"We will be gone a couple of hours," Greta said later, shrugging into her coat. "Can you handle Zion by yourself?"
Zara did not look up from her book.
Greek Myths and Truths by Yowan Maghex. The pages were soft from use, the spine cracked, the margins worn thin. It was the only thing she had taken when they ran from her father, the only thing that felt like proof she had existed before everything fell apart.
"His milk and custard are ready," Greta added. "Do not overheat it."
"I know," Zara muttered.
Patrick lingered, then patted her shoulder gently. She flinched at the touch. He hesitated, sighed, and left.
The house felt lighter once the door closed.
Greta had not spoken to her since the fight, not really. Only instructions. Only Zion. Zara knew what this was. Stay for Christmas my butt. Her mum wanted a free nanny.
She closed her book and rubbed her face. Grogginess clung to her like a sickness. Proper sleep was rare for her. Either she lay awake for hours or she slipped into fractured dreams she could never quite remember.
Toilets. Damp walls. Voices too close.
FLASHBACK
"So you have dreams you cannot remember," Resha said.
Zara nodded.
"That give you anxiety attacks?"
"Yes."
Resha went quiet, then said softly, "People always end up alone. Always. Sometimes emotionally. Sometimes physically. Sometimes both. For the luckiest ones, it is right before they die."
Zara's chest tightened painfully.
"I will never leave you," Resha had added quickly. "Not like that. Maybe physically one day, because anything can happen, but emotionally never. Forever."
She had slipped the bracelet off her wrist and placed it in Zara's hand.
"Keep it."
END OF FLASHBACK
Zara stared down at the beaded, black bracelet. Tears filled her eyes.
Suddenly, a scream tore through the house.
Zion.
Zara groaned and forced herself up and to the room he was in. He lay screaming, face red, onesie damp.
"What now?" she snapped, exhaustion seeping into anger.
The screaming only grew louder.
She lifted him roughly and carried him into the living room, placing him on the wooden chair by the grandfather clock. It chimed twice. She changed him too fast, powder flying everywhere, his legs kicking while she held them down harder than she should have.
Zion still screamed, fussing so hard that the smallish chair rocked a bit. It disgusted Zara.
"That's not normal you lump of fat. Just how huge are you?"
She watched him for a minute as he used his entire strength and weight to aggressively tilt the chair back. It hit the grandfather clock every time before it rocked back to its original position.
Zara felt deep satisfaction at how much this seemed to aggravate Zion whose face had long since turned red from screaming so much.
She would leave him to it.
Back in her room, she closed the door and collapsed unto her bed, pulling her quilt up and over her head. Let him scream himself senseless for all she cared.
She did not wake up gently.
Cold air blasted straight into her face, sharp and biting, like someone had leaned down and exhaled ice into her mouth and nose. It hit her so suddenly that her body jerked in protest.
She sneezed.
A loud, violent sneeze that tore out of her chest before her eyes even opened.
Her eyes flew open seconds later, heart already racing, breath uneven. She lay there blinking into the dimness, shivering hard beneath her quilt even though it was pulled right up to her chin. The cold felt wrong. It was not just the air. It was inside her, curling deep in her chest and spreading outward, prickly and invasive.
Something was wrong.
She lay still, listening.
Too still.
The house was silent in a way that pressed against her ears, heavy and unnatural. Zion was not crying. The grandfather clock was not ticking loud enough. Even the wind outside seemed to have paused.
Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt thick, useless. She swallowed and it hurt.
The clock chimed.
Four times.
She stared at the ceiling, confusion washing over her. Four. She had only slept a little while. It felt longer. Much longer. Her limbs were heavy, like they did not belong to her anymore.
A sudden dread crawled up her spine.
She sat up.
She jumped off her bed and ran out of the room.
She did not know why she felt like this. Zion had probably cried himself to sleep. He did that sometimes. He screamed and screamed and then passed out. That was normal. The goosebumps on her arms were just because it was cold.
The clock chimed. Four times.
She swallowed and kept moving.
When she entered the living room, her heart stopped.
Zion was still on the chair.
Face down.
There was blood.
Not on his onesie.
On his head.
A deep gash split his scalp and blood was smeared into his hair and across the wooden chair beneath him. His cheek was pressed into it. He was not moving.
Zara made a sound she did not recognize.
Zion was dead.