Maybe I shouldn’t be here. I should go back to Crissy’s house and let myself forget. It’s been weeks; how deeply has the damage of time set into my mother’s skin? A child shouldn’t have to see her parents’ dead bodies, and yet here I am, willingly doing just that.
My hand hovers over the doorknob. I let go and turn away, but I only make it down one step before I’m back up again, staring at the painted wood and wondering how something so beautiful could hide something so ugly.
Kind of like my mother and her secrets.
I swallow and slowly open the door. It creaks on its hinges, and immediately I am assaulted by the worst stench I have ever smelled. Once, when I was little, my family went to stay with my father’s parents over Christmas and forgot to throw out a package of ground beef my mother left out on the countertop to thaw; when we got back, a week later, the entire kitchen smelled of rotten meat, and it took days of scrubbing and spraying before the scent finally dissipated. The entire house reeks of the same odor, only this time it’s ten times stronger and I don’t think any amount of cleaning could get rid of it.
Turning my head away from the blood spatter on the floor where my father was murdered, I make my way to the staircase. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of what looks like a patch of torn skin with a clump of dark hair along one side. I suppress the urge to retch, and pull my eyes away.
I half expect – and wholly hope – that my mother’s body will have vanished just like my father’s, but such luck tends not to come more than once, especially in a situation like this. I open the door to her room, and there she is, in the same position she died in.
This time, I can’t stop the gag that rips through my throat. I double over and heave, the entire contents of my stomach coming up in waves. Even after I’ve thrown up all that I can, I still retch a few more times until I’m able to control it. My gags turn into coughs, and then into wheezes. I feel lightheaded and every time I stand up straight, white patches dance in front of my eyes. I guess I’ll just have to crouch to do this, then, because I’m not about to back down now.
“Mother, what were you thinking?” I say, as if I believe that she can hear me somehow. “You should have told me what was going on. I can protect myself. Why didn’t you trust me?”
My voice breaks more the longer I speak, until all that comes out are pitiful sobs and coughs. I’m crying, and I’m ashamed of myself, and all I want is for my mother to hold me and comfort me and keep me safe.
“You tried. I know you did. But I’d rather you had talked to me about it first. We could have done something together. If you died to protect me, then who’s left? I’m all alone now. You left me alone, Mama!”
I sniff and take a deep breath, wiping my eyes and my nose off with the sleeves of my sweater. I love her – so much – but I’m also angry with her. And I hate myself for being angry with someone I love. Especially someone who loved me enough to die for me.
I chance a quick look at the body on the floor and immediately wish I hadn’t. Her hair is so brittle it’s already begun to flake off; her skin is stretched painfully thin and sinks so deeply over her bones that I can see the shape of her skeleton underneath. She looks so fragile, I’m afraid to touch her. What if she breaks apart in my arms?
Quickly, I unfold the sheet in my hands and throw it over her. The darkness of her skin, now more ashen than black in color, rises through the cloth, and I can still make out the silhouette of her sunken eyes and jutting bones from underneath it.
I pull a pair of gloves out of my pockets and slide my hands into them. I can’t bear to touch her, even through the sheet. I fear that the stains she would leave on my hands would never wash out.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’ve got to move you. I don’t know what will happen when I do, but it’s better than being stuck in here, isn’t it? I’m so sorry. I should have done this a long time ago, but I was too afraid.”
I swallow down a lump in my throat, but it rises again just as quickly. Taking great care not to damage any part of her, I roll my mother over until the sheet is wrapped around her on all sides. I can still feel her body through it, but less so than I would have without such thick gloves.
Surprisingly, the thing that bothers me the most about having to carry my mother’s body down the stairs and outside is how easy it is. She’s so light, it’s no different than carrying Fray to bed when he falls asleep on the couch. But the sensation of her bones shifting and her skin cracking is enough to balance out the ease of lifting her body in my arms.
I push the door open with my hip and lay the body down on the porch, on a bench behind a layer of wooden fencing that will hopefully shield her from the prying eyes of any neighbors looking out their windows.
Of course, me taking up the shovel I left outside and using it to dig a hole in the middle of the yard is more than enough to cause a scene should anyone see it. Thankfully, it seems that the entire neighborhood is holed up in their homes, fast asleep or otherwise occupied.
The air is crisp and the ground is dry, which makes digging into it that much harder. I’m glad that it isn’t frozen solid, but I’ve never been very strong, and I have to hurry so that I can get back to Crissy’s house before anyone notices I’m gone.
There are blisters between my fingers and along my palms by the time I finish. Wiping sweat from my forehead, I throw the shovel to the ground and lean down to catch my breath. The air out here is fresher, but I think I brought some of the stench from inside with me on my clothes.
I will never forget the sound that my mother’s body makes as I lower it into its shallow grave. The bones crack, the skin snaps, and her head rolls back with a sickening creaking noise. She’s so broken. But maybe she was already broken, even before she died. She wouldn’t have told me if she was, so I have no way of knowing.
