“ ‘Oo didn’t ‘ave to do that,” Sophia said in between mopping her nose with the blood-soaked tissue Sybill had handed her. They had been sitting on the front steps of the school for the last half hour. Sophia looked pretty roughed up, from the torn buttons on her coat to the sticks clinging to her hair.

“Yeah, you for sure looked like you had it under control. Where did they sling your panties again?”

“That’s the second pair this week. How’m I su’posed to keep es’plaining this to Mom?”

“Just tell her a football player took it.”

Sophia started to laugh, then winced in pain. “Dum’ bitches.” She twisted the tissue into a rope and inserted it up the nostril that was spewing the most blood.

“They can hit pretty well for dumb bitches,” Sybill said, flexing her scraped knuckles. “You need to learn some moves or they’ll kill you next time. What was it all about, anyway?”

“Pam doesn’t need a goo’ reason to make m’life hell.”

“Everyone is saying you threw the first punch, Soph. Tell me what it was really about and I can help you come up with a good cover story for Evie.”

There was a beat of silence. The blood had started to dry up, leaving crusty red trails on the edge of Sophia’s nostrils. “Pam was saying stupid shit about you.”

“Like what?”

“She was just trying to get a rise out of me.”

“Well clearly it worked.”

Sophia grunted and they sat together in silence for a few minutes. Sybill felt an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her body. She decided she didn’t care for it. She didn’t trust it.

“Let’s go home,” Sophia said sullenly, removing the now-crimson tissue from her nostril and gingerly feeling her nose. “Before Mom starts to worry.”

As they walked through the descending twilight, Sybill relived the fight in her head. Fists swinging, wisecracks flying, the terrified look on the faces of Pam and her friends as they turned and ran, screaming profanities over their shoulders, Sophia’s teary look of gratefulness and embarrassment as she let Sybill help her to her feet.

She was still feeling the adrenaline pump through her veins.

***

“At least try to look like you’re not eating a mouthful of shit,” Sophia whispered in her ear as Sybill scowled around the room. Hundreds of lenses winked in the sunshine streaming through the big front window.

“Do I have to get some?” she asked irritably, looking up at Evelyn.

“You could even read the menus at the restaurant, dear. I think this is long overdue.”

“At least have a look,” Sophia said with a grin as she shoved her towards a tower of square spectacles.

All the samples looked the same. This was going to be such a pain in the ass. She’d have to worry about rain and fogging them up, not to mention the general discomfort of having them on her face every day---

“What about these?” Sophia asked. She held up a gold-rimmed pair with large round lenses.

“Those are dorky.”

“Aw, I think they’re cute.” Sophia smiled; her eyes were bright. She looked like an eager little puppy. “The gold matches the highlights in your hair.”

Sybill stared at her for a minute, then down at the glasses. Reluctantly, she reached out and took them.

“Atta girl,” Sophia said with an obsequious thumbs up.

Sybill turned away under the pretext of checking the glasses out in the little mirror that was sitting on the front desk. Really she just needed an excuse to hide her face. Nobody had ever shown much interest in how she looked. It gave her a strange warm feeling in her stomach. It was like she’d swallowed a mouthful of comforting soup.

She stared at her reflection. If she got these glasses, would she always have this feeling?

***

She was sitting in a hot, stifling classroom, staring out the open window at the grounds below. She was bored out of her mind. If she had to listen to one more motherfucking detail about Homer’s adjective-spewing, wind-blowing ass, she was going to climb on top of her desk and jump out the window.

As she shifted in her seat, she caught the pungent odor of cigarettes. She had always liked that smell. She was out of her seat as soon as the bell rang, hurrying out the door and into the muggy air, following the odor around to the back of the building.

A girl was leaning against the bricks, surreptitiously blowing smoke towards her feet. She had a blaze of red hair that ran down her back in a riot of unruly curls. As Sybill approached, she hastily tried to stash the cigarette out of sight.

“Can I have one?” Sybill asked.

The girl stared at her for a minute, raising a coppery eyebrow. Then she pulled out a pack, carefully selected a cigarette, and handed her one. Sybill waited for her to light it, took a drag, and immediately began to cough. She spent the next minute and a half hunched over, wheezing as water streamed from her eyes.

“I pegged you for a pro,” the girl said when Sybill finally straightened up.

“You’re in my history class,” Sybill said, ignoring the comment as she struggled to speak through her gasping. “Fiona?”

“Felicity Reynolds.”

“Sybill Montgomery.”

