Chapter 39

It was fascinating, really. Sitting within the same four walls, day after day, week after week. Beatrice wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d been holed up in the small, dingy bedroom. It’d been long enough to have counted the 456 flowers on the wallpapered wall to the left of the bed, to have learned that there was was a pipe dripping in the ceiling that left a watermark above the door, and to have noticed not to get out of bed on the left side because the floorboards creaked. She considered taking up a tally, but she was so disoriented she had a difficult time knowing when the day started and ended. She only ever left the bedroom when her cousins let her use the bathroom next door, an equally nondescript room with no windows. The showers she took were cold and the bathroom looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since 1989, but she figured it was better than nothing.

The cousins came and went at random intervals, which frustrated Beatrice to no end. In her perfect world, everyone would work on a predictable schedule. She’d go to sleep and wake up at the same time everyday. Everyone would eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at expected intervals. Beatrice would see Arthur on Wednesdays at five and on Saturday at noon. She would see her mother twice a year for two major holidays. She’d never see her cousins. Everything would be better if everyone was predictable.

Perhaps that was it, that was what her cousins had over her. Not the blips. Not the malice. The unpredictability. Beatrice knew her cousins would do something awful that would hurt her. She knew that they already had. Since she was a kid, her cousins had almost always been horrible, and she always knew that they’d continue to be horrible. But Beatrice never knew what her cousins would do next or when they would strike. That was their advantage.

So Beatrice waited. She walked in circles around the cramped bedroom. She napped. She counted flowers on the wall and cracks on the ceiling. She folded the sheets on the bed, unfolded them, and then folded them again. Her cousins would come in unexpectedly. Sometimes just one, sometimes many. They’d taunt her, or have a menacing conversation with her. Then they’d leave, and Beatrice would continue to walk, sleep, count, and clean. Day in. Day out.

But one day, the door creaked open. Beatrice paused her recount of the paint chips, and looked towards the door. To her surprise, it wasn’t one of the cousins. It wasn’t her mother or Arthur. It wasn’t even Pepe. She stared, momentarily baffled, at the person standing in her doorway. She knew who it was, but she didn’t want to. Beatrice wanted nothing to do with the person standing in the doorway.

She resumed counting paint chips.

-M.A. Gavin

Chapter 38

Beatrice was torn.  Now she could remember her life, blips and memories she forced herself to suppress, but those memories brought new questions, and opened old scars.  She thought perhaps those had been better forgotten.  

Despite lacking the lengthy training of Arthur and his coworkers, and despite her current pallor and frailty, her mind jumped into hyper-drive.  

“Mom, they won’t let you stay in here long,” she whispered, “especially if they realize what just happened to me.”

“What did just happen to you, Birdie?  Did you really not know?  You seemed stunned -”

“It doesn’t matter now.  My cousins’ technical advantage no longer exists, though I expect they have another surprise coming our way.”

Her mother stared at her bewildered, but unable to break her gaze.  Birdie transformed in front of her.  She walked into a sickly looking woman with deadened eyes and a fatigued spirit, but suddenly Birdie had not just a glow in her eyes, but a flame lighting her face and an urgency pulsing from every atom of her being.   It reminded her of Beatrice’s father and why she was captivated by him.  He was the adventure she could never get enough of, and the most painful adventure she ever had.  Beatrice’s change was contagious.  Tess felt her heart rate increasing, and her senses heightening.

“What are you going to do?” her mother stammered.

“I need you to tell Arthur that I remember – everything.  You seem to have the most freedom here, see if you can convince them to let me, too.  Finally, I know about everyone who was at my apartment and Arthur’s, but I can’t help but feel we are missing something.  I think more than my generation are here.  We need to know as much about that as possible.”

Her mother took a deep breath and closed her eyes – practicing a memory mantra.  “I carry my tasks with me and commit them to memory,” she mumbled three times.

“Now,” she started straightening up, “if you say it is so important they don’t know, it is our turn to act.”  She immediately resumed fiddling with Pepe’s collar, but kept up the chatter.  

“Your gruesome second cousins have also discussed dyeing poor Pepe – with Kool-Aid!  They said Great-Aunt Millie told them about doing it to a cat, naturally they want to test it out.  Janelle was holding Roderick yesterday and I could not help notice his resemblance to your grandfather, Gerald the First.  Especially with his fat, bald head,” she continued, droning on about family members Beatrice had not heard of in years.

