Blood by Ellen Datlow

Author:Ellen Datlow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2023-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

MIRI

Steve Rasnic Tem

They spread the blanket over the cool grass and took their places. The puppet stage was broad and brightly lit, with a colorful and elaborate jungle set. Rick framed his children inside the LCD screen on the back of his camera as they settled in front of him: Jay Jay, who was too old for this sort of thing but would enjoy it anyway, and seven-year-old Molly, worrisomely thin, completely entranced, her large eyes riveted on the stage as oversized heads with garishly painted faces danced, their mouths magnified into exaggerated smiles, frowns, and fiercely insistent madness.

The colors began to fade from the faces—the painted ones, and his children’s—he took his eyes away from the camera and blinked. The world had become a dramatic arrangement of blacks and whites. Molly raised her stark face and stared at him, her eyes a smolder of shadow. Where is she? he thought, and looked around. He thought he caught a glimpse—there by a tree, a pale sliver of arm, a fall of black hair, lips a smear of charcoal. He could feel the breath go out of him. Not here. But he couldn’t be sure. He closed his eyes, tried to stop the rising tide of apprehension, opened them, and found that all the colors had been restored to the world with sickening suddenness.

He quickly took a dozen or so more shots, his finger dancing on the shutter button. Elaine patted his hand and took the camera away. “Enough already,” she whispered into his ear. He tried not to be annoyed, to no avail. She had no idea what she was talking about. It didn’t matter how many pictures he took—it would never be enough.

Between the kids lay the pizza box with their ragged leftovers. Jay Jay would finish it if they let him. Molly would sneak a guilty glance but would not touch it. Rick had no idea what to do to help her; next week he would make more calls.

“You’re a wonderful dad, and a really good person,” Elaine whispered, and kissed that place above his ear where his hairline had dramatically begun to recede. Especially in this early evening light she was lovely—she still managed to put a hitch into his breath.

He smiled and mouthed thanks, even though such naked compliments embarrassed him. He’d finally learned it was bad form, and unattractive, to argue with them. So even though he was thinking he just had a few simple ideas, like always giving your kids something to look forward to, he said nothing. In any case it would be hypocritical. Because he also would not be confessing that he wasn’t the good person she thought he was. Or telling her how often he wished he didn’t have kids—it had never been his dream and sometimes spending an entire day with them and their constant need left him drained, stupid, and angry. He was ashamed of himself—perhaps that was why he sometimes made himself so patient.

An unreal ceiling of stars

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