“That Irish?”

“English, actually.”

“Cool. Mine is Viking. I think I’m related to a Norse god.” The corners of her strawberry lips pulled up into a teasing smile. “I’ve actually heard a lot about you, honey. It’s nice to put a face to the stories. Your mother was right---you’re very pretty.”

Sybill took several deep breaths. Her mouth tasted like charred chicken.

“You know Evie?”

“Of course,” Felicity said, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “She comes to our house a lot to talk about the business with my dad.”

Sybill rifled through her mental files for past occasions when Evie might have mentioned a Felicity Reynolds, or her father. She came up blank. Maybe she just didn’t listen very well.

“What’s your dad do?” she asked, leaning against the building and deciding to just enjoy the smell of nicotine rather than inhale it.

“He’s a---shrink.”

“I didn’t even know our parents worked together.”

“You’ve never heard gushing reports about the Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing?” She tossed her cigarette to the ground. “Or me?” She winked. “We’ll have to fix that.”

Sybill smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Lovely. I should head back to gym before Miss Welsh notices I’m gone. See you later, honey. It was nice meeting you.”

“Thanks for the smoke.”

“You’ll have to practice and get better at it,” Felicity said. With a grin and a flash of red hair, she vanished around the corner.

***

“Who is Doctor Reynolds?” Sybill said as she walked into the study unannounced.

Evie looked up from her desk. The big bay window behind her revealed a stormy day. Rain dripped down the panes, tinkling against the glass.

“Benji? I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before,” she said, smiling. “He’s works with me at our wellness institute.”

“I met his daughter the other day.”

“Oh, really? How’s she doing?”

“She seemed alright.”

“You should have her over for dinner sometime.”

“Maybe.” Sybill shrugged and turned towards the door.

“Wait a moment, dear. I almost forgot.” Evie dug around in her desk for a moment before extracting a small white box. She held it out. “Happy birthday.”

Sybill took it, surprised by the gesture. The last “gift” she’d received had been from Annie a few years ago: a nest of spiders in a brown paper bag. The thought still made her shudder.

She peeled away the purple bow wrapped around the box and then popped open the dainty white lid. Nestled in red velvet was a sapphire-encrusted cross pendant. Sybill stared down at it for at least thirty seconds before she slowly pulled it out and then clasped the gift around her neck; it nestled comfortably in the hollow of her throat.

“Thanks.”

Evie’s smile reached her eyes. Sybill was so overwhelmed with an unexpected rush of gratitude that she was ashamed of herself.

“You’re very welcome,” Evie said gently. “Now, what would you like to have for dinner tonight?”

***

Thanksgiving. Hannah and Javier knew how to make a good one. The aroma of turkey was heavy in the air from the moment Sybill got out of bed in the morning. Dishes appeared on the table throughout the day, and by the time dinner rolled around it was heavy with mashed potatoes, dishes full of cranberries, a variety of pasta, three different kinds of salad, and of course the crowning glory: the turkey, toasted to crispy golden perfection.

Sybill ate way more than she should have. She split a wishbone with Sophia and felt the glow of triumph rush through her veins when her end snapped off decidedly bigger.

“This was rigged,” Sophia sulked, throwing her jagged bone piece onto her plate.

“Lose with a little grace, Soph.”

“Wanna know where you can stick your grace?”

“Girls,” Evie said, but she was laughing into her wine.

“I’m just saying---” Sophia began, but the rest of her sentence was cut off by a wet cough.

“Okay, baby?” Evie asked.

Sophia nodded, but then the coughing turned into gagging. Sybill stood up so fast she knocked her chair over. For a second she thought that stupid Javier must have put milk in one of the dishes and Sophia was having a reaction. But then she realized Evie seemed fine, and fear ballooned in her chest, paralyzing her.

Sophia made one final retching noise before the contents of her stomach poured out onto the floor. Evie leapt to her feet, spilling wine over the tablecloth, and bolted around the table to kneel beside her daughter. Sophia was wiping her mouth and shaking.

“Breathe, honey. Maybe you should lay down.”

“I’ll take her to her room,” Sybill offered.

Evie nodded and relinquished Sophia into her arms. Sybill led her trembling sister up the stairs and helped her into bed. Sophia’s face was damp with sweat, her eyes huge and black in the semi-darkness of the room. Sybill sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Sophia whispered finally.

“Very American of you to eat until you throw up. It’s what the Founding Fathers fought for.”