She quickly realized her mother was already fulfilling one of her requests – information about everyone at the house.  Her mother flawlessly pieced together a monologue sounding like complaints to any of the cousins, but giving Beatrice a wealth of information.

Soon, her mother was ushered out, leaving Beatrice to consider her mother’s information, her new-found memories and the wounds they reopened.  She fell asleep staring at the cross-stitched, violet flower she and her grandmother made years ago.
-M.R. Gavin

Chapter 37

It had been barely a day since Janelle had stormed back into the bedroom, determinedly non-distract-able. Beatrice and Arthur hadn’t been able to say a single syllable before Janelle grabbed Arthur by the arm and dragged him out of the room with surprising force.

Shortly after Arthur’s abrupt departure, Beatrice’s mother slipped into the bedroom, carrying a bowl of cereal and a glass of lukewarm water. It seemed the cousins were feeling momentarily and uncharacteristically generous, and thought the reunion could be mutually beneficial. Beatrice was happy to see that her mother was, for the most part, okay. She looked exhausted and worried, but her spirit was miraculously unharmed. Just as exciting was a surprise appearance from Pepe. He followed Beatrice’s mother into the room, and unlike Beatrice and her mother, he had gained weight since the last time Beatrice saw him.

“Oh, Birdy, those nasty little brats of children have been picking on my baby to no end,” her mother explained, holding Pepe and cooing softly into his chubby little face. “They play this awful game where they see how much they can make him eat before he gets sick! They don’t even care about his dietary restrictions, poor thing, he’s been farting up a storm since we got here.”

Beatrice knew it was only a matter of time until the cousins came in and forced her mother out of the room. Hoping her mother had helpful information, she quickly shifted the focus of their conversation.

“Mom, does this place, this house, feel oddly familiar?”

“Familiar, sure. Oddly, not at all.”

Taken aback, Beatrice couldn’t hide her surprise and confusion at her mother’s answer. Her face must have reflected her thoughts because her mother continued.

“Birdy, sweets, did someone hit you over the head or something?” she said, putting her hand to Beatrice’s forehead as if checking for a fever. “Don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?” Beatrice snapped back, more angrily than she’d intended.

Her mother’s face became suddenly serious. “We came here every summer for years. This house belonged to your grandparents.”

Memories came rushing back to her. The time they’d built a fort because they’d all gotten chickenpox. Building sandcastles by the sea. That all happened here.

“Every summer, your grandparents would invite all of their kids and grandkids here for a big reunion.”

“All their kids, including-”

“Your father.”

Beatrice’s mother said those words very quietly, as if saying them would set off an alarm. She looked to the floor, absentmindedly fiddling with Pepe’s collar.

It was as if a dam had been broken. Every blipped memory came flooding back. Arthur had helped to fill in the blanks, but even he only knew so much. Her mother had been the final puzzle piece. This was the house they’d come to every summer. The secluded house just steps from the ocean. She remembered squashing bugs with her cousins and roasting marshmallows in the backyard.

She remembered the first summer she hadn’t come back.

She remembered why.

-M.A. Gavin

Chapter 36

Arthur continued to feed Beatrice coded sentences and phrases over the course of the next four hours.  By the end, Beatrice was lying on the bed, sprawled on her stomach, covers kicked to the floor, and head face-first into the mattress.  Arthur leaned against the bedpost, head tilted all the way back, and let out a sigh.  

Beatrice turned her head to face him.

“I’m sorry for hating you,” she said simply.

“I understand.”

Beatrice shut her eyes tightly, a tear quietly escaping.  

“I feel like we are in a permanent stasis; every time we figure something out, we are right back where we started.  No closer to figuring out where my cousins go, or how to get home and back to normal.”

“At least you know what Gerald Sr. told me, and that he is here,” Arthur suggested, trying to lighten her mood.  

Beatrice rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling.  She allowed herself to zone in and out of focus while considering all that she had learned.  Her mother was safe, but experiencing trauma.  Gerald Sr. had his hands in everything, and was a leader in discovering and manipulating the blips.  Plus, Gerald Sr.’s gift for Arthur was, in fact, Arthur’s appeared betrayal in return for traveling with the cousins.  Finally, Arthur helped her recall the unidentified person from the photograph she found in her last period of wakefulness.  Thinking about this, she realized despite having been heavily sedated for a long period, she had not slept peacefully for a very long time. Slowly sitting up, Beatrice wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.  

