Requiem
an excerpt

She didn’t know whose house it was and she didn’t care. She walked up to the door and rang the bell with improbable nonchalance. It was opened by a girl, maybe eight years old. She had sandy brownish hair and a plethora of freckles. She was excited from whatever was happening in the other room: hear heartbeat was fast, her cheeks colored, her breath quickened. She looked very alive.

Mari almost lost her nerve, but the crazy confidence that had filled her spurred her on. “I’m just going to do something… don’t mind me.” She slipped past her into the house, stood for a second in the warm entrance hall, and darted back out again. Interesting. Evidently she could enter a house uninvited. There was no welcome mat and nothing the girl had done could possibly be construed as an invitation, since she’d done nothing at all. Mari looked down at the girl, who still hadn’t moved, looking back up at Mari with wide eyes.

“Sorry about that,” said Mari awkwardly. She had never been comfortable talking to children. In fact, she’d never been comfortable talking to most people, but kids were the worst. “Thanks for letting me borrow your hall.” She winced inwardly; that definitely sounded off. No one would say that. The girl still hadn’t moved. Mari shrugged a little and was about to step off the porch and back into the night, but a thin, high voice recalled her.

“You move fast,” the girl informed her, as if Mari had not known this.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” replied Mari, bemused.

“Are you a superhero?” Again, the voice was matter-of-fact, not showing surprise, only mild curiosity.

Mari gave a short, bitter breath of laughter. “No. No. I’m no superhero. Hardly a hero at all, really. Actually, I’m probably more like a villain. Certainly not safe.” She was babbling now and she knew it, but this was the first living person she’d talked to since everything happened and she found she couldn’t stop herself. She had been fighting so hard for control that now when she had a chance to let go she fell apart. She trailed off, embarrassed.

“You’re not a villain,” said the girl, in the same absolute tone she had always used. She said it and somehow that made it true. Mari smiled, a genuine smile.

“Emmy! Who’s at the door?” called a voice from inside the brightly lit house.

“Someone,” Emmy, apparently, called back. “What’s your name?” she added in an aside to Mari.

Mari almost responded, but then remembered she wasn’t supposed to exist. “Not sure yet,” she said. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

A man stuck his head into the hallway and Mari’s line of sight. He had a wide, pleasant face and a thick salt-and-pepper moustache. “What do you want?” he asked Mari, but politely.

She shook her head without speaking, trying to indicate ‘Nothing anymore.’ “I already got it,” she said, smiling and trying to look generally non-threatening. He looked confused, but said nothing. Mari turned her eyes downward. “Thanks,” she said, with genuine feeling, “Emmy, was it?”

“Emm-A,” she said, sounding for the first time like a little girl.

“Emma, then. I’ll remember that.” She was still smiling. Definitely an intriguing conversation.

Emma had accused her of moving fast, but somehow moved fast enough to startle even Mari’s new senses, though maybe just because that was the last thing she was expecting: Emma to step down from the safe, lighted hallway and into Mari’s arms.

Mari stopped breathing completely. This she had not anticipated and so was not sure she was able to handle it. Even though she had just fed, the proximity of Emma’s small body had pricked her senses and she was acutely aware of every beat of the small heart pressed against her own unmoving chest. Her awareness was heightened by the fact that she knew she must NEVER hurt Emma. That was something she could never forgive herself. In some ways Emma was protecting her, just by being, but Mari also had a responsibility to protect her. Mari wanted nothing more than to hug her back, to encircle her in her arms and feel comforted by giving comfort, but she could not trust herself. She pushed back with strictly controlled motions she hoped would be gentle and held Emma at arms length, looking her straight in the face. “That was a very dangerous thing you just did,” she said, her voice wavering. “I told you I wasn’t safe. Now go back inside before your dad threatens to sic the cops on me.”

He was indeed looking murderous, though he visibly relaxed as she said those words.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” said Emma, with what Mari was learning was her customary certainty. Mari smiled and hoped.

Emma stepped back into the house and was quickly seized by her dad, who held her against him with his arm enclosing her in protective circle. He stood as if expecting to face down legions, and he would do it without a second thought if he believed Emma to be in any danger. It was no more than a parent would do, but Mari was acutely aware that she could never feel truly safe in an embrace again and was feeling that loss painfully.

She smiled painfully. She felt like she ought to start crying, but she couldn’t, so she simply nodded, trying to convey with her eyes what she did not have the words to say: thank you, truly. And even those words fell far short of the emotions that pounded against her chest, where her heart ought to be beating, unable to be released.

She turned and vanished into the night, letting darkness fold around her and hide her, protection and anonymity. It was a cold embrace, but the only one she could know.