Just as I am about to begin shoveling loads of dirt back over her, I notice something sticking out from beneath the sheet. One of her arms have come loose, her thin wrist displaying prominent veins in my direction, her hand stretched out and half-open, like she’s reaching up to me. But that’s not what draws my attention.
In her hand, barely visible through the layer of blood and torn skin around it, is a piece of paper. It’s graying, worn and dirty, but when I reach down and gently pull it from my mother’s grasp, I see that it is filled with words, and that all of them are still legible.
I stow it in my pocket for the time being and resolve to read it once I’ve finished with my current task. I’m curious, but it’s more important to hurry so that I don’t get caught than to stop and read with the sun due to rise at any moment.
Once the last of the dirt is poured in and leveled off, I step back and regard my work. It’s obvious that the ground has been disturbed, and I’m sure that whoever sees it will know right away that a body has been buried here. But at least they won’t know that I did it. And now that it’s over, it feels like a weight has been pulled off of my chest. I only wish I could have done the same for my father.
“Goodnight, Mama.”
The note is crumpled and torn when I pull it out of my pocket, but when I join the ripped halves together and smooth it out with my palms I can read it just fine. It’s in my mother’s handwriting, and she clearly wrote it as neatly as she could manage. It is addressed to me. My heart pounds painfully as I read it, and my pulse quickens the farther down the page my eyes scan.
My Dearest Everly,
I’m so terribly sorry that I kept this from you for so long. I wanted to tell you, but I never found the right time. And I didn’t want to scare you, because I didn’t know whether or not I was right. But now I know that I am. And I also know that you are in danger.
Believe me, sweetheart, I never wanted anything like this to happen to you. When I was a young girl, just a little older than you are now, something bad happened to me and I was forced to leave my home forever. I had thought that starting a family and building a new life would help me to forget my past, but now it has come
back for me.
I don’t want you to know what I did with my life before you were born. I don’t want you to grow up thinking ill of me, and I know that you would if you knew.
They won’t try to kill you if they can take me instead, so I am going to let them.
You and your brother are safe for now, but I can’t promise that you always will be. Because of the mistakes I made in my past, I’m afraid I’ve put the people I love in harm’s way. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re to blame for any of this. I’m sorry I ever got you involved in this mess in the first place.
I never found out what exactly would have happened to me if I hadn’t left home so long ago. But I’m proud of the life I’ve made for myself, even if it was founded on lies. My real name isn’t Teresa, but I’m not going to tell you what it is. I want you to remember me as the woman who raised you, and not as the scared little girl who ran away and hid to protect herself.
But that’s what I’m asking you to do. My brave, sweet little girl, I’m afraid I have to ask you to hide for me. I know the Digits will come for you eventually, once they realize who you really are. But no matter what you do, don’t let them keep you. I think you can imagine what will happen to you if they do.
By the time you read this, I will be dead. Please, don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have done anything to save me. And don’t let yourself think that I died to protect you, because the guilt you’ll suffer will make my sacrifice meaningless. I need you to live for me, now. I need you to be brave, but I also need you to be selfish.
Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, you need to leave. Don’t even bother packing your suitcase. Don’t pause to mourn me or your father, and don’t stay long enough for them to come back for you.
Just take your brother and run. Get as far away from here as you can. It doesn’t matter where you go, just that you do. Change your name and start your life over again, just like I did when I was your age.
I’m incredibly sorry that I have brought this burden upon you. You shouldn’t have to raise your own brother, and you’re too young not to have a place to call home. But believe me when I say that this all really is for the best. I couldn’t have asked for a better life, even if it isn’t my own.
You’ll always be my baby girl, and I’ll always love you. Be strong, and take good care of your little brother.
Love, Mama
By the time the piece of paper hits the floor, my feet have already pounded across nearly a block of pavement in my rush to get to Fray as quickly as possible. I have a bad feeling that my mother’s letter might have come to me too late.
Chapter ten
My brother is waiting for me when I get back to Crissy’s house, but he isn’t the only one. Tesla is with him, with one hand gripping the back of his neck like a vice and the other holding both of his hands over his head. She has to stoop to reach him, but even though he’s pulling and thrashing as much as he can, she’s clearly not struggling at all to keep him still.
There are tears rolling down the sides of his face and dripping to the ground. I hear him call out my name a couple of times, but then Tesla shakes him roughly and he stops. His eyes are pleading with me.
There is a sick, shameful part of me that is tempted to turn away and run; to leave my brother behind and save myself. I could never do it, of course, but just the fact that I’m even able to think about it makes my stomach churn.
This is who my mother died to protect. Me. And if she were here, none of this would be happening. It’s almost like her sacrifice meant nothing at all.
“Everly!” Fray screams, his voice hoarse from crying. “Don’t let them take you! I’ll be okay, just please – ”
Tesla kicks Fray in the knee hard enough to knock him off balance. He stumbles, but she pulls him up by his wrists and forces him to stay standing. His leg is bent inwards, and he’s clearly in a lot of pain.
