Chapter 2 - The Echoes Below
Grandma Elaine stopped in the doorway, her hand flying to her chest. Aunt Rebecca dropped her phone, the screen shattering against the hallway carpet. Uncle David stepped past them, his face turning a dark, dangerous shade of gray as he looked into the room.
Within seconds, the small bedroom was suffocatingly full of living people.
They didn't look like guests anymore. They looked like strangers trapped in a museum exhibit of a tragedy.
“Call an ambulance,” Aunt Rebecca breathed, her hands flying to her mouth. “David, call an ambulance right now!”
“She doesn't need an ambulance, Becky,” Uncle David said quietly, his voice hard as iron. He didn't look at my mother. He looked at my father, who was still kneeling on the floor, rocking back and forth with his face buried in the edge of my blanket. “She needs the police.”
The word hung in the air like a gunshot.
Police.
Mom backed away, her spine hitting the opposite wall. Her breath came in short, jagged gasps. Her eyes darted from face to face, searching for an ally, for someone who would tell her that she was a good mother, that she had done her best, that this was just a terrible, impossible accident.
Nobody looked at her.
Grandma Elaine walked slowly toward the bed. Her old, wrinkled hands trembled as she pulled the blanket up to cover my face. She didn't cry. Her eyes were dry, burning with a cold, terrifying fury.
She turned around and looked straight at her daughter.
“You didn't check on her,” Grandma said.
“I did!” Mom shrieked, her voice cracking. “I told her to get up! She said her stomach hurt, she always complained, she wanted to ruin Noah’s day—”
“You didn't check on her for two days,” Grandma repeated, each word dropping like a stone into a well. “It’s her birthday, Rachel. They were both eight today. And she has been lying here, cold, in a room with the door shut, while you baked a cake downstairs.”
“She was stubborn!” Mom sobbed, sliding down the wall until she sat on the floor, her hands clawing at her expensive cashmere sweater. “She was always so difficult! Always needing things! Always taking the light away from Noah! You all know how she was!”
I floated down from the ceiling, drifting until I was hovering just inches from her face.
What did I ever take from Noah, Mom? I wanted to ask. A rabbit? A piece of cake? A breath of air?
She couldn't hear me. But for a second, she shivered, pulling her arms tight around herself as if a sudden draft had blown through the closed room.
Downstairs, sirens began to wail in the distance. First one, then another, their red and blue lights flashing against the white curtains of my bedroom window, painting my still face in alternating strokes of warning and grief.
Noah was still standing by the door, frozen in place. Uncle David walked over, knelt beside him, and gently scooped the little boy up into his arms, shielding Noah’s face so he wouldn't have to look at the bed anymore.
“Come on, buddy,” Uncle David murmured, carrying him out of the room. “Let’s go outside.”
As they passed my mother, Noah didn't look at her. He buried his face in Uncle David’s shoulder, his small body shaking with quiet tears.
Mom stared at the empty doorway.
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“Noah,” she whispered. “Noah, look at Mommy... Mommy made a mistake...”
The first police officer pushed through the crowd in the hallway a moment later, his heavy boots creaking on the floorboards, his radio crackling with static.
