Come to Dust

by Bracken MacLeod

  She isn’t a corpse, he told himself again.

  Dr. Downum sat down at a small table and rested her head in a hand. “She’s the object of a criminal investigation, Tony. I can’t just release her.”

  “She’s not an object,” Tony replied. “She’s a little girl. How many of these kids have you seen so far?” Dr. Downum looked over at Sophie and Mitch and sighed. She looked tired. She looked frightened.

  “So far? Three.”

  “And where are the first two?”

  Dr. Downum shook her head to indicate she did not want to say, not in front of Mitch anyway. Tony squatted down in front of her chair and grabbed her hands. From where Mitch sat, the mortician looked like a father trying to give a daughter comfort. He wondered if they’d known each other personally before they worked together, or if they’d formed that bond by tending to the dead in tandem. However it had developed, it was clear that the two of them would be coming to an agreement, not because they had to, but because they both knew the right thing to do.

  “She’s the only one a family member has come to collect,” Dr. Downum said. “The other children... the... the chief ME took them after they... woke up. One of them came to after I started cutting, Tony!” The mortician pulled Dr. Downum close and held her.

  Mitch didn’t want to think about what had happened to the other kids any more than it looked like Dr. Downum wanted to. He tried to put the memory of the radio program with its doom and gloom callers out of his mind. People had said the most horrible things. One caller said the kids were an abomination. Another proclaimed that Hell was emptying onto the Earth, starting with the children. Overall, the consensus among the reasonable listeners of NPR was that they were witnessing the beginning of some kind of end. He didn’t want to imagine what the callers to more reactionary talk radio were saying.

  “Tony, they know I had three children here awaiting examination. I panicked when the first two came to, and called my boss. They took the boys away and refused to tell me anything about what they intended to do with them.”

  “You think it was possible they called the kids’ parents to come get them?” he said.

  Dr. Downum shook her head. “I don’t know what happened to them, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that. That’s why I called you first this time. I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m sure they’ll be back once they remember I’ve got another one.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, pulling her away from his shoulder so he could look her in the face. “You did the right thing.”

  “But what do we do now?” Mitch asked. Tony and Dr. Downum looked at him, not surprised that he’d been listening, but seemingly concerned that he’d given voice to the question both of them were dancing around. He was appreciative of both of their help, but he just wanted to go home, and he wasn’t leaving without Sophie.

  Dr. Downum leaned back in her chair, wiped her eyes, and said, “If I write it up that the examination was performed and her body released to the funeral home, maybe that’ll be the end of it.” She paused for a moment as if searching for the least upsetting way to say what else was on her mind. “Of course, if anyone follows up and finds out she was never interred, they’ll know I perjured myself and that’ll be the end of my career, at the very least.”

  “Why do you have to write anything?” Mitch asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  He tried to lean forward. Sophie protested, groaning softly, and reached for the back of the chair to keep him in a position where she could rest her head on his shoulder. He said, “I mean, give us a couple of days to get settled and then say you… lost her.”

  Tony smiled and nodded as if they had never considered the most obvious solution. Dr. Downum hadn’t gotten on board yet, however. She protested. “I can’t say I lost a body. How do you lose someone who’s...” The look on her face changed from consternation to skeptical understanding. “You mean, I say we left her unattended and...”

  Mitch grinned broadly at the absurdity of it. But it seemed like an elegantly simple solution to him. He stood up from the chair and set Sophie on her feet on the floor next to him. He held out a hand like he did when they were walking to Khadija’s house. She grabbed it and looked up at him with milky eyes and a wan, thin-lipped smile.

  “She just got up and walked away,” he said.

  16

  Mitch sat in the backseat of Liana’s car with Sophie in his lap, facing him. She refused to let him buckle her in to a seat belt, so he’d climbed in with her, slouched down, and held on tightly, hoping a cop wouldn’t see and pull them over on the ride home. Moreover, he hoped Liana’s nervousness wouldn’t get them in a wreck. She kept glancing up at them in the rearview mirror, taking her eyes off the road. He tried to make eye contact, but every time their eyes met, Liana quickly looked away. She braked sharply and accelerated just as abruptly, reacting to the other cars on the road more than driving deliberately.

  They rode in silence until she took the highway exit closest to her apartment. She waited at the stop sign at the end of the ramp, seeming unsure which direction to turn. A car pulled up behind them and honked. Liana jammed her foot on the gas pedal and the car lurched into the road. A pickup truck in the oncoming lane honked as they peeled out in front of it. She hunched her shoulders and held her breath and she swerved away from the man treating it like a game of chicken. Mitch gripped Sophie tighter and squinted his eyes waiting for the impact. When it didn’t come, he opened them again and looked at his little niece’s face. Her expression hadn’t changed. If she noticed that they’d been in danger, it hadn’t registered. Eventually, she let out a long sigh and took another breath, her shoulders lowering slowly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  She’s freaked out by this. If it was anybody but Sophie would I be losing it too? Of course, I would.

  “It’s okay. We can make it work,” he said. From the back seat, he saw Liana’s head shake ever so slightly. He could lie to himself about her silence on the return trip if he wanted, but he couldn’t deny what her body told him. Just like before, winning one meant losing the other.

