sure Eunji has way better candidates in mind for—”

“I don’t. In fact.” Eunji fixed her gaze on Bradley. “You’ve shown an excellent work ethic these past few months. I was planning to ask you directly when things calmed down.”

“Me?” He placed a hand to his chest. “A supervisor?”