Free Just Fall by Nina Sadowsky

article. Ellie exhales. So far, so good. They know he is dead. That was part of the plan. The crucial detail’s omission? That was a calculated risk that paid off.
    But then her stomach sours. She pushes her plate away. Something about seeing the cold details of the murder she has committed in solid black and white.
    Ellie’s thoughts turn to Rob. How could she have seen none of it? Or did she just blithely commit to willful ignorance? Hide the truth from herself when it was staring her in the fucking face? It wouldn’t be the first time in her life. Sometimes a smart woman can be so stupid. The food she just gobbled rises in her gullet. Her hand covers her mouth. Who is this person she has become? Devious and deft. Predatory when necessary. Murderous. The word thunders through her brain. Murderous. Murderess.

    A tendril of her newly dark hair flops in front of her eyes, startling her. She feels foreign in her own skin. Itchy and burning, skittish and scared. What has she done?
    She signals for the check. Fuck this. She is going right to the airport. She is flying home to New York on the first plane she can catch. She doesn’t even know if Rob is still alive! If he is, she has no assurances he will remain so. And what has she become for this man, this stranger? A killer. She hates herself. And she hates him, this man who lies as easily as he breathes. How could she have believed a word he said? Done the things she has done? She is frantic. She throws cash down to pay for her breakfast. Stumbles to her feet. She is flushed, shivering in a clammy sweat. She runs from the café, oblivious to the startled looks of staff and patrons.

Ellie stared down at her sleeping sister. Cancer had wasted her body; treatment had cost her her glossy blond hair. Dark circles wreathed her eyes. An oxygen feed tubed her nose. A broken doll.
    For five years they had spiraled down this dark tunnel, the first faint lights of hope swallowed by an all-encompassing darkness.
    Mary Ann stirred. One clawlike hand batted limply at nothing and then dropped onto the pink thermal blanket. They were in their childhood bedroom. Mary Ann had come home from the hospital to die.
    Ellie looked around. Their twin beds on opposite sides of the room, Mary Ann’s all rosy pinks, Ellie’s dark purple. The shelves that housed their books and a few childhood relics, a favorite doll, a Monopoly set. Ellie’s desk, a jumble of textbooks and makeup, her iPod and keys; Mary Ann’s neatly laden with tissues, pill bottles, a water bottle, and a bedpan.

    Ellie had been sleeping on the sofa in the family room. She was grateful college orientation was only three months away. She would never be able to sleep in this room again.
    Ellie stroked the star-shaped pink plush pillow nestled next to Mary Ann’s emaciated body. Picked it up. Pushed it down into Mary Ann’s fragile face, covering her nose and mouth.
    The bookshelves began to rattle, their shaking mimicking the trembling in Ellie’s arms as she pressed the pillow harder onto Mary Ann’s face. Ellie twisted her head to look at the shelves, never relaxing her pressure. She saw the china plate emblazoned with “My love will stop when this rooster crows” tip from the top shelf and arc through the air in slow motion. Weird. That plate was always kept in the kitchen.
    The plate hit the hardwood floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.
    A rooster crowed, its raucous call echoing hollowly. What the hell?
    Ellie startled awake to midnight shadows. She was in her bed. She looked over at Mary Ann’s. It was empty, neatly made. Stuffed animals ringed the edges in lumpy silhouette. There was a rap at the door. Her mother opened it without waiting for a response. The light from the hall spilled in, a harsh yellow. Her father stepped into the room.
    “She’s dead,” her father choked out. “The hospital just called.”

The routine of investigation clicks into place with all of its satisfying familiarity. Lucien is