Sophia smiled a little. “I can’t keep much down lately.”

“Pick up a bug from school?”

“I dunno. Maybe. I don’t eat anything but dinner these days…and even then it’s a bit of a crapshoot. Everything makes me nauseous. I should've known better than to try and stomach all this today.”

“Jesus, Soph. How long has this been going on?”

“About a week.”

“And you don’t feel like eating anything?”

Sophia was silent for a long time before she said quietly: “Not food.”

“Do have an unquenchable thirst for blood for something?”

Sophia laughed a little. “You caught me.”

Sybill grinned and climbed to her feet. “I’ll let Evie know you’re not upchucking anymore.”

“Thanks,” Sophia whispered, rolling over so she was facing the wall. Sybill left her and went back down to the dining room.

“She’s sleeping,” she said when Evie looked up. “But she might have to go to the hospital. She can’t keep anything down. She said she hasn’t eaten much in days.”

“Days?” Evie repeated, looking astounded. Then she frowned and bit her lip. She was silent for so long that Sybill grew uneasy.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“Come finish dinner, Sybill,” Evie said gently. “Don’t worry about Sophia. For now we’ll just let her sleep.”

Sybill, puzzled by her foster mother’s suddenly composed demeanor, lowered herself into a chair. She stared at the wine stain on the white tablecloth as Evie resumed her meal; it had spread into a perfect circle. Like a splash of blood on virgin snow. The only perfect thing in a world that had just fallen to pieces.

***

“Need help with that?” Sybill asked.

Felicity looked up, startled. She had one leg thrust out, her foot pressed against the side of the building. There was a vivid bruise on her calf, blooming on the white skin like a dark flower. Sybill stared at it, mesmerized, until Felicity laughed and held out a tube of ointment.

“Wanna rub it for me?”

Sybill rolled her eyes. “Did Franks finally slap the shit out of you for skipping all those gym classes?”

“I fell down last night.” Felicity hunched over and resumed smearing the ointment on her skin. Sybill took out her lighter and began to click it. She followed the flame with her eyes, losing herself in its vivid color, until Felicity straightened up, wincing as she lowered her leg to the ground.

“You feel like smoking today?” Sybill asked.

“What a stupid question.”

She reached into her pocket and produced a pack. The two of them stood side by side for a few minutes, blowing clouds of cancer into the crisp air.

“So who did it? Your dad?” Sybill asked.

“What?”

Sbyill didn’t answer. Another silence lapsed between them. Then Felicity huffed smoke from her nostrils.

“My dad was---” She made a show of straightening her skirt before continuing. “He was---mad at me. I ran from him and I fell down the stairs. Believe me, this would look a lot worse if my brother hadn’t intervened.”

Felicity stared off into the distance. When she spoke again, there was a slight tremor to her voice:

“If it wasn’t for him, I think I would’ve died a long time ago.”

Sybill didn’t know how to answer that. She wondered how other people would react in this situation. When someone you called a friend was upset, did you put an arm around them? Say you were sorry? Probably best to mind her own business.

The two of them finished their cigarettes in silence.

***

Sybill stood in the hallway as her sister’s retching echoed around the church basement. Sophia had started to gag only moments after receiving communion, and Sybill, familiar with the symptoms by now, immediately jumped up and hurried her out of the church. Luckily nobody else was in the bathroom; Sophia collapsed to her knees as soon as she burst into the stall, and Sybill discreetly ducked out of the bathroom to give her some privacy.

After several minutes she heard the toilet flush and her sister emerged from the porcelain confines of her inexplicable illness.

“I think I threw up the Host,” Sophia moaned.

“Can’t even stomach Jesus these days, huh?” Sybill said, snickering.

Sophia leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

“Maybe the wafer was made of spoiled bread?”

“It’s not the bread. It’s everything.”

Sybill shrugged. “What does it taste like, anyway?”

“What?”

“The bread. Is it as bland as it looks?”

“Like paper,” Sophia said with a shaky laugh. “You’re not missing out on much.”

“I do like the idea behind it though.”

“What do you mean?”

“The idea that Christians have to eat their god in order to be saved fits in nicely with the whole torture narrative. Violence is cleansed with violence. It keeps the cycle of redemptive brutality going. Eat or be eaten. Commit, or perish forever. Instead of labeling violence as wrong, it celebrates it.”

“That’s---Jesus, Sybill.”

“What?”

