Tasting Blood In The Sugar

After the earthquake, Mom fell asleep.

I curled up in her arms, which were slowly growing cold beneath the massive slab of concrete. I sucked on her fingers, swallowing the sweet red syrup tea she had fed me.

From the black boxthe two-way radio trapped in the rubble near usmy fathers voice crackled through the static.

"Prioritize the light casualties. And Bella. Get Bella out. As for Madeline... she's resilient. Let her wait. She's not going to die from waiting."

It was really him. Mom had told me Dad was coming to save us soon.

But why was Dad telling Mom to wait? I peeked at my sleeping mother and whispered to the radio.

"Daddy, Mom fell asleep. She gave me a lot of sweet red syrup tea to drink."

"It tastes a little funny, but Im not scared. Mom said before the syrup is gone, you'll come and hold me."

The black box suddenly went dead silent. I kept swallowing the syrup.

Then, I heard his voice again, frantic, shouting orders for the rescue team to find his little girl.

I clapped my hands happily in the dark. Daddy was coming to get me.

"Over here! I found them! We've got a live one!"

A blinding beam of light slashed through the darkness, stabbing at my retinas.

Instinctively, I shrank back into my mothers embrace. But she was stiff. Like a statue carved from stone.

"Mom, its morning. Can we go home now?"

I nudged her chest.

It wasn't soft anymore. A large section of it had caved in, wet and sticky to the touch.

"Hurry! Get the kid out first!"

A pair of rough, gloved hands reached down and tore me away from her.

"No! I'm not leaving! Mom is still sleeping! I have to wait for Mom!"

I screamed, my small hand locking onto the hem of her blouse in a death grip.

Riiiiiip.

The fabric tore.

I was pulled up into the arms of a man in a neon-orange vest. My lips and chin were crusted with dried, dark flakes.

It was the "sweet red syrup tea" Mom had been feeding me.

"Sophie! Oh my god, Sophie!"

A figure stumbled through the dust and debris.

It was Dad.

He was wearing his expensive, custom-tailored suit. It was dusted with a fine layer of pulverized concrete, making him look appropriately disheveled, like a tragic hero in a movie.

He snatched me from the rescue worker and crushed me against his chest.

"Thank God. You're alive. You scared Daddy to death..."

He was crying. His whole body was trembling.

But beneath the smell of smoke and dust, I caught a scent.

A cloying, overwhelmingly sweet, floral perfume.

It was the scent Mom hated the most. The scent she called the smell of a home-wrecker.

I squirmed against his chest.

"Daddy, Mom is still down there. She's sleeping."

Dads body went completely rigid.

He didn't look toward the gaping black hole in the rubble. Instead, he forced my head down onto his shoulder, burying my face so I couldn't look back.

"Be a good girl, Sophie. Mom... Mom has gone somewhere very far away."

"No, she's right down there!"

Panic flared in my chest. I pointed a small, trembling finger at the dark crater.

"Mom gave me so much sweet red syrup tea to drink. She said when I finished it, you would be here."

All the color drained from my fathers face. He looked like a corpse.

He stared at the dark, rusty-red scabs clinging to the corners of my mouth, and his Adam's apple bobbed hard.

The paramedics and nurses surrounding us fell dead silent.

One young nurse covered her mouth, tears rapidly spilling over her eyelashes and cutting tracks through the dust on her cheeks.

Only Dad looked away. His eyes darted everywhere but at me.

What was he afraid of?

Was it the black box?

Back in the dark, his voice had come through that box, roaring like a monster.

He said Mom was resilient. That she wouldn't die.

I leaned my chin against his collarbone and whispered into his ear.

"Daddy, why did we have to let Mom wait?"

He shoved me away from him so violently it was as if I had burned his skin.

There was no joy in his eyes anymore. Only raw, unadulterated terror.

The ambulance wailed, a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the ruined city.

I sat on the gurney, my fist still clamped tightly around that torn scrap of my mother's blouse.

Dad sat across from me, rubbing his hands together incessantly.

His hands were spotless. His fingernails were perfectly manicured. Nothing like Moms hands, which had been caked in mud and blood.

"Sophie, when you were down there... did you hear anything?"

He asked the question like he was stepping on glass. He still wouldn't meet my eyes.

I licked my lips. The heavy, metallic taste of rust was still on my tongue.

"I heard."

A violent shudder ripped through him.

"Heard... what?"

"I heard Daddy say to save Bella first."

The air in the back of the ambulance solidified.

The paramedic who was gently wiping the dirt from my face froze, the gauze hovering in mid-air.

He slowly lifted his head and looked at my father. His eyes were pure ice.

Dad forced a smile that looked more like a grimace.

"You misheard, sweetheart. The signal was bad. Daddy was just... panicked."

"Was the signal bad?"

I tilted my head, studying him.