  17

  Liana’s apartment was perfect for one. It was cozy for two. With three, all its limitations were laid bare. When they first arrived, she flitted around the place picking up bits and pieces of her life, repositioning them in an attempt to triage those things she judged most in need of childproofing. Before, Sophie would have been running around asking what this was, wanting to touch that, inquiring about details that caught her eye, however banal. Instead, though, Sophie seemed uninterested in any of Liana’s possessions except one; she sat quietly on the sofa watching television. When the orange monster Murray announced “amplify” was the word on the street, she seemed to take an interest for a brief moment before returning to her placid impassivity. Mitch’s breath hitched at the re-run. How they’d loved this episode when they first watched it together. Whenever something loud happened near them, a bus passing by the house, or something dropping onto the floor with a clatter, they both shouted, “AMPLIFY!” as loudly as they could and laughed and laughed as if it were the height of sophisticated comedy. They’d do it out at the grocery store, the playground, everywhere but the library, and get odd looks from strangers when they hit the same timing and tone like it was a rehearsed routine. No matter how many times they shouted the word, it never failed to make Sophie smile. It was their shield and a sword against sudden startling noises that frightened her. Today, she sat watching with a blank expression.

  Mitch moved away from the television, and her eyes followed him. Despite the cataracts, she saw. She stayed put on the sofa while he chased after Liana, trying to get her to slow down and relax. He’d once dated a woman who burned off anger by cleaning her apartment. Every time they fought, she’d tear through the place like a cartoon cleanser mascot. They weren’t well-suited for one another and Mitch hadn’t learned to sublimate his anger yet; as a result, her apartment was always as clean as a surgery. Lian
a, by contrast, was comfortable with a little clutter and didn’t tidy to cope. Not that he’d seen up to that point, anyway. In the short time they’d been together, she’d been in support mode. He was coping with his grief in his own way—by shutting down, doing his time quietly—and she was holding him up. Now, though, it was his turn to assure her things would turn out all right.

  “It’s been a… weird day,” he said. “Let’s just chill out a little and—”

  “Don’t tell me to chill out.”

  “I didn’t say you need to chill. I said… we should take some time to chill and put things in perspective.”

  Liana’s expression darkened and her full lips went thin. “Perspective? What kind of perspective do you think I need to contextualize what’s sitting on my couch?”

  He raised his hands, as if he could deflect her words. “Heyheyhey! Who, not what. That’s Sophie over there. You remember meeting her? Remember our first date?”

  Liana clenched her fists and seemed to be searching for a retort. She tilted her head and looked over Mitch’s shoulder at the child. The girl was staring at the two of them, not the TV, and Liana’s jaws clamped shut with an audible click. They weren’t shouting, but neither were they whispering, and anyone could see the girl understood they were talking about her.

  “You seemed so excited on the way to the... to Dr. Downum’s office. Where did that go?”

  She lowered her voice and said, “I was excited. I was excited for you. For us. But... you know, the way it sounded on the radio, it was... I don’t know. They didn’t say...”

  “What is it? Just say it.”

  “I didn’t know she’d be so... dead.”

  Mitch turned and looked at Sophie, not to confirm what Liana was saying—he knew—but to see if she had heard. He felt an urge to go over and scoop her up and tell her that Liana didn’t mean what she said. But as much as he wanted to fight against the accusation, he knew what she said was true, even if he was unwilling to acknowledge it. She’d been dead, and now she wasn’t. Sort of. There was no way to put it that didn’t sound naïve. It was a miracle. She was getting better. Whatever measure he tried to take of it, it still sounded like a denial of the bare fact Liana laid out. Sophie didn’t look like a healthy little girl. No matter how badly he wanted to ignore the fact, underneath her appearance was the truth.

  “Her heart’s beating,” he said. “You can feel it.” He reached for her hand, hoping that touching him would bring her closer. Liana shook her head and took a step back as if he’d reached out to drag her over to touch Sophie’s chest. Maybe he’d meant to do just that. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do from one second to the next.

  “You need to give me some... time. I wasn’t scared then, but I am a little now. Maybe more than a little. I need time.” She took a breath and said, “I’m frightened, Mitch.”

  Mitch understood. She was being thrust into a situation she hadn’t planned for—couldn’t plan for. This was different than going out a couple of times with a guy who has a kid. Different than realizing their romantic life was going to revolve around babysitters and bedtimes. He’d been in her situation: single and living alone, only responsible for himself, and possessed of the choice to be involved in Sophie’s life as he pleased. An uncle was supposed to be the one to come over and spoil her with presents that annoyed her parents and tell her it was all right when she and Violette clashed and later when she needed someone to talk to who wouldn’t judge her. It wasn’t his job to feed and clothe and shelter her, raise and educate her. It wasn’t his job, and he wasn’t the person for the task. Who would ever have picked a man like him to bring up a child? Then, Violette made the choice for them both, thrusting them together, and taking his autonomy with her on the road. But he’d adapted and come to terms with the situation. Mitch was all Sophie had. And whose fault is that? he thought. He felt the pang of shame at his responsibility for her father’s absence burn and grow into anger at the people who’d placed them in these roles. In the one into which he’d placed himself. It poured life blood into the part of him that was reactive and desired to shut down whatever forced him to confront his own failings. And on it went, burning in his heart and his head. It wasn’t Sophie’s fault she needed him. But she did. And he came to love his responsibility because he loved her more than anything else.