Sophia gave another shaky laugh and rubbed her temples. “I guess I never thought of it that way. I always thought the Eucharist was supposed to be a reminder of the end of all violence. Christ preferred to die an unjust death rather than fight back.”

Sybill shrugged. “At the end of the day you guys think you eat Jesus. That’s an inherently violent act and it’s at the center of your worship.”

“I figured it was supposed to be a bit of a paradox. Like, the violent act is there to remind us of what the consequences of true violence really are. It’s not an invitation to replicate torture and death. It’s a call to something better. A different way. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ and all that.”

“If you say so,” Sybill said, suddenly feeling like the conversation was getting away from her.

“I think we should go back up. Evie is probably wondering where you are.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sophia tenderly placed a hand on her stomach and grimaced.

As they walked across the darkened church basement together, Sybill found herself wondering if anyone truly accepted this idea of “Eucharist.” She imagined a god slithering out of his celestial cloud blanket one day and deciding he was going to come to Earth and wallow in the foul quagmires of human experience. A god that acquiesced to roll around in all the sweat and blood and pain---and still decide at the end of it to give himself to people for nourishment. A god like that was a total moron. Hardly worth her time, let alone her adoration. How different the world would be if such things were true.

How different she would be too.

***

Sybill graduated from high school feeling cautiously optimistic about the future. It had been a little over a year since she had arrived at the Montgomerys. She was enrolled at the local university and since the school was within walking distance, she planned to live at home rather than on campus. Evie had offered to pay her dorm fees, but Sybill found herself reluctant to live among strangers again. The Montgomery house had become a place of cautious safety. She wasn’t ready to mix with the general sweaty mob of humanity. Besides, she had Sophia. She didn’t need any other friends.

Shortly after her high school graduation, Sybill also learned that Evie had started the paperwork to officially adopt her. They had discussed it a lot in the past months, but Sybill had never supposed anything would come of it. When the possibility presented itself, she found that she liked the idea of becoming part of a family---and then it surprised her that she liked it. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the strange warm feelings taking root inside of her. She didn’t quite trust them, but sinking into them was too sweet a temptation to resist. She curled up inside them like a child in a blanket.

She grew complacent.

***

During freshman orientation, she was surprised to see a familiar shock of red hair in the crowd. She approached, tapped the girl on the shoulder, and found herself grinning into Felicity’s shocked face.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Felicity said, laughing and seeming genuinely pleased to see her.

They snuck off behind the science building to smoke for old times’ sake. As they puffed, Sybill told her about the adoption plans and Sophia’s growing illness.

“It’s just getting weirder. She keeps throwing everything up.”

“She can’t keep down anything at all?” Felicity asked, examining the smoldering end of her cigarette.

“Nope. She can’t even stomach water anymore.” Sybill crossed her arms and stared out across the lawn, scowling. It was a chilly afternoon; the ground was covered with a blanket of dirty slush, and the sky was a moody gray.

Felicity exhaled a cloud of sulfuric smoke into the cold air, then said slowly:

“How much do you know about our parents’ practice, Sybill? What has Evelyn told you?”

“She doesn’t really talk about her work.”

Felicity sighed. “So you don’t know anything then.”

“About WHAT?” Sybill demanded, her frustration mounting.

“Honey, Evelyn brought Sophia to my house a few nights ago and talked to my dad about committing her to the Institute.”

“Committing her?” Sybill repeated. The words gripped at her guts, twisting them into ropes of anxiety and fear. “But she’s not crazy.”

“The Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing isn’t for crazy people---technically.” Felicity’s mouth twisted as if she had tasted something sour. “It’s for people like Sophia. A horror house for freaks with powers.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Honey, I’ve seen a lot of Dad’s patients over the years. Based on what you’ve told me, Sophia seems to be showing a lot of symptoms of a growing supernatural ability. They’re hereditary so I mean it makes sense, given Evelyn’s power…which judging by the look on your face, you also knew nothing about. Jesus. She hasn’t been upfront about anything with you, has she?”

There was a brief silence as this unpleasant news settled onto Sybill’s brain like new-fallen snow. Surely she didn’t believe this comic book bullshit. And yet…

“What kind of powers does Sophia have?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

“How many of these freaks are out there running around?”

“Lots. You know more of them than you think you do.”

Felicity met her eyes and smiled. Sybill stared at her, and then a sharp ray of comprehension fell across her mind.

“So what can you do?”

“Wanna see?”

Sybill raised an eyebrow. “Depends. Is it something you show me or use on me?”