Swinging her feet to the bedside, she slid down next to Arthur.  

“What are we going to do? Again.”  Beatrice stammered.

Arthur took a moment.  He couldn’t decide what move to make.  The classic yawn and arm around shoulders – too juvenile.  Patting her gently on the head?  Too maternal.  Instead, Arthur chuckled, “Well at least you don’t have to worry about walking in on your mother doing nude yoga.”  Shit, too paternal, channeling dad jokes.  Beatrice punched him in the arm, “Don’t try to make me laugh. He used to do that too.”

“How you are related still blows my mind,” he stated matter-of-factly, “It goes beyond your focus, how did the evil skip you?  Is his evil just limited or is your mother’s uniqueness just enough to prevent it?”

Beatrice let her head fall to Arthur’s shoulder, “how would I know?  I forgot about him until five minutes ago, and my mother refused to talk about him.  Plus I am sure if I dig to deeply into my own memories I would blib.  Can’t your spy people tell you?”

“Somehow, he escaped our knowledge completely.  He disappeared many invasions ago, long before we knew about you.”

Allowing a shudder breath to escape her lips, Beatrice shrugged.  Gradually she drifted to sleep resting her head on Arthur’s shoulder and dreaming they were at J. G.’s Restaurant and Grill.  

“Sweet dreams, Birdie,” Arthur whispered.

-M.R. Gavin

Chapter 35

With her lack of new knowledge, Beatrice was at a crossroads. She could keep Arthur in the room, questioning him endlessly until the blipped information magically soaked into her brain. Or she could bang on the door, and deal with the cruelty of her cousins. Neither option was ideal. She’d rather be confined to solitude for the remainder of her life than spend one more minute with Arthur or her cousins.

Recognizing solitary confinement was an unlikely privilege, though, Beatrice decided traitor was better than psychopath. She sat silently on the bed, weighing her options on what to say next.

“Blips suck,” she said. It was the best she could come up with.

“So do your cousins,” quipped Arthur.

“True,” Beatrice replied. “They’ve had their moments though.”

“Really?” said Arthur incredulously. “I always figured they came out of the womb laughing menacingly.”

“Oh, they did. But even evil people have off days,” Beatrice said matter-of-factly.

Before she could stop herself, Beatrice was listing off moments when her cousins had been almost friendly. She told Arthur about the time Lauren had loaned Beatrice a prom dress. Of course, this was after the cousins had ruined her original dress, nonetheless, it was a nice thing to do. Beatrice recalled the times she felt like her family was normal. Like the time she and Gerald Jr. made a sandcastle during a daytrip to the beach, or when she and her cousins spent two days lying in a blanket fort watching movies because Janelle had given them all the chickenpox.

“All of the good moments were sandwiched between awful pranks and cruel jokes,” Beatrice mused. “I can’t compare the good and the bad, and the good certainly didn’t outweigh the bad. But pockets of good make putting up with the mounds of bad a little easier.”

Arthur listened to Beatrice attentively, interrupting only when she said something that could solve all of there problems.

“…And then there was the time that Janelle and I made up our own secret code. We used it for ages. I’d forgotten about it until now.”

“Wait,” Arthur suddenly said, “A code?”

“Yeah, like shapes and stuff, “Beatrice replied. “I don’t remember the exact details of it.”

Arthur’s eyes lit up. He reached for the pen hanging on his shirt pocket and pulled a crumpled up receipt from his pants pocket.

After writing something on the receipt, he handed the paper to Beatrice.

“Read this,” he said excitedly.

“Arthur, we tried this before. I still blip when the information is written down. It just looks like gibberish-random numbers and figures,” snapped Beatrice, mildly annoyed.

“Yes, but your cousins manipulated the blips to work in their favor,” he rattled off quickly. “That means they wrote the code.”

Finally catching on to Arthur’s idea, Beatrice grabbed the receipt eagerly. She saw numbers, shapes, and figures with seemingly no meaning. But suddenly, it all looked very familiar.