  And then she died.

  Solitary freedom came back to him like the debt due on a Faustian bargain. The feeling of life without her was always there in his mind, in his heart. Accompanied by guilt brought on by fleeting moments of relief at only having to care for himself. At having Liana there to care for him. He’d begun to love those quiet moments—just the two of them, no children.

  He breathed in and out, trying to be mindful of his emotions, like his counselor had shown him. Meditation he’d leaned on to survive three years at MCI Concord. He tried to find that calm center where rationality lived, and in the middle of the emotional tumult, Mitch began to feel a tiny point of calm. No matter how liberating that brief glance at independence had been, how unfair the suddenness of it was, he knew he needed Sophie as much as she needed him. He accepted his responsibility and saw the justice in being the one tasked with her care. Somehow, something had given her back to him. Whatever that something was, God or the Devil, a comet’s tail, or a spill of 2-4-5 Trioxin, he didn’t care. He had a second chance to get things right as far as she was concerned, and he wasn’t going to squander it. Not like his own parents had squandered his and Violette’s upbringing. Whether or not he’d asked for it, he had this chance to do it the way it was supposed to be done. And only this chance.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s getting late, and I know I’m fuc—” He glanced at the child and corrected himself. “I’m frazzled, and need to rest. Sophie and I will sleep out here.” He gave it a beat, and when Liana didn’t smile, continued. “Tomorrow, I’ll take her to scope out our old place. You’ve already done so much for me, and I can’t ask you to—”

  Liana leaned forward and awkwardly kissed him, shutting him up before he could finish. He didn’t feel like she was stopping him before he could commit to leaving, but rather that she was thanking him for saying what she didn’t have the heart to utter herself: he and Sophie had to go. He kissed her back and tried to memorize the various feels of her. Soft lips and arching back. Smooth skin and sinewy muscle. He tried committing them to memory, to last through his exile, like drinking water before heading into the desert. Of all the little physical things he took pleasure from, most of all he thought he’d miss her sweet breath, like spearmint.

  He pulled away from her, though he didn’t want to. She smiled with half her mouth the way he loved and half his grief came flooding back. He had no words. The idea of going back to the place where he woke up to find his worst nightmare lying in his niece’s crib was more than he could face. But face it, he supposed he would have to. There weren’t any other options. Although he still had some money in a savings account, he sure as hell couldn’t afford a motel for a few nights, much less indefinitely.

  He glanced at Sophie again. When the paramedics had come for her, she was in her pajamas. He didn’t know what happened to those; he imagined someone in the hospital or perhaps the medical examiner’s office had disposed of them. She was dressed in a cream-colored shift dress and a pair of tights that were too long and bagged at the knees. He suspected Tony had brought those clothes for her. It looked like a burial outfit, and he wanted her out of it as soon as he could manage. Even if they stayed at Liana’s, he knew he’d have to go back to his sister’s place at least once. That’s where all of Sophie’s things were. All of her clothes and books and crayons and dolls. Everything she owned was elsewhere, abandoned in his haste to run away from grief. Although there was no rational reason to hold on to those things before, he had to go see if he could at least get some of her own clothes and a few toys. If the landlord hadn’t trashed everything. He couldn’t go now, though. There was no way he could ask Liana to
stay alone with Sophie while he ran to see what was left; she seemed perilously close to the tipping point. And he couldn’t take Sophie with him. He couldn’t carry her and everything he needed to bring back. Which, naturally, led him to realize that they couldn’t stay with Liana, no matter how badly he wanted to. He’d give her space. Tomorrow. After he determined there was still a place for him and Sophie to go.

  “Can I borrow a shirt?” he said. “Soph doesn’t have any PJs, and I want to get her out of that weird mortuary outfit.”

  Liana’s face clouded with a touch of the apprehension she’d worn only moments earlier before she relaxed again and sighed. “Of course.” She walked into her bedroom and came back with a tour shirt for some band he’d never heard of. Unlike her others, it had no skulls or pentagrams or devils. Instead, it was a simple graphic sequence of the phases of the moon and an unreadable band name that looked like brambles.

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  Liana nodded but didn’t say, “You’re welcome.” She stood watching while he tiptoed over to where Sophie sat watching him.

  “Want to change into something better, sweetie? Tomorrow, we’ll go get you some new clothes, okay?”

  “’Kay,” she said. Her voice was tiny and hollow like someone trying to speak at the end of a breath. She held up her hands the way she did when he told her it was pajama time, and he pulled the shift up over her head. She was pale. So pale. A chill shuddered through him, like she was made of wind and frost. In the window, Liana’s air conditioner struggled against the late day heat. He pulled the black shirt down over her and asked her to step out of the tights. She did, and fell into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. The babydoll style shirt fit her like a nightgown.