"But who is Bella? Why is she more important than Mom?"

His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He turned his face toward the small, tinted window, pretending to wipe away tears that weren't there.

When we arrived at the hospital, it was a circus.

Camera flashes exploded in the night air, so bright they made my eyes water.

The moment the doors opened, Dad transformed.

He scooped me into his arms, burying his face in my hair, weeping loudly for the cameras.

"Thank you, God! Thank you for giving my little girl back to me! As long as my Sophie is safe, Id trade everything I have!"

The reporters were wiping their own eyes, capturing footage of this devoted, heartbroken father.

I rested my chin on his shoulder, staring at the side of his face. He was making sobbing noises, but his eyes were dry.

He looked like a clown on television.

Once we got into the private wing, I finally saw "Bella."

She was in a massive, VIP suite, sitting in a pristine hospital bed, wearing a spotless pink lace dress. She was eating a slice of strawberry shortcake.

There wasn't a scratch on her. Even her hair was perfectly brushed.

Sitting next to the bed was a woman in a white silk dress.

She was beautiful, and radiating from her skin was the exact same cloying perfume I had smelled on my father's jacket.

"Harrison, you're here."

The woman stood up. Her eyes were rimmed with pink, giving her a delicate, helpless look.

Dad set me down immediately and rushed to her, taking both of her hands in his.

"Vanessa. How is Bella? Is she terrified?"

I stood in the doorway, feeling like a piece of trash someone had forgotten to throw away.

Bella noticed me.

She wrinkled her nose and pointed her plastic fork at me.

"Mommy, is that the feral kid who was drinking blood? She's filthy."

Drinking blood.

Feral kid.

I stared at the whipped cream smudged on the corner of her mouth. My stomach let out a hollow growl.

Vanessa glided over and knelt in front of me.

"This must be Sophie, right? Oh, you poor, sweet thing. Come let Vanessa give you a hug."

She reached out.

On her wrist was a gold Cartier bracelet.

It was the exact same bracelet Mom had.

Mom told me Dad had bought it for her for their tenth wedding anniversary.

Why was it on this woman's wrist?

A blind, wordless heat ignited in the pit of my stomach.

Like a cornered animal, I lunged forward and sank my teeth directly into her wrist.

"Ahhhhh!"

She shrieked, ripping her arm back with brutal force.

I was tiny and weak. The momentum sent me flying backward, and my head slammed hard against the metal footboard of the bed.

Pain exploded in my skull.

But I didn't cry. I just lay there, staring dead at her.

"Sophie! Have you lost your mind?!"

Dad charged at me, shoving me aside to gently cradle Vanessas wrist.

"Are you okay, Ness? Did she break the skin?"

He whipped his head around, glaring at me with venom.

"Who taught you to be so vicious? Apologize to her right now!"

I lay on the linoleum floor. Something warm and wet was trickling down my forehead.

It was red, too.

Just like the water Mom gave me.

I looked up at my father and said quietly:

"Daddy, I'm bleeding too. Are you going to make me wait a while, too?"

The VIP suite plunged into a suffocating silence.

Dads face flushed a deep, mottled purple.

Vanessas eyes darted around the room, and in a fraction of a second, her mask slipped back into place.

Ignoring the bite mark, she rushed over, dripping with fake sympathy, trying to help me up.

"Harrison, don't yell at her. She just lost her mother, the poor thing is traumatized."

She stroked my hair, but her acrylic nails dug viciously into my scalp.

"Be a good girl, Sophie. It doesn't hurt. I'll buy you some candy later."

I slapped her hand away.

"I don't want candy. I have the sweet red syrup tea my mom gave me."

Vanessa's fake smile twitched and died.

From the bed, Bella shrieked, "Daddy, get this psycho out of here! She smells bad!"

Dad took a deep, shuddering breath and flagged down a passing nurse.

"Take Sophie to the adjacent room and get her cleaned up. And get a psych consult. I think shes suffering from delusions."

Delusions.

He was telling everyone I was crazy.

The nurse led me away.

As she gently cleaned the gash on my forehead, she kept having to stop to wipe her own eyes.

"Brave girl. I know it hurts, I'll be gentle," she whispered.

I looked up at her. "Is my mom really dead?"

The nurses hand shook. She dropped the iodine swab, pulled me into her chest, and sobbed.

"Your mom... your mom was a hero, sweetie."

That evening, my grandparents arrived.

The moment Grandma Helen saw me, her knees buckled, and she fainted in the hallway.

Grandpa Arthur stood there, leaning heavily on his cane, his weathered hands trembling uncontrollably.

He demanded to take me home with them. Dad blocked the door.

"Arthur, Sophie is highly unstable right now. The doctors say it's best she stays here for observation."

Dad stood his ground, physically barring my grandfather.