-M.A. Gavin

Chapter 34

Arthur stared at Beatrice with a mixture of amusement and longing as she laughed.  He desperately wanted to divulge the plan to Beatrice; knowing would ease her mind and potentially grant him forgiveness, but he knew for the good of the world and the end of the cousins’ reign, Beatrice couldn’t know.  Realizing this, Arthur turned away shaken and aware he would never be forgiven.

As Beatrice’s laughter diminished, she glanced at Arthur’s back and with a chuckle said, “So my routine and focus prevent some of the blips, but now more than ever, I am having blips in my memory.  Why?  I know this house has something to do with my past.  The flower on the wall feels familiar, but I can’t place it because every time I think about it too much, I blip.  Explain.”

“That’s the thing,” Arthur said, his back still turned and head bowed, “Somehow your blips have latched onto other things.  Our theory, which is getting stronger by the minute, is your brain has grown so focused even memories of chaotic periods in your life blip.  It seems, as if your head has created its own defense mechanism.”

“Fine.  I have two more questions, and then I will bang on the door until they unlock it and get you out.  First, do you blip or was that all a facade?”

“What I said about Janelle is true.  It’s in the details.  The cousins discovered our missing detail was where they disappear to.  Somehow they manipulated the blip.  Anytime one of them shares where they go, the listener blips.  Their ability to understand and -”

“Second question,” Beatrice interrupted plainly, “have you figured out where they go?  Is this it?”

After taking a deep breath, Arthur locked eyes with Beatrice; he wanted to give her the answer she longed for, but didn’t have it.

“No.”

Beatrice dropped her shoulders, her eyes fell to the floor, her entire body screamed defeat.  In the span of two minutes she went from laughing hysterically, to shaking uncontrollably.

Arthur’s gut reaction was to offer comfort.  He walked toward her placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.  She pulled away from his touch with shocking intensity.  

She stood, and made her way to the door.  Lifting her fist, she pulled it back to beat down the door, but Arthur stalled her hand.

“If you do that now, you won’t know all the things I have learned since being here.  Things that will help you get back to your life.”

“My life doesn’t exist anymore. I am no more than a pawn,” she said ripping her hand from Arthur and striding to the far side of the room.

“What if it is about your family?  And I don’t mean your cousins,” Arthur questioned.

Beatrice tilted her head – not unlike Pepe when he wanted a treat – and raised her eyebrows, inviting Arthur to continue.

“Your family is here.  Your mom and Pepe obviously, but also -“

Blip.

-M.R. Gavin

Chapter 33

“So that’s how the blips happen,” sighed Arthur, completing an exhaustive speech on the technology behind the blips. Beatrice’s expression had faded from fury to boredom. Her eyes had glazed over, and she was entirely uninterested in hearing more about synapses and nanoparticles. Janelle, on the other hand, seemed fascinated. She was quite literally on the edge of her seat, her eyes wide, hanging on to every word of Arthur’s lengthy blip explanation.

“So what you’re saying is the blips are caused by sound waves strategically targeting localized areas in the subject’s brain? And then it causes the electrical signal in the synapse to..how did you put it?…waver?” asked Janelle excitedly, practically jumping up and down.

“Uh…yeah,” replied Arthur, looking as confused as Beatrice felt.  He looked over to Beatrice, hoping to be reassured by an amused shrug or eyeroll, but was met with a cold, unfeeling stare. Beatrice may have been bored, but she was not about to forget her anger.

To Arthur’s amazement, Janelle was still buzzing around the room like an excited child after eating a bag of Halloween candy. She was mumbling excitedly to herself, running over each individual step of the blip process, concluding with the enthusiastic “blip moment,” and then starting over again. Finally, she squealed with joy, stammered a “sorryguyshavetorun” and promptly ran out of the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Beatrice and Arthur stared at the door, baffled. Turning to Beatrice, Arthur said casually, “I honestly didn’t think that would work that well.”

Beatrice wanted to be angry. She wanted to scream and yell, to hurt Arthur as badly as he’d hurt her. But she needed to know why the blips happened. She needed answers. They were the only way she would ever get out of this mess.

“Why do the blips happen?” asked Beatrice quietly.

After a moment, Arthur replied, “They were designed to slow down the cousins. The blips were supposed to keep the cousins from passing along information easily from one person to another. But over time, they figured out how to overcome that. Mental exercises, focus games, even dietary changes helped them figure it out. There is one aspect of the blip they never caught on to,though.”

