Two hours later, I was due to water the plants. I rose and saw Ruby still
standing in the window. She had bags under her eyes, and her hair was limp
and had lost its sheen. Again, I raised my hand in greeting. She didn’t
respond. She wasn’t even blinking.
Something shook loose inside of me. This is wrong. What we’re doing—
whatever’s happening—it’s wrong.
My feet were unsteady as I passed the full washing machine and stumbled
into my backyard. I blinked in the sun. Though the day was cool but fair, it
didn’t stop the overwhelming unease blooming through me. I looked to my
right. The grave was visible over the fence; it had nearly completely sunk
down to ground level, thanks to the rain. Soon it would be covered by the tree
leaves, then even I wouldn’t remember its significance.
“No.” I spoke the word out loud, feeling as though it would have morepower that way instead of rattling around in my mind. “Something’s wrong.
Something’s wrong. No. Stop it.”
I turned and strode back into my house. My fingers dug into my hair,
scratching at my scalp as I paced. The black threads were spreading farther
up my arm; they’d passed my elbow that morning.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong.” I grabbed the phone off my living room table.
There was no one in my life I could call except for Lucky, so I dialled his
number. The phone rang a single time. I hung up. Some part of my mind was
telling me I couldn’t call him—that I would be putting both Ruby and myself
in danger if I did. I tapped the phone against my chin as I paced, trying to
clear my head enough to see what needed to be done.
I came to a halt facing the window that overlooked Ruby’s house. Across
the fence and behind a second sheet of glass stood my friend, unmoving,
unresponsive. She’d been there for hours.
Understanding dawned over me. That’s what the problem is. The house
was never this active before. It never started affecting other people in the
street before. It never affected me like this before. It’s because of Ruby. No…
not Ruby… but the thing inside of her. The baby. That’s what’s caused all of
this wrongness.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. The spirit medium, Henry, had
talked about Shreya having a secret she needed to protect from her husband.
She must have been pregnant when she leapt from her window. She’d
decided it was kinder to lose her own life, and the life of her child, rather than
watch them both suffer at the hands of her husband.
And that was why she’d latched on to Ruby: the young woman was
nearly a mirror of Shreya’s situation. A secret child. A violent partner. A
desperate need to hide—to escape—to be safe.
Shreya had gone insane in her desperation to protect Marwick’s new
occupant. And it was tearing everyone and everything apart.
I pressed my hand to the window, willing Ruby to respond to me. Her
blank stare landed somewhere past my shoulder. I swallowed, and the
frustration, fear, and anger that had welled inside me coalesced into an
understanding of what I needed to do .
The doll on the kitchen window stared at me with its dead eyes. I couldn’t
stand being watched by it any longer; I turned it around to face the glass.
Then I pulled out my favourite bowl, my beloved and dented mixing spoon,
and turned on the oven.
I hadn’t been shopping recently, which meant I was low on some of my
staple ingredients. I ended up pulling together enough for a sponge cake with
jam and mock cream. I sifted the dry ingredients, enjoying the weight of the
neglected sieve and appreciating how fine the flour looked as it cascaded into
the bowl. I added the sugar then finally opened the highest cabinet in the back
of my kitchen to retrieve the porcelain jar.
It had been my mother’s. She’d kept it in the cupboard beside her bed. I’d
seen it there several times while cleaning, but it was so unremarkable that I
hadn’t given it much thought. It wasn’t until after her death and the coroner’s
report came out that I’d realised what it was: iodine.
On top of the diabetes, my mother had been poisoning herself in tiny
increments. I still don’t fully understand why. Was it a way of increasing the
severity of her symptoms? Giving herself more excuses for calling the
doctor? Or had she done it to punish me, in the same way she would wet the
bed if I was late bringing her dinner?