by Rick R. Reed
Lucy’s voice came through a fog of pain and memory. Her voice, high and yes, a little shrill, had a weird effect, almost as if it were coming from a distance, as if her daughter was much farther away than the foot or so she actually was.
“Mama!” Lucy snapped.
She turned her eyes dully to her, imagining the way a cow might turn to look at a fly on its flanks.
Lucy had pulled off her wet suit and it lay in a heap on top of the outfit she had so carefully folded earlier. Lucy had crossed her arms absurdly over her chest and had pulled her legs together. “My clothes! I need my clothes!” She stamped her foot.
She bent down to her daughter, the damp red-and-white polka dot outfit in one hand. She stretched the elastic waistband of the skirt and said, “Step in.”
She didn’t really notice the passage of time. It could have been an hour, it could have been thirty seconds, but there Lucy was before her, fully dressed. There was a buzzing sound that drowned out what little noise her daughter may have been making, her mouth open in a gasping scream. Her dark eyes bulged.
She had her hands around Lucy’s throat, pressing in on her windpipe, cutting off the air, thinking, “I gave you life and I can take it away.”
Lucy, in a voice in her mind, chided her, calling her an Indian giver.
Suddenly, she stopped as Lucy’s hands went limp, hands that had been tearing at her own, trying with her small child’s strength to stop her. She dropped her hands to her sides and moaned. Lucy was gasping, sucking in air in wheezing breaths, a caw-cawing noise that broke her heart.
“Oh God, honey, I’m so sorry. Oh God, what have I done?” Her voice went up high and dissolved into wracking sobs. She drew the trembling, wheezing little girl to her bosom, holding her tight, blotting out the image of a necklace of bright red thumbprints around her throat.
* * *
She pulled the sheet over herself, even though the August air wafting in her bedroom window was sticky, mired in heat and humidity. Dawn’s gray light filtered into the room, filling it was a flat gray presence. She turned and closed her eyes, finally able to sleep.
The End
Table of Contents
Crime Scene