Felicity grinned. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” When Sybill continued to look skeptical, she laughed. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Sybill said.

Felicity laughed again and then her expression changed; her brow pinched, and the muscles on her neck strained against her pale flesh. Several seconds went by before her face relaxed, melting into its familiar mask of slovenly indifference.

“Huh. That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“Nothing.”

“Thanks for the smoke. I’m going to head back to the tour group,” Sybill said, tossing her cigarette to the ground. An unpleasant swill of emotions was swelling in her stomach. She had to go away and think.

“Of course, honey,” Felicity said sweetly. “See you later. Feel free to keep me updated on little sissy. I’ll help in any way I can.”

Sybill started back towards the orientation hall. Halfway across the grounds, she glanced over her shoulder. Felicity was staring after her with a frustrated look on her face.

***

Sybill was startled awake by raised voices. She sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The room was dark and stuffy; bleak moonlight trickled through the thin curtains on the window. She climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door, opening it slowly and sneaking down the hallway. She followed the voices to Evie’s study and stood outside the door, listening.

“How could she already be showing signs of escalation?” The words were uttered by a deep gravelly voice Sybill didn’t recognize. “Her symptoms seemed relatively mild when we saw her last.”

“Yesterday Sophia got upset about something that happened at school, and as she was telling me about it a book sitting on the table behind her flew into the air and then fell onto the floor. If we don’t do something soon, she might hurt someone.”

“I’m assuming you’ve ruled out the possibility that the book simply fell over? Perhaps Sophia knocked into it? Or a breeze, maybe? Was the window open?”

“A breeze?” Evie repeated coldly. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have called you after all. I considered a book jumping in midair of its own accord to be a rather unusual event, especially in our line of work, but you’re right, Benji. Maybe it was just a fucking windy day.”

“Alright, I’m sorry. I was just saying---”

“I know what you were saying.”

“Has Sophia started to…ah… seek alternative forms of nutrition yet?”

“I don’t know. She might have an idea of what she’s craving, but I’m sure she has no idea how to handle it.”

“Then here’s what I suggest: in the next month or two, encourage her to seek out the nutrition she needs. Maybe even go out with her the first few times. Once she has become accustomed to her new diet, we can sit her down and discuss transferring her to our facility full time.”

“Oh, Benji, I don’t know. She’s still so young…”

“You know it’s the safest place for her, Evelyn.” The gravelly voice softened. “And she’ll get the best care.”

The voice dropped so low that Sybill had to inch closer to the door to hear.

“I promise.”

There was a long silence. Sybill wondered, with some distaste, what they were doing all by themselves in that room. Then Evelyn spoke up, and Sybill tensed at the sound of her own name. “How will I explain all of this to Sybill? I haven’t told her much about our work, but I can’t hide it forever. Especially with everything happening with Sophia.”

“Sit her down and talk to her about it like an adult. I’m sure she’ll understand. She seems like a smart girl.”

Sybill had heard enough. She hurried back to her room as quietly as she could, blood pounding in her ears. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the darkness for what felt like hours. Thoughts flapped like frantic birds through her mind, eventually landing onto a single realization that made her heart freeze:

They were going to send Sopia away.

She went and fetched her laptop from her desk. She opened up a search engine and typed in “The Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing.” The results were surprisingly scarce. She learned that Evelyn Montgomery and her business partner---Doctor Benjamin Reynolds, the man in the room, no doubt ---were mental health experts with a current practice in Washington, Pennsylvania. This “practice,” however, was curiously vague. It sounded like either a mental hospital or a home for troubled children. Either way, she didn’t like the way this was looking, especially if she was going to believe Felicity about it being a “horror house” for superpowered freaks. Sophia would never survive in a place like that. She was too weak, too soft with insufferable kindness. She wouldn’t be able to stick up for herself.

Sybill was so buried in her thoughts that when a floorboard creaked outside her door, she almost jumped out of her skin. She held her breath and listened. Someone was creeping down the stairs. She stood up and pulled open her door, sticking her head out into the hallway and making sure the coast was clear before following the footsteps down the stairs. A dark shadow was slipping out the front door.

It was Sophia.

Sybill went after her into the night, keeping a fair amount of distance between them so she could avoid detection. She followed her for a block or two before Sophia made a sharp turn down an alleyway. Sybill cautiously approached and peeked her head around the corner. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Her sister was crouched beside a large lump on the ground. Then Sybill heard snoring. It was a homeless guy. Sophia sat next to him for several minutes, seemingly just...watching him. Then the snoring stopped. Sybill strained her ears. Nothing. She saw Sophia’s silhouette give a violent shudder and she fell back onto her butt, breathing heavily. Then, after a few moments, she stood back up and turned. Sybill ducked out of sight.