“What’s that?” said Beatrice, genuinely curious.

“Distraction.” answered Arthur. “They’ve been able to pull off a slew of smaller projects, anywhere from one to  a dozen victims at a time. But grand plans always fall through. They get too caught up in the details, the little things.”

“Like Janelle did just now?”

“Exactly.”

“What about me? Why didn’t it work on me?” questioned Beatrice. “I felt the blips before, but I didn’t get oddly excited about the blip design like Janelle.”

“We’re not exactly sure,” said Arthur thoughtfully, “but we think it has something to do with your strict routine and laser like focus. You, Birdy, are one hard person to distract.”

Her routine had finally done something good for her. Beatrice laughed and laughed and laughed.

-M.A. Gavin

Chapter 32

Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off Beatrice.  He knew they had not been kind, but this was beyond anything he imagined.  Her nightgown clung to her body, and lines of her bones jutted through it; her hair was stringy and matted, but what startled Arthur the most was the pure fury and hatred her eyes flung at him.  

Surprisingly, it reminded him of their first official meeting.  He had been watching her diligently for weeks and had learned the depth of her routine, which she broke for nothing.  His job was to make himself a part of it.  He started by casually passing her in the dairy aisle, where he would grab milk and cream cheese, and she would pass on the left to get plain yogurt.  Then, he began to go to the movies every Saturday, but to the showing after Beatrice’s so they crossed paths.  It was at the cinema, he made his move on Beatrice.  As he entered, Beatrice exited focused on her quiet, isolation.  She made it almost too easy for Arthur to trip into her, popcorn flying above them and coke splattering her face and blouse.  Looked up and actually saw Arthur for the first time, Arthur thought she would kill him then and there.  Her fury took several weeks to dissipate, lessening each week as they attended the same film, Arthur prepared with a small popcorn and drink, which he handed her, following her into the theatre,and sitting a few seats away.  Eventually, they would sit together.

Arthur’s memory rapidly shut as Janelle’s snickering returned his thoughts to the present.  Janelle.  Janelle, Gerald Jr. and Gerald Sr.  Why hadn’t Arthur been able to see it before?  They could simply not let a member of their family escape.  Beatrice had to be one of them and by making her hate him, they just might be able to not only have her with them, but also be a willing participant of their destructive path.

Beatrice glared at him, then back to Janelle.  She didn’t know who she wanted to scream at first, or what she needed to ask them.  Ultimately, she decided to ignore Arthur; he didn’t even deserve her hate.  To her, he would no longer exist.  

“Janelle,” Beatrice said anger seeping through every utterance, “Why do I blip?  WHY can’t I remember?  WHY can’t I hear or see or even think about certain things?”

Janelle began, “Birdie, there are reasons, but I have never been told why, or even how.  All I know” she shrugged, “is that he knows.”  Casually gesturing to Arthur, Janelle’s grin flickered between amusement and anger.  

“As I said, we used these blips to our benefit, but unfortunately, we are not totally immune.  Arthur, has been most uncooperative and only agreed to disclose the information upon seeing you.”

“Those weren’t the only terms,” he quietly interjected; turning to Beatrice with an unfamiliar look in his eyes, “You get to know, too.

-M.R. Gavin

Chapter 31

For a moment, neither Beatrice nor Janelle said anything at all. Janelle paced around the room, never taking her eyes off Beatrice, as if a bird sizing up its prey.  Beatrice examined her options, but her body was exhausted, and her mind was foggy. She felt helpless.

“Oh, Birdy, don’t look so scared,” cooed Janelle. “Don’t you trust me? I’m your cousin, we’re family.”

Janelle’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, leaving Beatrice even more terrified than before.

“Where…are…we?” Beatrice croaked, commanding an answer instead of asking for one.

Janelle laughed. It was deceptively sweet, like candy laced with cyanide.

“Don’t you recognize this place? Come on, Birdy, you have to remember your fourth birthday. It was quite the explosive celebration,” Janelle said.

