Page 11 of Twice as Twisted

I nodded. “I promise, Mama.”

She kissed me hard and set me down. “Now look at the mess you made for your Ma to clean up,” she said. “Run along to the nanny. This will take a while. You didn’t eat any of these pills, did you?”

She was picking them up, so she didn’t see me nod my head. I had tried one, like she did. But she must not have needed an answer, because she didn’t ask again, and I was tired, so I went to my room and went to sleep. When I woke up, it was morning, and Duke was within reach, like he always was.

“Where’s Mama?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“She was crying last night.”

“Why?”

“She said she’s having another baby, and she’ll die if she does.”

“I don’t want Mama to die,” Duke wailed, and then he started crying too, and he climbed off the bed and ran out.

I heard him crying to Dad in the other room. After a while, Dad brought Duke back, and he was happy. We were playing when the yelling started. We were used to it, but we got quiet, listening as we drove our toy cars around. The nanny tried to talk over it, but she couldn’t.

After a while, the sounds that meant they were done being mad started. They were just as loud, but we weren’t allowed to go in their room when we heard those sounds either. The nanny got quiet then too. But soon she said we should go to the park, and when we came back, our parents had been to the doctor. Dad promised everything was okay and that Ma wasn’t going to die. She had a baby growing inside her that would be our brother one day, but right now it was as small as a bean, and how could something so tiny kill a strong woman like our mother? They talked about baby names while we watched cartoons.

Ma had friends over a lot after that. They talked about funny things like baby showers. They said we’d have to take our toys out of the playroom because it would be the baby’s room. One day I found Ma sitting on the floor in the playroom with a black cigarette and tears running down her cheeks. I curled up in her lap even though the smoke smelled bad.

A few weeks later I woke up in the night. I heard Ma screaming. Dad was yelling at her to calm down. I sat on the stairs while they went away in an ambulance. I crawled into their bed. It was warm and wet with her blood. The nanny came in and asked if I wanted to go back to bed, but I said no, I’d wait there. I asked if Ma was dying. She’d said she’d die if she had anotherbaby. The nanny said no, and that I could stay there until my parents came home, and then I’d see that Ma was fine. I stuck my thumb in my mouth and rubbed my toes against the grimy, slimy sheets until I fell asleep.

When they came home from the hospital, Dad peeled back the blankets and found me in the bloody sheets. He yelled at the nanny and told her to give me a bath immediately.

I asked if I could have a baby shower, but the nanny said no, only baths. Ma came in while I was in the tub and told the nanny to go. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet, cracked the window, and lit one of her black cigarettes. “You know what happened, right?” she asked.

I shook my head and drove my boat through an iceberg of bubbles.

“There’s not going to be another baby,” she said. “It died.”

“Did you have to kill it?” I asked. “So you wouldn’t die?”

“Youkilled it,” she said. “I told you not to tell. But you did, so the baby died. I hope you’re happy.”

She left the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. I knew by the tone of her voice I was supposed to be ashamed of myself, even though she hadn’t said the words this time, like she usually did.

Now that the bean baby was gone, I knew for sure Ma wouldn’t die though. Dad had told us, but I hadn’t been sure. Now there was no chance it would kill her. I felt good about that. I had saved my mother, and I was proud of myself. Even Dad hadn’t done that. Without the baby, Ma wouldn’t cry about the pink lines or go away in the ambulance. The family would stay the way it was, and we wouldn’t have to move our toys out of the playroom.

I climbed out of the tub and went to tell Duke the good news.

four

Duke Dolce

The emptiness around me is immense, the space I cleared in the packed crowd at the Slaughterpen standing out starkly, the bubble of silence inside the rowdy atmosphere painful. I wait for them to turn and stare, to condemn me. The harsh glare of the lights overhead casts my shadow long and dark against the empty floor, marked only by the pool of blood on the cement.

I think that’s the worst thing until the next fighter steps into the pit, and the circle closes in, their voices rising to fill the silence, their feet tramping over her bloodstain like it’s not a sacrilege. Like her spilled blood is of no more consequence than the blood of the fighters spilling onto the dirt floor below. I turn and shove through the crowd, forcing my way outside, where I choke on thick gulps of the motionless May night.

I look around the lot, my heart sinking.

Baron’s gone.

Royal’s gone.

I’m stuck in this hell, at the scene of the crime.

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