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Thirty-Five
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House of Sighs Thirty-Four:
THIRTY-FOUR:The ShedFeet pounded earth.The faces in the bus slid from view, drawn into time-lapse blurs as Julia increased speed. Her hands swung in tight fists, back and forth, hard and fast.The shed loomed closer.Julia was a mouse under the eye of an overhead hawk.She increased her speed but it just didn’t feel quick enough. Every step was half a step too short. She faltered, regained her footing, pushed onwards.Run.The shed door swallowed her whole.Darkness. The temperature dropped. A chill rocketed up her back like lightning in reverse, electricity retracing its jagged steps home to the clouds. Breathless, Julia dropped to her haunches. It took some time for her eyes to adjust.I made it. Her victory was so powerful she almost forgot where she was, and that she was only running from one hell to another.I did it! I did it!Her parents would be proud. If only they were here to witness her bravery. They would smile at her and clap their hands. When she returned t
House of Sighs Thirty-Three
THIRTY-THREELiz stood in the doorway. Her eyes were deep red scratches in her face. She staggered down the front steps, her sudden appearance making the crows lining the eaves and peaks of the house flap their wings and screech in applause.Dust devils whirred between the driver and the girl running into the daylight.A current of terror palsied Julia’s legs, but she held true and pushed on. She didn’t see a woman rushing across a lawn at her; no, she saw death itself closing in, The Grim Reaper with its scythe held high, black cape billowing.Her ankle twisted, bullets slipped from her pockets. Julia hit the ground.Helpless, the passengers screamed at her to get up, the bus rocking. Through the hair hanging over her eyes, Julia saw her sister banging on the windows, screaming her name over and over. Diana’s voice hooked under her skin, reeling her to her feet.Liz lurched forward. “Where are you going?” she yelled. Above, clouds flexed and belched the day’s first thunder. “Don
House of Sighs Thirty-Two
THIRTY-TWOHalfway through the gap, the collar of Julia’s shirt tore on a twisted piece of metal. She reached for the hammer in her rear pocket. Gone. Shaken loose when the driver wrestled with her legs. Julia had no air in her lungs with which to scream, just a rattle. She glanced up at her sister who wasn’t looking at her, but at the driver in whom they had placed their trust at the beginning of that day, the woman who had hit the girl in the road and brought them to this horrible place, at the driver crawling onto the hood beside her.“Don’t go,” Liz pleaded. Julia felt her breath on her skin.Directly behind the driver’s wide, frightened eyes, the brother slid into Diana’s line of vision—an angry blur of tanned skin and tattoo.Julia sensed his presence and kicked, one foot connecting with the driver’s jaw. Crack.Jack tried to push the second bullet into the chamber of the handgun. Sweat dripped from his nose and he wished the faggot would shut up.Michael screamed at the ba
House of Sighs Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONEThe driver’s head exploded. A spray of blood filled the air. It covered the hood, the broken door. Jack’s face became a mask of dripping scarlet. His own skin broke in multiple places where button-sized flakes of skull pierced him.Reggie witnessed it all. She continued a few steps and then fell. A cloud of dust blew up off the earth and colored her face until she almost seemed a part of the landscape.Wes, who had been crossing the yard, stopped beside his wife. His mind must be playing tricks on him—this couldn’t be real. His limp arm hung by his side, the gun still in hand. “Nope, don’t think so,” he said to nobody, to the ground, to the green clouds in the sky.Reggie’s wail ended abruptly like a record needle spun off the vinyl. “That wasn’t my little girl, Wes,” she said. “That wasn’t her.”Wes shambled to the bus.Reggie didn’t stand; she crawled, braying her mantra of denial.The girl who had been in their shed was at Jed’s feet now. The one who had run for th
House of Sighs Thirty
THIRTYYou did the right thing, Jack-o, said a voice he had never heard before.“Did I?” he asked.“Did you bloody what?” roared his father, who still held him by the arm. His other hand latched around the back of his neck, squeezing tight. “I ask the questions around here, got it?”Jack didn’t reply. He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy before the window, the boy whose hands were still wrapped in bloodied sheets. This boy was his cousin, Charles; he was six years old.“You speak to me when I speak to you, you little shit.”“Yes!” Jack yelled back.“Yes, bloody what?”“Yes, sir. Dad!”“Now you own up to me, boy. You own up to me or so help me God you’ll get a bigger bloody thrashing than what you already got coming. And trust me, a thrashing’s the least I should be doin’ to you.” His father bent in low, close to his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw yellow teeth. “Did you do this to young Charles over there?”The cousin stopped his screaming, stood and pointed at J
House of Sighs Twenty-Nine
TWENTY-NINE“Did I?” Jack replied, turning to Michael. The faggot had no answer for him.Drifting gun smoke.Sarah attempted to get up. Diana watched the brother scoop his sister up in his large, strong hands; one still held the hammer. His gaze honed in on Diana’s.Blood poured onto his shirt from Liz’s wound. He dropped the corpse and it hit the hood with an undignified thump. A stunned Julia watched the huge, wet mass tumble towards her. The loose remains of a tongue slid out of the broken head to slap her thigh. The body pinned her to the ground.His father, who had dropped his gun and rushed to the remains, distracted Jed. Reggie was close enough to see Liz, headless and now being pulled into Wes’s arms. Julia covered her face as the body lifted off her chest, leaving behind large, red patches. Then the pain settled in. Her sliced open hands.The mother screamed.Wes couldn’t believe what he was holding. This couldn’t be everything he’d poured his hopes and dreams into, his
House of Sighs Twenty-Eight:
TWENTY-EIGHT:CampDiana awoke to the sound of seven gossiping friends. Two older teenagers slept on the other side of the cabin. She liked the counselors, idolized them—they didn’t judge, or bicker as much as she and her friends did. They respected each other, and Diana liked that about them.This would be her final year at summer camp.She planned to go for a swim, to help the younger visitors at meal times and take part in whatever activities were scratched on the chalkboards. Breakfast was in the dining room at eight. Large, wooden tables covered in toast and fruit. Diana played with her food and laughed when a slice of orange hit the cheek of a girl next to her. The culprit was nowhere to be seen. By nine o’clock she and the girls were in the canoes, life jackets around their necks. The girls talked about how cute the male counselor was. Twelve thirty rolled by and lunch disappeared down hungry mouths, boys made farting sounds, counselors huddled together and commented on the
House of Sighs Twenty-Seven
TWENTY-SEVEN—hard against the bus floor. Incredible pressure in her bladder.Screams all about her. The old woman, whose name she couldn’t remember, had her hands over her eyes and was kneeling in the aisle, rocking. She looked so sad, and Diana was scared for her, though not for herself.The man with the big veins in his arms, the one with a goatee, ran past her in dreamy slow motion, and jumped into the stagnant air.***Jack landed hard on his feet. The faggot ran wildly around the back of the bus, thumping against the seats and windows. The faggot was everything wrong in the world. Sure, his eyes might look sympathetic and everything, but Jack saw him for what he really was: the conspirator in all things weak and lost. The faggot was the enemy, more than anything else. The faggot was the driver; the faggot was the dead kid, splattered on the road; the faggot was the driver’s brother; the faggot was everyone but Jack, the only sane person left in this wasteland. The faggot was
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