Beatrice wracked her brain for something, anything, that might help her. She looked frantically around the room hoping to find a clue, a hint as to where she was. Her eyes fixed on the needlepoint flower hanging above the bed. The single flower was a light purple with two green leaves. Whoever made it had obviously put a lot of time and care into every individual stitch. It was beautiful. The longer Beatrice stared at it, however, the more she had a sinking feeling that it meant more. Then, without warning, her heart rate and breathing slowed, she felt like she falling, and then jolted back to reality. Beatrice groaned. She’d hoped that feeling blocking her from hearing Janelle and Arthur would have gone away, but apparently not. She realized the needlepoint must mean something important, but now there was no way she was going to figure out what.

“You just blipped, didn’t you?” Janelle said.

“Yeah, not like you planned it or anything,” Beatrice scoffed in reply.

“Actually, no. We’ve had the upper hand throughout most of this, but they got us on those. All those little “blips” you’ve been feeling, that’s not me or any of the other cousins,” said Janelle, matter-of-factly.

“Then who is doing all of this?” Beatrice fumed, lunging at Janelle. Her cousin jumped back, narrowly escaping Beatrice’s grasp.

“Oh, hun, didn’t your mother ever teach you to play nice?” Janelle taunted “Look, we didn’t create the blips. But we certainly made them work for us. You might as well give up now. Face it, Birdy, we won.”

Beatrice heard the bedroom door creak open behind her. She turned, adrenaline pumping, prepared to attack whoever entered.

“Beatrice.”

Arthur was clean and well dressed. His crisp, white oxford was rolled up at the sleeves, and his hair was combed and gelled. Despite his grooming, Arthur had dark circles under both eyes, and Beatrice noticed a yellowing bruise on his jaw.

His appearance aside, Beatrice felt nothing but anger. Arthur had betrayed her. She’d trusted him and he’d lied to her. Before her cousins had come, she would have been embarrassed, ashamed even, for him to see her now, malnourished in a soaking wet nightgown. Now, he was the one who should feel ashamed.

-M.A. Gavin

Chapter 30

Uninterrupted darkness.  Another endless black abyss.  

Ended abruptly by a flash of blinding light, and a sudden saturation of ice cold water.  Stunned and gasping Beatrice screamed, shot up, and began shaking uncontrollably. Her little room and antiquated quilt were the same, but the light filling the room had the intensity of the sun, the air combined with the ice cold water chilled her to the core.  Cousins filled her small prison.  Gerald Jr. stood snickering with an empty bucket.  Every second generation cousin was screaming their heads off.  Despite the pale pink nighty being soaked through, her throat was drier than a Christmas tree on Christmas after not having been watered since Thanksgiving.  Her head was spinning as she turned and turned trying to account for all the people in this tiny, brilliantly lit space.  She sniffed in search for the tiniest remnant of her mother’s perfume, and the loathed – though welcome – smell of Pepe after rolling his way through the dog park.

She gawked at the cousins. All just as she remembered them, unlike her sickly looking self, but even louder.  Head still spinning she tried to speak, “Where’s my mother?” her voice croaked.  No one answered, no one even seemed to register the sound of her voice.  Beatrice’s eyes refused to focus.  They swept back and forth looking for signs of her mother; when everyone else’s’ heads stopped spinning (though the yelling and screaming proceeded as if on loop), she concluded her mother was absent from this “revival,” as was Arthur.  She could only hope her mother was safe and Arthur gone forever.

Gradually, Beatrice began to focus on what she could see, trying her best to ignore what she could hear, and push aside the now howling grumble of her stomach.  She started by focusing on Janelle’s youngest.  He appeared the same, maybe a bit bigger than she remembered, but screaming at the top of his lungs with unhinged glee.  From him, she shifted her gaze to Janelle, who stood unblinking, baby on her popped hip, and a quizzical, yet not unfriendly look.  For an instant, Beatrice recalled the photo, Gerald Sr. and toddler Janelle, oddly reminiscent of how Janelle and her son looked now.  She scanned the room to find the unknown figure from the photo, but he was not there.  Coming back to Janelle, she sighed; Janelle had not stopped watching her for a moment.

They gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity.  Janelle slowly tilted her head, never shifting her intent stare.  Raising her hand, everyone in the room stood immobilized and silent.  The silence was almost as overwhelming as the uninterrupted screaming in its stark and unsettling contrast.  Everyone looked at her expectantly.  Janelle quietly announced, “I believe it is time you and I have a chat.”  Cousins began filing out the single door; Janelle’s handed her son to his father, but never broke her stare.  “Oh,” she said playfully, “and send him in.”

-M.R. Gavin