It’s like a switch flips inside of me, and suddenly all I’m seeing is red. I’m angry; the same kind of rage that flared up in me when Cyrus shot the tracker into my neck is pulsing under my skin now. My mother tried to teach me to control my anger, and to always choose the path that leads to the least amount of violence, no matter how hard it is. She was such a wonderful woman, but I’m not like her. I try to be good, to calm myself and keep a level head, but right now my blood is pumping so hard I can’t even think straight.
I don’t care about consequences. I don’t care about myself. I won’t let them take the only part of my family that’s left away from me.
“Let him go!” I don’t even realize I’m shouting until the words echo in my ears and I recognize my own voice. “Take me. Do whatever you want to me. Just leave him out of it!”
Tesla arches one eyebrow, a nasty smirk on her face that does nothing to quell my growing rage. I clench my fists and try counting to ten in my mind.
One, two…
“Oh, really? And what makes you think I want you? Maybe I just came to kill him. Leave you here to suffer.”
Three, four, five…
“You wouldn’t do that,” I say, struggling to keep my tone even. “Cyrus told me that I was being tested for a reason. You wouldn’t go to all that trouble just to leave me be afterwards.”
Six, seven…
“Everly, please! You have to go! She’s going to – ”
The Digit turns and pins my brother to the front wall of the house, her hand still holding tightly to his wrists. She pushes him up until he has to stand on his toes to stay upright.
Eight, nine…
She pulls her other hand away from the back of his neck and moves it to the front. She squeezes it, just under his chin, and I can hear the air rush out of his lungs. His legs kick desperately at the air in front of him, and my legs move before I’ve even thought to run.
Ten.
“Let him go!”
The roar that rips out of my throat is enough to wake the whole neighborhood. Nobody from inside of Crissy’s house comes out, which means Tesla has already threatened them not to interfere. Still, I’m a bit disappointed. I would never put my own fear in front of the life of someone I care about.
I run until I reach them, but just as I do, Tesla releases her grip on Fray’s neck and lowers his arms until he’s standing flat-footed beside her. Her grip is loose enough that he could break free and run away from her if he wanted to, but I can see right away why he doesn’t.
Apparently, the Digits’ human forms aren’t the only weapon they have in their arsenal. Tesla’s left hand – the one she was just using to strangle my brother – is gripped tightly around the handle of a gun, with her index finger on the trigger and the barrel pointed directly in the middle of Fray’s forehead.
One look tells me that Fray has wet himself, but I can’t blame him. My legs are shaking so badly I’m surprised I can still stand, but I’m afraid that if I tried to run again I wouldn’t make it very far before they gave out.
Is this how my parents died? Did the Digits who murdered them shoot them with the rifles in their hands? What other weapons do these monsters have hidden inside of their bodies?
I never should have shouted at Cyrus. I should have just gone along with what they told me to do without complaint. Especially now that I know how easily they could have killed me at any given moment. They must have been holding themselves back the whole time.
And for what? Maybe they should have just killed me before I could run away. Maybe I wish they had. I don’t know.
When I don’t reply to her threat, Tesla pushes her gun closer to Fray until it’s touching his forehead. He lets out a whimper that makes me realize that none of what’s happening right now is about me; it’s not even about my parents. It’s about Fray. I have to protect him, no matter what it costs me.
I take a deep, shaky breath. “Please.” I try to reason with Tesla, knowing while I do that it’s pointless. “You want me for something, right? Fray is just a kid; you have no use for him. If you leave him alone… I’ll
go with you. Willingly. I promise.”
The smile that stretches across Tesla’s face almost makes me lose my temper again. I press my fingernails into my palms as hard as I can and try to focus only on the pain.
“There, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Her smile turns into a sneer and she lets go of Fray, pushing him away but keeping her gun pointed in his direction. Fray’s injured knee gives way and he sinks to the ground, curled up and shaking. I throw myself down next to him and pull him close, holding his head against my chest and my arms around his shoulders. I rub circles on his back, and I would whisper words of comfort in his ears if I had any to spare.
I check him for wounds, but other than his knee – which should heal on its own within the next couple of weeks, thankfully – Fray appears to be okay. At least, physically. I breathe a sigh of relief and close my eyes, locking my hands together around him.
Tesla watches us silently for a minute, then interrupts us, saying, “Alright, that’s enough. You’ve said your goodbyes. You’re lucky I even let you have that.”
I don’t look at her, but I feel her hand as it grips around my upper arm and hauls me to my feet. I try to pull away from her, but she tightens her hold until I can feel bruises blooming across my skin.
Her gun still drawn, she guides me roughly to the door and releases me. “You have five minutes,” she says shortly. “Gather whatever you want; I don’t care. Just make sure you’re quick about it.”
It takes me an embarrassingly long moment before I realize she’s telling me to go inside and pack my bags. She’s planning on taking me away with her tonight. Right now. I knew I would probably have to leave with the Digits sooner or later, especially since receiving my mother’s letter and seeing Fray’s life put in jeopardy because of me, but I didn’t know that it would happen this soon. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I’m so terrified, I don’t know what to do, so I follow her orders and open the door because I can’t think of any other options.
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