Not fast enough, apparently.

“Who’s there?” Sophia demanded, her voice shrill. “I’m...I’m armed!”

“With what, your unflinching bravery?”

“Sybill?” Her voice cracked with relief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I heard you get up and I was worried,” Sybill said, coming out from her hiding place and closing the distance between them. “What’s up with this guy?”

“Nothing. I mean, I was---I was just staying with him while he died.”

Sybill stared down at the heap of clothing on the ground. “He’s...dead? Shit.”

“Let’s just go home, okay?”

“Hey, wait a sec,” Sybill said, grabbing the sleeve of Sophia’s jacket as she moved to pass. “Maybe we should call somebody.”

“No!” The shrill word cracked on the air. Sybill looked around to make sure nobody else was nearby before she leaned closer and whispered:

“Did you kill him?”

“Jesus, no, of course not! I told you. I was keeping him company and---” she glanced nervously around them--- “I don’t want this getting complicated, okay? If we call the cops, they’ll start asking questions. I know how this looks and---I swear to God, I didn’t do anything bad, Sybill. Just please don’t call anyone.” Her voice shook and even in the dim light, Sybill knew she was crying. She placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“Okay. Relax. But you have to fill me in, at least.”

“You won’t believe me,” Sophia said thickly.

“Try me.”

Sophia wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffed. “You know how I’ve been having trouble eating lately? It has to do with that.”

“Okay?”

“Lately I’ve been able to---I know when people are going to die.”

“So you come out to get front row seats to the show?”

“It isn’t funny.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

Sophia went on. Her voice was halting and timid. “I come out to---I can do this---this thing. When people die, I feel like it...satiates me?”

“You mean it gets you off?”

“God, no. What’s the matter with you?”

“Well you’re not explaining it very well.”

“It’s like what I don’t get from food, I get from them. Their...memories. When someone dies, they expel them. They look like...bubbles, I guess? Other people don’t seem to notice them. And I absorb them. They make me feel full.”

Sybill was silent for a long time. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“You don’t believe me,” Sophia said sadly.

“No, I do,” Sybill said, realizing with faint surprise that she wasn’t having that much trouble accepting Sophia’s story. “I just have some questions. Like, can you control when the person dies?”

“No, thank God. It’s not like that. It’s more like I’m…witnessing.”

“So how long have you been sneaking out to hang around corpses?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Sophia snapped. “I feel guilty enough about all this.”

“Guilty? Why?”

“I just wonder if I could do anything to prevent some of them from dying. Sitting there and just waiting for it to happen is...awful.”

“But if you didn’t come and---do whatever you’re doing here---you’d basically starve, right?”

“Probably,” Sophia said heavily.

“So aren’t you just surviving? You get what you need and they’d die anyway. If not in front of you, then somewhere else, and then you wouldn’t get to benefit at all. What’s the point of that?”

“Maybe…”

“How many memories do you take?”

“I dunno. All of them I guess. I try not to look at them because that feels weird.”

“Can I go with you the next time you do it?” Sybill asked eagerly.

“No way,” Sophia said with a shaky laugh. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”

“I just wanna help,” Sybill said, but deep down she knew that wasn’t quite true. She was aware of only one feeling: envy. To be able to absorb something so precious to another person while they were in their last moments was the ultimate power move. She felt like it was wasted on a bleeding heart like Sophia.

“Let’s go home. And please don’t tell Mom about any of this,” Sophia pleaded as they began to walk towards the main sidewalk.

“I won’t,” Sybill said, deciding not to tell her that Evelyn was already fully aware of the situation. “Besides, if she knew what was going on with you, she might try to send you away or something.”

“What do you mean?” Sophia said, alarmed.

“Who knows?” Sybill said, keeping her voice light and seemingly unaffected. “I mean, she does run a mental hospital, right?”

“Y-Yeah, but…she wouldn’t do that. Not to me,” Sophia said. But Sybill heard the note of fear and uncertainty in her voice. She let an uncomfortable silence hover between them for a minute, then she said:

“What kind of patients are at that place anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it people with powers like yours, or do they have normal things like anxiety or depression?” She made sure to put slight emphasis on “normal.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Okay. Sorry. I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

They walked the rest of the way home in silence.