Free One Bloody Thing After Another by Joey Comeau Page B

Jackie.”
    She loves him for saying that.

35
    Jackie stands under the department store’s enormous sign. She remembered the name, even though her aunt only said it one time on the telephone to someone else. This is the department store where Jackie’s mother worked. Whenever she goes to her broken-arm tree or any of her trees, she thinks about this department store.
    There’s a mother and daughter here, too. They are standing outside one of the big picture windows, looking in at the elaborate display. The little girl has a fancy scarf wrapped around her neck with little pink pom-poms dangling down from the ends.
    â€œHow do they make them fly?” the little girl says. She swings around to look at her mom, and the pom-poms whip through the air. Her mom points up at something in the window.
    â€œThey use wires,” the mom tells her. “Look, you can see them.” Jackie looks, too, and there they are, little wires ruining the illusion. The little girl has her face pushed up against the window now, straining to see. She’s up on her tiptoes.
    â€œOh,” says the little girl. She sounds disappointed.
    â€œNo they don’t,” Jackie says. “It’s magic, how they fly like that. It’s a miracle.”
    â€œBut I can see the wires,” the little girl says. Her mother doesn’t say anything, she just stares at Jackie. “Look, you can see the wires,” the girl says.
    â€œThose are puppet strings,” Jackie says.
    â€œPuppet strings?”
    â€œYeah. There are people who live up in the ceiling there. That’s all they do all day, is make those mannequins dance and fly.”
    â€œWhat do they eat?” she says. Her mother is already pulling her away.
    â€œThey eat children,” Jackie says, and the little girl gasps. She puts the scarf over her face in little pink horror. Then she’s being pulled away. Mom to the rescue. The little girl looks back at Jackie, and Jackie gives her a small wave.
    â€œI’m here to visit my dead mom!” Jackie yells after them.

36
    All night Ann hears her down there, screaming and thrashing. Margaret needs to be fed again. The little black kitten doesn’t like those sounds at all, and he burrows under Ann’s arms. Margaret needs to be fed. But Ann can’t do it tonight. Tomorrow night. Margaret’ll be screaming and crying and she’ll start to use words again. This is what always happens.
    She’ll say, “Ann,” in the middle of some string of random words. That will be too much. And Ann will be right back out there, finding her little sister something to eat. But not tonight. Tonight she sits with the kitten in her lap, and she tries to remember the words to old songs while Margaret screams. When she falls asleep, she dreams that she can remember all the words perfectly.
    Ann wakes up with the kitten pushing his cold little snout into her neck.
    â€œOh, hello,” she says. “Good morning, Jackie.” She feeds him in the kitchen, and makes herself some breakfast. She sets him and his dish on the kitchen table, and sits in her usual seat. It’s good to have someone to eat with.
    â€œSlow down,” she tells him.
    Downstairs, she pulls open the door, so she can watch Margaret sleep, and the air inside is cold. Too cold. The window is open, and Ann feels this rush of excitement. Maybe her sister got out. Maybe it’s over.
    But Margaret hasn’t escaped. She’s right there, on the floor, curled up in their mother’s arms. Their mother’s face is twisted and bloody, and there’s fur on the floor from whatever they ate last night. It’s a mess of blood and bone and strips of flesh. And they’re sleeping peacefully, wrapped around one another. They look so calm and quiet.
    Ann doesn’t know what to do. She could chain her mother up now. But then what? Then she’s taking care of two of them. It’s hard enough finding