But I knew the truth. He was terrified I would talk.

Terrified I would tell them the secret of the black box.

Late that night, long past visiting hours, the door to my room clicked open.

It was Mr. Davis, Dads executive assistant.

Usually, he was just a shadow, a man who walked two steps behind my father, carrying a tablet and keeping his mouth shut.

But tonight, the look in his eyes was different.

He walked over to my bed and pulled something from his coat pocket.

It was a smartphone, its screen completely spider-webbed with cracks.

Moms phone.

"Sophie."

Mr. Daviss voice was barely a whisper, as if he were afraid of waking ghosts.

"They pulled this from the wreckage. It still turns on."

I snatched the phone from him, pressing it to my chest.

It smelled like her. Beneath the grit and the dried, brown stains, it smelled like Mom.

Mr. Davis gently patted the top of my head.

"Sophie. Do you want to help your mom get even?"

I lifted my head and looked at him.

There was a dark, quiet fire burning in his eyes.

"The funeral is in a few days. The whole city will be there. The press, the politicians. And that woman."

Mr. Davis pointed a long finger at a small, triangular icon on the cracked screen.

"That day, when your father is standing at the podium... I want you to press this triangle. Can you do that for me?"

I looked at the little red play button. I nodded, hard.

"Yes."

It was a game.

A secret game, just for me and Mr. Davis.

I was going to let the whole world hear what my daddy said in the dark.

It rained the day of Moms funeral.

The sky over the city was the color of dirty dishwater.

I wore a little black dress Grandma had bought me, with a white rose pinned over my heart.

The chapel was massive, suffocating beneath the weight of thousands of white chrysanthemums.

In the center of the altar hung a massive portrait of Mom.

She was smiling in the picture, her eyes curving into little crescent moons.

Dad stood in the front row, wearing a razor-sharp black suit.

He looked devastatingly handsome in his griefhollow-cheeked, a shadow of stubble on his jaw.

Everyone was whispering about what a devoted husband he was, how the loss of his wife had hollowed him out.

Vanessa didn't show her face. But Bella did.

She was wearing a custom black tulle dress. She hid behind one of the marble pillars, sticking her tongue out at me.

She mouthed the words: You don't have a mommy.

I stared at her, my face completely blank. I slipped my hand into my velvet pocket, my fingers tracing the cold edges of the broken phone.

The service began.

The dirge playing from the speakers was low and mournful, designed to break hearts.

Dad walked up to the podium, a few sheets of heavy cream paper trembling in his hands.

He leaned into the microphone.

"Madeline... my beautiful wife..."

He choked on the very first sentence.

A wave of sympathetic sniffles rippled through the pews. They were all buying into this epic, tragic romance.

"We met ten years ago. We loved each other for ten years. You were my soulmate, my anchor."

"When the earth tore open... God, I wish it had taken me instead."

"If I could turn back time, I would have been right there with you. I would have held your hand. I would never, ever have let you face the darkness alone."

Tears streamed down his face. He gripped the edges of the podium as if his legs were about to give out.

Two of his business partners rushed up to steady him, murmuring words of comfort.

"Maddie, why did you have to go? How could you leave me and Sophie behind..."

He wept openly, staring up at her portrait, a broken man.

I was standing in the front row. Mr. Davis was right behind me.

He crouched down, pretending to fix the collar of my dress, and slipped his hand into mine.

His palm was slick with sweat.

"Are you ready, kiddo?" he whispered, his voice vibrating against my ear.

I looked at the man on the stage, delivering the performance of a lifetime.

I looked at his tears, at his violently shaking shoulders.

I thought about the creeping cold beneath the concrete.

I thought about my mother, slipping her bleeding finger into my mouth, smiling weakly and telling me it didn't hurt.

I thought about the words: Let her wait.

A pressure, vast and volcanic, expanded in my chest.

I was too young to fully articulate the concept of hatred, but I knew, with absolute clarity, that I had to destroy his stage.

I pulled my hand out of Grandma's grip. Clutching the broken phone, I walked slowly up the carpeted steps toward the altar.

The crowd hushed. They thought the grieving orphan just wanted her father.

Dad saw me approaching. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his eyes, but he smoothed it over instantly.

He knelt down, opening his arms wide.

"Come here, Sophie. Come to Daddy. I miss her too."

He wanted to pull me into a hug. He wanted to use me as the grand finale for his tragedy.

I stopped a few feet away. I didn't step into his embrace.

Instead, I raised the black box.

The shattered phone, still stained with my mother's dried blood.

Dads pupils blew wide. He recognized the case.

He lunged forward, reaching for it. "Sophie, thats dirty, give it to"

The moment his fingertips grazed the plastic.

My thumb pressed down hard on the little red triangle.

The Bluetooth connection to the chapel's massive surround-sound system had already been synced.